1. Remember When I Told You Not to Visit? (1/2)

standing accused (part two)

a crossing jordan/house crossover fanfic

chapter one: remember when i told you not to visit?

rating: pg-13 (i think)

word count: 1,175

disclaimer: i own house. um, right. that was a lie. i don't own anything. except seasons 1 & 2 on dvd and my own insanity. i can't even claim to own dvds for crossing jordan.

summary: when the man who shot house turns up dead in his boston hotel room, house turns to old friends to prove his innocence.

author's note: okay, i can't really hide behind the "this is my first fanfic" to excuse any mistakes and ooc anymore. that's scary. still, the characters may be very, very ooc. it is possible. i have no medical or forensic experience, therefore anything i write is probably very wrong. this is set somewhere after season 2 of house and season 5 of crossing jordan, and after my other fic "sickness and health," though i'm not sure you'd have to read that one to get this one. this is an au fic, diverging from canon after season 5 and season 2, but also assume that in between "sickness and health" and this story, house has recovered/reverted to his cane like he did in the first episodes of season 3. however, i am not necessarily going to use anything canon from either season 6 or season 3.

this has also not been beta'd...if it's not perfect, that's 100 percent my fault.

since i can't think of any other warnings to give, on with the story...

chapter one

remember when i told you not to visit?

"hoyt," he answered groggily, turning on the light. he rolled out of bed, pulling on his shirt. he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. he heard the words, processing them subconsciously. he was used to this by now. he'd be at the crime scene before he was really awake. he'd never forgotten anything important, though one time he had buttoned his shirt wrong and was razzed for weeks.

jordan hadn't spoken to him for two of those weeks. it had been nearly impossible to convince her that he'd buttoned his shirt wrong because he'd been too tired. she'd heard the other cops teasing him about his girlfriend; only he'd gone to bed alone that night. jordan either hadn't believed him or maybe just wanted to torment him about it. she still wouldn't admit to either option.

he took his keys and headed down to his car. someone had better have coffee at the crime scene. it was two in the morning, and his shift ended at eleven. it should have ended sooner, were it not for jordan's insistence that his suspect in their last case was innocent. in the end, she'd been right, but their argument had them going home alone.

woody parked next to the black and white near the front entrance. he was recognized by a uniform, who led him inside the hotel and to the floor where more uniformed officers kept watch over the door to room 513. some young kiss ass handed woody a coffee. he took a sip and sighed. it was going to be a long night. "what have we got?"

"man, dead. two shots to the chest. small caliber. owner of the room found him here, or so he claims."

"anything on him?"

"just this," the uniform held up a bottle of pills.

woody looked at it. "vicodin? where's the owner of the room?"

"over there, detective," the csu man said and pointed woody towards the other room of the suite. woody glanced in that direction, and turned the other way, heading into the bedroom. he stood over the body. "me's on the way."

woody nodded. he drank his coffee. he had two options. he could wait for whoever macy set over, or he could interview the man whose room it was. he would probably fall asleep while he waited. "what is that banging?"

"that's all pill popper," the uniform answered. "keeps banging his cane against the wall."

"his cane?"

"yep. claims the vicodin is for his pain."

suddenly, woody was fully awake. he shoved his coffee at the office and went to the next room. the man on the couch stopped the cane midway through his strike on the wall. "detective hoyt. would you please tell these idiots that i didn't kill anyone?"

"sure thing, dr. house," woody answered. "but you'd better tell me why you're in boston."

"jordan cavanaugh, i'm with the medical examiner's office," she explained to someone who was obviously a rookie. by now almost everyone who worked in any part of the justice system in boston—and a few other places, most recently princeton—knew who she was. she flashed her badge and looked around. victim in the bedroom, no sign of the detective in charge. she shrugged and went into the bedroom.