Disclaimer- House isn't mine.
It wasn't that he knew it would happen. He'd just been feeling very depressed. About nothing in particular, just the accumulated weight of the events that had happened in the past few days. The day started much as any other, with his morning routine, eat, wash, throw some case papers in a tote bag. Get in the car. Turn the key. Throw the clutch in reverse, and back out of the driveway. Turn onto the highway, take the exit that went over the bridge.
He couldn't say that it wasn't his fault. Fighting off a hangover when driving, even as you struggle to keep your eyes open is not the best way to stay alive. The odds were significantly worse if you forgot to put on a seatbelt. The way his hands were shaking, he figured it was a miracle that he got even halfway across the bridge. Taking the back roads was a good idea, he had thought. No cars, save for the one red '65 Corvette going in the opposite direction as he was. But it was too far away to be of any worry to him. A thought nagged in the back of his mind. It was faint, but persistent. It had something to do with the medical training he had undergone, and pulling over. If he could take his eyes off of the scenery that he found so absorbing, just long enough to interpret his thoughts--
Nausea… confusion… tremors… Dammit! He just couldn't think right.
Lethargy… inability to think rationally… Wasn't he supposed to be driving on the right side of the road?
Migraines…and…Avoid--something… He fumbled in his pocket for a small blue pill he knew had to be there. Naproxen Sodium to alleviate headache… Abstain from further use of alchohol… Well it was too late for that.
Hey, wasn't that red car getting closer too fast?
Pull over. NOW.
He had to get on the right side of the road. The other car was alarmingly close.
Twenty seconds. Three-quarters of the way across the bridge. He yanked on the steering wheel, spinning it to the right.
The other car had swerved to the right as well, trying to avoid hitting him.
Fifteen seconds. Dammit! Left! Left! He stomped his foot on the brake pedal, pushing it as he could, to get it to the floor. Not enough time. Going to hit. Who was in the other car? Would they be all right? Seatbelt. NOW! Fumbling with his left hand, he reached behind the seat, grasping for the thin fabric belt that could save his life.
Ten seconds. His fingertips brushed what he hoped was the seatbelt, and pulled it forwards, in front of him. It was. He grasped the metal buckle and drove it down towards the slot. It connected, but didn't snap in place.
Nine seconds. He tried again, this time, with his right hand. The buckle slid in slid in smoothly, falling in with a light click.
Eight. The other car was close enough that he could see some of the other person's face through the glare on the windshield.
Seven. Unshaved. Gaunt. Shocked. The man obviously recognized him.
Six. The glare was receding.
Five. Blue eyes were open wide, showing a fear they had never worn before.
Four. Oh. God, no. He knew that face.
Two. The passenger's side scraped against the guardrail of the bridge, and the car began to spin, the wheels riding up a little on the curb.
Author's note- Not much to say after writing this. More chapters to come, obviously. New style of writing I'm using. Short. Sorry. Next chapter longer.