If The Shoe Fits... (fic)
This is my first fic for
betteronvicodin , but I'm posting it here first because it is unbetaed, and I thought I would see if anyone had any comments/suggestions (or if they saw any typos) before I posted it. So feel free to tear it to pieces - I think the last section is a bit rushed, myself, but I'll review it with fresh eyes when it isn't half three in the morning. So... there you have it.
Title: If the Shoe Fits... [or 'It's So Hard to Tell Who's Going to Love You the Best']
Author:
petrichor_fizz
Ship: House/Everyone (come on, you know what the real pairing's going to be)
Genre: Fantasy/Sci Fi AU (utter crack)
Summary: "House is turned into a nasty [beast/monster/creature] by Tritter. Only true love's kiss can break the spell!"
Words: 1973
Rating: No idea. I'd call it a PG-13.
A/N: The German at the end means "and if they haven't died yet, they're alive to this day", which I prefer to "and they lived happily ever after", even if it is something of a tautology. Erm... if I think of anything else, I'll mention it.
Wilson had more or less zoned out - the last thing he remembered was Chase overreacting to Cameron's suggestion of Kleine-Levin syndrome by screaming "It's drugs!" (issues, thought Wilson), and House throwing a paper cup at his head - so he was taken aback when silence suddenly descended over the room. He glanced around, and quickly discovered the source of the uneasiness.
"Oh, God," he muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. "Not again."
"Detective Tritter! To what do we owe the pleasure?" asked House, with a hint of a curtsy.
"I had hoped that you would mend your ways, Doctor House, but you've disappointed me yet again. Everybody else may be prepared to let your behavior slide, but not me," replied Tritter. His cool demeanor seemed incongruous, given that he appeared to be holding a stick with a plastic star sellotaped to the end of it.
House had obviously decided to play along. "I wasn't aware that you had appointed yourself as my conscience. I already have one of those. You've met Jimmy Cricket, I believe?" He nodded at Wilson, who, feeling like a poster-boy for weary resignation, half-heartedly raised his hand in greeting and grimaced.
"Our paths have crossed, yes. If I recall correctly, it was your boyfriend who turned you in to me."
House glared at Foreman. "You're in so much trouble. At least Wilson had the guts to own up to it."
Foreman turned to the others. "He's joking. It's funny because it's so far from being true," he said rapidly.
"Silence!" shouted Tritter. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson - and this time, I'm not going through the courts!"
"Oh, shit," said Wilson. "Duck!" he shouted, as Tritter pointed the wand at House. He launched himself from his chair and landed rather inelegantly on the floor (bodyguarding was clearly a more demanding occupation than he had previously assumed). House cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Wilson," he said, "it's a stick." At that moment, a beam of light shot from the uppermost point of the star.
"You will be trapped in this body until true love's kiss sets you free!" cackled Tritter, and disappeared in a wad of nicotine gum.
"What the hell is that supposed to prove?" asked the Thing. Cameron's mouth fell open. Foreman averted his eyes. Wilson winced, and picked himself up off the floor. The Thing glanced around warily, then sighed. "How bad is it?" it demanded. Chase exited the room at a run. A few seconds later, the sound of retching could be heard from the nearest bathroom (which was actually the women's, but nobody blamed him for being in a hurry).
Wilson swallowed. "House..." he said gently, deploying his best 'breaking bad news' tone of voice: "he's turned you into Jackie Stallone."
***
While Jackie Stallone strolled up and down the corridor ("no leg pain!" she explained. "I feel like my skin might fall off, but it's a small price to pay"), Cameron had (rather optimistically, Wilson thought) attempted a DDX for 'looking like Jackie Stallone'. Foreman brooded in the corner with his arms folded, and Chase sat at the conference table. He was still looking slightly pale.
"Couldn't we leave him?" Foreman finally asked. "He seems happy enough - pain-free, at least. Isn't that what he wants more than anything?"
Wilson hesitated, but Cameron snapped: "I think that not looking like Jackie Stallone is also pretty high on that list, Foreman!"
Sighing, Wilson had to concur. "He can't go through the rest of his life looking like Jackie Stallone. Nobody's going to let him treat them, which will eventually become a problem, the next time he's forced to actually meet a patient. And he could be prosecuted for practicing medicine without a license, given that it may be difficult for us to prove that he isn't Jackie Stallone."
Jackie Stallone poked her head around the door. "You know, you don't hear about it enough, but discrimination against ugly people is a very real issue. Especially at this hospital, where everybody is absurdly photogenic."
"Just to remove all doubt..." said Foreman, who moved towards the doorway, grabbed Jackie Stallone in a clinch and kissed her passionately. Nothing happened. He tried to leave the room nonchalantly, but swayed slightly when he got a few feet further down the hall, and had to sit down. Cameron and Chase looked at each other, each with an expression of panic and bewilderment. Wilson suddenly found the dregs in his mug extremely interesting.
"Wow. That was weird. Anybody else want a go?"
Chase stood up uncertainly. "I guess it would be a good idea to rule out as many people as we can to begin with." He approached Jackie Stallone with caution, and kissed her gingerly on the lips. Nothing happened.
"Oh, nice. Sicky mouth."
"You're one to talk!" retorted Chase. "Your mouth looks like it has a haddock living in it. And anyway, you tasted Victoria's vomit. Now, excuse me, I have to go and have a lie down." He gathered up the shreds of his dignity and bustled past Jackie Stallone, who was still blocking half of the doorway.
"Right," announced Cameron, "that's enough of this. House, come here." Jackie Stallone didn't look like she was going to oblige, until she met Wilson's eyes, who shrugged as if to say 'what's the worst that can happen?'. She strolled to the centre of the room. Cameron walked towards her purposefully, took her face in her hands and kissed her tenderly. She pulled away, eyes shining.
Nothing happened.
"Has that answered all of your questions?" said Jackie Stallone. Cameron blinked a few times, said "damn it" under her breath, and fled the room.
"I knew she still had a thing for you."
"Well, duh."
***
Wilson was about to clock in for clinic duty when he suddenly noticed that the patient turnover seemed rather higher than usual. He observed that patients were going into Exam Room 3 and almost immediately coming out again, looking slightly paler than they had before. It didn't take him long to explain that one. Eventually, Jackie Stallone seemed to give up and wandered out of the Exam Room, but apparently failed to notice Wilson. She wandered over to Nurse Brenda and leaned casually against the nurses' station, before making what was almost certainly a lewd comment. From where Wilson standing, it seemed as though she was attempting to arch an eyebrow, but finding that her face was less than pliable. Brenda slapped Jackie Stallone across the face, looked at the palm of her hand, and then wiped it on her scrub bottoms. Wilson winced, hoping that she had picked up some excess make-up rather than some excess skin. Jackie Stallone shrugged slightly and turned around, leaning back on the station and surveying the wasteland that the clinic had become.
Shortly afterwards, Cuddy appeared and walked towards her - presumably, one of the Fellows had informed her of the situation. She hesitated for a moment, rubbed at her chin nervously, and then leaned in and kissed Jackie Stallone.
Nothing happened.
Wilson frowned. Cuddy had been Jackie Stallone's best bet, or so he had thought - they had chemistry together and history together, and at one point they had had biology together - and for a moment he was stumped; but then he realized what he had been missing. It was so obvious. He knew what he had to do.
***
The next morning, Wilson sat in his office, twisting a piece of paper between his fingers. Soon, all of this would be put to rest. He might not like it, but he had done what was necessary.
Jackie Stallone appeared in his doorway. She had changed out of the orange suit which Tritter had put her in, and was now wearing a T-shirt embossed with Joe Strummer's face, and blue jeans rolled up so much they were almost six inches thick around her ankles. Wilson noted that she was still wearing her stilettos - presumably there was just no way that she could modify House's shoes to fit her. She leaned against the frame.
"You called Stacy for me," she said, with an enigmatic smile (it seemed enigmatic to Wilson, anyway; but then that mouth was inherently confusing).
"She's here?"
"Got here about an hour ago."
Wilson stood up, affronted. "She wouldn't do it?" he said, disbelievingly. Stacy was many things, but she wasn't selfish. Or squeamish. And surely she would understand the importance of this? Yes, it would involve infidelity of a kind against her husband, but that was nothing she hadn't managed before - and Mark would surely allow it, this time around. He might not like House, but this punishment was more than even he deserved.
"She did it," replied Jackie Stallone. Wilson sank down, deflated, his indignation having been punctured.
"It... didn't work?"
"What on earth are you talking about? Just look at me. Good as new," deadpanned Jackie Stallone.
"You pine after her for nearly seven years, and now you don't love her?"
"I think I'll always love her in the way that Ryan will always love Marissa, but not in the way that Heathcliff will always love Cathy, you know?"
"Right. You do know she's not actually dead?" She just looks that way, he thought, and mentally gave himself a stern look.
"Everything changed when she came back. I got..." Jackie Stallone hesitated.
"Closure?" Wilson supplied, not without a hint of irony.
"That, yeah. Except not a made-up word, and not a bullshit concept."
Wilson picked up a pen and crossed something out on a piece of paper on his desk. He sighed, and stared at it. "I'll have to see what else I can come up with."
"Well, hurry up, these shoes are killing me," said Jackie Stallone, crossing the room to stand behind Wilson, and peering over his shoulder at the sheet.
Chase
Foreman
Cameron (ha)
Cuddy
Stacy
Nurse Brenda???
Dwarf mom
Ali (spore girl)
Crandall's ex-girlfriend
Crandall
Some hooker
Honey
That Munchausen Syndrome woman
"Wilson?" said Jackie Stallone slowly.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you being an idiot?"
"Look, I'm sorry. This is off the top of my head. I can't actually remember the name or details of every woman you've ever mentioned, or flirted with, or gone out with, or slept with, or whatever, and--" Wilson suddenly realised that both his tempo and his pitch were slightly too high for the comfort of either of them. He cleared his throat.
"Wilson."
"Yes."
Jackie Stallone brushed her fingers across his cheek. Wilson realised, for the first time, that the eyes that looked into his were still blue. He couldn't look away, even when Jackie Stallone touched her oversized lips to his. He looked into her eyes, and without even thinking about it he reached out and drew her closer, and as long as he didn't think too much about Jackie Stallone's lips, and kept concentrating on House's eyes, it was good.
"Oh, God!" House cried out suddenly, and pulled back with a painful inhalation.
"Leg?" enquired Wilson, rubbing at the stubble burn on his chin, torn between concern and relief and several other emotions that he didn't have the time or inclination to examine at the moment.
"No. Feet. I thought these shoes were tight before..."
Wilson laughed, and House glared at him. And then he took off Jackie Stallone's shoes, and he kissed him again.
... und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute...
(The End)
betteronvicodin , but I'm posting it here first because it is unbetaed, and I thought I would see if anyone had any comments/suggestions (or if they saw any typos) before I posted it. So feel free to tear it to pieces - I think the last section is a bit rushed, myself, but I'll review it with fresh eyes when it isn't half three in the morning. So... there you have it.
Title: If the Shoe Fits... [or 'It's So Hard to Tell Who's Going to Love You the Best']
Author:
petrichor_fizz
Ship: House/Everyone (come on, you know what the real pairing's going to be)
Genre: Fantasy/Sci Fi AU (utter crack)
Summary: "House is turned into a nasty [beast/monster/creature] by Tritter. Only true love's kiss can break the spell!"
Words: 1973
Rating: No idea. I'd call it a PG-13.
A/N: The German at the end means "and if they haven't died yet, they're alive to this day", which I prefer to "and they lived happily ever after", even if it is something of a tautology. Erm... if I think of anything else, I'll mention it.
Wilson had more or less zoned out - the last thing he remembered was Chase overreacting to Cameron's suggestion of Kleine-Levin syndrome by screaming "It's drugs!" (issues, thought Wilson), and House throwing a paper cup at his head - so he was taken aback when silence suddenly descended over the room. He glanced around, and quickly discovered the source of the uneasiness.
"Oh, God," he muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. "Not again."
"Detective Tritter! To what do we owe the pleasure?" asked House, with a hint of a curtsy.
"I had hoped that you would mend your ways, Doctor House, but you've disappointed me yet again. Everybody else may be prepared to let your behavior slide, but not me," replied Tritter. His cool demeanor seemed incongruous, given that he appeared to be holding a stick with a plastic star sellotaped to the end of it.
House had obviously decided to play along. "I wasn't aware that you had appointed yourself as my conscience. I already have one of those. You've met Jimmy Cricket, I believe?" He nodded at Wilson, who, feeling like a poster-boy for weary resignation, half-heartedly raised his hand in greeting and grimaced.
"Our paths have crossed, yes. If I recall correctly, it was your boyfriend who turned you in to me."
House glared at Foreman. "You're in so much trouble. At least Wilson had the guts to own up to it."
Foreman turned to the others. "He's joking. It's funny because it's so far from being true," he said rapidly.
"Silence!" shouted Tritter. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson - and this time, I'm not going through the courts!"
"Oh, shit," said Wilson. "Duck!" he shouted, as Tritter pointed the wand at House. He launched himself from his chair and landed rather inelegantly on the floor (bodyguarding was clearly a more demanding occupation than he had previously assumed). House cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Wilson," he said, "it's a stick." At that moment, a beam of light shot from the uppermost point of the star.
"You will be trapped in this body until true love's kiss sets you free!" cackled Tritter, and disappeared in a wad of nicotine gum.
"What the hell is that supposed to prove?" asked the Thing. Cameron's mouth fell open. Foreman averted his eyes. Wilson winced, and picked himself up off the floor. The Thing glanced around warily, then sighed. "How bad is it?" it demanded. Chase exited the room at a run. A few seconds later, the sound of retching could be heard from the nearest bathroom (which was actually the women's, but nobody blamed him for being in a hurry).
Wilson swallowed. "House..." he said gently, deploying his best 'breaking bad news' tone of voice: "he's turned you into Jackie Stallone."
***
While Jackie Stallone strolled up and down the corridor ("no leg pain!" she explained. "I feel like my skin might fall off, but it's a small price to pay"), Cameron had (rather optimistically, Wilson thought) attempted a DDX for 'looking like Jackie Stallone'. Foreman brooded in the corner with his arms folded, and Chase sat at the conference table. He was still looking slightly pale.
"Couldn't we leave him?" Foreman finally asked. "He seems happy enough - pain-free, at least. Isn't that what he wants more than anything?"
Wilson hesitated, but Cameron snapped: "I think that not looking like Jackie Stallone is also pretty high on that list, Foreman!"
Sighing, Wilson had to concur. "He can't go through the rest of his life looking like Jackie Stallone. Nobody's going to let him treat them, which will eventually become a problem, the next time he's forced to actually meet a patient. And he could be prosecuted for practicing medicine without a license, given that it may be difficult for us to prove that he isn't Jackie Stallone."
Jackie Stallone poked her head around the door. "You know, you don't hear about it enough, but discrimination against ugly people is a very real issue. Especially at this hospital, where everybody is absurdly photogenic."
"Just to remove all doubt..." said Foreman, who moved towards the doorway, grabbed Jackie Stallone in a clinch and kissed her passionately. Nothing happened. He tried to leave the room nonchalantly, but swayed slightly when he got a few feet further down the hall, and had to sit down. Cameron and Chase looked at each other, each with an expression of panic and bewilderment. Wilson suddenly found the dregs in his mug extremely interesting.
"Wow. That was weird. Anybody else want a go?"
Chase stood up uncertainly. "I guess it would be a good idea to rule out as many people as we can to begin with." He approached Jackie Stallone with caution, and kissed her gingerly on the lips. Nothing happened.
"Oh, nice. Sicky mouth."
"You're one to talk!" retorted Chase. "Your mouth looks like it has a haddock living in it. And anyway, you tasted Victoria's vomit. Now, excuse me, I have to go and have a lie down." He gathered up the shreds of his dignity and bustled past Jackie Stallone, who was still blocking half of the doorway.
"Right," announced Cameron, "that's enough of this. House, come here." Jackie Stallone didn't look like she was going to oblige, until she met Wilson's eyes, who shrugged as if to say 'what's the worst that can happen?'. She strolled to the centre of the room. Cameron walked towards her purposefully, took her face in her hands and kissed her tenderly. She pulled away, eyes shining.
Nothing happened.
"Has that answered all of your questions?" said Jackie Stallone. Cameron blinked a few times, said "damn it" under her breath, and fled the room.
"I knew she still had a thing for you."
"Well, duh."
***
Wilson was about to clock in for clinic duty when he suddenly noticed that the patient turnover seemed rather higher than usual. He observed that patients were going into Exam Room 3 and almost immediately coming out again, looking slightly paler than they had before. It didn't take him long to explain that one. Eventually, Jackie Stallone seemed to give up and wandered out of the Exam Room, but apparently failed to notice Wilson. She wandered over to Nurse Brenda and leaned casually against the nurses' station, before making what was almost certainly a lewd comment. From where Wilson standing, it seemed as though she was attempting to arch an eyebrow, but finding that her face was less than pliable. Brenda slapped Jackie Stallone across the face, looked at the palm of her hand, and then wiped it on her scrub bottoms. Wilson winced, hoping that she had picked up some excess make-up rather than some excess skin. Jackie Stallone shrugged slightly and turned around, leaning back on the station and surveying the wasteland that the clinic had become.
Shortly afterwards, Cuddy appeared and walked towards her - presumably, one of the Fellows had informed her of the situation. She hesitated for a moment, rubbed at her chin nervously, and then leaned in and kissed Jackie Stallone.
Nothing happened.
Wilson frowned. Cuddy had been Jackie Stallone's best bet, or so he had thought - they had chemistry together and history together, and at one point they had had biology together - and for a moment he was stumped; but then he realized what he had been missing. It was so obvious. He knew what he had to do.
***
The next morning, Wilson sat in his office, twisting a piece of paper between his fingers. Soon, all of this would be put to rest. He might not like it, but he had done what was necessary.
Jackie Stallone appeared in his doorway. She had changed out of the orange suit which Tritter had put her in, and was now wearing a T-shirt embossed with Joe Strummer's face, and blue jeans rolled up so much they were almost six inches thick around her ankles. Wilson noted that she was still wearing her stilettos - presumably there was just no way that she could modify House's shoes to fit her. She leaned against the frame.
"You called Stacy for me," she said, with an enigmatic smile (it seemed enigmatic to Wilson, anyway; but then that mouth was inherently confusing).
"She's here?"
"Got here about an hour ago."
Wilson stood up, affronted. "She wouldn't do it?" he said, disbelievingly. Stacy was many things, but she wasn't selfish. Or squeamish. And surely she would understand the importance of this? Yes, it would involve infidelity of a kind against her husband, but that was nothing she hadn't managed before - and Mark would surely allow it, this time around. He might not like House, but this punishment was more than even he deserved.
"She did it," replied Jackie Stallone. Wilson sank down, deflated, his indignation having been punctured.
"It... didn't work?"
"What on earth are you talking about? Just look at me. Good as new," deadpanned Jackie Stallone.
"You pine after her for nearly seven years, and now you don't love her?"
"I think I'll always love her in the way that Ryan will always love Marissa, but not in the way that Heathcliff will always love Cathy, you know?"
"Right. You do know she's not actually dead?" She just looks that way, he thought, and mentally gave himself a stern look.
"Everything changed when she came back. I got..." Jackie Stallone hesitated.
"Closure?" Wilson supplied, not without a hint of irony.
"That, yeah. Except not a made-up word, and not a bullshit concept."
Wilson picked up a pen and crossed something out on a piece of paper on his desk. He sighed, and stared at it. "I'll have to see what else I can come up with."
"Well, hurry up, these shoes are killing me," said Jackie Stallone, crossing the room to stand behind Wilson, and peering over his shoulder at the sheet.
Chase
Foreman
Cameron (ha)
Cuddy
Stacy
Nurse Brenda???
Dwarf mom
Ali (spore girl)
Crandall's ex-girlfriend
Crandall
Some hooker
Honey
That Munchausen Syndrome woman
"Wilson?" said Jackie Stallone slowly.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you being an idiot?"
"Look, I'm sorry. This is off the top of my head. I can't actually remember the name or details of every woman you've ever mentioned, or flirted with, or gone out with, or slept with, or whatever, and--" Wilson suddenly realised that both his tempo and his pitch were slightly too high for the comfort of either of them. He cleared his throat.
"Wilson."
"Yes."
Jackie Stallone brushed her fingers across his cheek. Wilson realised, for the first time, that the eyes that looked into his were still blue. He couldn't look away, even when Jackie Stallone touched her oversized lips to his. He looked into her eyes, and without even thinking about it he reached out and drew her closer, and as long as he didn't think too much about Jackie Stallone's lips, and kept concentrating on House's eyes, it was good.
"Oh, God!" House cried out suddenly, and pulled back with a painful inhalation.
"Leg?" enquired Wilson, rubbing at the stubble burn on his chin, torn between concern and relief and several other emotions that he didn't have the time or inclination to examine at the moment.
"No. Feet. I thought these shoes were tight before..."
Wilson laughed, and House glared at him. And then he took off Jackie Stallone's shoes, and he kissed him again.
... und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute...
(The End)