Timbershiver, "Life's a drag" parts 1-4 complete!

Jun 30, 2006 13:52


author: 
timbershiver
Title: "Life's a drag" 
Word count:  2400
Rating: PG-13?  
Summary:  House goes through Wilson's photograph album and gets quite a surprise...
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with House but I do have some rather pretty dresses.
Notes:  I posted the first part to this last month and was going to post it in sections. Then I decided that I hate my job and would rather finish this rather than get any proper work done!  Many many thanks to 
evila_elf   for the beta.  I have no idea why I started writing this, but here you go!

Part 1

House walked into his apartment to find Wilson on the couch, engrossed in a large, heavy book.  "What's that?"  he asked, taking his jacket off and making his way to the sofa.

Wilson moved his legs to let House through.  "My photograph album."

House sat down and put his feet up.  It had been a long day.  "Great," he said with no conviction whatsoever. "All the weddings?"

Wilson smiled and carried on flicking through the pages, "No, everything but the weddings.  Want to see?"

House looked as if he'd just been asked to work as a clown in the children's ward for the rest of his life.  "No." He picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

A few minutes later, Wilson's pager went off.  He checked it, sighed, threw the album onto the coffee table, and stood up to collect his jacket.

He loitered behind the couch, jangling his keys in his hand  before picking up his briefcase.  "Well," he said, "I'll see you later."

As he reached the door, he shouted out behind his shoulder, "Oh, by the way, there's a photograph in there of me in drag."

And then he closed the door and left without looking back.

House sat on the sofa, feet up, glaring at the photograph album.

He went to the kitchen to look in the fridge, removed a couple of post-its, and came back with a huge plate of food to resume his glaring.

He watched some TV, all the while aware of the big book on the table.  He felt like it was laughing at him.

He picked up a journal, it had an interesting article on ......it didn't matter.  Not while he could still feel the pull of the album. So he glared at it some more.

Eventually House could stand it no longer.

"I hate you Wilson," he said to himself as he reached over and picked up the heavy book and started flicking through the pages.

Part 2

He’d rather do clinic duty than admit it, but House eventually relaxed and began to enjoy looking through the pages of Wilson’s life. There was no chronological order to the layout, the haphazardness adding to the fun.

There was his Wilson, 5 years old, smiling broadly as he sat on a sofa holding a tiny baby in his arms, his older brother standing solemnly behind them.

Eight years old, a side-view of Wilson clutching a baseball bat. House could see crowds of families behind him in the background - it was a tournament. Wilson had look of such intense concentration on his face that House was reminded of whenever he asked his friend to check a particularly difficult scan. On the next page there was a photograph of Wilson taken the same day surrounded by team mates. He was proudly clutching a trophy.

House was surprised to see various other photos of Wilson at differing ages, all with trophies. Occasionally ones with a less convincing smile and the words “runner up” engraved on the cup, but usually he was a beaming ‘Champion’.

A teenage Wilson, shirtless, revealing a long sinewy body yet to fill out, standing in a small sail boat, holding a bundle of ropes and looking as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Prom Night Wilson disappointed House. He’d hoped for a horrific get-up that he could scan, print and post up around the hospital, but instead he looked - House gritted his teeth - there was no word other than ‘handsome’. The slight flaring of the trousers and the wide collars, that had already come in and gone back out of fashion the only giveaway to the decade.

House shuddered as he thought of his own prom outfit. He shuddered even harder when he remembered his date for the evening.

Graduation Wilson in his gowns. Top of the class, the little nerd.

He hoped Wilson hadn’t secretly set up hidden cameras in his lounge because the next picture made him laugh. The Wilson boys, wrapped up for winter, standing proudly next to a snowman. The carrot nose had been removed and was held in a more strategic position by Wilson’s elder brother and little James was doubled over with laughter.

House had half-forgotten the reason he’d picked up the photograph album in the first place. He flicked through the final pages - family gatherings, holidays (since when had he been to Europe?) and college (if he felt a flicker of possessiveness at the sight of Wilson being best friends with someone else, he would never admit it.)

What he saw when he turned the last page made him catch his breath…..

There was Wilson, in all his glory (and it was  glorious -it truly was!), a statuesque 6 foot 3” at least, in high heels, fully made-up in a blonde wig and a slinky pink dress, winking seductively at the camera with a rose between his teeth.

House slammed the album shut and put it back on the table. He really needed to think about this…

***

It was late by the time Wilson got home and House was already in bed. The photograph album was on the coffee table, exactly where he’d left it.

House didn’t fool Wilson.

House never fooled Wilson …

Part 3

At work the next day, Wilson saw him only briefly for a (surprisingly valid) consult. Lunchtime came and went with no sign of his food-stealing friend and by the time he left for the day, there was just Cameron in the Diagnostics’ office, tapping away at the computer.

Back at home, Wilson let himself in, as always, and found House sitting on the sofa, as always.

The photograph album was still on the table, apparently untouched, although there was now a large parcel sitting on top of it. Wilson didn’t say a word, just hung his coat up, kicked off his shoes and sat down next to House and started watching ‘America’s Worst Drivers’ with him.

As they observed a drunk driver take the wrong turn down a Louisiana Freeway into oncoming traffic, there was a long, not uncomfortable, silence, one which Wilson was unwilling to break.

House had other ideas.

“That’s for you,” he pointed with his toes towards the parcel.

Wilson stared at it. There was no name, no address; it hadn’t come through the mail.

Oh dear.

He stared at House who stared back then nodded at the parcel.

“It’s for you. Open it.”

Wilson took a deep breath, exhaled, and reached over to drag the parcel into his lap. He opened it slowly, aware of House watching him and when he eventually peeled back the paper, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned to his friend.

“You went shopping at lunchtime?” was all he could say.

House stared back at the television screen. “Put it on.”

Wilson looked around for help, but of course there was no one there. “House, “ he licked his lips, “It was a play,” he tried to explain. “A college production. My friend wrote it…I said….”

House still wouldn’t look at him. “Put it on.”

Wilson shook his head, “No.”

“Now.”

“Why?” Wilson was getting flustered.

House turned to him, “Because I can’t decide whether that photograph of you has made me gayer than I thought I was, or straighter. It’s a close call so put on the outfit and let’s find out.”

Wilson bit his lip, a flush rising in his cheeks as he reached into the parcel and pulled out a pair of sandals. He held them by their straps and dangled them in front of his face, with a growing expression of disbelief. Next came the dress: Long, silky, it was - Wilson stared at it as he struggled to find the word until House helped him out - “Slinky isn’t it?” he said, cheerfully.

“Yeah, thanks.” Wilson snapped. “What makes you think it will fit me?”

For once it was House who looked sheepish, and mumbled, “I…um…held it up against myself and bought the next size down.”

Wilson began to laugh at the mental image, until he looked again at the contents of the parcel and his eyes widened, “You bought make-up?”

House’s attention was back with the television, “No, I bought you make-up.”

Wilson cringed, “Oh God - and, and,” he stuttered, before blurting out, "lingerie?”

“Well, boxers would give you VPL - totally ruin the line of your dress.”

Wilson dropped his head back and looked to the ceiling, “Today, you have truly taught me the meaning of regret.”

House turned and stared at Wilson, “Oh come on! How many secrets have we got? This is by no means the worst one. Get changed, just for a little while. It’ll be between just you and me, no one will ever know.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Wilson asked,“Why are you doing this to me?”

House furrowed his brow, “Because I’m intrigued.” It made so much sense to him and he couldn’t understand why Wilson couldn’t see that.

Well aware that House’s curiosity knew no bounds, Wilson flatly said, “I’m taking it off straight away.”

House nodded, “Fair enough. Don’t forget the make-up.”

Wilson looked to the heavens again, “House, I can’t put make-up on. I don’t know how.”

“What?” House was beginning to enjoy himself a little too much, “Three wives and you never picked up any tips? I don’t believe you. Just remember, less is more.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Wilson stood up, clutching his new things, “I really don’t want to do this.”

“Do it, or I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“House! You already are!” Wilson was getting close to panic. He was ignored. House simply said, “Use my room.”

Knowing there was no getting out of this, Wilson shook his head, clutched the parcel and went to House’s bedroom.

Part 4

Half an hour later and Wilson still hadn’t reappeared. House rapped irritably on his bedroom door with his cane, “C’mon Missy, I appreciate you getting into character but this is ridiculous.”

The door unlocked and opened, ever so slightly. House pushed it open wider and stood in the doorframe and stared at Wilson.

His Wilson, in a long red dress that clung to his frame in all the right places, stopping just below the knees: Wilson, who looked awkward, embarrassed, as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.   House grinned inwardly as he realised he also looked as cute as a button. “Stop hunching,” was all he said.

Wilson stood up straight, “Well?” he demanded.

“Well what?” asked House, not taking his eyes off him.

“Is your curiosity sated? Have you got over your frankly bizarre sexuality crisis?” Wilson walked across the room. Admirably so, thought House, especially in those heels.

He ignored the question. “So,” he said, still looking Wilson up and down, “it was a college play?”

Wilson nodded “Yeah, one of my friends wrote it, so I agreed to appear in it.”

House thought to himself damn, I forgot pantyhose as his eyes wandered down Wilson’s legs to his shapely ankles. “What was the play called?” he asked.

Wilson shrugged, “I can’t remember, it was something about the first World War.”

Since when had Wilson had such long eyelashes, House thought to himself, it must be the mascara, “And you played a woman? A particularly fine woman, I might add.”

Wilson nodded uneasily, “It was a comedy, the character had to be played by a guy and no one would do it, so I just sort of ended up stepping in.”

House felt something in his chest tighten at that, “What was the character name?”

“Georgina.” Wilson was still cringing with embarrassment but he seemed to have remembered his posture-lessons as he walked around the room trying to get away from House’s coolly assessing gaze.

Wilson eventually stopped pacing and leaned against the bedside table, crossing his ankles in front of him. House had to look at the floor to hide his smile. “So, why did you want me to see the photograph?” he asked.

Wilson shrugged, not as heavily as he usually did, House noticed, although that may have been the dress-straps cutting into his shoulders. “It wasn’t just that photo I wanted you to see. It was the all the others. You’ve never seemed interested in my past, other than my marriage record, which is a constant source of amusement. I just wanted to show you there was more to me than you realised.”

House nodded, as if he understood completely. He took a step further into the room and shut the door behind him, noticing the slight flicker that crossed Wilson’s face as he did so. “There has always been more to you than meets the eye, Wilson. Don’t you ever think I don’t realise that.”

He walked closer, Wilson couldn’t cope with the intensity of his gaze, and turned his back to House, who continued, “Let’s see what I’ve found out about you: You like rude snowmen, you’re good at baseball..”

“Was good at baseball,” Wilson muttered.

House ignored him and carried on, “You put yourself up for public humiliation to help a friend.” He was now standing right behind Wilson and put his hands on his shoulders.

Wilson froze and House wondered how long his friend could hold his breath, “And you’re one hell of a fox if you put your mind to it.”

Still staring straight ahead Wilson exhaled and laughed shakily, “Well, technically, this is from your mind, not mine.”

“Oh, the main ingredients were already there, I just bought the dressing,” House reached out to touch the clasp of the dress, just at the base of Wilson’s neck. He slid the button free and gently tugged on the zipper.

“House…..” Wilson barely whispered.

House carried on pulling the zipper slowly down, trailing a finger down the exposed skin of Wilson’s spine as he did so, “I think we’d better get you out of this dress now…”

Wilson nodded, “And these shoes,” his voice was far from steady, “my feet are killing me.”

House smiled into the back of Wilson’s neck, as he hooked his thumbs under the straps and slid them down Wilson’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said as the dress pooled to the floor, “next time I’ll buy you something more comfortable.”

The end

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