| |
Clothes Make The Man
by Topaz Eyes
Author's Note: Originally written as a comment fic for uarazy2
~~~~~
House stared sourly at the small wrapped box on the conference room table. The metallic red paper glinted ominously in the late winter sunlight streaming through the window.
"I don't like it," he stated. He poked it with his cane. The box slid a bit along the glass tabletop, but otherwise remained silent. The three fellows stood in a half-circle behind him, each with their hands in their pants pockets, watching.
"It's just a box, House," Cameron said.
"A shirt-sized box," he replied, frowning. "Wrapped suspiciously like a gift."
"So it's a gift. Can't someone give you something nice once in a while?"
"No," he replied flatly.
"What does the tag say?" Foreman asked. "Who's it from?"
House leaned over and peered at the tag. "A Secret Admirer," he said. "Great, all my stalker's dreams come true. Except for not being Carmen Electra."
"It doesn't have to contain a shirt," Chase said. "It could be a book, some CDs--"
"Some journals, maybe," Foreman added.
"Uh uh. Feels too light for that." House circled the table, eying it like it would leap at his throat. "It's clothing, all right."
"Well, why don't you open it and see what it is?" Chase challenged.
Something--seemed off about his voice. House straightened, the hair rising on the back of his neck.
"That sounded eager. You never sound eager," he accused, slowly turning on his heel--
And stopped short.
Something was indeed off. Terribly, terribly off. About all three of them. He couldn't identify it at first. All of them looked normal enough, all wearing their professional white lab coats...
Until his appraising gaze took in Cameron's modest cleavage. "What the--?" His eyes slid sideways, over to Chase, and Foreman--
"HOLY CRAP!"
All of them wore identically eye-gouging, brown-and-peach-and-lime checked knit sweater vests.
Too much Vicodin, he thought wildly, making me hallucinate. "Is this April Fool's and no one bothered to tell me?" he asked, suddenly feeling very faint. He took a step back towards the balcony door. The fellows stepped forward in unison.
"It's part of a team-building exercise," Wilson announced from the hallway door. "Everyone feels like part of the group when they dress the same way."
House pivoted, relieved at the sound of his voice. "I have a team, thanks," he replied, and his jaw gaped. "Wilson?"
Wilson spread his hands, the checks on his sweater vest appearing to glow in the light. "I started the trend," he said, smiling. "Then Chase, then Cameron, then Foreman."
Something clicked in House's brain. "They fell like dominoes," he said.
"World fashion domination. But you kept resisting," Wilson said smoothly. "Now open your present. Let's see what you look like."
House shivered with dread when Cuddy appeared beside him, smiling very sweetly. "Be a good boy," she added, "and I won't give you double Clinic hours."
He had to admit, grudgingly, that her sweater vest accentuated her very lovely twins. "I'd rather work triple hours, thanks," he said, backing up until his butt hit the balcony door. The fellows advanced, Cuddy and Wilson striding right behind them.
He balanced on his good leg and held his cane out in front of him like a fighting staff. "Not one more step," he warned.
"House, it's all right," Cameron soothed, holding the box out towards him. "Just put it on, we'll sit down and everything will be normal soon--"
"I doubt that," House snarled. In a thrice he flipped the door handle down and hopped backwards onto the concrete balcony. Five pairs of eyes stared at him, oddly blank.
"Any closer and I'll jump!"
"Chase, go left! Foreman, go right! We need him alive!" Wilson yelled.
They lunged, and House loped the two remaining steps to the brick railing. He felt a hand gripping his shirttails as he vaulted over the edge--
~~~~~
House woke with a start, the journal folded over his face.
"Come on House, you'll be late for your lecture!" Cameron admonished.
Only a dream then. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," he grumbled, resenting Cuddy for actually making him talk to students.
Then he looked down at his chest. At his brown, peach and lime-checked sweater vest.
And screamed.
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|