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Doctor Snark and his Sidekick Wonder Boy Wilson
by gena
Doctor Snark and his sidekick Wonder Boy Wilson: The Case of the Plague carrying Leper who had Anthrax but Everyone else thought it was Bronchitis until he had a Seizure and Almost Died
"Uh, I'm just not sure this is a good idea," James Wilson whispered.
""You're just jealous that I got the good costume," House sneered.
"Yeah, that's it. I really wanna dress like a gay rodeo clown."
House glared at him, "If I had Death Ray Eyes you would so be toast, buddy."
"Oooooh," Wilson snapped, "lucky me Toys R Us was all out." He trudged along beside House's limping form, shaking his head and shrugging in a half apologetic half bewildered way in response to the puzzled looks the pair were getting from other hospital employees. Normally when he and House strolled the corridors of PPTH they got looks but those were of a knowing nature, as if some preconceived notion the onlookers' possessed was being proven by the shoulders-brushing-matched-gait-no-personal-space-between-them way they moved. This time it was different - very different. In fact it was so different Wilson wanted to remove his pocket protector and wear a paper sack over his head so no one would know it was him. House was sneaking along the hallway, dashing from receded doorway to receded doorway as if he were a spy. Now, this in itself would have been peculiar, but the fact House was hampered by a severe limp and an abnormally long cane made the sight - one to behold, but from a distance - and maybe with your fist pressed tightly to your mouth so you wouldn't laugh out loud.
"Wilson," House hissed, using the shaft of his cane to halt Wilson's forward progress. "You call that skulking?"
"No, I call it a futile attempt at distancing myself from my maniac best friend. Why? Was I suppose to be skulking?"
House darted a look in either direction then pulled Wilson into the nearest supply closet. It was down two floors and over a corridor and by the time they got there Wilson's paisley tie would never be the same and the man himself had turned a bright blue color from lack of oxygen. "You haven't forgotten," House said, releasing his grip on Wilson's tie, "that we are on a Super Secret Mission of the Utmost Importance?" Getting no response he performed CPR and tried again. "Well?"
"N-no," Wilson wheezed, "I-I think th-the near th-throttling will serve as ample reminder."
"Okay." House tossed his amazing Tardis bag on a nearby shelf and began pulling out an array of multi colored garments. Wilson, still recovering from House's Tie Grasp of Death, a skill he suspected House had learned at the feet of his Portuguese sensei, dug around until he found a portable oxygen tank and indulged. House continued to pull items from his case; a spandex shirt, some shiny black underwear, a cape with a big H printed in the exact shade of cornflower blue that matched his eyes, two pairs of boots, another shorter cape with a W over the breast, what looked like silver tights and a couple of masks. "That's everything," he said then turned to where Wilson sat crumpled and woozy. "Get dressed."
Wilson looked from House to the pile of clothes. He looked from the pile of clothes to House. He looked from the pile of clothes to House to the door. House was tall and had a long reach but surely he could out run him. Yeah, if he distracted House he could make it. "Is that Cudd-"
"Not gonna work," House said. "Put 'em on. We got a Mission." He stood glaring at Wilson until Wilson, stifling a sob, picked up a spandex shirt. "You're green and gold." Wilson nodded wordlessly and, still under House's watchful gaze, began sorting his "clothing" from the pile. It took a fair amount of time, most of it spent swearing like a sailor and sweating like Ruben Studdard on stage, but he finally got the outfit, and yes, it was an Outfit in every girlish sense of the word, on. It was worse than he'd ever imagined it could be. It was worse than the first day of sixth grade in 1978 when his mother had bought him checked slacks and those cool platform boots he'd wanted, the ones that no one else was wearing. Except this had a cape and underwear that was worn on the outside, a mistake the teenage Wilson had only made once. Wilson's only consolation was watching House struggle with his own costume.
He had to grab the oxygen bottle during the middle of House's endeavor, sucking cool O2 into his starved lungs, or he thought he might pass out from the sheer hilarity of House shoving his long legs into silver tights. While House was bent over straightening his seams, Wilson took the opportunity to sneak his cell phone out of his discarded lab coat and snap a picture of House's spandex covered ass. Pressing a couple of buttons the picture was on its way to eforeman@ppth.edu and internet infamy. It didn't take House long with the rest of his costume. He'd had worn his spandex shirt under his normal suit jacket that morning, showing Wilson during one of their many private moments in empty exam rooms. When House had first explained his plan, going so far as to reveal the stylized DS emblazon on eye piercing silver fabric, Wilson had of coursed blamed drugs. Actually he'd blamed the lack of drugs in his own system. Sometimes dealing with House required a person to be so stoned they didn't really care what he did. It worked for Cuddy, Wilson figured it could work for him.
"Ready W?"
"Hey!" Wilson protested. "I don't wanna be called W. Nowadays that has negative connotations."
House gave him patented whiny-face response then heaved a sigh. "Okay. You can still be Wilson but I want to be called Doc Snark. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Wilson said. House flipped his cape theatrically, fastening it with a crested pin. Wilson stared at it, realization dawning that what he'd taken as the Hippocratic staff was in reality a cane circled by tiny little pills - Vicodin, if the prominent V on them was any indication. He settled his own cape on his shoulders, relived that it merely snapped together and he couldn't be accused of product placement.
"To the Snark-Mobile!" House shouted and they burst from the closet. The fact they were finally coming out of the closet surprised very few people, the sight of them in their shiny superhero costumes, on the other hand, - well, that didn't surprised too many people either. The fact that they mowed down Cameron and Foreman, and missed Chase only by sheer dumb luck surprised only Cameorn and Foreman. But they were unconscious so really only Chase had a reaction.
"Miller's tests all came back negative," Chase said.
"Oh, okay," House said and took the file Chase handed him. "Did you run a pancreatic stereoscope?"
"Yep."
"A digital truncated fossil scan with side sweep enhancing?"
"Of course."
Foiled by Chase's English-masquerading-as-Australian competence, House growled. "Well, do it again." Chase stared at him, floppy blond hair, which seemed to darken as he stood there, casually flipping House off without really moving. Wilson looked away from the unsettling encounter, only to have his eyes land on the equally unsettling sight of House's nether regions crammed into tight tights, and shiny black underwear. Neither left anything to the imagination - and Wilson had a vivid imagination - one he had often exercised on what House might look like in tight tights, though the underwear on the outside thing was new. He looked away but quickly realized there must be some kind of magnetic quality in House's shiny black underwear because his gaze was dragged back time and time again no matter how hard he struggled!
"You," House barked at Chase, "get down to the lab and drag those two slackers with you. Wilson - get your eyes off my crotch and follow me to the Snark-mobile!" Limping quickly around Chase who had tossed Cameron over one shoulder and grabbed Foreman by the left ankle, House made his way along the main corridor towards the front entrance. Wilson had no choice but to follow, head down, praying that no one would notice. They'd cleared the clinic door, rounded the main desk and could practically smell the fresh evening air when Dr. Lisa Cuddy's voice cracked the air like a whip, lashing around their suddenly quivering hearts and slamming them both to a quick, violent stop.
"Where the hell do you two think you're going?" She demanded, then stopped dead in her high heeled tracks, gaping open-mouthed at their costumes. "Ohmygod, you're the Ambiguously Gay Duo. I've always suspected. I even started some of the rumors - but -but - proof!" She fell back against the desk in a swoon, hand pressed dramatically to her heart.
"Quick," House shouted, "while she's fainted - Away!"
"You didn't buy that crap did you?" Cuddy asked, smoothing her hair and the front of her Catholic schoolgirl skirt. She moved to where House and Wilson stood, gave Wilson a coy little wink and a pat on his ass, then rounded on House. "I don't pay you to dress up like a gay rodeo clown and prance through this hospital," she said, "that was Vogler's job but I guess since he's gone...." She shrugged. "Okay, just give me seventy three extra clinic hours this week."
"Seventy three!" House roared, "That's impossible! I'll have to force all the Ducklings, Wilson, Wilson's wife, my ball-busting ex-girlfriend and her pasty husband into doing hours to make up that time." Cuddy merely shrugged. "All right," he moved in close, his intense blue eyes boring into Cuddy's with all its normal arrogance but also a strangely hypnotic sexual tension. "But I demand you wander through in your grossly inappropriate blouses and maybe that scandalous tennis dress."
Cuddy met his smoldering glare without even blinking. "Deal." They shook on it. "So what's with the outfits?" Her gaze raked both men, lingering on the shiny underpants where it became momentarily glazed. She shook herself. "Is there a party?"
"You could give her the Eyebrows of Doom," House muttered to Wilson out of the corner of his mouth.
"I'm prohibited by law and the producers of Dead Poet's Society," Wilson whispered, louder he said, "Uh, we - that is - House and I, we, uh..." Having exhausted his amazing talent for lying Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and peered at her with a watery brown gaze that seemed to say he was manly but still sensitive enough to cry but he wasn't going to - until he was alone.
"We're on a mission," House snapped and grabbed Wilson's hand. "Come on, we don't want the fondue to get cold." Wilson gave cuddy a sheepish smile as he was tugged along in House's wake.
Once they were free of the hospital and heading across the parking garage towards House's cherry red Vette, Wilson slowed. "What are we really doing?"
House got in behind the wheel and waited until Wilson, with a resigned sigh, got in beside him. "We are going to cruise the streets looking for medical catastrophes. We'll root out those one in a million circumstances that result in bizarre illnesses and baffling medical mysteries and eradicated them before any innocent lives are lost!"
"Really?" Wilson gazed at his best friend with a new found respect. Well, not a new found respect because he'd always respected House's amazing intellect, cunning stealth, and cagy ability to think of all the angles. Except for the Girl Scout Thin Mint incident. Even he couldn't forgive House for hoodwinking a whole troop out of a tractor trailer load of cookies. Yes, he had benefited from House's duplicitous act, but still it had cost House a few kernels of Wilson's respect.
"Yeah, really," House said with that soft, smile he reserved just for Wilson. "Or we can go get pizza and watch the season premiere of CSI."
"Yeah, let's do that," Wilson said. "These tights are starting to chafe." They peeled out of the parking garage. "Hey, what about that guy?"
"What guy?"
Wilson sighed, "The plague carrying leper who really had anthrax but everyone thought it was bronchitis until he had a seizure and almost died?"
"Oh," House frowned and shoved the gearshift into third. "Episode two."
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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 Fox Television, 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.
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