daily writing (House crack)

[jmtorres]

8,863 / 50,000 (17.0%)

Dear niqaeli: I'm sorry. I ran off with your bunny. If you want to steal any part of this, feel free. It'd only be fair.

Dear amireal: Don't click on this. I'm telling you right now, don't look. If you look, you've no right to complain or tell me what a lunatic I am or anything, because I told you not to look.


Wilson called House on his cell phone at seven thirty that morning, although why he didn't just call the apartment, House didn't know. It wasn't like House ever left that early.

Wilson, though, apparently did. "I need a ride," he said, near frantic at his tardiness.

"On my bike?" House asked cheerfully, because Wilson had expressed such dismay at the idea of riding it before.

"I can't get in my car," Wilson sighed.

"Lock your keys in, did you?" House asked.

"Not exactly," Wilson said. "Just get over here. You won't believe me unless I show you, anyway."

So House drove over to Wilson's, expecting to see some truly impressive prank, like someone having filled his sedan with jello or whipped cream or an elephant or something. Instead, Wilson answered the door wearing a belted pair of pants and wings.

House took this in. "Is it Halloween?" he guessed.

"No," Wilson said sourly.

"Valentine's day?"

"You see a bow and arrow?" Wilson asked.

House thought harder. "Easter, you faithless, religion-hopping bastard?"

"I'm sure I'd wear a bunny suit if I were dressing up for Easter," Wilson answered.

"Christmas?"

"House. It's June. Do you know any religious or pseudoreligious holidays which occur in June?" Wilson asked him.

House considered. "A couple dozen saints' days?"

Wilson shook his head at this.

"So why are you all dressed up?" House asked. "Did you go to a really insane party last night and get them superglued to you while you were passed out drunk? Because you do kind of look like shit." Though not quite hungover so much as, hm, gaunt. Everywhere except his chest, which was actually looking pretty muscular.

Wilson turned around and said, "Do they look like they're glued on?"

"Damn," said House, poking, because they didn't. He felt up under them, and they joined almost seamlessly with his shoulderblades. Almost, because there was a boundary where the feathers stopped. Hmm. Feathers. House got a good grip around the quill of one and yanked.

"Ow," Wilson protested, pulling away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just wanted a sample," House said, frowning at the feather. It looked pretty avian to him.

"Ask next time," Wilson grumbled. "So you got a spare helmet, or what?"

"You could fly in," House suggested.

"I really, really couldn't," Wilson said.

"First of all," House said, "let me thank you for calling me instead of an ambulance, which I totally would have done, but really, I would be honored to drive you in. I wouldn't miss Cuddy's face for the world. Secondly, how are you planning to get out the door?"

Wilson folded his arms and drew his wings in--if they really were connected at the scapula, did that mean he'd have to stretch his arms out like Superman to get full wingspan? Wow, he'd look stupid. House wanted to be there when he tried. Anyway, he got his wings pulled in a bit, but not enough, so he turned sideways and squeezed out that way.

"Wow," said House. "They look even cooler in the light."

"I hate you so much," said Wilson, rubbing his face.

The drive to work was pretty eventful. People staring at them and having minor accidents, and also, two blocks from the hospital, Wilson went limp at his back. House slowed down to thirty and drove him around to Admitting.

"What the hell?" said the nurse.

"Yeah," said House. "You probably shouldn't lay him on his back. Blood pressure's low, get some fluids in him. Check blood sugar, iron, tox screen..." House frowned. He had wings and now, fainting spells. "And get him a private room, won't you?"

The nurse stared at him.

House got on the elevator and headed up to his office. "Forty-two year old male spontaneously grows wings overnight," he announced. "Does anyone have any potential causes for this?"

Foreman snorted. "Red Bull?"

"Huh," said House. "That would be unprecedented truth in advertising. Don't think he's into those energy drinks, though. Anyone got anything else?"

Cameron said, "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," House said, leaning forward. "Wings." He wrote it up on the whiteboard. "Lost consciousness on the way to the hospital." He wrote up "passed out," then added "low BP." He wished he had the tests back. "Apparent weight loss, thinning in the face, had his pants belted pretty tight. Probably not actual. Just a redistribution. I wonder if the blood pressure could be caused by the sudden expansion of the vascular system? Just not enough blood to go around."

"Um," said Chase, raising his hand. "I know you're generally opposed, but could we, maybe, go see the patient?"

"Sure," said House, capping the marker. "Maybe he's woken up."

Wilson had, in fact, woken up. He was sitting up in bed, wings trailing over either side. Also, still shirtless. Maybe the nurses were superstitious?

"Dr. Wilson!" Cameron said. "Are you all right?"

"If this is some stupid joke--" Foreman said, though mostly in House's direction.

"I don't think it is," said Chase, who'd gone straight for Wilson's back.

"It's not," Wilson said testily. "Hello, everybody, welcome to the freak show."

"I can't believe you didn't tell us it was Wilson!" Cameron said, accusingly.

"Why? Do you think that the fact that he's an oncologist is relevant?" House asked.

"Well, but--" Cameron protested.

House ignored her and limped over to the bureau. He got a gown out and threw it at Wilson. "For Christ's sake, cover up your nipples, you whore."

"So sorry they offend you," Wilson said. "I'd've put a shirt on before you came by, but I had wings."

"They don't offend me," said House. "They just look cold."

Wilson looked down at his chest. So did Cameron, before turning pink and quickly looking away. Foreman was looking at the ceiling.

Chase said, "Here, let me help you with that," and pulled one of the sleeves over Wilson's arm.

"Thanks," Wilson said quietly as Chase tied the waist-level tie below his wings. He looked up at House and added, "You know, if I really am an angel, you're going to regret calling me a whore."

"What are you going to do? Smite me?"

Comments

[jmtorres.livejournal.com]

*grins*