Getting More like Fiction Each Day

By GirlX2

(A quick note to my POTC readers: I have NOT given up on 'Shoebox'. My muse is being fickle though, and I wrote this as a break.)
-

The first thing House diagnosed that day was something he didn't even open his eyes for. While still lying in bed, he could feel an unaccustomed stiffness in his back and non-operated on limbs.

'I,' He thought. 'Am behind on my Vicodin schedule.'

Risking temporary blindness by way of his shabby curtains, he opened his eyes. The clock beside him read eight, his usual awakening hour.

'Okay, not behind on the schedule. Must have slept wrong.' House re-evaluated his diagnosis.

Groaning his usual groans, he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His cane was in its accustomed place against the nightstand. As he reached for it a tiny flutter of discordance niggled at him.

He'd long ago learned it was crucial to pay attention to these flutters.

He slowly pulled his hand back and did a mental check on the situation for anything out of the ordinary. Finally, the uneasy feeling bubbled up into a brilliant insight, much like others before it.

"My feet aren't touching the floor." House murmured and directed his gaze downward.

-

After nearly twenty minutes of arm pinching, logistic working, and any other methods of awakening failed, House climbed (literally) onto his sofa and sat in puzzlement. It wasn't a dream, coma fantasy, or hallucination…at least not one that his Infallible Logic had yet dispelled. Something had happened that had reduced him to thirty seven inches in height (He'd brought his thirty six inch cane into the living room to do a comparative analysis), exactly half his normal size.

"I can't go in to work like this." He muttered, thinking longingly of his motorcycle. A long ride would have been good, but there was no way he'd be able to control the bike in this state. He couldn't even manage his clothes, as tee shirt and boxers were all but falling off his now child-sized body.

"Better call in some backup." He picked up the ridiculously oversized phone.

-

"This is INSANE!"

House watched with mild fascination as Wilson panicked. The younger man was pacing irregularly through House's living room, stepping over the usual piles of junk.

"When…how…WHY…"

"Finish a sentence Wilson."

"You did something, or took something, or…or experimented on yourself, is that it?" Wilson grasped at straws.

House shrugged. "Barring a mix-up with my vicodin, no. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"A mix up? That could have-"

"No, unless sugar-pills are suddenly being produced by the guy from 'Honey I Shrunk the Kids'." House cut him off. "I got a bottle with placebos. I think Cuddy slipped them to me, as if I wouldn't notice."

"Yeah. Concentrate on that. That's very constructive." Wilson gave up and joined House on the couch, causing the smaller man to bounce.

"Have you put on weight?"

Wilson was rubbing his forehead. "Why are you being so calm about this?"

"I think the vicodin may have mellowed me out." House shrugged.

Wilson looked down at him in horror. "You took a full dose?"

"Well, withdrawal is just so annoying first thing in to morning." House retorted.

"You could have OD'd! A full dose at your size is like giving pills to a three year old!" Wilson shouted. "And God only knows what could happen if whatever caused this is in your system."

"I'd still rather not add vomiting, shivering, and excess pain to my current situation." House said.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"Easy. You get me some clothes that fit, we go to the clinic, and make my team figure out how to fix this."

"You are totally insane." Wilson marveled. "I never really wanted to believe it, but it's true."

"And get me something nice. I know I've turned into my own mini-me, but I won't wear anything with Power Rangers or rainbows on it."

"You can go out like that! You could be contagious." Wilson argued.

"All the more reason to get me into a sterile hospital."

"For all we know this could start an epidemic!"

"If that's the case you'd better go now, before you can't reach the gas pedals." House replied. "Because if this is catching you'resoon going to be joining me in Munchkin-land."

Wilson started to form a retort, but changed his mind halfway through. "You'd better shave or get something to cover your face. If anyone sees your stubble they'll know you're not a kid, and the last thing we need is more attention."

"Constructive criticism. The last refuge of the defeated." House said, smirking.

"I'll be back within an hour." Wilson stood up and started for the door.

"Bring back some doughnuts." House yelled after him. "I'm going to need a serious sugar-high to cope with the mental trauma of shrinking."

-

By the time Wilson returned House had bathed and pared down the wildest bits of his stubble. A clean tee-shirt hung on him, fitting no better than the one he'd slept in.

"What's up Doc?"

"I managed to get some clothes that should fit you." Wilson put a brown shopping bag on the table. "Shoes were a problem, so I just got some flip-flops."

House rummaged though the bag, unimpressed. "No…no…no way in hell…Ah, this is alright."

He pulled out a pre-rumpled black shirt reading 'Rock and Roll'.

"Just hurry. Cuddy is already pissed that you aren't coming in. I don't want to be excessively late on top of that."

House grabbed a few articles out of the bag and disappeared into the next room. "Any idea on how to sneak me in?"

"I could put you in Cameron's purse." Wilson replied dryly.

"Ha ha. Making fun of the shrunken cripple, really classy." House emerged a few moments later, sounding reassuringly like himself. He slowly limped over to Wilson.

"You're still going to need something to lean on. I could saw off part of your cane-"

"And wreak Old-Flamey? Never!" House cut him off.

" 'Old-Flamey'?" Wilson raised one eyebrow.

"You try thinking up a cool nickname for a cane."

Wilson sighed. "I'll just cut down a yardstick. Do you have one?"

"Yeah, in the storage unit outside."

"Then just wait in here a few minutes. I'll fix it up, then we can leave."

"Y'know, if this condition means I can get people to do stuff for me all the time without arguing, I may just want to keep it." House called after him.

"Great, now he's mister positive." Wilson grumbled as he went to the shed. "Shrinking has accomplished what even Zoloft couldn't."

'How am I going to sneak him in?' The Oncologist wondered as he located the yardstick and a handsaw. 'I could try and rush him past security…claim he's my nephew and keep his face covered…'

'And how do you explain the walking stick?' His inner critic demanded.

'Damn it.' Wilson bit his lip. He slowly began to saw the stick in half. 'I'll have to hide him somehow.'

He finished sawing through the wood. It was rough, but it would do.

'Hopefully once we're in there he'll be sitting down and not using it. We're going to have to run MIR, EKG, blood work and God knows what else.'

"I'm going to run tests on my best friend, who has shrunk to half his size overnight." He said aloud to see if it made any more sense that way.

It didn't.

"This is insane. Totally insane."

"If you're done being melodramatic I'm ready to go." House said, meeting him at the door.

Wilson glanced around quickly, trying to spot anyone looking in their direction. "Get in the car before someone sees you!"

"You're ashamed of me." House replied in mock disappointment and snatched the makeshift cane from him. Wilson hurried to the car and opened the back door.

"Get in!"

"Why am I riding in the back?"

"Because you're too small to ride in the front. The seatbelt can't restrain you properly."

"Mmm…Nope, don't care." House said, opening the passenger door.

"House!" Wilson whisper-yelled

"Wilson!" House replied. "We're wasting valuable testing time. Are you gonna get in or what?"

"So insane…" Wilson muttered, going to the Driver's side.

-
To be Continued...