Disclaimer: Ah, if I owned House MD they would've never changed Wilson's or Chase's hair.
Author's Note: From the loonybird who brought you the House Rangers, I give you--Super House!
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On the tiny, no resolution TV screen, a pretty local newswoman declared the newfound man saving people and stopping crime around the city. It shot to a clip of one of the people the man had rescued, showing a breathless teenage girl saying, "It was...amazing. He saved me. He was wearing tights. He must've been a superhero. In tights." Then it cut to a blurry picture of a man in, yes, tights, but also, a cape and flamboyant, bright colors and a mask. "And so we wait to hear more on this spectacular vigilante." The news faded out with another clip of someone proclaiming how awesome the super-speedy hero was.
Cameron snorted and leant forward to turn down the volume on House's crappy office TV. They all hated this TV, and had of course filed many complaints such as 'oncology has widescreen and a Tivo, maternity has surround sound and DVR, and we have this crappy 1906 TV, that with we're lucky if it even turns on?' The reply to these was, 'you shouldn't be knowing what maternity and oncology has' and Diagnostics remained Tivo-less, DVR-less, Surround Sound-less, and Widescreen-less.
She, Chase, and Foreman were congregated in House's office at the moment, because he was supposed to be meeting them there. They'd gotten a patient's file from him earlier to diagnose and were eager to discuss it with him. All the more reason for House to stay away. They'd been waiting for an hour and had, in that time, watched Blues Clues and the local news, both of which they were proud to say they fully understood. The first was a bit confusing but they got the hang of it.
"Ah, right, Miss That's What The Police Are For doesn't like vigilantes going about saving people." Chase said, shooting a glare at Cameron. Even a nurse could tell that there was a long-running argument going on between this two. No, it's not whose hair was better, it's more like...
"Come on, Chase. That's what the police are for. They're the ones supposed to be catching criminals and rescuing kittens from trees, not this… psycho in spandex." With that retort Cameron sat back down and shuffled some papers as to look important. Sometimes she had difficulty with that and had to remind people.
"Cameron, get a clue. Obviously, the police are not doing their job; otherwise this 'psycho' wouldn't have found a need to go out there in the first place!"
"Maybe he's a PSYCHO!"
"I am so not a psycho." And that was House, entering the room and looking appropriately affronted, blinking at Cameron.
"I wasn't talking about you!" She practically shrieked this at him, her face flushed red with anger and frustration.
House stopped in his steps and stared at her. Foreman and Chase stared, too.
Cameron sighed and then began to breathe calmly.
House, sitting down near Foreman, asked him, "What did I miss?"
"That vigilante prancing around town? Yeah, Cameron and Chase are of separate opinions. And they never shut up about it." Foreman replied in the same quiet, even voice.
House raised an eyebrow. "And what do you say on the subject?"
"The psycho, for all I care, can save all the underage girls he wants as long as he's not hurting anyone."
Shrugging, he said quite rationally, "I agree."
While Foreman seemed shocked House agreed him on something, House looked up at the glaring Chase and Cameron.
"Well. The patient?" Startled, they remembered that, yes, the world did not revolve around the, and gathered the files. "Hop to, hop to..." House encouraged them cheerfully.
"Uh. Okay. Patient's history showed nothing much...few heart problems..."
"LP came up with nothing."
"So did the blood tests."
"And the MRI."
"CATSCAN, too."
"From the looks of it, House, there's nothing wrong with this patient."
House thumped his cane on the table. "That's because there isn't."
They gave the right response: "what the hell?"
"You...gave...us...a patient's file...a completely healthy patient...to diagnose." Chase stated slowly, as if to make sure.
"Another gold star for Chase!" House squealed sarcastically and then began digging around through the piles of papers on his desk. Apparently looking for something.
Foreman quietly wished him luck with that.
Cameron shuffled some more papers to seem even more important.
"You know, that doesn't work, Cameron..." Foreman told her, having figured her out--not like it was hard.
She ignored him.
He sighed and turned up the news, blaring more news about the superhero, "---only comes out at night, which gives us reason to believe that this man --or is it even a man, some wonder-- leads an regular life by day, but a empowered one at night." It was the pretty newswoman again. Her voice made House glance up and whistle. She continued, "The man has been reported to be 'tall' and 'fast'."
"How descriptive." Cameron muttered nonchalantly.
"Also, and it may not fit everyone's idea of a hero, but he's been rumored to have quite the tongue on him. Making this remark to a man who had just robbed a bank, 'You never listened to McGruff the crime dog, did you?' and then, more surprisingly, to a woman he had just saved from a hostage situation, 'Next time you get taken hostage, wear something that matches better. Pink and orange? What the hell is wrong with you?'" The news lady giggled and Cameron mocked her in a high pitched voice.
The news lady then said as in cut back to the main newsman, "Well, John, what do you think of our sarcastic savior?" John the Main News Guy said, also chuckling in the same kind of 'this isn't really that funny' voice, "Yes, he is certainly our Sarcastic Savior, isn't he?"
"Oh, God." House groaned loudly. As they were watching the screen, they couldn't see the look of pure disgust and horror on his face at the name 'sarcastic savior'.
"What now, House?" Cameron sounded exasperated. Much like Cuddy.
"Can't find my Magic 8 Ball." He quickly lied and dug through more papers. "Grrr."
There was a pause where House moved around more papers, Cameron glared at Chase, Chase glare at Cameron, Foreman glared at both of them for glaring at each other, then Chase and Cameron glared at him for glaring at them for glaring at each other. Consequently, House fell left out.
The door opened and Wilson came in, smiling happily and greeting them, "Good day, brothers in arms! Oh, sorry, sisters, too, didn't see you there, Chase."
House snickered behind a stack of overdue clinic requests and Chase rolled his eyes. Wilson took a seat across from House, picked up the tennis ball and started playing with it. House snatched it back.
"So, Wilson..." Cameron began, already annoying. Chase put his head in his hands. "What do you think of this 'Sarcastic Savior' person?"
Wilson looked blank. "Who?"
Foreman had to laugh. Even if it was an odd time to laugh. Wilson glowered blankly.
"The...superhero, per say." Cameron tried again.
"Oh! Yeah. Well, you know, whatever. Police aren't doing it, someone oughtta, huh?" He shrugged noncommittally.
Chase grinned triumphantly. He nodded and gave Cameron a look that said, "cameron: 1, chase: 2."
House came back from underneath a jumble of CDs and tapes. "Aha!" He held up an Etch-A-Sketch and began working on it.
Wilson took this moment to snatch back the tennis ball and resume playing with it, while House played with the Etch-A-Sketch.
Cameron, ever the skeptic, asked, "Um, House, what're you doing?"
As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he replied, "Etching a sketch."
She nodded, still skeptical, as if to say, 'riiiight.'
But then, out of the blue, Chase quipped, as he sat up straighter, "Or! Are you sketching an etch?"
House stared, eyes wide. He seemed shocked that Chase--pretty boy, Australian, blonde, 'the truth is out there' Chase-- said that.
Thankfully they were spared any more awkward silence by Cuddy entering. "House! You have clinic duty."
"Really? I'll have to blog this, gosh--"
"Stop it. And get down there. We're overflowing, there's an epidemic of the flu going around."
"Which means over protective mothers and runny nosed children?"
"You know it."
"...I need more Vicodin."
"Lots. You, too, Wilson, you're needed down there."
"Uh. No. I have...uh...patient. Coming, soon. Yeah. And...I'm consulting, later."
"Later. Right now, though..."
"Consulting in Georgia."
"You're consulting in… Georgia, Wilson?"
"Yes."
"Uh. Okay...then. We'll go with that. Nevermind, Wilson..."
"How come he gets out of it?"
"Because, House, he is a good doctor who normally does work around here!"
And during this argument the ducklings had managed to slip by unscathingly and escape to the cafeteria, where they found House about 15 minutes after they arrived, and Wilson another 5 minutes after House. And Cuddy 10 minutes after that to yell at House and Wilson. But mostly House. Who're we kidding? Just House.
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Later, after a long day of telling mothers that Children's Tylenol was an over the counter drug, they didn't need a prescription, their child was not dying, it was not cancer, and yes, I am always this much of a jackass, House came home to his 221B Baker Street home and immediately turned on the news, where they were still theorizing about the 'Sarcastic Savior'. He groaned once more at the name, and then switched off the TV, meandered over to his stereo and flicked that on. Baba O'Reilly blared out and he was happy to hear something that wasn't about his alter-ego. No one would believe him if he'd told them, of course. Doctor Gregory House? Helping people?
Preposterous.
But it was true.
He, Greg House, was the Sarcastic Savior.
The only thing he regretted was the damn name. Couldn't they think of anything a bit better? Cooler? Less alliterational? Stupid media.
Well, at least they weren't portraying him as villain.
Not yet.
What had he gotten himself into? Superheroism. Nicknames. Media hating.
Now all he needed was an arch nemesis. Had to be next.
Sarcastic Savior...
He grumbled about the name as he leant his cane up against the wall and plopped himself down on his couch. His lovely, lovely couch.
Another thing about the superhero thing. It happened suddenly. He just didn't feel any pain one night. Gone. All gone. At first he'd thought it was a dream...had to be...he'd been dreaming of it for years...no pain...freedom...and he'd woken up and he'd needed the cane again. It was a dream, he rationalized, an incredibly realistic dream. But then it kept on happened and one time he decided to go for a run. In the middle of the night. And, instead of limping along the street, strength overwhelmed him and he sped down the street in a flash. So fast. He went back to bed, after that, and tried to shake himself out of it. Hallucinating? Now, he worried...but every night he waited for that time when he didn't the help of a third leg. It was exhilarating. He tested it out, this newfound power, and found the limits: only at night, super speed, astounding strength, and undeniable need to do something. So he began to. But first...a costume. Didn't every average man who gained powers have one? Of course. He wouldn't want to feel left out. It was just a ragtag sort of costume. He tried to avoid the spandex but it was practically impossible. It was more of a jumpsuit/diving suit. Not completely horrible, which was what he was going for. Yellow and blue were the primary colors. Blue, with yellow lining. The yellow cape with the blue streaks was nice. Impractical. He soon, after a few nights, got rid of it. The boots were his favorite. He'd found them on eBay. Like go-go boots, except blue with yellow stripes and more comfortable. The mask was the original black strip mask. Eh, it'd work. Clichéd, but not bad. He stuck up his hair with hair gel and pretended it was cool.
He knew what he doing with this power, had come to terms with it, and managed to keep another life. It was making him so happy. He lived through the day to be in the night; to run free and help people...see? Nobody would believe him. Doctor House had a limp; Sarcastic Savior could run at top speeds.
Sometimes he felt like Batman.
He just wished he was as rich as Bruce Wayne, as he glanced around his apartment and wished for a pizza. And sometimes he felt like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, he thought, wishing he had a pizza.
Tonight he would go out, again, and fight some dime-a-dozen criminals, like every night. What he needed was an arch nemesis. Someone he could have a long-running feud with…who he respected for genius but hated for evilness...he wondered, suddenly, if Cuddy would have enough free time to take up that job.
And then he wondered what people would say if he told them he was the Sarcastic Savior. "I always saw you as more of a super villain, House. In fact, I've always seen you as soulless evil being."-would be a typical response. He did not plan on telling anyone.
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Author's Note: Review! This'll get better, I promise...a little jumbled, I know.
It's going somewhere. Trust me. I've got ideas.
Review, please. Is it good, bad, SHOULD I CONTINUE, do I belong in an insane asylum, do I need cake..? The answer to that last one is yes. Aha. Suggestions are lovely, you know. :D -hint-