This is a belated Halloween fic written as a very alternate character interpretation. It can be read as an AU. Rated for themes on gender and sex.
I own nothing but a false sense of accomplishment.
-00000-
Dr. House stood outside the office, his destination. He balanced on his left foot so he could slowly tap his cane on the carpeted floor.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
He wasn't sure he wanted to do this. When he left behind Dr. Nolan's dubious brand of care before the crane collapse he never expected to darken this doorway again. He never expected he'd voluntarily throw himself back to the false sense of reality promised to him by a snake oil salesman. He never believed he'd be the one to initiate that contact, especially not through an emergency meeting made both on a whim and after a long time deliberating.
A very long time. Years, if he were honest with himself.
He was sure he wanted to do this. He prodded the door in front of him open.
"Dr. House," greeted the occupant. "It's good to see you again."
"Dr. Nolan," House returned.
"Have a seat," Nolan said, gesturing. "It's been awhile. How've you been doing? Anything new in your life?"
House settled himself down in a comfy chair and stared at a print on the wall. Neo-impressionism, meant to look pretty and calming while conveying no information about the owner. "I'd like to go on methadone, just for a week," he said.
One of Nolan's eyebrows raised as he came over to the second comfy chair. "What's happened?"
"Things have changed," House admitted. "I started dating Cuddy. I moved back into my old place. There was a crane collapse. I lost a patient. I'm not happy. But I remember a time when I was…"
-00000-
Four months. He'd been divorced for four months and Wilson was still shocked on some primal level. He started into the glass he was holding and downed the contents.
"You're so used to booze you're taking shots of water?" House asked. He sat on the couch behind Wilson, tuning a guitar.
Wilson twisted around in his chair to glare at the man behind him. House still hadn't gotten dressed after crashing on Wilson's couch; he wore sweatpants, a t-shirt, and one sock. His shoulder-length hair was stringy and frizzed. "It's five o'clock somewhere," Wilson mumbled.
"In Iceland, maybe," House said. He plucked a few chords thoughtfully before going back to tuning. "Know what you need?"
"Oh, God, no," Wilson complained. "I do not need a hooker. I do not need a relationship, I do not need some woman fawning over me. What I need is to be left alone."
"I was going to say 'a change of scenery' but hookers aren't a bad idea."
Wilson gave him a glare.
House plucked his A-string a couple of times while tuning it, trying to get it perfect. His face went from thoughtful to triumphant when he found the perfect note. He strummed a quick chord across the range to hear the product of his efforts. "Okay, no hookers," he promised. "There's a club on the far side of town I'm going to tomorrow if you want to come. I promise you won't have to hit on anyone. You can just sit there and get drunk if that's what you want."
"I can sit here and get drunk," Wilson pointed out before getting up to refill his glass from the sink. He fell back into his chair at the kitchen table before swirling his glass of water. He was about to take a swig when what he was doing occurred to him. He glared at the glass like it was the object's fault that House was right. That he really was essentially taking shots of water. "Nevermind, I'll go with you."
House looked surprised for a moment, covering it by paying attention to his instrument. He hadn't thought Wilson would agree so easily.
The next day found House hogging the bathroom. He was interrupted by indignant pounding.
"House! It's my bathroom!" Wilson sounded muffled through the door.
"Busy…" House shouted. Preening counted as busy, right?
"You've been in there half the day! Samantha never even took this long!"
"You showered this morning."
"And I need one before we go tonight. What are you doing in there anyway?"
House smirked at the mirror as he finished combing his hair. It fell around his face in waves, like a curly-haired Prince Charming. He posed a little in the mirror and grinned. Tonight was going to be fun. He opened the door, ignoring demands and confused questions. Let Wilson use the bathroom, he could finish at least some of his preparation without a mirror. When Wilson was finished House could just hog the bathroom again for the rest.
-00000-
It was getting near when they needed to leave. House looked himself in the mirror for the fifth time to make sure he was ready. Truth be told, he was nervous. Wilson didn't have the foggiest idea what he'd agreed to and by going out there House was baring his soul to more than just ridicule. He pursed his lips before leaning over to kiss the mirror for luck.
A bright red kiss-print marred the glass. House smiled, a sinfully seductive smile. One breath and he opened the bathroom door to face the music.
Everything stopped when Wilson looked up from his perch on the couch. Wilson's face showed his emotions perfectly, shock dominating over disbelief and a little bit of fear. House hated that fear, felt it claw at his insides in an attempt to make him ashamed of himself. He could hear his father's voice in the back of his mind, demanding to know why he'd expected anything else.
House wore a light blue dress that barely reached the middle of his thighs. Stockings hugged his legs, held up by garters attached to the overbust corset underneath that hugged his torso to give him a waist and hips. Strappy high-heeled sandals, white elbow-length gloves, and brass bangles on his wrists added to the ensemble. A handful of long beaded necklaces draped over his shoulders, dangling down between the slight breasts produced by stuffing bra inserts under the corset. A cloche hat sat over his gently curled hair.
"Greg?" squeaked a tiny voice from the couch. Wilson still gaped there but at least he hadn't run away yet.
House bit the bullet and fixed Wilson with his best 'I know I'm gorgeous' look. "I'm singin' tonight," he said. "How do I look?"
The gape changed slightly as Wilson's eyes raked him up and down. He could feel those eyes at every point, eventually settling onto his face. House put on a smirk for false confidence.
"You're in drag," Wilson stated, voice cracking.
House let the smirk deepen. Wilson hadn't run screaming yet… "Well, ya."
"You're taking me to a drag show?"
House fell into a practiced pose, one hand on a hip and a sultry look aimed at Wilson. "It's a gay bar with a drag show, so, yes."
"You're gay?" Wilson asked.
"I'm not." It wasn't really a lie…
"You're not?"
House could see the war between what Wilson was seeing and what he was hearing. It took his breath away for a moment to realize that what he'd said was being given as much weight as the evidence in front of Wilson's eyes.
"I like women just fine." I like men just fine, too was left unsaid but heard by both.
"You're taking me to a drag show," Wilson said. At least he sounded normal again. "A drag show at a gay bar. Why?"
Wilson didn't sound angry, just confused and maybe curious. This was going better that House had expected, much better than he'd feared.
Time to make or break this deal, House thought. "Nothing boosts your confidence more than getting hit on by people who know you're off-limits anyway," House said, changing his voice into a soft, sultry purr that fit his costume better. "You need some confidence. And I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to sing in a drag show. Wanna come?" He winked at Wilson, an almost predatory come-hither smile on his face.
He didn't expect Wilson's answer but still managed not to show it.
"Oh, why not." Wilson said. "Let's go."
-00000-
House saw the glaring flaw in his plan the moment he brought Wilson backstage.
"Ooo!"
"Gillian! Somebody's found themselves a catch…"
"A man…"
"Not just a man, a pretty man! What's your name, Sugar?"
House sensed fear coming from beside him. He should have known the performers were going to react to such a young pretty boy like Wilson. He got behind Wilson and draped his arms possessively around Wilson's neck. "Oh, no, ladies, he's off limits tonight," House warned. He stood up and dropped the voice, but not before taking a chance to smell Wilson's hair. "He's just getting over a divorce. I invited him for a change in scenery."
"Oh you poor thing," crooned a voice in the back. Out stepped a big bald black man in a ball gown, makeup only half on. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Mama's gonna make sure nobody carries you off, right ladies?" Mama gave a glare to the other performers, who giggled before going back to dressing.
"Um…" Wilson said. "Thank you?"
"Such a sweet thing," Mama crooned. "No one's gonna hurt you if you don't want them too. Now, you just go down those steps there and see the bouncer out front, tell them you're with Gillian and Mama said it's alright, k? That's a good boy." Mama patted him on the cheek, lingering at the last to turn it into a caress.
Wilson took the opportunity to flee.
"Ooo, he's pretty," Mama lamented with a pleased shudder. "Where'd you find him, Gillian?"
"New Orleans," House answered. "Got him out of jail. He's… interesting. And straight, I think, but then he fusses more about his appearance every day than some of the girls do for a show."
Mama held out a hand. "Hit me, I'm thinking very bad things."
House playfully slapped the back of Mama's outstretched hand. "Bad girl, Mama, you know he's off-limits."
"All the pretty ones are…"
-00000-
By the time Mama was out on stage doing her number House was in the wings trying not to have a panic attack. One of the other performers, a Diana Ross look-alike, found him leaned against the wall, trying to breathe.
"Gillian? Greg? Are you okay?" Diana asked.
House gave her a glare in return.
"Oh my god, you'll be okay, I mean it, you've done this a dozen times, it's no big deal, you just get out there and sing," Diana coaxed. "Just think of all the audience naked! No, wait, that's too hot, you'll come untucked. I know, think of them all in parkas! Or think of how hot you make them!"
"Not… that…" House said between gasps.
"Oh? Is it that pretty boy you brought? Oh that's so cute, you want to impress him! You don't have to worry about him, Sweetie, he'll love you even if you fall off your heels and flash the whole audience!"
House shook his head. His breathing was calming but the fact that he wanted to cry in sheer terror was not an improvement. "He's not mine," he lamented, biting his lip so as not to sob. "He's straight. I can't have him."
Diana pouted. "That's terrible but you know there's more like him, right? There's gotta be more pretty boys like him. Does he have a brother?"
"I-I don't want to look like a fool in front of him," House whispered.
Mama finished her number and glanced at them to make sure House was ready to go on. A fake grin plastered itself on Mama's face as she realized House wasn't anywhere near ready. Diana called her backup singers to her and pointed to herself. Mama nodded ever so slightly and announced them instead.
"Gonna soften him up for you," Diana said, patting House's arm. "He'll love your act, I swear it. If he's good enough of a straight friend to come watch you in a drag show then there's nothing you can pull that'll make him leave. I wish I had a friend like him. Gotta go!"
House watched Diana and her Supremes strut out on that stage. Mama came up and wrapped her arms around him. "Mama's here, you gonna be okay to go on?" she asked.
House pulled out of Mama's crushing hug. He sniffed, took a deep breath, and nodded.
"I hope so. You know you're beautiful, right? Such long legs and a cute little figure and your own hair, I'm jealous, and a gorgeous voice…"
"It's not that, Mama," House said, cutting off her listing of his attributes. "It's James. What if I scare him off? What if I disgust him? Everyone leaves me, Mama, what makes him any different?"
Mama stroked fingers down House's cheeks to his neck in a comforting caress. "I can't tell you," she admitted. "I don't know. But he's come this far with you. I don't think this is one who'll be scared off. You've got a real gem here, Greg. You're not gonna get rid of him by just dancing in a drag show."
House took a deep breath. "I hope not," he said, giving Mama a playful look. "He's too pretty."
"That's the Gillian I know so well," Mama groused. She noticed the Supremes were finishing their number and coming in through the wings. "Shall I announce you?"
House nodded, eyes regaining some of that night's sparkle.
Mama patted him on the head and went back on. House waited for his cue.
"And now, boys, the moment you've all been waiting for. Here she is, the honey from the 20s, the lady of lounge, Miss Gillian!"
And there it was. Mama handed him the microphone. The stage went dark as House plastered himself against the curtain in the wing, trying to keep his presence hidden from view. A spotlight hit the stage right where he should be.
Now or never. He let one stocking-covered leg slither into that spotlight.
House brought the mic to his lips and started to sing. "You had plenty money back in '22…" He stepped onto the stage.
You let other women make a fool of you.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here
Get me some money too.
House drank in the lights, the cheering. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the leers, the lusty offers, the drinking and the dancing.
You're sittin' down and wonderin' what it's all about
If you ain't got no money, they will put you out.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here
Get me some money too.
He relaxed when he spotted Wilson on the dance floor, some guy in red draped over his shoulders. Wilson didn't appear to be paying any attention to his dance partner, was instead gaping at the stage in something that looked akin to awe.
House smirked and started to sway to his own music. If Wilson was awed now…
Now if you had prepared 20 years ago
You wouldn't be a wanderin' now from door to door.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here
Get me some money too.
Swaying led to bringing the rest of his body into the music, playing himself like an instrument. House smoldered at the audience, romancing them with his eyes, his lips, his hips as he came into the last few lines of the song.
Get out of here
Get me some money too.
Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
House took a deep breath after his last note.
"But enough about my last man," he said seductively. The act would go on. "I am so over him. Oh, but it's not all bad…"
This was the point of no return, he realized. Strange that improvised lines in a drag show felt like the most important words he'd ever said.
"I found me a new man."
House couldn't tell but would swear Wilson blushed.
"He's just so pretty," House bragged, flirting with the entire room. "I couldn't leave him home all alone. But I'm not bad… I'm taking him home with me, too. And no one else, not tonight." He pouted at the room, waggling a finger at his audience. "He's a gem, this one. Almost magic." And then he started to sing again.
That old black magic has me in its spell
That old black magic that you weave so well
Icy fingers up
and down my spine
The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine
House liked to think Ella Fitzgerald would have been proud. Or at least not too appalled.
After a few more songs and more than a little flirting with the audience House left the stage to be ambushed by a troop of congratulatory hugs and gropes. He made his way down the steps to the dance floor as Mama took to the stage again.
Hands grabbed him from behind. One slipped around his waist and one went to his rear and squeezed. "Tell me you were kidding about that new man of yours," murmured a very male voice in his ear.
House turned around to see a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a leather vest, a light blue handkerchief in his left pocket. House pulled wandering hands off of him. "Not tonight, Daddy, I've got a man." he said, suddenly embarrassed.
This 'Daddy' gave House a displeased look and grasped him around the wrist. He then turned House's palm in and gave it a slow kiss. "Have fun," he said before walking off.
House sighed in relief before heading off to the bar. He found Wilson in the arms of that man in red. Wilson looked drunk, which was expected, but the fact that he looked about to kiss the guy was less expected.
Wilson must have seen him because he turned away from the man in red, eyes lighting up. House sauntered over. "James, you flirt," House admonished.
Wilson blushed.
"I should go," said the man in red. He extracted his arms from around Wilson.
"I never got your name," Wilson said, gazing up at the man.
"No, I don't suppose you did." He smirked and disappeared into the crowd.
Finally Wilson's attention turned to House as he sat down. "Oh wow, House, I had no idea you could sing! But you didn't dance, that made me sad. I wanted to see you dance." Wilson pouted.
"I don't need to dance to look good," House bragged. "How many drinks have you had?"
"Seven! It's easy to remember with girly drinks, they're all so different! Mmm, there was this martini made with juice and this green drink that tasted like candy, and this blueberry one with an umbrella, and this minty one with chocolate…"
"And how many did you actually buy yourself?"
"Two!"
"You're drunk," House pointed out. "I should take you home before someone else tries to steal you."
"No one's gonna steal me, Mama said so! Mama said nobody's gonna hurt me 'less I want them to. An' I dun' wanna get hurt no more. Been hurt enough."
House fell out of character for a moment. "But what if I hurt you?" he asked.
"You're not gonna hurt me, House."
"But what if I do?" He picked Wilson up onto his feet and they started towards the door.
"Then I guess I wanted you to," Wilson said firmly. And fell face-first into House's chest.
-00000-
"He passed out right there?" Dr. Nolan asked.
"Right in the middle of my fake tits," House confirmed.
"And so, what happened then?"
"I took him home," House said, shrugging. "He woke up the next morning with one hell of a hangover and I'd been so tired I fell asleep on his couch in my dress and corset. He blushed every time he looked at me for a few days but we went back to normal pretty fast."
"And how often did you perform in these shows?" Nolan asked.
"Every now and then. I did about a dozen in the five months I was in Chicago."
"Did it ever mean more to you than just singing and dancing?"
"The sex didn't," House admitted. "I often had semi-anonymous sex with the leather daddy I mentioned, we never knew each other's real names. No, but sometimes… I don't know, sometimes it felt… right, like who I was in drag was more real than who I was at work. So, I guess it did mean more than just singing and dancing."
"Did you ever involve Dr. Wilson in your crossdressing again?"
"A few times. For his marriage to Bonnie I took him out to a gay club in lieu of a bachelor's party. I wore a knee-length dancing dress. I'd cut my hair after Stacy moved in with me so I had to wear a wig. That was the only part I hated, that wig. It felt so… fake."
"What did you do there?"
House gave Nolan a look, trying to gauge if the psychiatrist had a reason for asking or if he had some other ulterior motive. He decided he didn't care. "We danced," he said, eyes closing as he thought back. "I'd had no idea he knew East Coast Swing. We didn't drink nearly enough to explain why he insisted on coming back to my place but apparently we drank enough to forget that Stacy was there. She never did approve of my 'twisted hobby,' as she so put it.
"We stumbled in the door and he pushed me against it. He held me there with his body so he could grope my ass. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. This seemed to give him pause since he froze for a moment before he pulled back a little bit. He told me he'd never kissed a man before. I asked if he liked it. We then went back to trying to molest each other and Stacy had to ruin it by storming in on us. Damn woman had been in the bedroom the whole time."
"Ouch," Nolan said, wincing. "I take it that didn't go well?"
"As well as could be expected. She tried to kick me to the couch for a week and when that didn't work she moved there herself. It was early in our relationship. Truth be told I'm surprised she stayed after that, especially since she never could get me to give up singing in drag."
"And how are things now?" Nolan asked. "What brings up the possibility now? What's different now compared to the first time you were on methadone? Or the ketamine treatment?"
House stared down at his hands. His eyes kept wandering to his thigh before he pulled them back to his hands. This was the part of psychiatry he hated, this part where he's reminded of everything he could have done if only he'd thought about it at the time. "I'm dating Cuddy," he whispered. "I thought that would make me happy."
"But it doesn't?"
House shook his head. "We've been together a few months. For the longest time she'd come over to my place, we'd fuck, then she'd leave and I'd always wake up alone. And she manipulated me into thinking it was my choice. Then she met the masseuse who'd been helping me manage my pain. It didn't matter to her that Brandy was the only masseuse out of fifteen I'd tried who could put a dent in my pain. It certainly didn't matter that about a dozen physical therapists had done nothing but left me in more pain. Cuddy gave me an ultimatum. Either I get rid of Brandy and see some PT Cuddy recommended or she was going to dump me because it just so happens Brandy's a prostitute. And I caved like a bitch."
"Did physical therapy work this time?"
"Of course not. That so-called 'physical therapist' is a sadist. I've had to see Brandy behind Cuddy's back in order to function. And I feel… guilty about it."
"Are you having sex with Brandy?"
"Not since I started seeing Cuddy, no."
"And you explained to her that massage was the only method you had for dealing with your pain."
"In the clinic, no less. I have witnesses."
"You shouldn't feel guilty for doing what you need to do to function," Nolan said. "You're not breaking any rules the two of you mutually agreed on and you're getting the care you need to stay off of drugs. Cuddy was wrong to issue an ultimatum like that, attempting to sacrifice your right to live without pain and without drugs for her peace of mind. If she isn't going to trust you not to cheat on her then how can you trust her to make you happy?"
"That's the thing," House said, picking up on something Nolan said. "I'm not happy. I'm not miserable but that's all it is. Being with Cuddy should make me happy, I mean, it's what I've wanted for so long. Isn't it?"
"I don't think it is, Greg. If this is what you wanted you wouldn't have to be sneaking around behind her back to get basic pain relief. Does she even know about your history of crossdressing?"
House snorted. "Of course not. She didn't even believe it when I had the PI show her photos of me in cheerleading."
"Then you have to ask yourself, does she love you? Or does she love some memory of you? Would she love you if she knew about your crossdressing?"
House sighed, sitting back in the comfy chair. "I don't know," he admitted.
"Think about it. Meanwhile…" Dr. Nolan pulled out a prescription pad. "I'm approving one week's worth of methadone," he said, writing. "It'll last you until the first. I want to see you before then. Think about those questions I asked you and get back to me on what you think the answers would be. Maybe spend some time alone, away from Cuddy. You could do with some introspection."
House looked stunned. He was really getting the… "I, I don't know what to say," House admitted.
"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Nolan said wryly.
House smirked, snatched his prescription, and got up to leave. "The 30th, then," he said before leaving.
-00000-
The day of the 30th dawned with House waking up in a strange bed. He reached over to feel an empty pillow before trying to hog the bed, planning on figuring out whose bed it was after he'd woken up.
"C'mon, House, get up, we can go into work together," said a very familiar voice. Cuddy. Damn.
House looked up to see Cuddy half-dressed. "Can't," he said, dropping his head back to the pillow.
"And why not?"
"Took today off," House said.
"No you didn't," Cuddy said, suspicious.
"Did too. Cleared it with HR and everything. Didn't want it to look like I was sleeping with you just to get free-days."
Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "Good, then you can watch Rachel."
"Can't."
"Really." She did not sound impressed.
"Got stuff to do. Necessary stuff."
"Like what, physical therapy? Nice try, House, I called her and she says you haven't been back since the first session."
"Of course. Turned out she doesn't work. Dr. Nolan said you were a bad girl for not trusting me enough to let me keep the one thing that worked on my pain."
"Wait, you're still going to therapy?" Cuddy dismissed the obvious lie about the physical therapist not working, she'd worked for her after all, why wouldn't she work for House.
"And I'm going today. Got a whole crazy day planned out. Should be fun."
Cuddy shook her head, figuring she'd call Dr. Nolan later to confirm. Of course she didn't trust him, he'd never been trustworthy. He always said so himself, 'everybody lies.'
House waited until she left the room before getting dressed and leaving, making sure to emphasize his limp so she wouldn't be suspicious.
Later that day he shifted from foot to foot outside Dr. Nolan's office. He wasn't sure how he'd be received. He'd been taking the methadone as prescribed and counted himself lucky he hadn't had a case to screw up. He carried his cane just in case he needed it. Before he lost his nerve he knocked and entered.
Dr. Nolan looked up and his eyes went wide. He'd expected Dr. House but not like this. House had shaved and wore full makeup. He wore a tasteful purple blouse, a knee-length black skirt, and black flats. Black stockings and what must have been a corset shaped his figure and a shoulder-length wig completed the look.
"It's not quite what I'm planning on for tomorrow," House started, "but I did have to be in public today."
"You look good," Nolan complimented. "A bit dark but it suits you."
"You think?" House asked, pleased.
"I do. Have you given some thought to those questions from last time?"
"I have," House admitted. "She wouldn't love me if she knew. Hell, I don't think she even trusted me this morning when I said I was going to be here."
"If there's so little trust in this relationship then why do you stay?"
"I don't know."
The phone rang. "Excuse me," Nolan said, picking it up. "Hello, Dr. Cuddy. Yes, Dr. House is right here in front of me. We were just discussing the trust issues between the two of you and how you can't seem to trust him. All right." He handed House the phone. "She wants to speak to you."
House smirked at Nolan's unprofessional conduct. It made him remember why he tolerated this guy in the first place. "Hi Cuddy."
"House, why does your therapist think I have trust issues?"
"You called my therapist because you didn't believe me this morning when I said I was going to be in therapy today. What do you think? Look, I'm on the clock here so how about we talk about it later?"
"I'll be over at your place around five," Cuddy said.
"Not tonight, I'm spending time with Wilson."
"No, tonight Wilson is helping me set up for tomorrow's Halloween party. I've invited some local wealth that I'm hoping to turn into donors by the night's end."
"Does he know he's helping you out?"
"Look, I'll see you tonight. I've got to go." Cuddy hung up.
House quickly pulled his phone and dialed Wilson. "Gotta get to him first," he muttered as it rang.
"Hello."
"Ha! Wilson! You, me, tonight, anything. Cuddy's gonna storm in there in a second and demand you help her set up for the party. Turn her down, blow her off, blame me, whatever. And don't go to my place tonight, she's watching it."
"Hold on, Cuddy's at the door." Wilson held his phone away from his ear but didn't hang up. House could hear Cuddy in the background asking Wilson to help with party setup. He grinned when he heard him turn her down and shoo her out of his office. "Right, so, the loft?"
"I'll be there, Sugar," House purred in a voice neither of them had heard in over ten years. He hung up. "That was close," he said.
Dr. Nolan sat in his comfy chair, amused.
"Cuddy just tried to scoop Wilson. I heard her in his office, trying to keep him busy so he wouldn't be able to spend tonight with me. She's trying to keep him from me, isn't she?"
Nolan's amusement turned serious. "Do you think that's what she was trying to do?"
"She claimed Wilson couldn't possibly be spending time with me because he was helping her set up for the party. I asked if he knew he was and she said she had to go. Then while I was on the phone with Wilson she tried to rope him into helping her set up for the party. I heard the whole thing. She's trying to manipulate me into spending all my time with her. Or spending less time with Wilson. But I barely get to spend any time at all with Wilson now that I have Cuddy and he has Sam. Cuddy's trying to keep him away from me, isn't she? No, that's not quite right. She's trying to keep me away from him."
"You said so yourself, she doesn't trust you," Nolan pointed out. "She's manipulating you. And now you have evidence that she's trying to control your contact with your friend. She doesn't make you happy. So why are you staying with her?"
House smiled, a small smile that boded well for no one. "I haven't found the right way to break it to her yet," he said, picking up his feminine purr again.
"You're certainly more confident than I've seen you in a long time," Nolan remarked.
"I feel more confident," House replied, not dropping the voice.
"Is it the lack of pain?"
House smiled again, a real one. "I don't think so," he admitted. "It's something more. I just feel… more like me than I have in a long time."
"The clothing helps, doesn't it?" Nolan asked.
"It does. I've always felt better like this, more real. If that makes any sense."
"I think it does," Nolan said, mentally checking House's past with a new theory. He was surprised to find everything fitting into place.
"But then why would it make sense? How does putting on a mask like this to become someone else make me feel more like me?"
"Everyone wears masks," Nolan mused. "There's a 'real' person underneath but mostly all they ever show is a mask. You show a mask to your patients, a mask to Cuddy, a mask to Wilson, and a mask to me. But as I'm able to take off my masks when I get home and can be the real me, you're able to take your masks off, too. But you don't, not under any normal circumstances. 'Everybody lies' is a mask of words. You show the world an overbearing crippled jerk who can't be bothered to care about anything. Your whole life has been one mask after another, layer upon layer of deceit that you find necessary in order to interact with the world. But I think you can take off your masks, all of them. I believe you can be the real you, without fear of judgment or reprisal."
"And how do I do that?" House asked.
"I believe you already have, Greg. That this woman sitting in front of me is the real you."
House gave Nolan a blank look for the longest time. Dr. Nolan merely sat back and waited for House to process this new information and hopefully not storm out.
He didn't storm out. Instead his blank look turned thoughtful and kind of sad.
"I'm willing to consider a diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder but I want you to be sure."
House nodded. "Can I have time?" he asked.
Nolan smiled. "You can have all the time in the world, Greg."
House sighed, eyes falling half-closed in thought. He took a chance. "Call me Gillian," he whispered.
"Okay."
-00000-
House stood outside the loft, a six pack of Wilson's favorite beer in one hand. He knocked.
"Just a minute." Wilson's voice was muffled through the door.
House smirked as the door opened and a surprised Wilson stood behind. "Sam's not here is she?" he asked in a feminized voice. "I was hoping to have you all to myself."
Wilson shook his head, still staring. "She had to go in to work," he said distantly. "House, I haven't seen you in drag for 12 years. Are you all right?"
"Haven't felt this good in years," House admitted, letting himself in.
"You're not using your cane."
"Nolan gave me a week's worth of methadone. Beer's for you."
"Why… Why would your therapist, the man who's been working to keep you off of opiates for over a year give you methadone?"
House shrugged. "I asked him and he said yes. I didn't tell him about all this until last week," he mused, gesturing at his clothing. He'd changed shoes but not clothes since his session; he still wore the blouse, skirt, stockings, he was almost dressed like a respectable businesswoman, save for the fact that he wore tennis shoes. "I told him my plan was to dress up for Halloween. Maybe sing. Probably sing."
There was another knock on the door. House snatched Wilson's wallet from the table and handed cash over to a somewhat dumbfounded delivery guy. "Pizza?" House purred once the delivery guy left. "I didn't know you cared."
"Does Cuddy know you're going to her party in drag? Supposedly she's invited potential donors."
"Nope. Doesn't even know about the methadone."
"Are you going to tell her?"
House grabbed a slice of pizza. Rather than bite into it he stared at it, as though it held some sort of secret. "Nope."
Wilson got plates, held one out for House. House ignored it, instead watched cheese wilt, a bit of sausage fell to the floor with a tiny 'blort'. "Plate, House."
House took the plate, set his pizza on it, kept staring. "She doesn't make me happy," he whispered.
"What?"
"She doesn't make me happy," he repeated. "I thought she would. But it's not me she loves. She gave me an ultimatum, did you know that? Of course you do, she talked to you about it. Ditch Brandy or Lisa would leave me. You told me to choose Lisa. So I tried that. I was in so much pain. I seem to recall telling you some months ago that Brandy's the only person I'd found who could make the pain go away. The only way I've been able to function is by seeing her behind Cuddy's back. If I don't I'll go insane."
"I didn't know it was an ultimatum," Wilson admitted.
"She's manipulating me. Us. Both of us. She tried it over the phone while I was with my therapist. She called Dr. Nolan today because I told her this morning I was going to be at therapy and she didn't believe me. She doesn't trust me. She's never trusted me. She doesn't even know who I am. That's why I'm not warning her, I want to see how she reacts to undeniable proof that I'm not the fantasy-man she's been pining over since college. I want to see her face when she finds out who I really am."
"So I take it you're not the misanthropic jerk everyone thinks you are," Wilson said, trying to diffuse some of the tension. This conversation felt oppressive somehow, like something was being said that shouldn't be.
House popped open a beer and handed it to Wilson. "I'd like to hope you at least know me better than my therapist does," he said. "I found out today that I don't."
"You are a very complicated man," Wilson admitted. "Much more so than people give you credit for. So what did your therapist say?"
House waited until Wilson was mid-swig. "He said I am a very complicated woman," he said.
Beer didn't spray over the kitchen. Instead Wilson managed to swallow before choking, but only just. "What."
House picked up his pizza. "Dr. Nolan thinks I'm transgendered," he said before taking a bite. "Is good pizza."
"House, be serious! He honestly thinks that you're…" Wilson thought while House munched. "Well, I have seen you in drag shows and I know how happy you were… I know about your cheerleading… I know you've been utterly miserable ever since you decided your physical form doesn't matter… I know about your internet fangirling… I know I'm missing some things… Could you tell me you're not seriously considering this because now I am and it makes a lot of sense, please?"
"I'm seriously considering this," House admitted.
"Thank you." It took a moment for Wilson to figure it out. "That's not what I asked; I wanted to hear that you're not considering this."
"Yeah, well…" He concentrated on pizza. Their friendship had been through a great deal over the years, this was nothing more than another weird quirk sprung by one on the other. Like his crossdressing. Or Wilson's womanizing. Or his infarction. Or Wilson's divorces. Or the Tritter affair. Or Mayfield. Or Amber. Surely this wasn't any different. Right?
"You're not getting rid of your dick, are you?"
It was House's turn to choke. "Are you kidding?" he demanded once he finished coughing. "I could never do that. I've had 'Little Greg' for 50 years, I've gotten used to it, attached even."
Wilson rolled his eyes at House calling his junk by name. "At least let me be there when you tell your team. I want to see the look on Foreman's face."
House burst out laughing.
-00000-
House heard footsteps before realizing there'd been the sound of a key in the lock. He was sitting on Wilson's couch, an old zombie movie playing on the TV. Wilson was asleep, lying with his head in House's lap.
"What the?"
House gave Sam a look and pointed down at his lap. "James is asleep," he said, as though that explained why he was sleeping in House's lap. Or why House was dressed as a woman. "There's pizza in the fridge."
Sam continued to stare with her confused, demanding expression. She made abortive hand gestures, trying to jump-start her mouth or brain.
"I've always been there," House said, slipping into his purr. "After every divorce, every girlfriend, he's always come to me. And I've always been there to give him exactly what he needs. I'll outlast you because I already have. Many times before."
"G'llian?" asked a sleepy voice.
"I'm here, James," House murmured. "Sam's here, too."
"'At's nice. You smell good…" Arms wrapped themselves around House's waist and Wilson fell back to sleep.
"There's pizza in the fridge," House said again, waving dismissively at Sam.
Sam stormed off.
-00000-
The Halloween party was in full swing when House rode up on his bike. He pulled out his cell phone to summon Wilson out to the parking lot.
A text later and Wilson walked up. House admired the three-piece pinstripe suit, matching fedora, and spats that Wilson wore as a costume. "Bootlegger?" House asked.
Wilson couldn't hide his shock at House's own outfit. "I see you went through with it," he said.
"Of course," House purred, smirking. "After all that preparation, you thought I wouldn't?"
Wilson grinned and held out his arm. "May I lead you in, m'lady?"
"I warned you," House warned, wagging a finger. "Treat me any different than usual and I'm going to make you pay."
"I know."
House smiled, an odd thrill drawing its way up his spine. He could feel the need to punish Wilson but decided to act on it later. Much later. He took the offered arm, handed Wilson his formal cane, and let himself be led into the hospital.
It was time to face the music.
Costumes were subdued to reflect the presence of the five unknown faces hiding under personas and masquerade masks. A rumble of raucous laughter from the corner brought attention to Cuddy in an evening gown and cat ears talking to a man in a pirate costume, presumably one of her 'new donors'. A live band stood off to one side, waiting for their cue.
Wilson twirled House's cane, letting it add itself to his costume. He tapped it on the floor once and looked for all the world like a gangster out of the 1920s. House still held Wilson's arm and waited for the room to notice them. He wore an ankle-length red shimmering dress that split up the left side far enough to see the garters holding up his black stockings. Opera-length black gloves adorned his hands and arms. He'd gone all out with purple eyeshadow, fuck-me-red lipstick, and auburn wig spilling curls just past his shoulders.
A glass shattered. Foreman's hand stood empty where his glass of champagne had slipped out of it. He gaped openly, unable to do much more than blink. The room filled with murmurs first directed at Foreman then going quiet as their attention turned toward the door.
Cuddy started her way towards them, fury radiating from every movement.
"Lead on," House purred.
Wilson nodded at the band as he and House started towards the stage. The singer gave a nod.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present this evening's entertainment," the singer announced. "Here she is, the jewel of jazz, the darling of diagnostics, Dr. Gillian House!"
The potential donors clapped politely before realizing most everyone else just looked confused. A few catcalls came from the back, mostly from Chase and his date. Wilson detached from House before the stage to run interference, to prevent Cuddy from storming up and stopping them. House loped up to the stage, not able to entirely hide his limp. The singer offered a hand and House let her pull him up onto the stage. House made a show of kissing the woman's hand before letting her go.
"I can count on one hand the people who expected this," House purred, holding one finger out in front of him. "But don't worry, I promise to be very… entertaining…" He pouted prettily before letting himself smolder at the audience.
"Who do we have here tonight, the usual suspects?" House scanned the crowd, taking in the costumes. He pointed out Chase's date in her red floppy hat and matching trench coat. "I found Carmen Sandiego. Dr. Chase, you've got to tell me where you found her." He ignored Wilson still arguing with Cuddy, tried not to hear it.
"I see a few new faces out there. Let me introduce myself." House smirked then began romancing every word he said. "I'm that evil, uncaring, terrifying Dr. House that Lisa's been warning you about." He pouted at her. "I'm not that bad. I just act like it." He smiled at Cuddy as she tried to get past Wilson to strangle him, dress or no.
"But then you're not here to listen to me talk about myself, are you? You're here for a good time." He turned to the band. "You know The Lady is a Tramp, right?"
The trumpet player gave an 'are you kidding' look, stuck the mute in his bell, and put the horn to his lips, starting the first chords. House closed his eyes and sighed happily. He began to sing.
I've wined and dined on mulligan stew
And never wished for turkey
As I hitched and hiked and grifted too
From Maine to Albuquerque
Alas, I missed the Beaux-Arts Ball and what is twice as sad
I was never at a party where they honored Noel Ca-ad
But social circles spin too fast for me
My "hobohemia" is the place to be
I get too hungry for dinner at eight
I like the theater but never come late
I never bother with people I hate
That's why the lady is a tramp
House swayed to the music, the closest he could get to dancing even with the methadone. For the first time in a long time he didn't resent that fact. He threw himself into the song.
I don't like crap games with Barons and Earls
Won't go to Harlem in ermine and pearls
Won't dish the dirt with the rest of the girls
That's why the lady is a tramp
I like the free, fresh wind in my hair
Life without care
I'm broke, it's ok
Hate California, it's cold and it's damp
That's why the lady is a tramp
House found himself flirting with the audience, playing his body like an instrument. The room fell away, replaced by bright lights in a darkened club, men dancing in front of the stage and standing on the edges riveted on his every note, every movement.
I go to Coney, the beach is divine
I go to ballgames, the bleachers are fine
I find a Winchell and read every line
That's why the lady is a tramp
I like a prizefight that isn't a fake
I love the rowing on Central Park lake
I go to opera and stay wide awake
That's why the lady is a tramp
I like the green grass under my shoes
What can I lose, I'm flat, that's that
I'm alone when I lower my lamp
That's why the lady is a tramp
The room came back into focus. Most of the med students stopped dancing to applaud. A number of doctors were failing in their attempts to ignore the band. Cuddy shoved her way past Wilson to the stage.
House leaned forward and smiled prettily. "Hello, Lisa," he purred. The room went quiet, anxiously awaiting the drama in front of them.
"Don't you 'hello Lisa' me, House," Cuddy warned. "You've pulled some outrageous stunts in your time here but this, this! Do you have any idea what I went through to set this up?"
"Probably less than it took to get this set up," House countered, gesturing to himself and the band behind him. The band members grinned, slightly uncomfortable.
Cuddy slapped him. It echoed around the silent room. House grunted with the sudden sting and popped his neck before turning back to look at her. "I think we should see other people," he said, dropping his voice back to its normal baritone. "I warned you this wasn't going to work out between us." He raised a hand to the handprint on his cheek. "I always thought I'd end up hurting you before you could hurt me. I was wrong."
"I hate you," Cuddy snarled. She stormed off.
"That was thoroughly expected," House purred. He stood back up straight, falling back into his role. "I guess I'm single. My own fault, really, not telling her up-front about making drag look good. But in the interest of the work Dr. Cuddy put into tonight, how about it? I know no one expected me but do I ruin your evening? Am I a bad girl? Or do I just look it?"
The room stayed quiet. People looked to the floor, the ceiling, at each other, tried not to do or say anything that would constitute a vote of one way or the other. Wilson looked around, visibly agitated. The band deflated, its members surreptitiously glancing at House, something like pity in their eyes.
From the middle of the room there was movement. Chase walked up, wearing a leather vest and rope gauntlets. He beckoned House down a little to talk with some measure of privacy.
"I never figured you for the type," Chase murmured.
"You never knew me before the infarction," House whispered.
"You used to do this often?"
House smiled, the first really happy smile Chase had ever seen from the man. House nodded slightly.
Chase pulled something out of his pocket. "You do requests?"
"What did you have in mind?" House purred, going back into character.
Chase reached over and tucked something into the top of House's stocking. "Tell me you know The Masochism Tango," he said, flashing a mischievous smile.
House stood up straight. "You'd be surprised," he purred. He told the band to take 5 and sat himself down at the piano. "This is a request from Dr. Chase. Ooo he's so pretty. You should all recognize Tom Lehrer." He let his fingers dance on the keys for a few chords before playing out the first notes of a tango.
I ache for the touch of your lips, dear
But much more for the touch of your whips, dear
You can raise welts
Like nobody else
As we dance to the masochism tango
Chase grabbed his giggling date and the two of them started dancing an overly exaggerated tango in the middle of the dance floor.
Say our love be a flame, not an ember
Say it's me that you want to dismember
Blacken my eye
Set fire to my tie
As we dance to the masochism tango
"I'll gladly dismember him," Cuddy muttered under her breath from the bar. The band's string bass player, a thin woman dressed as a flapper, edged close to her, soda in hand. "You knew about this, didn't you," Cuddy accused, turning to the musician.
The bass player shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "Dr. House auditioned us, hired us, is payin' us, we knew. He said it was gonna be a surprise. Guess you didn't like the surprise, huh?"
The champagne glass creaked in Cuddy's hands as she squeezed. Instead of breaking it she drained it and had the bartender pour her another. "What are the donors going to think?" she snarled. "He never thought about that once!"
The man in the pirate costume walked up. "Possibly that the overly brave, foolhardy, and flamboyant actions of a doctor reflect that doctor rather than the hospital as a whole," he said. "I do trust that your actions reflect solely upon yourself rather than this hospital, Dr. Cuddy. I hope you won't make me regret what I'm about to do." With that he sauntered back to the stage where House was coming up to the last verse.
Take your cigarette from it's holder
And burn your initials in my shoulder
Fracture my spine
And swear that you're mine
As we dance to the masochism tango
The med students cheered at the closing of the song. Doctors and nurses politely applauded while trying to hide mortification and smiles. Foreman seemed to be hiding under a mask of propriety while Chase and his Carmen Sandiego gave deep bows and laughed.
House motioned the band back and hauled himself to his feet. His leg complained, a gentle burn rather than the usual red hot sear. He took a breath, silently thanking every chemist he'd ever known, and ignored it, limping only slightly. He leaned over to the pirate with the checkbook in his hand.
The pirate finished a scribble and tore out his donation, folding it before raising an eyebrow at House. House smirked, pulling his skirt up his left side so the pirate could slip the paper into the stocking. If his hand lingered a little longer than normal, House didn't mind enough to complain.
"How about I Put a Spell on You?" the pirate asked. He ran his hand down House's thigh then back up a bit before stepping back.
House smoldered at the man then glanced at the band setting back up behind him. They checked their instruments, their lead singer picking up a saxophone. She set up the horn while sucking on the reed, put it together and played a few notes. House swayed to the tuning of the horn, almost forgetting there were people there. He hissed as his leg overextended for a moment, reached down to rub it. He stopped and tried to ignore it, nodding for the band to begin. The saxophone moaned through the opening and House began to sing.
I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
You better stop the things you do
I ain't lyin'
You know I can't stand it
You're runnin' around
You know better daddy
I can't stand it
Cause you put me down
"Dr. House seems to have trouble standing," the pirate murmured to Wilson. House limped through the movements for the song, obviously trying to keep most of his weight off his bad leg.
"Blood clot twelve years ago," Wilson mused. "The surgery was… not kind, shall we say."
"Blood clot where? Not his right leg, if the left one is any indication that'd be a loss to the world."
"Right thigh. You should have seen him before."
The pirate grinned. "I did."
Wilson looked at the pirate then looked again. "I know you, don't I?"
"You never did get my name."
"You!" Wilson's jaw dropped and he found himself pointing at the pirate, at the nebulous man in red from his first gay bar.
"You are still just as pretty."
You better stop the things you do
I ain't lyin'
I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
And I don't care
If you don't want me
I'm yours right now
I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
House brought the sax player forward to take a solo while he played rhythm on the piano. Once the band finished House let them bow before hauling himself up to bow and sing a few more.
The night wore on and with every song House felt the pain in his thigh grow from a tiny ember to a glowing coal. The party was winding down and House sat on the piano bench kneading his cramping muscle. Pain aside, he felt content for the first time in a long time. Content and accomplished.
"You're lucky I don't fire you right now," said a cold voice next to him. He looked up to see Cuddy, still angry.
"Dunno why, the night went pretty good," House said, shrugging.
"Do you have any idea how much I went through to try and attract these donors? Do you really? None of them are actually involved in medicine! I figured we'd be lucky to get anything out of them!"
"That's why you had the party here. No reason to spend money on donors when you're not sure you'll break even." House slid his dress up so he could reach the top of his stocking and pull out the papers held there. He set the bills aside for himself but unfolded the three checks. "So does that mean Diagnostics gets to keep this? With the glowing support and shining tolerance you've been showing me tonight you'd think I'd at least be able to keep the fruits of my labor for my department."
Cuddy snatched the checks from House's hand. Her eyes went appreciatively wide. "You get some of it," Cuddy allowed. "But you're still lucky I'm not firing you right now. For the drugs you're obviously on."
"Nah, I'm allowed," House dismissed, leaning back against the piano. "Therapist signed for the methadone and everything. I had just enough to last out tonight."
Wilson plopped down on the bench next to House, almost landing on his lap. His hair was mussed and he had a stupid grin on his face. He handed a check to Cuddy. "Claimed for Oncology," he warned.
"Where were you?" House asked.
Wilson blushed. "He finally told me his name," he said.
"You slut!"
"And yet I seem to recall his hands all over you while you were on that stage."
"I don't need to hear any of this," Cuddy sighed.
"Then don't," House pointed out. He refolded the bills and stuffed them back into his stocking.
"You lost a bet, didn't you?" asked a voice from the floor. Taub stood there, looking uncomfortable.
"Nice costume," House snarked, referring to the ears and horse tail Taub wore. It matched with the riding outfit his wife wore.
"I drew the short straw," Taub defended, though he didn't clarify whether about his costume or his asking.
"Not a bet," House said, deciding the truth would be funnier than any lie.
"This is… voluntary?" Taub looked carefully neutral.
"This is refreshingly enjoyable. I should be doing this more often."
Taub stood quiet for a long moment. "Okay," he said then went straight toward where Chase and Foreman were standing.
Wilson watched intently to catch the looks on their faces, grinning at their sudden discomfort, embarrassment, and eventual acceptance of their fates. "Priceless," he murmured. "The looks on their faces…"
House shrugged, not looking. Discomfort was not something he needed to vicariously feel. For the first time in years he was far too happy.
End
-00000-
I told you it was a very alternate interpretation.
Songs credited to the singer of the version that inspired me:
Why Don't You Do Right by Jessica Rabbit
That Old Black Magic by Ella Fitzgerald
The Lady is a Tramp by Sophie Tucker
The Masochism Tango by Tom Lehrer
I Put a Spell on You by Screamin' Jay Hawkins