1Hey, Happy April Fool's Day everyone! Because I know this day is going to be torture for me (as my brother loves pulling pranks: so far he's already rearranged my books on my bookshelves so I couldn't find them...) I thought I'd alleviate some holiday stress by writing the first chapter of a story idea we've had for a long time, which coincidentally has a pranking theme. Sorta. Huzzah and look out for whoopee cushions. Oh. Also: please be aware. This doesn't fall in any specific time period in the series. I just used the characters. Wilson has however, divorced his wife and gotten a girlfriend at this point in our story.
Disclaimer: Unnecessary. Last night, David Shore knocked at Jeeves' door and told her that the pressure of coming up with new ideas for episodes was too great and sold us the rights, the actors' contracts, and all that jazz for the television show "House M.D." And, you must have seen this coming: APRIL FOOLS!
Chapter one: Blackmail/pranking material for LIFE
James Wilson had packed up and moved out...again. He was back in his old bachelor's apartment, simultaneously grateful and depressed that he hadn't sold it yet. He sighed; he hadn't even done anything particularly wrong this time. He'd just made an error in judgement. He'd ceded to her request against his better judgement. He'd broken rule number one of a successful relationship.
He'd invited House to dinner.
It'd been an unmitigated disaster. House had been...well...House, and Susan had migrated from amused, to tolerant, to appalled, to furious within ten minutes. Before anybody had even touched their meal she was screaming, House was calmly tossing around insults ,and Jimmy was meditating swiping House's Vicodin to deal with his pounding headache.
Susan had actually skipped the usual "Why are you friends with him?" and moved straight to the "him or me" phase. He'd chosen House, just like he always did.
He was beginning to think he was a masochist.
"Oh well," sighed Wilson as he began to unpack a bunch of VHS tapes from a box. "At least I didn't marry her this time." Resigned to his fate, he casually scanned the titles of each tape as he put it on a shelf. Blackadder season 1, A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, DHS Musical '77, Flight of the Phoenix, wait...what?
Wilson looked again at the tape labeled DHS Musical '77. What could this be? He couldn't remember owning it, or even watching it. Besides, he'd gone to Carbondale High in Illinois and this said DHS not CHS. Couldn't be Susan's either. While he wasn't sure which high school she'd gone to, she'd graduated in '81. She wasn't even in high school in '77. Besides, she wasn't 'into theatre', or so she'd told him. Whose could it be?
Curious now, and bored with unpacking anyway, Wilson popped it into the VCR. As the tape rewound, he continued to ponder. House's high school was called Dellwood, but it couldn't be his...why would he keep a tape of his high school musical?
"Maybe it's old blackmail material of his," he thought as the tape finished rewinding and he pressed play. Taking up the beer he'd been drinking, he plopped down on his sofa as a soaring overture emanated from his television. Finally, the curtains drew apart to reveal a multitude of costumed teenagers on a set which looked like the exterior of an opera house. A particularly dirty girl ran into a snappily dressed young man and exclaimed in a thick cockney accent, "Aiow! Look wheyah yo' goain, Freddy deah, look wheyah yo' goain!"
"My Fair Lady," Wilson identified as he sipped on his beer, having been forced to see it on Broadway with one of his prior wives. He watched as the girl complained loudly about her ruined flowers, which had been knocked in the mud by the careless 'Freddy'. The acting wasn't bad, and that girl kind of looked like Cameron, slight with brown hair. The date was about fifteen years off for her though. He was about to turn the tape off when a boy dressed in a tweed suit stepped forward to deliver his lines. He looked familiar...
Wilson dropped his beer. Ignoring the liquid spreading across his carpet from the discarded can, he rushed forward to get a closer look. A boy of about eighteen with short brown hair and blue eyes was yelling at the girl to "cease that detestable boo-hooing." Despite the put-on British accent, there was no mistaking that condescending yell.
"Oh. My. God."
It was old pranking material all right, but it was his, not House's.