Work Text:
'The thing that came from Outer Space' Style
Wilson paused at the entrance, taking a glance at the disgusting pink dough on the bed before addressing House.
"So, rumors were true?" he asked. "Cameron finally found a way to have your undivided attention?"
House snorted and made a show of keeping his attention glued to the TV screen, the smell of warm butter, popcorns and salt permeating the room and making Wilson think of childhood movies and hot summer evenings.
Looking back at the thing that he had last seen as an Immunologist maybe four hours before, Wilson tried to find irregularities on its surface --veins-like lines, mountains and valleys-- but he found none. The gelatinous surface appeared smooth, like a giant strawberry milkshake drop, one that could be easily destroyed if anything altered its superficial tension.
Curiosity made him reach for it; a cane on his knuckles made him stop.
"Not so fast, wonder boy," House grunted. "This damsel in distress is not as distressed as she seems."
Wilson would have rolled his eyes at House's reference to his supposed chivalry, but he was far more curious about what those words really meant.
"What, defense mechanism?" It would make sense; in the movies, anyway.
House eyes shone, finally showing how interesting this bizarre situation was for him.
"Do you think skinny Dr. Cameron had enough mass to turn into a thing that size?" he asked, pointing at the creature. At least, Wilson thought it was a creature; there was a pulsing movement on it that gave the idea of life.
Taking a second glance at the room, Wilson noticed something apparently out of place: an abandoned shoe, almost hidden under the bed and covered with pink slime. He easily recognized it.
"Chase?" he asked, genuinely awed. It was a shame he hadn't been there to watch the process.
House nodded as an overly-eager boy.
"And Foreman, maybe?" Wilson inquired, looking for more evidence and unfortunately not finding it.
"Sadly, no. He ran to run whatever tests he could think of; as far as possible, of course." Then, when Wilson clicked his tongue in disappointment, House continued with a mischievous smile: "But the nurses have no idea, and someone is supposed to come take its vitals every two hours."
That made it. Wilson's evening wasn't busy, and his next patient always arrived ten or fifteen minutes late. He had more than enough time.
"Gimme," he ordered, sitting on the other chair. House usually didn't share his food, but this time he didn't seem to have a problem when passing the popcorn.
It was for a good cause after all, Wilson reflected, and smiled.