Title: Dr. Strangesize or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Write More Crack!fic, Chapter Fourteen.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Wilson should really should have known better. Herbal remedies don't mix well with new-age shops and weight-loss products.
A/N: Born of my efforts to produce non-angsty fic, and stick to my usual plotline without repeating myself. Enjoy. :)
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD--"
"Your God is busy waiting for the sun to go down." House interrupted his hysterical friend. "Calm down."
"I knew this would happen!" Wilson moaned, sinking to the floor.
The floor cabinets dug painfully into his back. He pulled his legs toward his chest, since they were almost long enough to reach the opposite wall otherwise. The table he'd stumbled into moments ago lay askew on the floor. It seemed to be the size of a child's play table. Wilson reached over and righted it easily, almost as an afterthought. House watched quietly, apparently impressed.
"My luck can't be this bad. It can't!"
"Apparently it can." House replied. "Just be glad we're on the ground floor--you might have gone through the floor otherwise."
Wilson buried his face in his hands. "You've turned me into 'André the Giant'. I don't believe this.
"You're nowhere near as cool as André." House scoffed. "And he was only seven feet tall. You're at least eight."
Wilson felt something light fall across his lap. House had tossed a blanket onto him (the doll clothes were probably ripped to shreds somewhere).
"What is it with you and being naked?"
"House. Fix it. NOW." The last syllable rumbled loudly. House actually looked a little worried.
"I think we should wait a little while."
"In case you're not done growing. If the cycle isn't complete and we try to get you back to normal, you'll be stuck at this size." House shrugged. "Not that that wouldn't be awesome as hell."
"You think this will get worse?"
"Depends on what you consider worse. Most people would kill to be tall."
"Being tall is not the same as being a gigantic freak!"
"Tell that to a Dwarf."
Wilson groaned. He stood up very carefully and tried not to bash his head on the ceiling again. He wrapped the blanket around his waist, making a makeshift kilt.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going into the living room." Wilson ducked through the doorway. He tried to tread lightly, but his footfalls were still making a lot of noise. "The ceiling is higher in here."
House watched as Wilson carefully moved his couch, the end table and the piano to the edges of the room. "You're putting all that back later."
Wilson just rolled his eyes.
House limped around him in a complete circle. "Still feel okay?"
"Aside from a mild case of vertigo." Wilson muttered sarcastically.
"Most humans your size are sickly. Heart problems, joint problems--apparently the medicine counteracts all that. Very interesting."
"You're running a diagnostic analysis on me?!"
"How many times do I have to say 'detailed log' before it gets through?" House replied.
Both men heard a faint, but audible, rumbling before Wilson's head struck the ceiling again.
"Cool!" House exclaimed. "It was only a 1/8 gain, but its still going. Awesome."
"Not awesome." Wilson, now unable to stand up straight, sat down gingerly. "I'm going to be trapped in here if I get any taller."
"I'm not sure you'd make it out now." House told him. "But we could break a window."
"Yeah. The nine-foot tall man walking down the street will go unnoticed." Wilson sighed. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Oh stop moping--it's not so bad. You're a lot safer this size than you were tiny." House pointed out. "And this can't last too much longer--your spurts are already dying down."
As if to refute this, there was another rumble and a spurt. Even though he was sitting, Wilson's eye line was now easily that of his normal height. That probably put him at eleven feet tall.
"House, we've got to figure out a way to stop this!" There was the panic he'd been enjoying so much lately, back with a vengeance.
"What do you think I've been trying to do?!" House replied. He looked worried, which set another round of panic free. House NEVER looked worried.
"Okay…we need something that won't interact with the chemicals already in your system, and let another dose of the original tonic work." House began to pace, but stopped at Wilson's outstretched leg. "Seeing as we have no idea what's in the antidote or the tonic, and no access to lab equipment this may be a wee bit of a challenge."
Wilson placed one hand over his eyes tiredly. "Just give me the tonic, House."
"And freeze you this way? I don't think so. You're a little old to join the NBA."
"If I get any taller I'm going to go through the roof!"
"You've got three or four more feet before that happens. Relax."
"House." Wilson pointed one massive finger at the other man. "You got me in to this mess."
"Hey, I wasn't the one obsessed with your weight."
"No, but I was willing to wait for the original dose of antidote to finish!"
"…Okay, that's true." House admitted. Sighing, he limped back into the kitchen. Wilson blinked in surprise as House returned, tonic in hand.
"If you're really sure about this, I'll give it to you." House said quietly. "But if you're trapped this way for the rest of your life, you'd better not squish me in a fit of rage."
"Promise." Wilson said dryly.
"Okay then." House uncapped the bottle, held up the ladle and proceeded to splash the liquid all over Wilson's body.
"Augh! House, what the hell are you doing?!" Wilson roared.
"Testing a theory." House murmured watching him closely.
Wilson yelped in surprise as everything around him suddenly rose up dramatically. In a matter of moments House went from looking up at him to towering over him (due in the most part to Wilson still sitting down). He was smirking.
"Wh-what happened?" Wilson gasped, although he had a pretty good theory already.
"You shrank. My idea worked." House murmured.
"Spilling the chemical on you gets the same effect as drinking it. Plus this bypasses the chemicals already in your system, since you didn't drink it."
"…Wow. That makes almost no sense."
"And yet, it does."
Wilson took a careful look at his surrounding before getting to his feet. "I think I'm back to normal."
His glee was short lived however--upon standing, Wilson found he was still missing about six inches.
"Eh. Close enough." House remarked.
" 'Close enough'?" Wilson repeated, bewildered.
"You're practically back to normal. Why tamper with that?" House smirked.
"We've got to fix this." Wilson protested. "People will notice me suddenly being short."
"So? What are they going to do, get Cuddy to fire you for being a shrimp?"
"I'm not spending the rest of my life this was." Wilson's hands went to his hips. "Just give me a tiny bit of the antidote, and that should get me back to normal."
"I don't know. There are definite advantages to having a travel-sized oncologist: easier storage, cheaper feeding costs, and invaluable entertainment. Why should I give that up?" House teased.
Fine, spoilsport. Kill my dream." House held out the bottle of antidote. He snatched it back playfully and held it over Wilson's head when Wilson grabbed for it. "Care to jump for it?"
"Are you seriously five years old?" Wilson groaned.
"If I am, I'm very tall for my age. Unlike you..."
Wilson, apparently too exhausted to play this game, sat on the couch. "When you're ready to act like a decent human being and give me the antidote, I'll be right here."
House smiled and limped over to join him. "Relax Wilson. When I'm absolutely sure your system is clear I'll give you another dose."
"And when exactly will that be?"
"Approximately when your shortness stops amusing me."
"So a year or two." Wilson said dryly.
"Maybe three--I've only used about two of my short jokes on Taub." House shrugged.
"Right. Next time something insane and debilitating happens to me, remind me to ask Cuddy for help." Wilson said. "And I still want all of the remaining tonic and antidote back when this is over."
"I'm not going to dose anyone with it!"
"Then give it back."
"Make me, Ant-Man."
Wilson groaned a usual 'Why-am-I-friends-with-this-man? groan', and House grinned. Things were back to what passed for normal in their screwed-up little world.
"And I want the photos too."
Yep. Completely normal.
The following Monday, several nurses remarked on doctor Wilson's apparently miraculous weekend weight loss--his clothes were definitely loose. A few even approached him to find out what his secret was, but were only answered with groans and half-muttered explanations before the doctor fled.
It was eventually attributed to metabolism. Men have all the luck.