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Shape Shifter
by Housepiglet
Pre-Prologue
Tackling him was not the most inspired idea he'd ever had thought House from the corner of the bathroom, as the creature formerly known as Wilson advanced inexorably towards him and slowly opened its mouth. As he felt the chill touch of its tentacles close around his head House dropped to his knees, and began to scream. His last conscious thought was of Wilson.
***
Prologue
In a small room on a planet in a galaxy far away, two alien beings sat at a table and stared at a photograph. "So that's the one?" asked the larger creature, extending a mottled green tentacle and lifting the picture gingerly by the corner. It drew the paper in and held it close to its watery grey eye. The folds of skin around its eye wobbled, and then contracted slightly. "It's exceptionally ugly."
"Yes," said the smaller creature, with a sigh. "Revolting! Then again, they all look much the same to me."
The first creature returned the photograph to the table and turned to its friend. "So when do you leave?" it asked.
"Thursday morning, after breakfast." The creature shimmered in its seat, and began to warm to its theme. "There'll be 1,000 of us. We're starting on the East coast in the government offices, hospitals and schools, and we're hoping to land the second wave in about a month. If things go according to plan the invasion should be complete by Christmas."
The first creature's eye wobbled again. "Christmas?" it asked, with a bit of a shudder.
The second creature rolled its eye. "Duh, I'm sorry. I've had the implant in for about a week now. I've developed a few mannerisms, and some strange human modes of expression."
The first creature nodded, and the table shook a little. "So is the operating system definitely stable now? I heard there'd been a few difficulties."
"Well I hope so..." The smaller creature raised a tentacle and began to massage the back of its neck. "We did have some rendering problems in the beta stages--the graphics have been a nightmare--but the techies have promised us it's all been ironed out. Here." It extended another tentacle towards a shelf, picked off a box and passed it across the table. The label read Alien Storm - Windows Vista (Professional Edition). "This is it. The advance party's been working on this at the Base Camp in Redmond for a couple of years now. Anyway, I suppose we'll all know soon enough!"
The first creature inspected the box and then put it down. "Well, I certainly wish you the best of luck." It reached for a glass, and raised it to its smaller friend. "Here's to a successful journey and a safe return." It swallowed the glass, and made a small noise that might have been a burp.
"Thanks," said the smaller creature, opening its mouth to reveal serried rows of extremely sharp green teeth. "I'm hoping we won't need it, though..."
***
Three Days Later - Thursday Afternoon
"Has anyone seen Wilson?"
Chase looked up from his crossword at the sound of Cuddy's voice, and pulled a pencil out of his mouth. Automatically he glanced across to House's office, but there was no sign of Wilson there. House was at his desk, though. With his feet on the table, headphones covering his ears and a pencil in each hand, he appeared to be laying down a drum track to some sort of imaginary accompaniment. A journal of some description lay open on his knee.
Chase slipped his feet off the adjacent chair and turned back to Cuddy. "I think I saw him in the canteen earlier, but that was a couple of hours ago."
Cuddy turned to Cameron and Foreman, but they both looked equally blank. Foreman shrugged, and turned back to the patient file he was reading. "No idea," he said. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."
"If he's not with a patient then perhaps he's on the roof," said Cameron, helpfully. "I've noticed he's been spending quite a lot of time up there recently." A disapproving frown crossed her face, and as she finished speaking she pursed her lips.
Cuddy switched her gaze towards House's office. For a moment it looked as though she might go in, but then she rolled her eyes and turned back towards the door. "Thanks," she called as the door began to close behind her. She turned in the direction of the stairwell, and for several seconds the sound of clicking heels marked her departure along the corridor, until the closing of the door snuffed it out.
***
It was windy on the roof, and as she pushed the door open Cuddy reached for her lab coat and drew it close, when a gust threatened to blow it up around her ears. She looked around but saw no sign of Wilson. She turned away, and she'd begun to close the door behind her when in her peripheral vision she thought she noticed a movement by the cooling tower. She pushed the door open again and stepped back out.
Wilson was leaning against the wall, half hidden behind the tower, and a small frown of surprise gathered briefly on Cuddy's brow as she wondered why she hadn't noticed him earlier. He appeared to be fiddling with his lab coat, and Cuddy's frown dissolved into a smile as an image of House in his office flashed unbidden across her mind. With his vintage t-shirt, crumpled jeans and expensive trainers, it was hard to see how House could possibly present a more striking contrast to the appearance of his friend, in his pressed slacks, carefully ironed dress shirt and expensive leather shoes.
The air of quiet preoccupation was the same, though, and as she watched Cuddy thought she detected something more. Wilson looked distant, somehow: cut off, and somehow separate from his surroundings. As she looked closer she realized he'd gained a little weight in recent months. His face was fuller, and his cheekbones were less pronounced. He looked good on it though. Not for Wilson the regime of daily exercise and careful diet that kept her in shape.
Quite suddenly the door slammed shut, and Cuddy realized she'd allowed it to slip through her fingers. Wilson jumped at the unexpected sound, and looked across. For a moment he stared at Cuddy as though he didn't recognize her, but as she began to walk towards him he appeared to emerge from his trance, and he pushed himself quickly away from the wall to meet her.
Cuddy smiled up at him. "Hey," she said, "I've been looking for you everywhere."
Wilson looked stricken, and glanced at his watch. "Oh, sorry!" he said. "I haven't been up here long. I was just..." He looked confused for a moment, and glanced around the roof space, apparently seeking inspiration. He looked back at Cuddy and opened his mouth to continue, but Cuddy put a hand on his arm and cut across him.
"It's okay," she said, smiling again. "I come up here myself. Sometimes it seems like the only peaceful place in the whole hospital."
Wilson relaxed and smiled back. "Yeah," he said. "I just needed a few minutes." There was something slightly brittle about his smile, though, and again Cuddy sensed an air of detachment. A moment later she realized that Wilson was looking at her expectantly. "Was there something you wanted to ask me about?" he said, pushing his hands into his lab coat pockets and turning with Cuddy to walk towards the stairs.
Cuddy nodded, and started to speak. "I wondered if you'd mind taking a look at some films. Mr Openheimer's coming in at 4 o'clock with his niece. She's been diagnosed with Stage 1 cancer of the left breast over at County General. They've got it under control over there, but he'd like you to take a look." She looked up at him, apologetically. "He gave a lot of money at the pediatrics benefit back in March."
"Sure," Wilson nodded. "No problem." He looked at his watch again. "I just have to check through a couple of patient files first. How about I meet you in twenty minutes?"
"That's fine," Cuddy said. "Thanks."
They descended into the stairwell then, and moments later the door closed firmly behind them. Back on the roof the wind swooped and moaned around the chimneys, and only a couple of curious gulls paid even passing attention to a small triangle of Paisley-patterned silken material emerging from the crack between the door to the cooling tower and the surrounding wall.
***
Forty minutes later Cuddy rose from her seat to usher Mr Openheimer out of the room. He turned to shake her hand, and then he turned to Wilson. "Thanks for your time," he said. "We really appreciate it. And thanks for agreeing to take Amy onto your list. At a time like this it helps to know you've got the best care." Mr Openheimer stopped then, and placed a hand on his niece's shoulder.
Wilson smiled, and held out his hand. "You're welcome. My assistant will set up the consultation. I'll speak to her later this morning, and Amy should get a call from her this afternoon." He turned to Amy, then, and placed a hand on her arm. "Please don't worry. We'll make sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible. I'll see you again in a couple of days."
He walked the Openheimers out of the room to Cuddy's assistant, and not for the first time Cuddy was impressed by Wilson's reassuring charm with patients. When he returned a moment later, closed the door and turned towards her the light from the lamp glanced off his cheekbones, and she noticed shadows pooling rather attractively in the slight hollows of his cheeks. Wait a minute! Hollows of his cheeks? Cuddy frowned, and raised a hand to rub her eyes. It must a trick of the light, she thought, and when she took her hand away Wilson was standing right in front of her, smiling. She inspected his face, and--sure enough--the hollows had disappeared. He looked 20 pounds heavier. That was a little... weird... she thought, confused.
"Anything wrong?" Wilson asked, his eyebrows rising and a perplexed smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Cuddy pulled herself together. "No!" she smiled. "Nothing at all." She walked back to her chair and sat down, and in the privacy of the under-desk space she slipped the shoes from her feet and flexed her toes. "Thanks for seeing them. The Funding Committee will be grateful too. I suspect you've guaranteed us another big check when the oncology appeal starts again in September."
"Well we all have to do our bit," said Wilson, gathering his papers together. Then he glanced towards the door. "I've got an hour's clinic duty in ten minutes. I might as well get started. Is there anything else?"
"No - that's everything." Cuddy bestowed a smile of dismissal on her most popular Head of Department, and watched him make his way across the floor towards the nurses' station. She picked up Amy Openheimer's file and made a brief note, and she was about to drop the file into her out-tray when suddenly she noticed it again. Through the window she saw Wilson laughing with Brenda, and as he turned to walk towards Exam Room 1 he ducked his head. When he looked up again he was somehow younger: spare, and aquiline: an altogether leaner version of the man who'd been standing in front of her only minutes earlier. She rubbed her eyes again, but this time the illusion remained. Wilson made his way across the lobby, and as he opened the door to the exam room and stepped in she saw his lab coat swinging freely about his hips. She sat for a moment in silence, and then she reached for the telephone and dialed. Perhaps the time had come to make an appointment with her optometrist...
***
House glanced at his watch and saw that it was after five thirty. He reached for his iPod and switched it off, and then he removed his headphones and dropped them onto the desk. Leaning forwards in his chair, he picked up his cane and pushed himself out of his seat. He limped into the conference room and was just in time to find Cameron sliding a bundle of patient files into her bag.
"Others gone?" he asked, as he made his way towards the corner and inspected the coffee pot. It was empty. "I don't remember dismissing class for the day."
Cameron finished settling the files, and began to fasten her bag. "Chase is in the ICU helping out, and I think Foreman's up in Neuro. Waterston called and asked him for a consult."
Thwarted in his desire for coffee, House opened the fridge and extracted a generic bottle of caffeinated fizz. He twisted the top off and upended the bottle into his mouth, and for a few moments there was silence.
Meanwhile Cameron finished with her bag, and turned towards the coat stand. She reached for her coat and then she paused, and turned back to House. "Is everything okay with Wilson?" she began, hesitantly.
House lowered his bottle and spun towards her on his cane. "Wilson?" he replied, his eyebrows rising. "Why should there be anything wrong with Wilson?"
Cameron frowned, and began to tie a scarf around her neck. "I ran into him in the elevator earlier, and I noticed how much weight he's lost." Her frown deepened as she started to fasten her coat. "It's odd that I hadn't seen it before. It must have been very sudden." She completed her task and looked up at House again. "Haven't you noticed? He must have lost almost 20 pounds. Anyway, I know things have been difficult for him recently, with his divorce, and then the stuff with Tritter, and I wondered..."
Now it was House's turn to frown. "Wilson's fine," he said, cutting Cameron off and placing his bottle on the table. Then he turned and limped towards the door. "Save your concern for someone who might be interested."
Ignoring Cameron's indignant glare, House made his way along the corridor to Wilson's room and opened the door. Wilson glanced up from behind his desk, and then looked back at his paperwork. "Working here," he said. "Catch you later?"
House walked in and took a seat in Wilson's armchair. "Cameron says you've lost 20 pounds," he announced.
Wilson looked up again. "What?"
House rolled his eyes theatrically. "Well maybe the weight-loss has affected your hearing. Cameron says you've lost 20 pounds."
Wilson looked back at him uncertainly for a moment. Then he put down his pen and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. "Well Cameron's wrong. I may have lost a pound or two, but nothing more than that."
House studied Wilson's face. It was clear that he was right. A couple of years earlier Wilson had been verging on skinny, but eighteen months of stress and twelve months of living in a hotel had taken their toll. It occurred to House that no-one could call Wilson skinny now. Taking a final look, he decided he liked Wilson better this way.
"Well what I'd like to know is why Cameron is suddenly expressing an interest in you." House narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you haven't been flashing those patented Jimmy Wilson melting brown-eyed stares in her direction?"
Wilson rolled his eyes at House and picked up his pen. "I really do have work to finish here. Why don't you go and bug Cuddy instead. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."
House got up and walked towards the door. "D'you want to come over for pizza later?" he asked. "There's an L Word marathon. Besides, I promised Steve you'd clean out his cage."
Wilson didn't look up, but he waved a hand vaguely in House's direction. "Okay. I should be finished in about an hour."
"Well I'm leaving now. I'll see you back at my place later on," said House, and he closed the door and limped back to his office.
***
As the door closed behind House, Wilson put down his pen. A frown crossed his face, and for a moment he appeared lost in thought. Then he got up and walked across to the door. He locked it, and then he locked the door to the balcony and closed the blinds. After that he walked across to the couch and sat down.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small device. It shimmered strangely in the dull light cast by the table lamp. He pressed a button, and then lifted the device to his ear. A moment later a female voice spoke brightly.
"Good afternoon! This is Microsoft Technologies. How may I direct your call?"
Wilson took a deep breath. "Extension 007 please."
A moment later the voice replied. "I'm so sorry, sir. That line's busy at the moment. Would you like to hold?"
Wilson sighed. "It's very urgent. Don't they have another line?"
The voice spoke again. "They have more than 100 lines, sir, but I'm afraid they're all busy at the moment. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! Would you like to call back? Or maybe I could direct you to our website where we have a very detailed knowledgebase?"
Wilson rolled his eyes and reached for the back of his neck. "It's okay, I'll hold." The voice disappeared and was replaced by the strains of Baroque music. Several minutes later Wilson was still waiting, and he noticed himself tapping out the rhythms of The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba on the leg of his dress pants. He frowned, and slipped his hand under his thigh.
Just as Wilson was beginning to think his call would never be answered the music stopped abruptly and a male voice spoke down the line. "This is technical support. Do you have your serial number ready?"
Wilson pulled his hand out from under his leg and sat up straight. "This is Agent99. I'm having a software problem. Can you put me through to someone who can help?"
The voice replied. "I'm sorry sir, but I'll need your password and the last 100 digits of your serial number."
"Okay, wait." Wilson walked to the coat stand for his jacket, and reached into the inside pocket. Then he pulled out a small slip of paper. "Right, The password's..." He peered closely at the note. "...Dr Ironside 2007, and the serial number... hang on a minute." He turned the paper over, and looked at it again. "The last 100 digits, you say? Okay, I'm starting now." Wilson began to read the numbers out. Eventually he finished. "Now can you help me?"
The voice spoke again. "And can you give me the first line of your address, sir?"
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Wilson squirmed with frustration, and recited his address. "Now can we get to the software problem?"
The voice was impassive. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but this is a secure line and I have to be sure you're a registered user. I'll be passing you over to a technician shortly."
Wilson raised a hand and rubbed his eyes. "Fine..." He slipped the paper back into his jacket, made his way back to the couch and sat down again.
A minute or so later there was further movement at the other end of the line, and a new voice began to speak. "Good evening, Agent99. What can I do to help you today."
Wilson sighed. "At last! Well it's the rendering problem. It's happening again. I keep changing shape. We were told you'd sorted this out on the final beta."
"And when did the problem start?"
"Well, as soon as I arrived. I've only been here since this morning, but it's been happening all afternoon. I'm almost sure that at least two people have spotted it already."
"Hmmm..." The technical support advisor paused for a moment, and Wilson thought he detected the sound of pages turning at the other end of the line. "I'm not sure that sounds like a software issue. Have you tried re-seating the card?"
"The card?" Wilson's head spun for a moment, and he lowered a hand reflexively towards the back of his pants. "No, I haven't tried that. D'you want me to try it now?"
The advisor spoke again. "Well we're going to have to get to the bottom of it."
"Okay. Wait a minute." Wilson placed the device on the couch, and reached for his belt. A moment later he dropped his pants, and then his boxers. He slipped a hand under his shirt tails, and reached around to the back. After a bit of fiddling he pulled up his pants and re-fastened his belt. Then he picked up the communication device and sat down again. "I really don't understand why they insist on putting all the connections at the back. It's almost impossible to get at them," he grumbled. "Anyway, I've re-seated it. What happens now?"
"Well you'll need to reboot and then see how you get on. Call me back if you have any further difficulties."
"Okay, I'll try that. Has anyone else had any problems?"
"Wait a moment. I've only just come on. I'll check the database." Wilson heard tapping at the other end of the line, and then the advisor spoke again. "We do seem to have had quite a lot of calls this afternoon, and a number of agents have experienced rendering difficulties." The advisor paused for a moment, and Wilson heard more tapping. "If we can't get this sorted out quickly then there may have to be a recall. Let me know if you have any more problems, and make sure you keep your communication device with you at all times."
"Okay..." Wilson took a moment to absorb the information. "What will happen if there has to be a recall?"
"Well the subjects will be restored, and you'll all be collected and returned to base. The subjects won't remember anything about it, and we'll simply have to re-write the coding and try again later in the year. Anyway, try the reboot and we'll take it from there."
"All right. Thanks for that. I'll be in touch." Wilson ended the call and raised the communication device towards his face. He tapped a code into the keyboard, and then sat back on the couch and pressed the device to the side of his head. Moments later the air around him began to shimmer and sparkle, and the Dr James Wilson familiar to the staff at the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital faded away, to be replaced by the mottled, many-tentacled creature that had left Gamma907 for New Jersey much earlier that day.
***
It was 7 o'clock by the time Wilson arrived at House's apartment and let himself in. House was in the kitchen. He looked over at Wilson and then he opened the fridge and took out a couple of beers.
"Pizza'll be here in a minute," he called, as Wilson draped his jacket over a chair and began to loosen his tie.
Wilson dropped into his place on the couch, and a moment later House joined him. He placed the beers on the coffee table and reached for the remote. He sat tossing it from hand to hand for a minute, and then he turned to Wilson.
"I hear that Waterston might be up for Head of Neurology when Manning retires at the end of July," he said, switching on the television and flicking through the channels on an apparently random basis.
"Yeah?" Wilson looked up from the TV Guide and raised his eyebrows. "I haven't heard anything about it."
"Really?" House reached for his beer and allowed the television to settle on a Letterman re-run. "I spoke to Cuddy earlier. She said she mentioned it to you last week."
Wilson's gaze rose towards the ceiling above the kitchen for a moment, and then he looked down again. "Oh, right. I'd forgotten. Yeah, well Waterston's okay. I'm sure he'll do a good job." He picked up his beer and returned to his guide.
House watched him impassively, and then he took a sip of his beer and set the bottle back down on the table. "Cuddy told me she thought you'd lost weight," he said.
Wilson coughed into his bottle, and raised his hands towards House as though to push the question away. "What is it with this sudden interest in my weight?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. "There's nothing wrong with my weight, okay? I'm fine."
It looked as though he was about to continue but there was a knock at the door, and--flinging a last indignant look in House's direction--he got up to answer it. It was the delivery boy, and a short time later Wilson returned to the couch with the pizza. He put it down on the table and opened the box, and then he walked across to the kitchen.
House opened the box and picked up a large piece of pizza. He turned his head to the side as he angled the pizza towards his mouth, and took a bite. As he ate he watched Wilson in the kitchen, collecting plates and searching the drawers for paper napkins.
His conversation with Cuddy had been surprising, coming as it had so soon after Cameron's earlier remarks. What had surprised him even more, though, was the sight of Wilson looking 5 years younger and clearly 20 pounds lighter, as he'd entered the apartment 15 minutes earlier. In fact, and as House reflected upon it, it seemed clear to him that it was the most surprising thing he'd ever seen, in a life that had already been blessed with more than its fair share of surprising sights. Until, that is, he'd seen Wilson restored to his normal proportions when he'd returned from the door with the pizza.
Wilson was apparently unaware of his transformation. He walked back to the couch and sat down, placing a plate on House's knee and dropping some pieces of kitchen paper onto the table. Then he took a piece of pizza and picked up the remote. "So what time does The L Word start?"
"Eight," said House, reaching for the pizza again. He was unsure about how to proceed, but he didn't feel able to let the subject drop. He was unable even to hazard a guess at what might be going on with Wilson, but it was clearly more than purely physical. Wilson's gaffe about Waterston had confirmed that. House and Cuddy hadn't spoken about the Head of Neurology post, and House knew for a fact that Waterston was headed for retirement when he reached his 60th birthday later in the year. So why had Wilson lied about the fictitious conversation with Cuddy? House had no idea, but he intended to tackle Wilson and find out.
It was as House was deciding on his next conversational gambit that a strange whining noise began to sound, from the direction of Wilson's jacket. Wilson jumped, and sprang out of his seat. House's eyes widened as he watched Wilson move at speed around the couch and extract a small, gleaming object from his pocket. He raised it to his ear and began to speak.
House watched, fascinated. The object was shining and shimmering in a manner that was completely unfamiliar to him, and from the way that he was standing it appeared that Wilson was keen to conceal it from view. Wilson stopped speaking for a moment and looked down at House. "I'm going to have to take this outside. It's..." He looked around distractedly for a moment, and then continued. "It's a very bad line in here." Then he moved to the door and opened it, and stepped out into the hall.
From his position on the couch House was unable to see Wilson, but he could hear the low murmur of his voice. It sounded from the ebb and flow as though he was pacing backwards and forwards. Making a decision, House pushed himself out of his seat and walked to the chair where Wilson had left his jacket. He leaned down and slipped his hand into one of the side pockets. Finding nothing he tried the next, but there was nothing unusual there either. Taking the jacket by the collar, he lifted it off the back of the chair and flipped it open. At that stage he noticed a bundle of papers in the inside pocket, and so he pulled them out and began to rifle through.
It wasn't until he was almost at the back of the bundle that a small slip of paper caught his eye, and he slipped it out from amongst the others and took a closer look. It was headed Invasion - Earth: May 2007, and it appeared to contain a set of instructions. As he read through the information House felt his blood begin to chill in his veins, and he was almost at the bottom of the sheet before he became aware that the sound of Wilson's talking had stopped. He looked up to find Wilson standing in the doorway, watching him.
House was familiar with accounts of time standing still for people experiencing moments of extreme panic or crisis, but he hadn't had direct personal experience of the phenomenon until he saw `Wilson' reach back slowly for the door and push it firmly shut behind him. The click of the latch as it fell solidly into place reverberated with uncompromising clarity in the silence of the room, and the small part of House's mind that wasn't actively engaged in a review of his options for escape watched, entranced, as `Wilson' raised the small shimmering object to the side of his head and closed his eyes.
As he saw `Wilson' fade away, to be replaced moments later by a creature so hideous that the strength began to drain from his legs, and the air from his lungs, House wished that he'd dealt with the situation differently. He probably shouldn't have tackled it alone. He didn't realize he was moving until he felt the lip of the bathroom sink dig into the small of his back, but by that stage there was nowhere left for him to go. As the creature's tentacles settled coldly around his head House fell to his knees and opened his mouth, and the last thing he heard was his own voice screaming, "No, Wilson! No!"
***
Epilogue
In the early hours of Friday morning, Wilson was discovered by a nurse wandering in a confused state along the corridor that led towards his office from the stairwell. He had no recollection of what he was doing there, or of where he had been. Examination revealed a lump on the back of his head, and a series of unusual circular bruises fading on his temples. He was found to be mildly hypothermic and dehydrated, and so he was admitted for assessment and observation overnight. Night nursing staff from all over the hospital competed to visit his room at 30 minute intervals, in order to monitor his condition.
Attempts to contact House with news of Wilson's admission were unsuccessful, and so Cuddy instructed Foreman to visit him at home. When House failed to open his door Foreman picked the lock, and shortly afterwards he discovered House unconscious on the bathroom floor. It was initially assumed that House had accidentally overdosed on his Vicodin, but blood tests later excluded that diagnosis. House returned to consciousness a couple of hours later with no recollection of the circumstances of his accident, and the only physical sign that anything untoward had occurred was a series of small, circular bruises to the sides of his head. House was admitted for observation overnight, and the task of monitoring his condition fell eventually to Cameron and Chase when nursing staff from all over the hospital refused to enter his room.
House and Wilson were discharged into each other's care the following morning, and to this day the events of that night remain a mystery to all concerned.
***
Back on Gamma907 the scandal of the defective operating system proved to be something of a 9 day wonder. The decision to recall the software and extract the agents had been made by officials at Base Camp on Thursday evening, when the telephone system had eventually broken down under the weight of aliens ringing in to report rendering difficulties. Agent99 had just taken the call when he'd returned to the living room to find House inspecting the contents of his jacket. He'd been instructed simply to restore Wilson and make his way to the Collection Point, but House's actions had forced his hand.
Agent99 was an alien with a positive and optimistic outlook, though, which was partly why he'd been selected for the Invasion Program in the first place. Relaxing several weeks later in his apartment with his slightly larger friend, he raised a glass to toast the success of the re-scheduled project. After swallowing the glass he turned to his friend and pushed a photograph across the table.
"Phase 2 isn't scheduled to take place until September, but we've already been allocated our new subjects. What d'you think of mine?"
The larger creature reached down and took hold of the photograph by the corner. It raised it to its eye and studied it closely. "Well it's quite different from the last one. A different color, and a completely different shape."
"Yes," said Agent99, enthusiastically. "They've decided to include the entertainment industry this time. Apparently the analysts have discovered a close link with the political system, and they don't want to overlook any firmly established powerbases."
"And what's this wavy line in the corner?" asked the larger creature, poking at the photograph with a tentacle.
Agent99 leaned over to take a look. "Oh, that's called an `autograph'. It's traditional for human beings to make a unique mark on photographs with something called a `pen'. Then they exchange them for something called `money' in a place called `Ebay'. I can't quite remember why they do it, but I do remember reading something about it. See?" He reached forwards with his tentacle and traced out the shape of the signature. "In the human language, this reads O.P.R.A.H. W.I.N.F.R.E.Y. That's called a `name'."
"Well," said the larger creature, putting the photograph down and pushing it back across the table, "I hope you have much better luck in September. And they're sure they'll have the graphics problems cured by that stage?"
"Yes," said Agent99, confidently. "They're absolutely positive. The shape shifting issue is definitely a thing of the past." He shimmered enthusiastically in his seat, and raised a tentacle. "Let's have a drink to my new subject."
And both creatures raised their glasses and drank a toast to Oprah Winfrey.
The End
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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