Archive of Our Own ^beta

House was avoiding clinic duty, as usual. She pulled some stunt earlier, by technically-not-lying-but-still-lying to Cuddy about a patient’s procedure, causing Cuddy to demand more clinic hours. She was hidden away in a room with a coma patient, silently watching General Hospital on the TV. Funny how they give the coma patients TVs, she thought. They don’t know what's going on. It must be nice, though, to not have any responsibilities. Just sleep all day. That’s what she wanted to be. Asleep. Not having to deal with patients, employees, or herself. Especially not herself.

Her melodramatic thought spiral was interrupted by her phone buzzing, which she planned to ignore. But when she saw who was calling, she was too intrigued to let it ring.

Stacy hadn’t called her in years. In fact, Stacy had no idea that House had transitioned. But if she was calling, it was probably serious.

Or an accident.

She hoped it was an accident.

“Hello?” She said naturally in her “trying-to-be-stealth” voice. She cleared her throat and tried again in the voice that Stacy was more used to. “Hello?”

“Is this Greg?”

It wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a while. She never chose a new name, just decided to go by House ‘full-time’. But legally, yes, it was Greg. Actually, legally it was Gregory, but that wasn’t important.

“Yep. What can I do for you?” She cringed at the sound of her own voice. It’d been a while since she tried her ‘guy voice’. She quickly sat up straight as if Stacy could detect her posture over the phone.

“My husband has gone to four different doctors and none of them can find out what’s wrong.” So Stacy had gotten married. That’s fine. She was married, too, actually, but there’s no way she’d mention that. Especially since she had gotten married to someone Stacy knew all too well.

“And you want me to diagnose him?” She scoffed. She hadn’t looked away from the TV. She was on season thirty-four out of sixty-two of General Hospital. The episodes were repetitive, and the acting was poor, but it was her favorite. In times like this, she compared the drama of her fast-paced workplace to her favorite soap opera, with coworkers sleeping together, getting fired, and, yeah, exes trying to reconnect.

“I want you to treat him,” Stacy articulated. House was thankful that eye rolls didn’t translate over the phone.

“Bring him down to Princeton-Plainsboro and I’ll have one of my lackeys check him out,” she said casually as she clicked her painted nails on the wooden armrest. She had always limited her interactions with patients, but if Stacy and her husband came to Princeton, she would avoid them completely. She wanted nothing to do with them. One hundred percent. Trust me.

“I’m having dinner out tomorrow, I want you to be there,” Stacy said suddenly. House was caught off guard. She mentally went through a list of responses. Something about this being a date. Something about strippers. Something about already having plans with a stripper. Something about asking how much she charged. Something about asking if the dinner came with a happy ending. She ended up going with the safer option.

“Are you asking me out? Scandalous,” was what she settled on. A tiny bit provocative, but nothing too bold. She wanted to err on the side of caution. She still liked Stacy, though not romantically anymore.

“I want you to see him in person. And there’s no way he’d willingly go to the hospital.”

She felt like a robot, searching for ideal outcomes. Something that would make her irritated, just enough to end the phone call. But she did actually want to treat her husband. Purely for medical reasons. She had no interest in proving herself to Stacy. Not at all, no.

Right, a response. Uh, comparing herself to her husband? They both seem to do that thing where they don’t admit when they're sick or in pain. That sounds good, yeah.

“Stubborn, huh? You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“House.”

She won. The phone call was a negotiation. And House got what she wanted out of it. In a sense, Stacy did too. House got a case, one that other doctors couldn’t crack, and she would get to see Stacy and think, “I’m doing so much better than her.” And sure, Stacy got to have a healthy husband, yeah, that’s cool too.

“Text me the address and time. See you then.”

She shut the phone and glared at the coma patient. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

House barged into Wilson’s office and placed herself into the chair that patients typically sat in. She wondered how many times people sat here to receive shocking news. The reversal is kind of funny, then, her sitting in the chair and being the one to deliver news.

“What is it this time?” Wilson sighed. House had already bothered him earlier that day by asking him if he’d still like her if she suddenly transformed into a mouse. (The answer was no. Wilson did not like mice.)

“My ex-girlfriend wants to go on a date with me,” she announced as she fiddled with a pen she found on his desk. She liked to reveal surprising information (diagnosis, secrets, weaknesses) casually. It softened the blow, at least for her.

Wilson struggled to find words. After a moment of stumbling, he said, “Did you tell her—“

“Well, her exact words were, ‘Come to dinner with me and my husband so you can see what’s going on with him medically, ’ but I read between the lines.” She quickly put out the fire she had started before it got too big. It was clear who House was talking about, just from the tone of her voice.

“My husband and I,” Wilson corrected, as he rubbed his temples. He’s known her for years, yet he never learned to tell when she was exaggerating.

“I think I have bigger issues to worry about. Issues like, I don’t know, going to dinner with Stacy and her husband. Neither of which knows I’m married.”

“You don’t have to say who—“

“Or that I’m a woman.”

“She doesn’t know?”

House didn’t exactly try to make it a spectacle when she first started transitioning, but it was pretty obvious right away. She stopped using her first name entirely, started shaving, and started wearing necklaces. She never properly came out to anyone, besides Wilson. She had sat him down one day and had a heart-to-heart talk. “As my best friend, you deserve to know,” she had told him. Besides that, nothing. One day, Wilson publicly referred to her as ‘she’, and practically everyone responded with ‘oh yeah, that makes sense, got it.’

“It’s not like I talk to her,” House complained. “Would be weird to say, ‘Hey, I know I haven’t spoken to you in years, but I have a killer rack now.’”

Wilson didn’t laugh at the joke (though he did glance). Instead, he paused and thought for a moment. Then, a light bulb went off. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Well, I could make it easy for them and give them one surprise at a time, or I could get it over with,” she said, still playing with that pen.

“Stop messing with that,” Wilson said as he snatched the pen. “I think I should go, if anything goes wrong.”

“Nothing’ll go wrong, Stacy’s not that evil,” she said. “Just the normal amount of evil. It wouldn’t help her to be rude; she wants me to cure her husband. Then again… Her husband doesn’t want to be treated. So nothing is stopping him.” She used a casual, slightly sarcastic tone to mask her anxiety. Not that she was anxious, of course not. But if she was, somehow, that’s what she would do to hide it.

“I’ll find something to wear,” Wilson sighed. “You don’t have to tell her about us. You could say I’m going because I’m a doctor too. She knows me,” he explained. House simply nodded as she exited.

H: Is it alright if I bring a plus one tonight?

S: That’s fine. Who is it?

H: My spouse.

S: Can’t wait to meet her.

H: :-)

House sat on the couch with a newspaper she found inexplicably in her office. The crosswords were already filled out, for the most part. “Are you almost done?” She called out.

“Gonna blow dry my hair, then I’ll get dressed,” Wilson shouted back from the bathroom.

“And they say women take forever,” she muttered to herself.

“I heard that!”

House rolled her eyes and got up from the couch. She grabbed her cane and wandered over to the bathroom. She began a sentence, but Wilson just pointed the blow dryer in her direction and turned it on. She took it from his hands and pointed it back at him. Then she waved it around his head.

“How does this work anyway?” She said as she attempted to imitate all the times she’d seen Wilson do it before.

“You’re doing good,” he said loudly over the sound of the dryer. “You just do that for a bit until it looks dry.”

“Y’know, I think it’s easier to just use a towel,” she laughed.

“Yeah, but I actually want to look nice,” Wilson teased. House just rolled her eyes and continued drying his hair.

“Is this good?”

“Mhm, it’s done.”

Wilson planted a kiss on her cheek and put the blow dryer away. “Gonna get dressed now. What are you gonna wear?”

“I don’t know. Should I dress like I used to?”

“You can’t hide this from them, House.”

“I can wear a hat. Put an old suit on. Talk in my ‘guy voice. ’”

“And Stacy will see you as the exact same person she used to know, except you now have breasts.”

“Oh, you love them,” she groaned.

She made her way to the bedroom, and Wilson followed suit. She put on a pink button-up shirt, some slacks, and a black suit jacket. She stole Wilson’s pink tie to match and sloppily tied it on her neck. And finally, she put on socks and some shoes she could only describe as ‘women’s loafers.’ It wasn’t too different from what she typically wore at work. In fact, besides the tie and shoes, it wasn’t too different from what she wore before transitioning. She only dressed ‘feminine’ when she was just going out with Wilson. When she was just at home, she would wear jeans and a t-shirt with some stupid, raunchy text on it.

“James, how do I look?”

He turned around and laughed, “Like a woman.”

“I do not,” she retorted. She stared at herself in the mirror behind Wilson. She stared at her shoulders, her jaw, her arms. Hormones had done wonders, but sometimes she felt like everyone could see right through her.

“I beg to differ,” he said, looking her up and down.

“This is the second time today you’ve objectified me.” Feigning anger was one of her favorite pastimes. “And sixth time this week.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He defended as he placed his arms on his hips. “And you kept count.”

“Sure you did,” she remarked, pretending to be offended. “Does the tie look alright?”

“Let me fix it a bit.” Wilson stepped closer to her, loosened the tie, and then pulled it off her. He placed the ribbon around her neck, then redid it. House kept eye contact the entire time.

“There, all set.” Wilson smiled and kissed her gently on the lips. It was a small expression of domestic love, one that she had craved after years of empty promises and meaningless sex.

House was caught off guard by the tenderness of the moment and muttered, “Fag.”

Wilson couldn’t help but laugh in shock. “What?”

“Sorry. I was surprised.” She was never really used to being cared for, and despite how many times it happened, she was still astounded whenever Wilson kissed her or called her beautiful or told her that he really did love her, that he saw her as a woman, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

“Are you gonna put on any makeup, or are you all ready?” Wilson asked hesitantly.

“Uh, I think I’ll just do some stuff with my eyes.” She shrugged and walked to the bathroom again. She dug through the drawer and pulled out a small brush and a palette, taking her time as she applied the color to her eyelids. It was nothing special, at least to her, just some gently placed black color to make her feel fancy. She smiled at herself in the mirror.  Even if the entire night was shitty, at the very least, she looked good. A few thoughts in the back of her head disagreed, but she didn’t pay any mind.

She came back into the living room, where Wilson was trying to solve the crossword puzzle that hadn’t been completed yet.

“Look at my eyes,” she giggled as she blinked repeatedly.

“Sparkly,” was all he said in response. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him. Even if the entire night was shitty, at the very least, they had each other.

“C’mon,” she said as she gestured her head towards the door, “You’re driving.”

Wilson entered the restaurant while House was still in the car. She claimed she was anxious, so he offered to go inside and ask about the reservation while she composed herself.

As he made his way to the hostess, he heard a familiar voice calling him. He turned around to see Stacy. He waved and walked over to her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said. “Greg told me he was bringing his wife,” she laughed. “Guess he still has a sense of humor. Speaking of which, where is he?”

“She’s just in the parking lot. Valet stuff,” he shrugged and lied.

“She?”

Wilson hesitated. “A lot can change in five years,” he mumbled. He gauged her reaction, but surprisingly, she wasn’t surprised.

“It makes sense,” she quietly nodded. Wilson waited for her to elaborate, but she never did. He imagined that she picked up some signs when she was still dating House.

“Where’s… God, House didn’t tell me his name,” Wilson laughed awkwardly.

Stacy laughed back and said, “Mark’s coming in from work. He’s a counselor at a high school, sometimes he stays later than expected. I don’t think we’ll see him for a while,” she explained.

“Plenty of time to catch up,” Wilson said politely. “You’re still a lawyer?” He inquired.

“Mhm. You still an oncologist?”

“Yep. And House is still a bastard,” he joked.

“You would think living authentically would make you less angry,” she joked. Wilson was relieved that Stacy wasn’t hostile or disgusted after learning this new information. It was as if she suspected this.

“I think the anger is part of the authenticity.” It was mostly a joke. A lot of House’s anger and avoidance could be traced to pain, which everyone believed to be solely physical. But there was just as much emotional pain, though she’d never admit that it affected her. So when she transitioned, she was slightly less closed off, slightly less anti-social, yet the only people who noticed that change were her, Wilson, and Cameron. Because, of course, Cameron would notice small personality changes.

“Speak of the devil,” Wilson announced as he turned towards the door. House walked in, not realizing that Stacy and Wilson were there beside her. She walked to the hostess, but was interrupted by Wilson calling her name, the exact same way Wilson was interrupted by Stacy.

“There you are. Stacy, nice to see you,” she offered her hand to shake. Stacy took her hand and examined the person before her. Her hair was longer, just to the shoulders, and her face was softer. She also noticed that she had actually made an effort with her appearance, which had never happened before. Also, she now had a killer rack.

“Nice to see you too. You look well dressed,” she said politely. “Did he do your tie for you?”

“How’d you know?” Wilson laughed.

“She never learned. Sometimes I had to do it for her,” Stacy rolled her eyes playfully. House released the tension in her shoulders. Stacy used the right pronoun. She was at ease knowing that she wouldn’t have to deal with any aggression, at least not yet. But she still had to pretend to be angry.

“I know how to tie a tie,” she said as she crossed her arms.

“Not properly,” Wilson shot back.

After a few seconds of silence, Stacy spoke up. “House,” she switched to calling her by last name in case she had changed her first, “Care to explain why you told me you’d be bringing your wife to dinner?” She didn’t have any ill intentions; she just wanted to cordially embarrass Wilson.

“I didn’t use those exact words,” she explained. “Said my spouse would be joining us.”

Stacy and Wilson were both silent. Wilson thought that House wouldn’t tell Stacy or Mark. Stacy thought that House had been joking about ‘spouses’ when she first saw Wilson. But maybe there was a kernel of truth? Wilson couldn’t be House’s husband; he was already married, she was sure House had said something about Wilson having a wife when they were messaging each other. But she was a woman now, so maybe the wife she was talking about was herself?

“Is this a recent development?” Stacy said carefully.

House and Stacy stared at each other. It seemed like every possible answer would lead to more questions.

“We’ve been married for a little while,” House said vaguely as she fidgeted with her tie.

“Did you like him when we were still together?”

“I think our table's ready,” Wilson blurted out and stood up. Stacy and House followed him to the hostess. After a brief conversation with the hostess and a waiter, the three found themselves at a table.

“Have you ever been here, James?” Stacy said as she placed a napkin in her lap. Wilson nodded, explained that he’d gone with some other oncologists for some “business thing”, and opened the menu. House barely paid attention to the conversation, just responding with “mhm,” “yeah,” and “right,” when prompted. Besides a few seconds when she was ordering a drink, she spent most of her time looking at Wilson’s watch, seeing the minute hand tick, tick, tick.

“We should go,” House said after another minute of boring conversation. She didn’t mean it, but she had a carefully calculated plan.

“No, no, he’ll be here,” Stacy pleaded. “I’m sure he’s just running a little late.”

“He’s cancelled two exams, he’s not gonna—“

“He’s scared of you.” Stacy looked into her eyes. She really cared for this man. Still, House had to respond bitterly.

“Sure. Scared of the ex-boy-toy, that makes sense. No pun intended.” She barely contained a laugh.

“He wasn’t scared before,” she offered, hoping she’d add it to a mental list of symptoms.

“Right. You think being scared of me is a symptom of a serious ailment.” She phrased it sarcastically, but quickly ran through a list of diseases that can give patients paranoia, just as Stacy expected her to.

“Sudden mood swings, infantile regression, abdominal pain, he’s passed out twice— yeah, I think it might be a medical problem.”

She listened carefully to each symptom that Stacy recited. This case was gonna be good. Wilson suggested a few diagnoses, and House ruled out all of them. She wanted to do a full differential, right then and there, but she had an act to put on; she had to play her cards right.

“He’s late, I’m outta here,” she said after glancing at Wilson’s watch for the third time in two minutes. Wilson tilted his head and reached for her, but was interrupted.

“Please,” Stacy said as she grabbed her hand. “He’ll be here.” House wasn’t at all shocked by Stacy’s desperation. She wanted nothing more than for her husband to be healthy. She’d gone down that road before, and it left House misanthropic. Well, even more so.

“Why? Because he loves you? Because he does everything he’s told?”

“Because I didn’t tell him you two would be here.”

House cracked a smile. Stacy was still as deceptive as ever. Wilson sighed. He knew this wouldn’t end well.

“Stace? What’s going on?” asked a painfully annoying voice.

“Hey,” she said casually, “This is Dr. House and Dr. Wilson.”

Mark shook Wilson’s hand and said, “Gregory House, I’ve heard much about you. Sorry for the time, parent conferences.”

“Actually, I’m Dr. Wilson. This is House,” Wilson gestured to the woman next to him. House offered him her hand to shake.

“I’m sorry, I must be confused. I thought Dr. House was… a man.” Mark sat down, seemingly refusing to shake her hand. House knew she was in for a treat.

“I was.” She reeled in the awkward silence and restrained from smiling.

Mark stared in bewilderment for a moment. He coughed into his napkin. “Yeah…” He eyed her up and down. House knew that if Stacy wasn’t here, he’d surely say some vulgar words. Mark cleared his throat and said, “Well, I haven’t been avoiding you; I just didn’t want to waste your time.” He completely ignored what House had said seconds prior, and only looked at Wilson when speaking.

“The other doctors checked me out. They said it was just stress. College season, kids, parents— they’re all over me,” he chuckled weakly.

“Makes sense to me,” House remarked, not looking up from her hands. She was now playing with her ring.

“House,” Stacy warned. She hoped that House would ‘get to business’ right away, or, at the very least, attempt a normal conversation. But she overestimated the amount of change House had gone through. She really was the same antisocial asshole they all knew and despised.

“What do you want me to do?” She objected. Each piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

“You said you’d check him out.”

“He says he’s healthy. What’s there to check out?” She reached for her glass, then stopped herself. There would be time for that later.

Wilson rolled his eyes. He knew she had some secret, villainous plan. There was no way she’d pass on this opportunity for such a complicated case.

“I’m sorry for the mix-up, glad you guys could all catch up. Looks like you’re having fun. Did you do your makeup yourself?”

“Oh, he’s good,” she said sarcastically. “If you could fake sincerity, you can fake anything.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” Stacy groaned. She shifted her gaze to Wilson, half apologizing for her husband and telling Wilson to control his spouse.

“I can’t tell you how much I like your fella,” House remarked.

“Yeah, me too. You know, I didn’t picture the venerable diagnostician as a crossdresser,” he said bitterly as he put an arm around his wife, who pulled away. Trouble in paradise.

That comment stung, just a bit, but she didn’t let it get to her. Instead, she continued with her spiteful conversation.

“You know, we should do things together. Throw a ball around. Guy stuff,” she suggested indignantly. Wilson tilted his head at that comment, exchanging a worried glance with Stacy. They knew the night wouldn’t end well.

“We could go for a run,” Mark retorted, eyeing the cane leaning against the table. “Guy stuff.”

“Wow, it’s Oscar Wilde!” House smiled mockingly. She was getting fed up with the pointless insults.

“This pissing contest is really turning me on,” Stacy interrupted sarcastically. “Look, he needs to go to the hospital.”

“To change,” House announced as she raised a glass. Mark brushed his glass against hers, then downed the whole thing, competing with House to see who could finish it first.

“I’m definitely taller,” she said as soon as the glass was empty.

“I’m obviously more her type,” he said, gesturing to House’s attire. “And she’d never date a tra— Oh,” he grunted suddenly, clutching his chest. House stood up immediately, thankful that he couldn’t finish his sentence, and placed Mark’s head on the table. Wilson stared at Mark in shock, but Stacy kept her eyes on House. Wilson began a sentence, but was interrupted by a paramedic wheeling a gurney into the room.

“Someone call for a wagon to Princeton-Plainsboro?”

“Garçon!” House shouted and pointed to the man now lying with his head on the table. “It’s okay, ladies and gentlemen,” she announced to the restaurant. “Unless you had the veal,” she quickly added.

“You dosed him?” Stacy shouted, not in surprise nor disappointment. She expected nothing less from her. It was just anger.

“How did you— When did you even call?” Wilson gestured vaguely with his hands.

“You left me in the parking lot,” she said with a fake frown. “I was lonely.”

“You dosed him,” Stacy repeated, causing a few patrons to turn and stare.

“I said I was gonna check him out. I was a little worried they were gonna get here before he passed out. Would’ve been tougher to get him to drink.”

Stacy grabbed her bag and stood up.

House noticed that she was going to leave and said, “I’ll give you a ride. We can talk. Fill you in on all the medical adventures I’ve been having, not just as a doctor.”

“You and your husband can take your own car. I’ll see you at Princeton.” Stacy followed the paramedics into the ambulance, leaving House and Wilson alone, except for the dozen other patrons staring at them.

“Let’s go,” Wilson suggested sharply. The two hastily made their way to an exit. They didn’t speak until they got inside Wilson’s car.

“I’d say the night went smoothly,” House said. She brushed off all she had done, all she had said.

Wilson rested his head against his hands, which were tightly gripping the steering wheel. “How did that go smoothly. You explain to me how that went smoothly!”

“Everyone got what they wanted out of that exchange. I wanted to ensure that Mark would get to the hospital. Stacy wanted me to check him out. You wanted to have a conversation with her.”

“You wanted to see how Stacy was doing after all these years,” Wilson objected.

“I wanted to show her how much better I was doing without her,” she retorted. “I— I am doing much better without her. Just before we left, you fixed my tie, and you kissed me. That never happened with her! We never had stupid, intimate moments like that. I knew that her husband would be a dick about the whole fucking s-situation, and I wanted to prove that I was happy.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself,” Wilson stormed. House had nothing else to say.

The rest of the ride was silent. Wilson did place a hand on her thigh, but neither one said anything of it.