For the RSL's B-day charity drive, imfreakinorange requested a fic where Teddy House encounters an animatronic teddy bear.  This is the result.  Approx. 1000 words. 

“You’d better behave,” Wilson warned House in an undertone. After the near-bearnapping, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never take House to the mall again until he was back to his normal form--and possibly not even then--but that was before House had managed to destroy each and every one of his tiny outfits, including his hated onesies. His chinos and one shirt had been covered in blue ink when House decided to break a pen in half so it would be a more convenient size for him to hold. The jeans and a sweatshirt were so saturated with jam and ketchup that Wilson had tried to put them through the wash, where they had promptly fallen apart. The “chick magnet” onesie somehow ended up flushed halfway down the toilet, and the other one had had an unfortunate run-in with a paper shredder. Only House’s sneakers, sunglasses, and tiny leather jacket had survived the rampage of destruction.

Chase was glad that he didn’t have to work the next weekend. Last weekend’s surprise had been pretty overwhelming to come home to, but House had intimated that there were more Christmas preparations to come, and he wanted to help with some of them. They started the morning in the usual lazy-Saturday way--with sex and breakfast in bed--but he was still in a post-orgasmic doze when House announced, “Okay, everybody up!” and started throwing clothes at them.

“What are we doing now?” he wondered out loud.

Wilson, tugging a shirt over his head, said, “Are we starting the--”

“Wilson!” House admonished him.

“--thing, already?” he finished weakly.

House stretched and yawned, flinging one arm out over the edge of the bed, and whacking Wilson in the chest with the other.

“Geddoff,” Wilson mumbled, pushing at him.

They hadn’t had this problem before, and it took House only a moment to realize why. He was once again six feet tall, and not noticeably furry. “Hey, Wilson, look!” he exclaimed, poking Wilson in the ribs.

“I’m sleeping,” Wilson pointed out, even though he obviously wasn’t.

When Wilson had been in bed long enough that House was pretty sure he wasn’t getting back up, he turned down the TV and slid off the sofa, pacing over to the window by the piano.

Wilson’s question--do you want to stay a Teddy forever?--had got him thinking. He didn’t really. As a small plush animal, there were even more things he couldn’t do than there had been when he was just a cripple. He couldn’t work, couldn’t play--piano or video games--couldn’t ride his bike. He couldn’t even go out in public, as the incident at Build-a-Bear had demonstrated, and Saturday’s fiasco had confirmed. Being a Teddy was simply not a viable lifestyle choice over the long term.

#

“Okay, you’re supposed to recite this bit.” Wilson held up the book in front of House.

House was sitting in the middle of a circle formed by four of the fancy candles Wilson had picked up at the Goddess Emporium. Wilson had a small bag full of salt and herbs, which he was apparently going to sprinkle around the apartment while House recited. “Dear Goddess grant me--” He scrunched up his face in distaste. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to stay a Teddy forever?”

When they got home, House’s answering machine was full of messages from Chase and Cameron, telling him about journal articles dealing with the syndrome of delusional companions. “Why the fuck would I want to read those?” House wondered after the third one.

“I don’t know,” Wilson admitted. “Why don’t you ask them?”

“You can make those mushroom things while I call and do that,” House decided.

“Two--I mean one--for Zombie Attack Three please.” Wilson handed over his eight-fifty and received a ticket.

When he carried the ticket three feet over to the ticket-taker, she glanced down at the large shopping bag he was carrying. “I’ll need to inspect your bag, sir.”

“What? Why?”

If House had thought being stuck in Wilson’s office all week was boring, that was nothing compared to the weekend. Wilson seemed to think that just because he was a Teddy bear, he had to stay in all weekend. That was okay on Friday night--they had pizza and beer, and watched some movies--but by Saturday afternoon, House was feeling stir-crazy.

Wilson had the Sunday Times--which he always bought on Saturdays--spread out on the coffee table. House leapt nimbly from the couch to occupy the page Wilson was currently trying to read. “Hey!” he said, noticing an ad. “The new Zombie Attack movie just opened!”

“Are you going to behave yourself until Wilson gets back?” Cuddy asked him. “Or do I have to stay and babysit you?”

House considered. If Cuddy stayed, she could entertain him--except he’d bet doughnuts to dollars that she wouldn’t be as indulgent a companion as Wilson. She probably wouldn’t even bring him anything to eat. “I’ll be good,” he promised.

The next few days produced no changes in House’s situation. Wilson spent what felt like most of his working hours keeping him supplied with snacks and entertainment, and the slim remainder dodging questions from Chase and Cameron about his whereabouts and health status. He wasn’t getting much work accomplished, and it was a wonder that he was managing to do any.

Still, things could have been going much worse, and Wilson managed to settle into a sort of complacency. Until, that is, what happened on Friday.

“I wish you’d let me do that,” Wilson clucked.

“Stop being such a mother hen,” House told him, adjusting his paw-grip on the fork. They had finished dinner and were making the s’mores. House had put himself in charge of marshmallows, and was toasting them over the stove.

“What if you fall onto the burner?” Wilson continued irrelevantly. “You’re very flammable now.”

“That would only matter if I came into contact with the actual flame. Which I’m not going to.” He rotated the marshmallow slowly. “This one’s done. Bring me a cracker.”

House was startled enough by his close encounter with Cameron that he didn’t ask Wilson to take him back to the lab. After Kendra came out of surgery and Wilson checked in with her, it was back into the carton and they went home.

He was beginning to develop a certain fondness for the carton. It was certainly his safest and most dignified form of transport. When he was inside, he wasn’t being squashed, and nobody could grab him suddenly. Susceptibility to being grabbed was one of the most important disadvantages of his new body. There was something about being small, cute, and furry that seemed to make people think his anatomy was public property.

Wilson wasn’t sure who Kendra was gladder to see in pre-op--him or Dr. Bear.

“Where’s Gregory Bear?” she asked in a small voice. “Will he miss Dr. Bear?”

“He’s taking a nap,” Wilson answered. House actually was, for now at least. After the picnic he’d curled up in his travel carton with a pillow snagged from Wilson’s couch.

“That’s good. Dr. Bear can play with him when he wakes up.”

The first thing House did when Wilson left was settle down on his fuzzy butt and enjoy his snack. Wilson hadn’t put any marshmallows in his hot cocoa, but it was still pretty good, especially when he dipped the Oreos in it.

He felt another song coming on, but he managed to hold it in. Once he was done snacking, he selected a pencil from Wilson’s gay little pencil-cup and pulled the keyboard closer to him.

Wilson was happier than he probably should have been to put House in his file carton and shut the lid on him. He was on his way down to the lab designated for House’s team to use--the lab the board had voted unanimously to give him so that lab techs would stop quitting--when the lid popped up a few inches and House’s beady little eyes peered out. “I hafta go to the bathroom,” he said.

For a moment, when Wilson woke, he wasn’t sure where he was. Not in his hotel room--his hotel room didn’t have the settled-in funk of leather, garlic, and feet, underlain by the slightest twang of urine.

House’s couch, right. He’d had the weirdest dream--his childhood teddy bear, Mr. Bumble, had wandered into the room and climbed up onto the couch with him. Probably inspired by House’s transformation. Funny--House looked sort of like Mr. Bumble. Except that Mr. Bumble had the usual brown button eyes, and when he’d been growing up, teddy bears didn’t usually wear clothes.

Wilson opened the refrigerator and peered inside. There wasn’t much there. “What do you suppose bears like to eat?”

“I think we’re omnivorous,” House answered.

“Real bears, yeah, but what about teddy bears? Porridge, right?” He turned to the cupboard. Did House live on peanut butter sandwiches and breakfast cereal?

“Bleagh.”

House struggled to get free of the little girl’s hand, kicking and writhing. But it was useless--she was bigger and stronger than he was. He looked back at Wilson helplessly. He wasn’t even sure if his friend had seen him.

He wondered if he should risk yelling. The girl’s mother had to know that she hadn’t brought a teddy bear into the store with her. But would she care? In a best-case scenario, she might think the kid had shoplifted him and make the girl return him. But she could decide that Build-a-Bear had enough money and let the horrible little brat keep him. God knew plenty of people felt they should be able to fill their pockets with tongue depressors and cotton balls every time they went to the clinic. Or maybe she’d take so long to notice that she wouldn’t know where he’d come from, and she’d confiscate him from the kid and shove him in the back of a drawer until he rotted.

Despite House’s many protests, Wilson took him back to the hospital so he could coddle his stupid cancer-people. Wilson was so mean and unfair.

“You’d better behave,” Wilson warned him as he set the carton down and took off the lid. “Stay here in my office, and if anyone comes in, pretend to be a teddy bear.”

“I am a teddy bear,” House reminded him, climbing out of the box.