Christmas H/W fic, Part 7 "All I Want For Christmas Is You"
Title: To Be Determined
Authors: flywoman , jezziejay , cuddyclothes , pgrabia ...
Rating: PG-13 so far
Summary: In which Wilson is forced into a Santa suit and overdoes it on the eggnog at the annual PPTH holiday party, House attempts to take him home, and hijinks ensue.
Notes: Written for Sick!Wilson Fest holiday prompt #1: "I would love some to read some 'Wilson gets drunk and injured' fics (since we know he has a history of bad things happening to him while drunk). For an added holiday touch, he could be drunk on spiked eggnog. Extra cookies if House was responsible for the spiking. :)" The complete story is to be posted to sick_wilson_fest between Dec. 18 and Dec. 25.
Part 1 ("'Zat you, Santa Claus?") by flywoman
Part 2 by jezziejay
Part 3 ("Santa gets himself a ho-ho-ho") by cuddyclothes
Part 4 ("I saw Greg House kissing Santa Claus") by pgrabia
Part 5 ("Sleigh bells ringing") by flywoman
Part 6 by jezziejay
“Wonky…Wonky Wilson…Merry Chrismas!”
House watched Wilson scrunch his eyes closed against the intruding voice. His head must feel like there was a chainsaw cutting through it. “Go away,” he muttered. House couldn’t resist. He sang softly,
“Some people stand in darkness
Afraid to step into the light.
Some people need to help somebody
When the edge of surrender is in sight.
Don't you worry, it's going to be all
right.
'Cause I'm always there,
I won't let you out of my sight.
I'll be there--never you fear
I'll be there--forever and always
I'm always here.
'Cause I'm always there,
I won't let you out of my sight.
I'll be there--never you fear
I'll be there--forever and always
I'm always here.
Wilson tried rolling over, but instead let out a squawk of pain and turned his head. “That’s not funny, House!” His head was bandaged, a shunt to help drain the intracranial fluid. House got out his penlight and turned Wilson’s head toward him as gently as he could.
“Wasn’t meant to be funny,” House said. “They call it your theme song in this hospital. Baywatch? You couldn’t sing something with a little more class, like, say, Gilligan’s Island?” Finished with the cursory exam, House put away the penlight. But he did not avert his gaze.
“Oh, God,” Wilson moaned. “Sheila was in here, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, setting up the post-op equipment and feeling quite chatty. How is it you manage to get the same nurse every time you drink yourself into oblivion and get hit by a car, or pass out in front of a building on Baker Street, or any of the other times you’ve been here since I hooked up with Cuddy? Your visits accelerated when Sam dumped you.” House looked up in the air quizzically. “It seems you have a big, fat unrequited love for a truly amazing, brilliant, handsome man with a big cane.” His voice softened. “Why didn’t you say so, Wilson?”
“Just leave me alone to die, okay?” Wilson turned away.
“Your injuries aren’t that bad-“
“Of embarrassment.”
House knew he had to tread softly, even though that was not his nature. “Okay, I might have bought you a black garter and matching bra set for Christmas instead of an Etch-A-Sketch. But frankly, after last night, I knew at the very least you wanted my hot body.”
“Get out, House.”
“Sorry, I’m a doctor, you’re a patient. Balance of power’s on my side.” House sat in the orange fiberglass chair next to the bed, propping his feet on the bed. “When do they serve lunch around here? I’m in the mood for mystery meat.”
Wilson pretended to be unconscious.
House pondered this new aspect of their friendship.
##################################################################
As soon as possibly, House had Wilson transferred to PPTH, and listed himself as Wilson’s attending physician. His team was just as happy to have time off with pay. They all made sure to be gone before Cuddy could give them clinic duty.
Speaking of whom, beyond a perfunctory “how is he” call to Princeton General, Cuddy had only stopped in once, to pick up her purse and to give House a peck on the cheek. Her calls to House made it clear that although she was trying to understand the situation-and she didn’t know the half of it-she expected him to eventually leave Wilson’s bedside and climb into hers.
Every morning, Wilson looked over to see House staring at him. Then Wilson groaned and turned away.
“Sulking isn’t going to make getting better any faster,” House told him.
“How can you even-why are you here now that you know about my-you know.”
“Like God, I am all-forgiving. Speaking of moving heaven and earth, I’ve had movers move some of my things into my old bedroom in the condo.”
“Why?” Wilson sat up, and winced. “Damn, my head!”
“Same thing Marie Antoinette said before they guillotined her,” House grinned at the stunned expression on his friend’s face. “We won’t know if there are any lasting neurological changes for a few weeks, so you need monitoring. Daily house calls would be too damn inconvenient. I had the organ moved back into the main room. What were you thinking, putting in the back room? It’s damp in there!”
“I was thinking that Sam wouldn’t keep getting pissed off at me every time she looked at the thing.” Wilson was watching House’s face intently. “You’re moving in because of my health?”
House shrugged. “Think what you want. Won’t make any difference. I’m going to be there.”
######################################################
Wilson was sleeping when Cuddy walked softly into his room. House smiled, drew a line across his lips, indicating they were not to talk. Cuddy jerked her head toward the hallway in a manner that said Now.
“Rachel misses you,” she said, after they kissed.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Cuddy smiled. “I miss you. I get that Wilson is your friend, but I’m your girlfriend.”
House slipped an arm around her waist. “One big difference. You’re upright and conscious. Wilson, on the other hand-“
“Yes, it’s been a colossal mess trying to cover his shifts, re-assign his patients, and get Kazinsky to take over as temporary head.” Cuddy looked at Wilson, and sighed. “He would have to fracture his skull. Wonky Wilson.”
House stared at her, aghast. “Wonky Wilson? How did you know about that?”
“You don’t think hospital administrators talk to each other? Especially when my Head of Oncology keeps ending up drunk in their ER?”
House’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re not upset?”
She shook her head. “Oh, like you’d sleep with Wilson,” Cuddy scoffed. “Spare me, House. Cameron or Thirteen, I’d be worried. But Wilson?” She moved closer, moving against his crotch, and kissed him. “I know you, House. Poor Wilson.”
“Yeah, poor Wilson.” House lied.
“Remember, tomorrow’s my Christmas party. Everyone’s expecting you.”
“Oh, Gawd,” House moaned. “Christmas is over. We lit the Hanukkah candles every night, isn’t that enough religious whoring for you?”
“See you tomorrow night.” She kissed him again, then sashayed down the corridor.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” House said under his breath, and went back into his friend’s hospital room, softly singing:
Don't you worry, it's going to be all
right.
'Cause I'm always there.
Authors: flywoman , jezziejay , cuddyclothes , pgrabia ...
Rating: PG-13 so far
Summary: In which Wilson is forced into a Santa suit and overdoes it on the eggnog at the annual PPTH holiday party, House attempts to take him home, and hijinks ensue.
Notes: Written for Sick!Wilson Fest holiday prompt #1: "I would love some to read some 'Wilson gets drunk and injured' fics (since we know he has a history of bad things happening to him while drunk). For an added holiday touch, he could be drunk on spiked eggnog. Extra cookies if House was responsible for the spiking. :)" The complete story is to be posted to sick_wilson_fest between Dec. 18 and Dec. 25.
Part 1 ("'Zat you, Santa Claus?") by flywoman
Part 2 by jezziejay
Part 3 ("Santa gets himself a ho-ho-ho") by cuddyclothes
Part 4 ("I saw Greg House kissing Santa Claus") by pgrabia
Part 5 ("Sleigh bells ringing") by flywoman
Part 6 by jezziejay
“Wonky…Wonky Wilson…Merry Chrismas!”
House watched Wilson scrunch his eyes closed against the intruding voice. His head must feel like there was a chainsaw cutting through it. “Go away,” he muttered. House couldn’t resist. He sang softly,
“Some people stand in darkness
Afraid to step into the light.
Some people need to help somebody
When the edge of surrender is in sight.
Don't you worry, it's going to be all
right.
'Cause I'm always there,
I won't let you out of my sight.
I'll be there--never you fear
I'll be there--forever and always
I'm always here.
'Cause I'm always there,
I won't let you out of my sight.
I'll be there--never you fear
I'll be there--forever and always
I'm always here.
Wilson tried rolling over, but instead let out a squawk of pain and turned his head. “That’s not funny, House!” His head was bandaged, a shunt to help drain the intracranial fluid. House got out his penlight and turned Wilson’s head toward him as gently as he could.
“Wasn’t meant to be funny,” House said. “They call it your theme song in this hospital. Baywatch? You couldn’t sing something with a little more class, like, say, Gilligan’s Island?” Finished with the cursory exam, House put away the penlight. But he did not avert his gaze.
“Oh, God,” Wilson moaned. “Sheila was in here, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, setting up the post-op equipment and feeling quite chatty. How is it you manage to get the same nurse every time you drink yourself into oblivion and get hit by a car, or pass out in front of a building on Baker Street, or any of the other times you’ve been here since I hooked up with Cuddy? Your visits accelerated when Sam dumped you.” House looked up in the air quizzically. “It seems you have a big, fat unrequited love for a truly amazing, brilliant, handsome man with a big cane.” His voice softened. “Why didn’t you say so, Wilson?”
“Just leave me alone to die, okay?” Wilson turned away.
“Your injuries aren’t that bad-“
“Of embarrassment.”
House knew he had to tread softly, even though that was not his nature. “Okay, I might have bought you a black garter and matching bra set for Christmas instead of an Etch-A-Sketch. But frankly, after last night, I knew at the very least you wanted my hot body.”
“Get out, House.”
“Sorry, I’m a doctor, you’re a patient. Balance of power’s on my side.” House sat in the orange fiberglass chair next to the bed, propping his feet on the bed. “When do they serve lunch around here? I’m in the mood for mystery meat.”
Wilson pretended to be unconscious.
House pondered this new aspect of their friendship.
##################################################################
As soon as possibly, House had Wilson transferred to PPTH, and listed himself as Wilson’s attending physician. His team was just as happy to have time off with pay. They all made sure to be gone before Cuddy could give them clinic duty.
Speaking of whom, beyond a perfunctory “how is he” call to Princeton General, Cuddy had only stopped in once, to pick up her purse and to give House a peck on the cheek. Her calls to House made it clear that although she was trying to understand the situation-and she didn’t know the half of it-she expected him to eventually leave Wilson’s bedside and climb into hers.
Every morning, Wilson looked over to see House staring at him. Then Wilson groaned and turned away.
“Sulking isn’t going to make getting better any faster,” House told him.
“How can you even-why are you here now that you know about my-you know.”
“Like God, I am all-forgiving. Speaking of moving heaven and earth, I’ve had movers move some of my things into my old bedroom in the condo.”
“Why?” Wilson sat up, and winced. “Damn, my head!”
“Same thing Marie Antoinette said before they guillotined her,” House grinned at the stunned expression on his friend’s face. “We won’t know if there are any lasting neurological changes for a few weeks, so you need monitoring. Daily house calls would be too damn inconvenient. I had the organ moved back into the main room. What were you thinking, putting in the back room? It’s damp in there!”
“I was thinking that Sam wouldn’t keep getting pissed off at me every time she looked at the thing.” Wilson was watching House’s face intently. “You’re moving in because of my health?”
House shrugged. “Think what you want. Won’t make any difference. I’m going to be there.”
######################################################
Wilson was sleeping when Cuddy walked softly into his room. House smiled, drew a line across his lips, indicating they were not to talk. Cuddy jerked her head toward the hallway in a manner that said Now.
“Rachel misses you,” she said, after they kissed.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Cuddy smiled. “I miss you. I get that Wilson is your friend, but I’m your girlfriend.”
House slipped an arm around her waist. “One big difference. You’re upright and conscious. Wilson, on the other hand-“
“Yes, it’s been a colossal mess trying to cover his shifts, re-assign his patients, and get Kazinsky to take over as temporary head.” Cuddy looked at Wilson, and sighed. “He would have to fracture his skull. Wonky Wilson.”
House stared at her, aghast. “Wonky Wilson? How did you know about that?”
“You don’t think hospital administrators talk to each other? Especially when my Head of Oncology keeps ending up drunk in their ER?”
House’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re not upset?”
She shook her head. “Oh, like you’d sleep with Wilson,” Cuddy scoffed. “Spare me, House. Cameron or Thirteen, I’d be worried. But Wilson?” She moved closer, moving against his crotch, and kissed him. “I know you, House. Poor Wilson.”
“Yeah, poor Wilson.” House lied.
“Remember, tomorrow’s my Christmas party. Everyone’s expecting you.”
“Oh, Gawd,” House moaned. “Christmas is over. We lit the Hanukkah candles every night, isn’t that enough religious whoring for you?”
“See you tomorrow night.” She kissed him again, then sashayed down the corridor.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” House said under his breath, and went back into his friend’s hospital room, softly singing:
Don't you worry, it's going to be all
right.
'Cause I'm always there.