Christmas H/W Fic: Epilogue "A Christmas Caroline"
Title: All I Want For Christmas Is You
Authors: flywoman , pgrabia , jezziejay , cuddyclothes
Written for sick_wilson_fest. Many thanks to flywoman , who put this project together and was its guiding spirit, and the other great writers who worked on this!
Part 1 "Zat You, Santa Claus?" by flywoman
Part 2 "Dashing Through The Snow" 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 "Jingle Balls" by jezziejay
Part 7 "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by cuddyclothes
Damn platform boots were slippery. I should have put the spikes on the bottom instead of the sides.
I was hanging out at the bus stop, ‘cause I wouldn’t go to a college frat Christmas party. Those crazy little fuckers get nasty when they’re drunk. And there’s a lot of them. Nobody had been by all night.
Fucking Christmas Eve. That damn hospital party hadn’t landed me one customer.
So I was freezing my shapely ass off, when I saw these two guys come out of the hospital, walking together, smiling, carrying a shopping bag. Great, maybe a threesome, because they were DEFINITELY coming my way.
They get closer, and oh, crap. I know the dude with the cane. Building, Barn, some shit. Whatever, he’s trouble on a stick. I start backing up, shaking my head.
“Don’t mess with me, Condo! You don’t want my boot up your gimpy ass!”
Condo smiled at me. It was creepy. He’s a serial killer who likes hookers. His friend touched him on the arm. Couldn’t place him, but one john looks like another.
“We’re not here to mess with you,” the friend said. Damn, that overcoat must have cost six months rent. Camel hair. Hey, I got an eye for the good stuff.
“Then what you want? It’s too cold to get on my knees for a BJ.”
“We don’t want BJs.” Overcoat Guy was kinda cute. “We want to thank you. Do you remember last Christmas? Drunk Santa? You stole my partner’s leather jacket?”
It all came back to me. Overcoat Guy was drunk off his ass, Condo yelled at me in the ER after his skank girlfriend busted my jaw. “How’s your bitch? I lost a month of work because of her.”
“The bitch is gone, long live the bitch,” said Gimpy.
“Go on, House, apologize.” Overcoat guy nudged Gimpy.
Gimpy looked at the bus stop. “I’m sorry I yelled at you in the ER. My friend here had a fractured skull, and I wasn’t at my charming best.”
“You’re never at your charming best,” Overcoat Guy said. “We hooked up that night. I mean, we didn’t hook up that night, I had a fractured skull, that would have been sick, but, um, we’re living together. And we wanted to thank you for being part of that night.”
They’re both grinning at me like idiot monkeys. Then Overcoat Guy thrusts a big shopping bag at me.
“We know you like pink. That thing you’re wearing can’t possibly be warm enough.”
“Especially with what you’re not wearing underneath,” Gimpy said.
I took the shopping bag from Overcoat Guy. I almost passed out when my hand hit the contents. “Holy fuck! It’s fox…and it’s pink!”
Overcoat Guy smiled. “We know you like pink, and, well, the real thing is a lot warmer. It’s actually rabbit trimmed with a fox collar-“
“Pink fox is murder,” Gimpy interrupted.
“Who gives a shit, Gimpy?” I yanked off my nasty-ass fake fur, dropped on it on the ground and pulled on the new coat. God damn, this was one fine coat! “How do I look, sweetstuff?”
“You look elegant,” said Overcoat Guy.
“In a slutty kind of way,” Gimpy added.
“House-“
“I’ve done some asking around about you,” Gimpy said. “Your friends say you’re a pre-operative transsexual, taking fake hormones you buy on the streets. That’s gonna kill you, moron.”
“My business is my business,” I said. Where did he get off, saying that nonsense. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“Your business is now my business. As of now, I’m your attending physician. Your street name is Caroline. What’s your real name?”
I told him.
“Don’t worry; your records will be medically accurate, up to a point. I’ll make sure you get the proper hormones. If you sell them, I’ll know. You can visit me at the Princeton-Plainsboro Free Clinic. Ask for Dr. House. It’s going to take a year, but you can celebrate next Christmas by having your dick sliced off.”
Honey, I couldn’t say a word. Which for me is something. Now they were both doing the idiot monkey grin at me, and I was doing the idiot monkey grin right back at them. Then Overcoat Guy kissed me on the cheek and handed me an envelope. It was full of cash.
“Here’s $500. Merry Christmas,” he said, taking Gimpy’s hand. “Now go home.”
“Don’t worry, it’s all in $20 bills, you don’t have to hand it all over to your pimp,” said Gimpy. “See you next Monday.”
I watched them walk away, hand in hand. Those two crazy-ass motherfuckers had just given me the best Christmas I’d ever had.