a slice of christmas fruitcrack: "The Benefit."

[phinnia]

Title: The Benefit
Author: phinnia
Rating: PG-13+ for themes
Disclaimer: I wanted a House and Wilson in my stocking this year, but instead I got crack. Damnit.
Author's Note: This year's holiday benefit is even worse than last year's. Featuring the original ducklings, sleep deprivation (mine), a sad lack of Ramones, too many Skittles, dolls, internet dating, an infestation of rodents, age-play theories and cross-dressing. I was inflicted with this idea a while back and it was someone's fault, but I don't remember whose.

The benefit sucked worse than usual this year, and after last year's fiasco (where Wilson had spent the entire evening sitting by the bedside of one of his cancer kids, who had the bad taste to die and not be House's patient instead, leaving him to be breathed on repeatedly by a gin-soaked donor with too much money and an insult-impervious tuxedo) he wasn't even sure that was possible.

Oh, sure, it was all very cute.

Lots of green crap hanging from the ceiling, lots of wet crap falling from the sky outside, lots of people laughing and talking about crap, the bar was out of Johnnie Walker Black (crap!) and the DJ didn't have the Ramones version of 'Merry Christmas', which meant he was playing crap. And again he couldn't find Wilson, and if he decided to abandon House again with some pathetic excuse like work, he'd seriously regret that when he opened his Amex bill.

Ah, there he was - carrying a bunch of boxes. Presents for the cancer kids, probably. House poked him in the ribs with his cane. "You know, they make nurses for that. Orderlies. People who are used to manual labour and aren't heads of departments."

"So that's your excuse? Finally, the missing piece of the puzzle." Wilson set the boxes down on one of the plastic chairs. "You seen Cuddy and Cameron? I've got some things for them."

"You know, you don't actually have to buy them Christmas presents. You could always play the Jew card."

Annnnnnnnd the hands went to the hips mere seconds after they'd put the boxes down. See, this is why Wilson needed him. If House wasn't around to exasperate Wilson, he'd probably fill the void by buying things and carrying them around all the time, and that was no good at all, mostly because he bought crap like kitchen appliances and organic microgreens (when he was a kid they called the goddamn things beansprouts and they were eaten by grandmothers and people on diets and you couldn't give the fucking things away for free, and now they were charging five dollars a box at Holy-Shit-You-Paid-How-Much-For-This-Little Foods and fuck he sounded like his father, obviously he had a date coming with a shotgun before these symptoms got worse) instead of cool things like, oh, a new stereo and a Wii for his bestest friend in the world.

Proof that he didn't always think of himself. It was no good Wilson getting ripped off.

"Have you even heard of the spirit of giving, oh Ebenezer?"

"Think so. But they're probably out of that too."

"What? Never mind, never mind. There they are." Wilson picked up the boxes again and disappeared into the crowd.

He was back almost immediately, shaking his head. "Well, that's unexpected."

"Oh?"

"Who'd have thought Cuddy would have rather had an American Girl doll than a cashmere sweater?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I got Cameron one of those American Girl dolls -"

"Did you get her a pacifier that matches her scrubs, too?"

"She collects them. Which you'd know if you took time to talk to people. They're cute. You can get them to look like yourself, or however you want, they're fully customizable. I got her one that looks like Chase."

"Nothing wrong with that statement at all, oh no."

"And Cuddy," Wilson carried bravely on without even flinching, "actually threw a fit."

"What?"

"I guess her date for the evening collects them too and now he's off exchanging doll stories with Cameron and she's sulking."

House snorted, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you want me to try internet dating? 'Oh, Cuddy does it all the time, House, she's had some great experiences.' you said. Yeah. I can see that. That's what happens when you pick a guy over the internet - he turns out to play with dolls."

"What, you expect to know everything about someone before you even go on one date with them?"

He shrugged. "I don't like surprises."

"Clearly. Why don't you just go out with me, then?"

House was about to say something when a sobbing whirlwind in a pink party dress ran up to their table.

"Wilson!" it was crying. "Cuddy broke my dollie."

"What? Don't worry, honey, I'll fix it."

House's jaw dropped.

Turned out the pink dress was Cameron, and something had eaten Wilson's brain, because he was hugging her and calling her 'honey'. But before he could tackle Wilson to the ground and wrest the brain slug off of his head (not only could Wilson not afford another alimony payment, but it was a shame to muss up all that nice shiny hair with slime, and god forbid he got it in his eyebrows, that'd never come out) Wilson took something out of his pocket protector, waved it over the broken doll and mended it as if by magic.

What the fucking hell? And why the fuck was Cameron wearing so much damn tulle and so many ribbons anyway, and ... shiny pink patent leather shoes? It looked like she'd bought her whole ensemble on age-play discount day at the local porn shop.

"There you go, sweetie." A pat on the head. "Now why don't you go show your new doll to the donors? I'm sure they'll like it."

"Are you sure it's not broken?" She was still tearful, but less so, although her mascara was running in black streaks down her cheeks.

"Positive, honey. Go play now." He patted her on the head and she went off, dragging the miniature effigy of Chase behind her by one foot.

"What the hell was all that about?" House spluttered. "Do you and Cameron have some kind of weird daddy/four year old daughter thing going on these days? And why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, don't think you're going to get out of this so easily." Wilson had that gleam in his eye, the rottweiler gleam: the one that said I'm going to drone on and on and on about circles of happiness at you until we have a clinical example of death by aggravation, and then I'm going to write a paper about it. "Why don't you just go out with me?"

House opened his mouth to say something again, but the whirlwind was back, and this time she was shrieking and had company. Chase was wearing some kind of whacked-out military uniform that looked like it had been vomited on by that clinic patient that had eaten twenty pounds of Skittles on a dare. At least he was shopping at his usual stores, unlike Cameron.

"Wilson, my dollie turned into a real boy!"

"Well, he is Australian." House tried to interject, but he wasn't sure he was heard over the shrieking.

"Oh, isn't that nice." Again with the head-patting. "Why don't you go show him to the donors, sweetie? I'm sure they'll like him."

"Okay!" Annnnnnnnd off she went again.

There had to be something in the punch. That was the only explanation. Problem was that the one who was most likely to put something in the punch was him, and considering he was the only person that seemed to see anything wrong with this situation, that was pretty damn unlikely. Everyone else was just making small talk, dancing, turning into mice ...

Turning into mice?

He grabbed Wilson by the shoulders and started shaking him. "James, what the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know." Wilson shrugged. "You're the one that won't go out with me. Why is that?"

"Will you shut up about that for five minutes? The donors are turning into mice!"

"Oh, yeah, that happens sometimes." Another shrug.

"What?"

Cuddy, who had sprouted an impressive pair of buck teeth, a twitchy black nose and a long pink tail since he'd last seen her, was rallying the mouse-donors to her aid. They had captured Chase and were starting to carry him off towards Pediatrics.

A patent leather shoe flew through the air and knocked Cuddy out cold.

"Oooh, good shot." Wilson murmured with an approving nod, rocking back on his heels. "She's been practicing."

House sank down into a chair. The mice were surrounding Cuddy's prone body, and the air was alive with squeaks and weeping. They lifted her up to their shoulders (not a few of them copping a feel with their tiny pink forepaws in the process, he noticed) and carried her towards the administration wing.

"Now time for the dancing." Wilson took House by the arm and led him out onto the dance floor. "Come on, let's go. Sugar Plum Foreman will be unhappy if we don't dance."

He felt like a broken record, but it was almost instinctive. He had to know. "Who? What?"

"Answer my question first."

"What question?"

"Why won't you go out with me, House?"

House took a deep breath, intending to tear Wilson's head off (must the man think of his cock at a time like this?) but he was interrupted by a tall, dark figure with no hair and a luxurious fuschia taffeta ballgown. "Why aren't you dancing? You know that makes me unhappy."

"We were just about to start, Sugar Plum Foreman." Wilson explained. "House was just telling me why he won't go out with me."

"That is a good question." Foreman fluffed his skirt a little. "Why won't you go out with him, House?"

"House?"

"House? House, wake up."

Wilson was staring at him and shaking his shoulders. He was in his apartment, which was free of mice, donors, and anyone wearing dresses.

"You okay?" Wilson's eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned forward a little. "You looked like you were having some kind of nightmare."

House grabbed Wilson around the waist, pulling him down into a hug. He was warm and solid and unmistakably real.

He was also chuckling. "Well. You're not usually this affectionate. Not that I'm complaining." Wilson kissed him softly on the lips. "You okay?"

"Yeah." House let out a long, slow breath. The whole stupid thing was just a dream. "Yeah. I am." He shifted a little on the sofa and started nuzzling James' throat. "Why didn't we do this years ago?"

Wilson shrugged and kissed him again. "I don't know. Why didn't we?"


(for a brief overview of the nutcracker ballet plot, go here. Makes more sense that way.)