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and to all a good night
title: and to all a good night
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
phinnia
rating: pg-13 (established relationship-py)
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
author's note: a slightly late holiday fic, and hopefully not too fluffy. Unless you like that sort of thing. Thanks toarhh, bishojo_kitsune and cindy_lou_who8 for test reads and typos.
It started over turkey sandwiches and leftover pie while watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Wilson had his feet up and his sleeves rolled up and he was trying to decide whether he wanted to nap now or later when House came out of the kitchen, glanced at the TV, promptly grabbed the remote and shut it off.
"Hey." Wilson took his feet off the table. "I was watching that."
"Just get one thing straight." House waved the remote around like a conductor's baton. "I am not going to mysteriously become cheerful just because we're banging each other. I am not going to watch holiday specials or ancient movies about the so-called meaning of the season just because I'm getting regular blowjobs. And I'm not going to have anything to do with putting up tinsel or lights or sodomizing any angels with some plant that's going to slowly rot and get needles in my piano just because it's what everyone does this time of year, even if it was some long-standing Wilson family tradition. I hate Christmas."
"Actually the Wilson family traditions all involved dreidels and menorahs, or did you forget?"
"Chanukah has been grandfathered in. And so has Kwanzaa, just in case you had bright ideas about embracing multiculturalism and plaguing our day off with Foreman."
"Never would have occured to me."
"Good." Having made his point House dropped the remote in Wilson's lap and stomped off toward the bedroom. "And if I hear a single thing about Grinches I'm replacing your lotion with icy-hot." He slammed the door.
Wilson rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich.
*
When he was alone in his office Monday morning he took some time to think about this. He hadn't given too much thought to the holiday, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do something. - it had been years since he'd had the time, the energy and the desire to stay home this time of year; it was worth celebrating in some fashion.
As a child his favorite book had been the Hobbit, by Tolkien. He'd checked the local library's copy out so many times they'd had to put a new slip in the back (this was back in the days of slips and date due cards and the mysteries of the card catalogue) until his mother had broken down and bought him a copy for his birthday. Being the youngest of a brood of boys made him fairly sympathetic to Bilbo the hobbity burglar from Bag End, and how the magic ring had allowed him to sneak into the dragon's lair.
Wilson had no magic ring, but he did have a few tricks in his pockets; and House wasn't actually a dragon, he just ... enjoyed brooding, had a fiery temper and a certain penchant for riddles, a tendency to hoard and ...
Well. In any case, House was a worthy opponent.
*
"There are lights outside." House dropped his leather jacket on the floor by way of fanfare. "By the steps. And around the door."
"An unconventional greeting, but I can make it work. I'm fine, how are you?" Wilson set his drink down and looked up with as innocent an expression as he could conjure up. (Which, since he'd been practicing all afternoon, was quite a lot.)
"Why are there lights outside?"
"I figured you'd rather have lights than end up in our own ER with Cameron and the best of Don Ho's Ukelele Christmas Bonanza to go along with your broken bones and concussion. Doughnut?" Wilson smiled and gestured toward a plate stacked with warm, sweet-smelling pastries.
House stared at it like it was concealing a time bomb. "These aren't from that new hippie grocery store, are they? The place that sells bread that looks like dinosaur shit?"
"Nope. Made them myself, my great-great-grandmother's recipe. She'd come back from the grave and haunt me if I dared change it."
"She the one that made those rugelach cookies? The ones your mother keeps the recipe for in a safe deposit box?"
"The ones you love? Yes. That would be her."
House picked up a doughnut and bit into it, nodding approvingly, his eyes closed in silent supplication.
Wilson smirked.
*
Two days later when Wilson came home he was presented with an already-opened box.
"Just in case anything needed refrigerating." House explained from his seat at the piano. "Your mother will understand, I'm sure. She'd be impressed at my thoughtfulness. I thought I said no holiday crap?"
"Well, you know mothers." Wilson replied absently, running his fingers through the gold-wrapped chocolate coins that served as packing material around the menorah and dreidel. "They won't take no for an answer. Unless you actually bought that glittery reindeer sweater in the back of the closet?"
A grunt and a key change were his only reply. Wilson grinned quietly to himself and unwrapped a chocolate coin.
*
No one (except his ex-wives) could say that Wilson never learned from his mistakes: the second box he had sent to his office.
House would be suspicious either way, but at least this time he had a few minutes to prepare his poker face.
About three minutes, as it turned out.
"I know that packing tape." House dropped his backpack to the floor and frowned suspiciously at the box. "Consorting with the enemy?"
"I thought the enemy stormed the beach at Iwo Jima for the last time?"
"Details." House poked his cane inside the box, flicking packing peanuts out of it and on to the floor.
Wilson dug around under the peanuts for a moment and held up his treasure delightedly. "Oh, isn't this CUTE."
House winced. "Oh god, the ornaments."
"What an adorable little hand you had - what year is this? 1964 ... hard to believe these itty-bitty fingers grew up to steal my lunch every day."
"That's not all they do. Or had you forgotten?"
"You'd miss it." He rummaged around in the box again. "Oh, these are just adorable. Little Greggy's clay sculptures ... what is that, a dog?"
"A camel." House sighed, slumping into a corner of Wilson's office sofa. "I suppose there's going to be a tree for all this? I swear I said no to trees. I actually said no to this whole thing, really."
"I settled on pine boughs across the mantlepiece. Otherwise we'd have to move your piano. I'm having them shipped in from Maine." Wilson rocked back to sit on his heels and peered curiously at House, putting a hand on his knee. "Hey. Do you - do you really not want this?"
"Well, that's what I said."
"I thought you hated it like people hate surprise birthday parties. No one really hates surprise birthday parties."
"I hate surprise birthday parties. Really."
Wilson sighed and looked down at the clay animal hanging from one finger. "I guess I was hoping ... Okay."
"Okay what?"
"I'll take it down."
House buried his face in his hands. There was a long pause: then he muttered something Wilson couldn't hear.
"What?"
"I said the doughnuts were good."
Wilson allowed a smile to creep across his face.
"And I don't hate the smell of pine too much - as long as we're not going to drag ass around some lot somewhere to get it. And as long as it doesn't get into my piano."
"Nowhere near it. Promise." The grin was getting broader.
"And we can put up the ornaments as long as no one we work with sees them. Not even Cuddy. ESPECIALLY not Cuddy."
"That's fine." Wilson repacked the box and grabbed his coat off the back of the desk chair.
"And no holiday specials."
"Not even the Grinch?" Wilson shrugged innocently at House's baleful stare. "I like the songs."
"The cartoon one. Not the crappy live-action remake." House levered himself to his feet and picked up his backpack.
"Obviously."
"And absolutely NO Jimmy Stewart."
"Oh come on ..."
"No."
"I'll watch it with headphones on?"
"You've seen it a million times and you mumble all the lines with the characters. It's like living with a narcoleptic Roger Ebert."
"How about if I make it worth your while? A little donning some gay apparel, some strategically placed mistletoe ..."
"Nothing too gay. I burned that lavender shirt ages ago, by the way."
They rounded the corner together, good-naturedly squabbling all the way back to the car.
author:
phinniarating: pg-13 (established relationship-py)
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
author's note: a slightly late holiday fic, and hopefully not too fluffy. Unless you like that sort of thing. Thanks to
arhh, bishojo_kitsune and cindy_lou_who8 for test reads and typos.It started over turkey sandwiches and leftover pie while watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Wilson had his feet up and his sleeves rolled up and he was trying to decide whether he wanted to nap now or later when House came out of the kitchen, glanced at the TV, promptly grabbed the remote and shut it off.
"Hey." Wilson took his feet off the table. "I was watching that."
"Just get one thing straight." House waved the remote around like a conductor's baton. "I am not going to mysteriously become cheerful just because we're banging each other. I am not going to watch holiday specials or ancient movies about the so-called meaning of the season just because I'm getting regular blowjobs. And I'm not going to have anything to do with putting up tinsel or lights or sodomizing any angels with some plant that's going to slowly rot and get needles in my piano just because it's what everyone does this time of year, even if it was some long-standing Wilson family tradition. I hate Christmas."
"Actually the Wilson family traditions all involved dreidels and menorahs, or did you forget?"
"Chanukah has been grandfathered in. And so has Kwanzaa, just in case you had bright ideas about embracing multiculturalism and plaguing our day off with Foreman."
"Never would have occured to me."
"Good." Having made his point House dropped the remote in Wilson's lap and stomped off toward the bedroom. "And if I hear a single thing about Grinches I'm replacing your lotion with icy-hot." He slammed the door.
Wilson rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich.
*
When he was alone in his office Monday morning he took some time to think about this. He hadn't given too much thought to the holiday, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do something. - it had been years since he'd had the time, the energy and the desire to stay home this time of year; it was worth celebrating in some fashion.
As a child his favorite book had been the Hobbit, by Tolkien. He'd checked the local library's copy out so many times they'd had to put a new slip in the back (this was back in the days of slips and date due cards and the mysteries of the card catalogue) until his mother had broken down and bought him a copy for his birthday. Being the youngest of a brood of boys made him fairly sympathetic to Bilbo the hobbity burglar from Bag End, and how the magic ring had allowed him to sneak into the dragon's lair.
Wilson had no magic ring, but he did have a few tricks in his pockets; and House wasn't actually a dragon, he just ... enjoyed brooding, had a fiery temper and a certain penchant for riddles, a tendency to hoard and ...
Well. In any case, House was a worthy opponent.
*
"There are lights outside." House dropped his leather jacket on the floor by way of fanfare. "By the steps. And around the door."
"An unconventional greeting, but I can make it work. I'm fine, how are you?" Wilson set his drink down and looked up with as innocent an expression as he could conjure up. (Which, since he'd been practicing all afternoon, was quite a lot.)
"Why are there lights outside?"
"I figured you'd rather have lights than end up in our own ER with Cameron and the best of Don Ho's Ukelele Christmas Bonanza to go along with your broken bones and concussion. Doughnut?" Wilson smiled and gestured toward a plate stacked with warm, sweet-smelling pastries.
House stared at it like it was concealing a time bomb. "These aren't from that new hippie grocery store, are they? The place that sells bread that looks like dinosaur shit?"
"Nope. Made them myself, my great-great-grandmother's recipe. She'd come back from the grave and haunt me if I dared change it."
"She the one that made those rugelach cookies? The ones your mother keeps the recipe for in a safe deposit box?"
"The ones you love? Yes. That would be her."
House picked up a doughnut and bit into it, nodding approvingly, his eyes closed in silent supplication.
Wilson smirked.
*
Two days later when Wilson came home he was presented with an already-opened box.
"Just in case anything needed refrigerating." House explained from his seat at the piano. "Your mother will understand, I'm sure. She'd be impressed at my thoughtfulness. I thought I said no holiday crap?"
"Well, you know mothers." Wilson replied absently, running his fingers through the gold-wrapped chocolate coins that served as packing material around the menorah and dreidel. "They won't take no for an answer. Unless you actually bought that glittery reindeer sweater in the back of the closet?"
A grunt and a key change were his only reply. Wilson grinned quietly to himself and unwrapped a chocolate coin.
*
No one (except his ex-wives) could say that Wilson never learned from his mistakes: the second box he had sent to his office.
House would be suspicious either way, but at least this time he had a few minutes to prepare his poker face.
About three minutes, as it turned out.
"I know that packing tape." House dropped his backpack to the floor and frowned suspiciously at the box. "Consorting with the enemy?"
"I thought the enemy stormed the beach at Iwo Jima for the last time?"
"Details." House poked his cane inside the box, flicking packing peanuts out of it and on to the floor.
Wilson dug around under the peanuts for a moment and held up his treasure delightedly. "Oh, isn't this CUTE."
House winced. "Oh god, the ornaments."
"What an adorable little hand you had - what year is this? 1964 ... hard to believe these itty-bitty fingers grew up to steal my lunch every day."
"That's not all they do. Or had you forgotten?"
"You'd miss it." He rummaged around in the box again. "Oh, these are just adorable. Little Greggy's clay sculptures ... what is that, a dog?"
"A camel." House sighed, slumping into a corner of Wilson's office sofa. "I suppose there's going to be a tree for all this? I swear I said no to trees. I actually said no to this whole thing, really."
"I settled on pine boughs across the mantlepiece. Otherwise we'd have to move your piano. I'm having them shipped in from Maine." Wilson rocked back to sit on his heels and peered curiously at House, putting a hand on his knee. "Hey. Do you - do you really not want this?"
"Well, that's what I said."
"I thought you hated it like people hate surprise birthday parties. No one really hates surprise birthday parties."
"I hate surprise birthday parties. Really."
Wilson sighed and looked down at the clay animal hanging from one finger. "I guess I was hoping ... Okay."
"Okay what?"
"I'll take it down."
House buried his face in his hands. There was a long pause: then he muttered something Wilson couldn't hear.
"What?"
"I said the doughnuts were good."
Wilson allowed a smile to creep across his face.
"And I don't hate the smell of pine too much - as long as we're not going to drag ass around some lot somewhere to get it. And as long as it doesn't get into my piano."
"Nowhere near it. Promise." The grin was getting broader.
"And we can put up the ornaments as long as no one we work with sees them. Not even Cuddy. ESPECIALLY not Cuddy."
"That's fine." Wilson repacked the box and grabbed his coat off the back of the desk chair.
"And no holiday specials."
"Not even the Grinch?" Wilson shrugged innocently at House's baleful stare. "I like the songs."
"The cartoon one. Not the crappy live-action remake." House levered himself to his feet and picked up his backpack.
"Obviously."
"And absolutely NO Jimmy Stewart."
"Oh come on ..."
"No."
"I'll watch it with headphones on?"
"You've seen it a million times and you mumble all the lines with the characters. It's like living with a narcoleptic Roger Ebert."
"How about if I make it worth your while? A little donning some gay apparel, some strategically placed mistletoe ..."
"Nothing too gay. I burned that lavender shirt ages ago, by the way."
They rounded the corner together, good-naturedly squabbling all the way back to the car.