The midnight sky is a dark velvet. Pinpoints of light from a myriad of stars push through the fabric, serving as a reminder of the one Star that led so many to Christmas Peace. Virgin snow blankets the ground, soft and unassuming, like another Virgin found on Christmas Eve some 2000 odd years ago.
For two individuals, the significance and the beauty of the outside world means very little to them. They remain indoors apart from the serenity of nature, celebrating the holidays in their own reverent way. They sit on a sofa, not so much side by side, but as one cohesive unit, his limbs an extension of hers, her head a perfect resting place for his chin. The fireplace, at which they find themselves gazing meditatively, casts its orange and red glow on them—stained glass in a cathedral showering colorful light on its parishioners. The tongues of flames whisper to them tidings of comfort and joy.
Cameron inclines her head ever so slightly, but it's enough to make her companion's chin lose its balance. House shifts to accommodate the sudden change, and she nestles into his chest, inhaling all the fragrances of his shirt that are so characteristically him.
"It's almost Christmas." House is only vaguely aware of what he says. He's staring at the top of Cameron's head as the light from the fire creates a halo around her chestnut locks.
"Mmm," she replies drowsily. She feels his fingers inching their way up her white sweater. Despite the fact that they've been cuddling for the last half hour, his fingertips are cold, and she shudders as they touch the small of her back.
"Sorry," he whispers into her ear and, much to her disappointment, removes his hand.
"You know what that means, don't you?" Cameron leans back to look him straight in the eyes.
"I know what what means?"
"That it's almost Christmas. It means it will soon be her first Christmas."
A flicker of what could either be annoyance, mischief or a combination of both clouds his blue eyes. "Now, Cameron, I've never understood the significance of a first Christmas. The kid isn't even going to remember it years from now."
His rhetoric is old, but she plays along with him. There's no sense in upsetting him tonight. Peace on Earth and all that. "It's not for 'the kid.' It's for the parents."
"Which is why I'll be tearing the wrapping paper off of presents Irene will have no interest in, while you'll be snapping ludicrous pictures with your camera?"
"Yep."
"Just making sure."
*
Almost two years have passed since Cameron entered his office looking for a blood sample and ended up stealing a kiss. Their kiss was, as Cameron called it, "the stuff of legends," fueled by curiosity and driven even further by the unbridled passion that threatened to consume them both. Disappointment didn't even cover what House felt when he discovered the kiss was a ploy. His crack about the sperm sample effectively hid his hurt and made him appear insensitive and rude: the perfect defense mechanism.
He thought and possibly hoped their kiss would be the end of whatever bizarre "thing" they had, but instead it haunted him for weeks. Finally, after finding courage in a bottle of aged Scotch, he stumbled to her apartment in the middle of the night, pounding her door until he felt the reverberations travel from his fist to his feet.
Cameron was unimpressed at his late night visit, or perhaps it was the own amount of alcohol she had consumed that evening which made her resent his loud and insistent knocking. But she seemed to forget whatever anger she might possess when House slurred, "I'm here to give you that sperm sample."
Their one night stand might have remained as such—if Cameron hadn't become pregnant. Abortion was out of the question for her, so it had come down simply to whether the child would have one or two parents in its life. House had never seen himself as a father figure, but he also prided himself on doing what was right. And raising his child with Allison Cameron could possibly be the most important and right thing he ever did.
At first the relationship between the two of them was strained and awkward, each unsure how to proceed. Were they now a romantic couple? Did they move in together for the sake of their soon-to-be born baby but remain "friends only"? Did they keep an amicable distance until the time of delivery at which point . . . who knew what they would do?
For both, distance seemed desirable at first. Neither was ready to admit their circumstance, and the only way to prevent people from suspecting was to retain their former relationship of Employee/Employer. Then Cameron began showing, the gossip and malicious judgment began circulating, and House felt something, which had long lay idle in his being, stir inside him.
"You're moving in," he told her protectively, "And anyone who has any objections to your current situation can answer to me."
He was by no means a knight in shining armor, but then Cameron had no use for medieval squires.
*
Cameron gazes up at House, marveling at how far they've come in their relationship. They traveled through lust, guilt, duty, respect, lust again and, after much meandering, found their way to love. She gently nuzzles him and fills with absolute joy when he reciprocates with a throaty exclamation.
"You know, it's technically not her first Christmas," House abruptly murmurs.
It takes a moment for her to figure out what he's going on about.
"Irene had her first Christmas last year in the comfort of your womb."
"That doesn't count." She's tempted to throw a sofa cushion at his head.
"It does to the wily Chinese. According to their line of thinking, our baby was already a one-year-old last year. Plenty old enough to celebrate some ridiculous holiday. Ergo this is her second yearand her second Christmas, and we don't have to do anything special."
"We're not Chinese. 'Ergo,' it doesn't count." She teasingly pokes the tip of his nose with her pointer finger. "Sorry, you're not getting out of this."
House feigns a groan of defeat.
They snuggle a few minutes longer until the fire's embers wane to a dull glow. They're about to retire for the night when a sharp wail erupts from the adjoining room.
This time House's groan is real. "What's she doing up? It's late."
"Sorry, she hasn't learned how to tell time, yet." Cameron smiles dryly and goes to see what her youngster needs. House waits on the couch, and watches as Cameron enters the connecting kitchen, grabs a bottle out of the fridge, and begins what he considers the tedious process of warming up formula.
Several minutes later, she settles into an armchair, nursing the baby in relative quiet. The only sounds are Irene's eager sucking and an occasional crackle from the fireplace. House stares at the two in almost awe, as if he can't quite figure how he ended up this lucky. Cameron vaguely wonders if this tranquility is anything near what Mary felt holding her newborn Child. She shakes her head to dismiss the thought. She's not even sure why she thought of the first Nativity, except that it's Christmas and the lessons of her childhood haven't been completely forgotten.
Cameron glances over to the digital clock on the microwave, which flashes 12:01 in neon green. "Merry Christmas, House," she whispers.
"Merry Christmas, Cameron," he rejoins. He edges over to her and leans in for a kiss.
The moment is interrupted by Irene, who decides now would be a good time to spit up on her mommy. Cameron lets out a yelp and holds the baby at arm's length, staring at her as if she was a strange alien specimen.
"That's a new burping technique," House manages to get out between chuckles.
Cameron glares in reply.
"Sorry, but you should have seen your face."
Cameron resumes burping Irene, but her face is still rather cross. "She spit up on my cashmere sweater."
"I'll buy you a new one. In the same boring white, if you like."
Her face wavers between indecision and compliance.
House decides to sweeten the deal. "I'll even help you take that disgusting thing off." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Cameron smiles sultrily. "Let me just get Irene back to sleep."
House almost has a skip in his step as he heads off to their bedroom. Now this is the sort of Christmas tradition he can get used to.
The End.