Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own House or any of its characters- if I did, Hugh Laurie would surely be waiting under my tree this Christmas. Title comes from "Good Christian Men, Rejoice". This is my first House fic, and I'm still trying to get the voices right, so please read and offer any and all comments and constructive criticism. Happy Holidays!
House breathes in the cool, wet, December air. It's still drizzling and the sound keeps him calm, helps to soothe his mind and body, just a little. He gazes at the tree in the corner and marvels at the fact that it doesn't look as out of place as he imagined it would. The same can be said for the woman asleep in his bed.
They shared a quiet evening together compromising- he gave in and forfeited three hours to watch It's A Wonderful Life, and she gave up the rights to the sugary Christmas carols she preferred, in favor of something quieter, sadder. It was a perfect description of their relationship- sweet and sour, hopeful and melancholy. It made for a lovely night- and so far its made for a lovely nine and a half months together. They ate gingerbread cookies that Cameron had made herself and drank alcohol-heavy eggnog, they opened Christmas presents and made love twice. He'll never admit it, but it was the best Christmas Eve he's ever had.
He'll spend Christmas Day with Wilson, as he has for the last few years. They'll drink and watch the Celtics play the Lakers, and whatever other games are on, neither really caring since the Knicks and Nets are both off. Wilson will make some references to traditional Christian practices, and House will crack some Jewish jokes, and they'll both mindlessly enjoy the other's company. Christmas day House can handle, he always does. It's Christmas night he always dreads.
Christmas night is for couples, and though he's not one for romance, even he sees something pathetic in a man nearing fifty, curled up alone in a cold apartment on December 25th. He won't say it aloud, but he's secretly pleased that Cameron will be here, wants to be here with him tomorrow night. He can see in her eyes that she's being honest when she says that ten hours tomorrow will be enough with her family, that she doesn't feel obligated to spend the night with him, she is choosing to. She can see in his that, though he won't say the words, he wants her there, needs her there, and is comforted to see that she feels the same.
There will be no twenty-four hours of A Christmas Story, no Christmas carols, he's made this clear. But he bought supplies and let her decorate his apartment, and he cracked a smile when she handed him the jazz compilation of Christmas songs she found. Tonight he relented to Christmas cookies, stockings, and eggnog- though his was half brandy. This was as much as he could offer her, and she could see relief in his eyes when he realized that she wasn't asking for anymore.
Cameron is asleep in the bedroom, cozy in her holiday nightwear. While she allowed House to refrain from getting swept up into the Christmas spirit, she had insisted on wearing a festive red and green camisole and pants covered in mistletoe. In response, House had insisted on making many a lewd comment about 'kissing under the mistletoe'. They both got what they wanted.
"House?" she calls sleepily from the bedroom. "Come back to bed." He smiles, in spite of himself. In the darkness, away from the prying eyes of their associates, away from her gaze even, he can admit to himself that he's…if not happy, at least at peace. He knows that he loves her. It's not sweeping, and epic, and grand. It's wanting to be around her, wanting to come home to her, to sleep next to her, to wake up to her. It's actually caring what happens to her, how she feels. It's allowing himself to get close to her. He's opened himself, one stitch at a time, and let her look inside. He's let her make him feel as close to whole again as he'll ever be, and he's grateful for it. No one wants to be lonely, anyone who says they do- himself included- is making up for the fact that there's no one to make them not that way.
He closes the window and picks up his cane, limping back toward the bedroom. He is forty-nine years old, and has one good leg. He is surly, and generally despised. He is egotistical, stubborn and socially inept. But every time she smiles at him, every time she touches him, reaches for him in her sleep, he adjusts his view of himself, just a little. He still doesn't deem himself worthy of her, still can't come close to understanding why she chose him and why she stays. But if smart, beautiful, kind-hearted Allison Cameron loves him…well, he can't be all bad.
He climbs into bed and finds her mostly asleep again already. His lips turn up, ever so slightly, at her child like sleep patterns, the way she can jolt awake immediately, and fall back asleep just as quickly. He gets comfortable, pulls her close to him, and hears her mumble "Merry Christmas". As he drifts off he thinks tentatively about next Christmas. Maybe he'll make the trip with her to the Cameron home, meet her older brother, who is still almost fifteen years younger than him, her mother, her niece and nephews. Maybe he'll get an unintentionally hilarious, because of the ten years that separate them, talk from her father about his intentions- and maybe he'll have an answer for him. In his heart and soul he's begun to plan a future for them, to assume that she'll be there tomorrow and the next day. Maybe next year he'll be able to voice it.