Gregory House and the Ghost of Christmas Always

Author's Note: This is the product of working a lot of hours at my part time job at Hallmark, and getting season four of House today (Black Friday) for $12.99. Watching the Special Features reminded me of how much I loved Amber. Thus, more Hilson goodness. Just like always.
Author's Note 2: Takes place some horrible Huddy Christmas in the future. Inspired by Charles Dicken's A Christmas Carol.

He'd already had one seriously bad day. He had thought he had finally succeeded in pulling the wool over his boss-turned-girlfriend's eyes when she had confronted him outside the hospital. He'd admitted the truth when cornered, but her cool words ("I'm going to spend the night at Ann's. Don't call me.") made her, um, annoyance with him pretty clear. And to top it all off the patient had died anyway.

Adding all that together with leg pain ten times worse than normal made mere thoughts of his bed create a Pavlov response and he found his head spinning with fatigue. As he unlocked his front door he held his breath - once inside, he exhaled slowly. It was good to be home.

The smells from when he had made breakfast that morning tempted him when he walked by the kitchen, but a crack of thunder caused his leg to twinge, a painful reminder of his destination.

Not bothering to undress or even switch on the light, he collapsed against his pillows, then rolled over onto his back. It was Christmas Eve, and he was alone. For the 800th time that day he wondered where Wilson was, what he was doing today. His best friend was Jewish, and plus he was single now-but no, he wouldn't call. He'd vowed to pull in the reins, as obsessive, pathetic, unrequited love was definitely unhealthy for his relationship with Cuddy.

And he cared about his girlfriend, he really did. He had been chasing her for as long as he could remember, and now he "had" her. He woke up every morning to long brown hair and a gentle, feminine smile. It was fine. They were happy in their Adult Relationship.

Which was why he had recently decided he couldn't indulge in these pointless fantasies anymore. He had faced facts-he was in love with Wilson. It was aggravating and frustrating, but there it was. He couldn't help it. If he had been a 13 year old girl he would have doodled "Mrs. James Wilson" into the margins of his notebooks.

And, okay, there had been times, throughout the course of their friendship that he had believed the feeling was mutual. The night his best friend had bought him the organ he had been certain that the looks in their eyes must have mirrored each other. But he had waited, and in true Shakespearean tragedy form, Wilson had been snatched up by his ex-wife.

No, but he couldn't dwell on the past like that. It was over.

With a deep sigh he slipped his eyes shut.

He dreamed he was standing in his bedroom, staring at the blank face of Lawrence Kutner. His former (well, post-mortem) employee flipped his eyes to the diagnostician's bright blue before beginning. "Tonight, you, Gregory House will be visited by a Spirit. This Spirit will take you on a journey, so that you may learn the most important of lessons. Listen to all she has to teach you."

The whole scene would have been a little hilarious, if Kutner's grave expression hadn't been so eerie. "When the clock strikes nine she will appear to you for the first time."

House couldn't bring himself to speak. He groped for words, but his voice failed him.

"When the clock strikes nine."

House's eyes flew open, and went to the time on the DVR box. The digital numbers read 8:58. He took a shuttering breath and flipped on his bedside lamp. The bedroom was instantly flooded with light, but it didn't alleviate the queasy feeling in his stomach. Even as he told himself that his nervousness was ridiculous, he glanced at the time again. 8:59.

No, he couldn't start taking his dreams seriously. He was acting insane, and he hadn't needed Mayfield in years.

Then out of the corner of his eye he watched the time change to 9:00.

He blinked once, twice, and Amber Volakis was standing in front of him.

"Greg," she greeted, almost cheerfully, before giving him a smile.

"Cut-Throat Bitch?"

Oh, god. He was-

"You're not hallucinating," the woman interrupted his thoughts.

He narowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Then how did you know what I was thinking?"

"You don't think we get the memos up there?" She crossed her arms over her chest in a way that was overwhelmingly familiar. "But I'm really here. We're really about to take a trip." When he didn't move, she sighed impatiently. "Whenever you're ready."

"You're not... transparent," he finally stated.

She shrugged. "Not a ghost. Not for now, anyway. It's easier to hold my hand if I have a body. And where we're headed you're going to need to hold my hand."

"Okay, what I'm going to need is more information than that. If you're not a figment of my imagination then why are you here? Don't you have an afterlife to be living?"

She shot him an angry glare, and he swallowed hard. He hadn't exactly worked out the kinks of this otherworldly visit but he decided that the words "still dreaming" featured prominently. Nevertheless, if Dream-Amber was hoping for cooperation he needed answers. "I'm here because of Wilson," she replied.

That was definitely low on his list of possibilities, but once she said it he supposed it made sense. The person they had in common.

In different respects, of course. She had gotten down and sweaty with the oncologist.

"What about Wilson," he demanded.

The girl that had been dead for years crossed his bedroom then stood over him, at the foot of the bed. "I left you in charge of him, and things are only worse now."

House's mouth dropped open in shock. "Hey, visitors from the Great Beyond do not to get cast judgment on relationships of earthlings. I don't tell you who to haunt."

"Regardless." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Now he's single, and you're shacking up with the Dean of Medicine. Have you lost your mind?"

"Death has made you mean."

"Okay, we have to go," Amber said, extending her hand, which he cautiously took. Her skin was cool, but not the ice block he had been expecting. "Click your heels together, and say there's no place like home." And in a swirl of lights the pair disappeared into the night.