Its Christmas so I thought a Christmas fic was in order. Here is my version of the night before Christmas poem. House style. This was difficult and mainly because of my obsession with syllable counts. Anyway enjoy.
Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even Greg House.
Whose cane was hung by the couch without a care,
In the hopes that his thigh would someday repair.
The doctor was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of cleavage danced in his head.
Cuddy in her office, Wilson taking a nap,
Had just settled their brains for a day of mishap-
When out in the lobby there arose no clatter,
He sprang awake to investigate the matter.
Away to his Volvo, he flew like a flash,
Tore open the door, which slammed with a bash.
If this was just a test, Wilson would not know,
He knocked on the door uncertain of what it would show.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a smiling Greg House and an offer of beer,
With a little shown look, so lively so quick,
He knew in a moment this must be a trick.
More rapid then eagles his curiosity became,
And he shifted and stammered then called out his name,
"House, be a doctor, see patients and go fix them."
"Oh, come now, it's Christmas, have a beer Wilson,"
"And if I drink this beer, to work you will haul,"
"Fine, drink away, or I'll stay, and drink them all."
As House leaves before his friends beer can runs dry,
He meets an obstacle then crumbles with a cry.
So up came Wilson as House's pain subdued,
With sighs full of shame and much weariness too:
And then rose in an instant, as if just a goof,
Then he limped off real quick as if it were proof.
As Wilson rubbed his head and was turning around,
Down the hall cane in hand, House came with a bound:
He was dressed in sweats, though no shoe on his foot,
And his clothes were all wrinkled from where they'd been put;
A backpack unzipped was then flung off his back,
He looked like a student just filling his pack:
His eyes- looked quite pained his dimples now buried,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His smirk of a mouth had turned tight as a bow,
And the stubble on his chin was left to grow.
The stump of vicodin held tight in his teeth,
He dug through his clothes to find a Voss beneath.
His face had calmed with vicodin in his belly
That let him relax as he switched off the tele.
House, silly and theatric, mocked Cuddy's back shelf,
And he laugh'd when he saw him in spite of himself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave Wilson to know he had nothing to dread.
Both men spoke not a word as they came into work,
Before Wilson paid for lunch, House turned with a jerk,
Then out of his pocket a wallet arose,
And House gave the cashier a nod, "I'll pay for those."
Brown eyes sprung wide, as his hair began to bristle,
And away House laughed, pitch as high as a whistle.
Wilson heard him exclaim, as he limped out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
Comment please, it's the holidays, a time for giving and so forth.
And I hope everyone who reads this has a very happy holiday.