Chapter 1

The cause of future trouble arrived in early December, an innocent-looking parcel neatly wrapped in brown paper and addressed to House in his mother's small and precise handwriting. His birthday was still a while off and besides, she hadn't sent him anything other than a card - usually with a tenner tucked inside - in years. He had stared at it with some apprehension for a while, not sure what to do. In the end, he decided there was nothing to be gained by letting it sit on the coffee table for much longer.

Inside the packing paper was a layer of thin, white tissue. Whatever it contained was soft and clearly needed to be protected. On top lay a card.

Dear Gregory,

Your great-aunt Mabel sadly passed away a few weeks ago. As you know, she loved to knit and was still working on a project until the day before she passed. You probably remember all the lovely things she made for you when you were little.

This is the last piece she completed, I thought you might want to have it. I think it should fit.

Love,

Mom

Damn, not another scarf! House vividly remembered wearing handmade scarves as a boy, and all of them were blindingly colorful and scratchy like hell. He also dimly recalled Aunt Mabel. She was already old when he was small, so she must have been ancient when she finally died. He had a mental image of the old bat with her knitting needles clutched in her claw-like hands at the end, refusing to give in to death. Well, he couldn't blame her for that at least.

With considerable trepidation, he pushed open the tissue paper and had to actually squint to take in all the colors blaring up at him from the depths of the package. "Oh god," he groaned softly. "Christ on a crutch…"

A sweater. And not just any sweater, but a holiday themed one. It took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing; he knew a real worry that his retinas would never be the same. Once he was able to comprehend the composition, a strong sense of disbelief coupled with revulsion led him to drop the whole mess on the nearest flat surface - in this case, the coffee table.

He would have to get rid of it, and fast.


For James, things had started with Sandy's stupid bake sale.

To be fair, he didn't think it was stupid at the time. It was just another thing on his already pretty full plate. He didn't much care for Christmas (or Hanukkah either, for that matter), but as head of oncology he could hardly decline to participate in something intended to raise funds for his own department.

"You're a pushover." House spoke from the safety of one of James's recliners.

"That didn't come out quite right. You were going to say, you're a responsible adult, James."

House just snorted. James added a bit more vanilla to the bowl and glanced at the mess on his kitchen table. He sighed. It didn't exactly look like any responsible adult lived here at the moment. "I could hardly say no to something that's going to raise money for my own department." So he had told Sandy she could put him down for a batch of cookies.

"Of course you can. I've been doing it for years. When have you last seen me at a hospital fundraiser?"

"Your refusal to act like an adult doesn't have to be my role model." James started to cream the butter and sugar. This was a tried and tested recipe, and he should be finished in no time. Then he just needed to decorate the cookies, and they would be ready for the sale tomorrow.

"My choice not to get guilt-tripped into doing something I don't want to do, you mean." The phone rang. House craned his neck and checked the display. "Call for you."

"Could you-?"

"Nope."

James gritted his teeth. He set the bowl aside and wiped his hands on a paper towel as he headed for the phone. Unusual to have a call come in on the landline… "Doctor Wilson speaking." He listened to the agitated voice on the other end and sorted out the message. "Okay...okay...we expected something like this to happen, but not quite so soon. I'll be right there."

And that was how he ended up leaving House in charge of finishing the cookies. Not his smartest idea, but his only option at the time. He knew he would be with his patient for at least a few hours. And he would be exhausted afterwards.

"Please take this seriously, House. No jokes. This is important. People will know this is my contribution to the bake sale."

House had put his hand where most people have a heart. "I'll finish this, don't you worry. Go, play doctor."

James gave House a long look, suspicious at this sudden willingness to help out. "I'm not kidding. We need all the funding we can get."

"Yeah yeah. Get out. Tempus fugit." House flapped a hand at him and levered his lean form out of the recliner. On a sense of misgiving, James grabbed his coat and turned away. He paused in the doorway.

"Seriously-"

"Out!" House already had on the apron. James sighed and shut the door behind him.

He returned home several hours later, exhausted, hungry and ready to forget his time at the patient's bedside. As he fitted his key in the door he could smell the delightful fragrance of gingerbread, a blend of spices, vanilla and caramelized sugar that made his empty belly growl. Maybe he could sneak a cookie and say it had broken or gotten burned . . .

House had anticipated his intent. There was no sign of him, but a plate with several cookies sat on the counter, along with a shot of what appeared to be bourbon. And they weren't culls either. No, they were nicely decorated with fine, colorful lines. James munched the first tree cookie while he toed off his shoes and put them by the door. A star-shaped cookie disappeared when he went to hang his coat in the hall.

They were good-light and tender, but sturdy enough to hold together. And they looked great. He took a sip of bourbon, and then he ate a gingerbread man with what appeared to be a fedora on his head and a green tie around his neck. House had done a good job. Just to make sure, James lifted the lid of the big tin sitting prominently on the kitchen table. Yup, everything looked okay. More than okay, in fact. House did have a knack for this. The little knot of apprehension deep inside James loosened and faded away. His contribution to the sale would be on time, and probably popular as well. He snagged one more cookie on the way to his bedroom, tired but satisfied, and fell asleep quickly once he slid between the sheets.