Winter had always been Wilson's favourite season. He loved the crisp air that turned his cheeks rosy and every breath into a cloud of condensation. He loved the sound of children shrieking with laughter as a barrage of snowballs flew across empty, unplowed side streets. He loved watching snowflakes float to the ground, and sunlight sparkle on the snow-canopied trees. Princeton always looked so clean and beautiful after a fresh snowfall. The grey slush that followed was less attractive, granted, but then so were the mud and puddles of fall and spring, and the sun-scorched lawns of summer.
Winters in his childhood had meant snow angels on the front lawn, ski and snowshoe trips to the mountains, and hot chocolate made with tiny marshmallows to warm up at the end of the day. One year, during a particularly white winter, he had built a snow fort in the back yard with his brothers and insisted on spending the night outside bundled up in three sleeping bags.
When he was at school in Montreal, he had visited Quebec City for Carnaval and spent a February weekend in Ottawa during Winterlude. He had mugged for the camera with Bonhomme, skated on the canal, and played pick-up hockey on frozen ponds and flooded parking lots. When winter lasted half the year, you either had to embrace the season or burrow away for the duration. Wilson had done his fair share of burrowing, but he still looked forward to the first snowfall of the year.
It was in Montreal that he learned to respect, as well as love, the winter. He switched to snow tires every November and carried chains in his trunk. His ice scraper and snow brush were fit with left-hand mittens for maximum warmth and comfort. He had a stylish selection of scarves, gloves, and boots, so even tromping across drifts and through slush was only a minor inconvenience compared to the joy of shaking a fresh frosting of snowflakes from his hair and shoulders. He wasn't particularly fond of the increased colds, flu, and ice-inspired accidents that increased the traffic in the clinic, but every season brought its medical inconveniences.
House didn't see it that way, of course, but he had good reason to dread the arrival of winter. Fresh snow meant hidden ice patches and treacherous traverses from door to door, no matter how close his parking spot was to the hospital entrance. Wilson's own enjoyment of the season dimmed when he watched House's steps turn tentative.
But that didn't stop him from standing on the balcony and watching the snow drift down with a slight smile on his face. There were no dark nights when everything was covered with snow. He warmed his hands with a mug of fresh coffee, laced with a generous dollop of brandy now that the work day was over and he was off call.
He heard a door slide open and turned his head slightly to see House emerge from the warm cocoon of his office, frowning with displeasure as he was blasted by cold air. Wilson's smile broadened as House shuddered dramatically and wrapped his arms across his chest to preserve body heat.
"Don't be such a wimp," Wilson said. "It's 31 degrees out. Barely below freezing."
"Barely below freezing is still below freezing," House pointed out, looking covetously at Wilson's coffee mug.
"Get your own," Wilson said, but passed it over anyway. Holidays were a time of giving, even if the giving only went one way. He didn't expect to get the mug back once House tasted the brandy.
"I thought it was supposed to rain tonight," House said, glaring at the white-flecked sky.
"Since when has the weather forecast been right? And better this than being knee-deep in slush. A white Christmas beats a grey Christmas any year." He couldn't stop himself from humming a few notes of "White Christmas," knowing that it would annoy House.
"I don't know why I have to point this out every year, but why do you care what colour Christmas it is? You're a Jew."
"So was Irving Berlin, but I guess white Chanukah didn't have quite the same ring to it." He hummed a few bars of "Chanukah, O Chanukah" for good measure, though.
"Not to mention that Chanukah songs don't exactly chart at number one," House added cynically.
Wilson refused to let House dampen his mood. He might not observe Christmas officially or religiously, but all his patients looked like they would make it to the New Year, and that was reason enough to celebrate. Cuddy had an extra reason to celebrate this year as well, closely monitored and sleeping in the NICU. Together they'd lit the day's candles on the menorah she kept in her office. It was the next best thing to family.
"What are you still doing here?" he asked, wishing he'd invited House to join their quiet ceremony. "Do you need a ride home?" House's old junker ran poorly at the best of times, but it was even more temperamental when the weather turned cold.
"I'm good. I was just packing up for the night when I saw you doing your snowman impression."
There was a hint of fondness in House's voice, and Wilson smiled, shaking the snow out of his hair.
"Hang on," he said. "I got you an early Christmas present." He darted into his office and retrieved the package he had locked away in his bottom drawer that morning. He hadn't bothered to wrap it, since apparently wrapping paper was a disincentive to opening things for House, but he had taped the plain paper bag shut. He tossed the package across the balcony, pleased when it hit House on the shoulder and landed in the soft snow on the dividing wall. "Open it now."
"But then we'd break the tradition of me ignoring your gifts, and I know how important tradition is to you," House said, but he picked up the package and shook loose the snow. "What are these?" he demanded, pulling out a pair of webbed rubber encased with metal coils.
"Yaktrax," Wilson replied. "Extra traction for the ice and snow. They fit over the soles of your sneakers."
"They're not in the packaging," House said, dangling one by the heel tab. "You gave me a used present?"
Wilson flushed, even though it wasn't true. "I wanted to try them first. They're not very safe indoors, so I wanted to see how easy they are to get on and off." He'd found out about the lack of indoor traction the hard way, slipping on the linoleum just two steps away from his office. He'd windmilled his arms wildly, preventing an embarrassing fall, but only just. "Taking them off is easier than putting them on, especially if you hold down the tab with your cane," he explained.
"Are you planning on writing a manual?" House asked. "Don't forget to include pictures." But he cleared away a patch of snow and sat on the wall to put the Yaktrax on.
"They're okay on carpet," Wilson warned, "but take them off before you leave the office."
House just rolled his eyes. "Is this right, Master?" he asked, lifting one foot slightly off the ground. When Wilson leaned over the wall for a closer look, House shoved a handful of snow down his jacket.
Wilson yelped and pulled at his jacket, wriggling his shoulders to slide the snow out. "You bastard!" he exclaimed joyfully, thinking that now it was a doubly appropriate insult. He scooped a handful of snow off the wall and packed it into a loose ball, hard enough to throw, but not hard enough to hurt.
"You wouldn't throw a snowball at a cripple," House said, backing up slowly, hands raised protectively in front of his face. "You'll get coal in your stocking for that."
Wilson let his face fall in remorse, but the second House dropped his guard, he whipped off a quick sidearm throw that skimmed the top of House's head. He immediately grabbed another handful. "Jew, remember?" he said. "Besides, I'm sure the doctors, nurses, orderlies, lab technicians, and administrators you've insulted this year would raise a collection to buy me a nice replacement gift." His next throw caught House on the ear, and then he had to duck behind his potted plant to avoid a return volley.
In a matter of minutes the balcony became a war zone criss-crossing with white projectiles. Finally, they exhausted the available snow and stood panting on either side of No Man's Land. Wilson's fingers felt thick and burning from packing snow without gloves, and a patch of skin above his right eye stung from a well-placed throw, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been happier.
A stream of melted snow trickled down House's cheek, but he was grinning, too. "I think you might be on to something with this white Christmas thing," he said grudgingly. "I bet there's plenty of snow on the roof."
Wilson imagined a pristine battlefield and planned his campaign. "Bundle up. You're in for a long siege. And take off the Yaktrax between your office and the roof."
"You only bought them because of the name," House said. "Marketers must have wet dreams about you." He reached behind with his cane and grunted with pleasure when the sole protector snapped off. "I bet they don't last a month."
Wilson ignored the complaint in favour of the gratitude it hid. "Well, then, you'll walk safer for a month. You've got five minutes to get to the roof before I set up an ambush." He grinned when House made an about-turn and beat a hasty retreat to his office, undoubtedly already planning his victory parade. He lingered on the balcony, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet, as fresh ammunition floated down around him. He was already half-soaked, but he had a change of clothes in his office. Maybe he could find an undisturbed corner to make a snow angel.
"Snow had fallen, snow on snow," he murmured and opened the door to his office. It might be midwinter, but it was anything but bleak.