A/N: Originally posted for the "House Stocking" community on livejournal. I'm a long-time lurker, but this is my first ever fanfiction, so please be kind….
(EDIT: As I am clearly going senile, for the sake of continuity, let's say this takes place in the second season).
Wilson found him sitting on his bedroom floor next to the open closet door.
"What are you doing in my room, House?" he sputtered, indignation transitioning quickly to concern as he took in House's tense shoulders and subdued demeanor. House looked up at Wilson with red-rimmed eyes.
"You got me a Christmas present," he said softly, his hand brushing lightly against the brand new Fender amp. The roll of wrapping paper that had been leaning up against it had fallen on its side when House moved the unwrapped amp towards the closet door. Wilson sighed.
"You weren't supposed to find it yet, House. That's why I hid it in my closet. What were you doing in here anyway?"
"I was looking for my 'Blue vs. Grey' shirt. Thought it might have gotten mixed up with your laundry," House replied absently. "You got me a Christmas present," he repeated, looking away from Wilson as if to prevent Wilson from reading his emotions.
"That's generally what friends do at Christmastime. Especially friends who live together." Wilson stared at House, wondering silently what was going through his mind. House mumbled something unintelligible as he traced his finger along the "Fender" logo.
"What?" Wilson asked.
"I said, you're the first one who has," House repeated, still so quietly that Wilson could barely make it out.
"I'm the 'first one who has' what?" Wilson asked, still trying to figure out what this conversation was really about. House didn't clarify, just grabbed for his right thigh and started to massage absent-mindedly. Wilson wondered how long House has been sitting on the floor before he had discovered the situation. Then a thought came to Wilson.
"Are you telling me I'm the first friend who has ever given you a Christmas present? House, you're fifty years old!" At this, Wilson knelt down next to House and joined him on the floor. "Do you mean that before this year all you've ever gotten are some crappy sweaters from your mom?" Wilson gently picked up the roll of wrapping paper and placed it back against the closet wall. Moving House's hand, he pushed the amp back into the closet and reached up for the knob to pull the door closed.
House shook his head. "My mom never gave me any sweaters," he said. At Wilson's confused look, he continued. "She never gave me anything. Dad wouldn't allow her. He said a trip to Aunt Sarah's to see the cousins every year was present enough. He didn't want me to become spoiled." House finally looked up at Wilson again. "I can't take your present. I don't get Christmas presents." This last was recited in a monotone, as if it had been drilled into House over and over again.
"Oh, House, not all families are big on presents. I mean, I'm Jewish -- I know how you feel. So you and your cousins didn't get presents -- you had other traditions. At least you got to have a good time at your aunt's house. Family is more important than presents anyway."
House looked sharply at Wilson and said only, "They got presents. I didn't."
"Oh." Wilson didn't know what to say.
"I can't take your present." House said again.
"But I got it for you. I want you to have it. The guy at the store says it's even got a vibrator control."
House looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned. "You mean vibrato."
"Oh. Yeah, that's what it was." Wilson couldn't stop his face from becoming red.
"It kind of puts a wobble into the music. It's hard to describe. I'd have to show you." House was sounding more like his normal self.
"I'd love for you to show me, House. We could hook it up right now."
House thought for a moment, clearly struggling. Finally he lost whatever the struggle was, and answered Wilson in defeat, "No. I can't take a present from you."
"Why not, House? It's normal. Everybody gets Christmas presents." He glanced at House's expression. "Well, almost everybody. But there's no reason you can't have a Christmas present like everybody else. I can't believe nobody's ever given you one before. What about Stacy?"
"Stacy might have gotten me a Christmas surprise once or twice, but it was in the bedroom, if you know what I mean." Where House would have normally waggled his eyebrows at this, he only held Wilson's stare for an extra second until the meaning sunk in.
"Ah." Wilson turned a slightly deeper shade of red. "Why can't you accept this present from me, House? What's going to happen if you get a present?"
House was silent; not ignoring Wilson so much as unable to come up with an answer. Wilson placed a hand on House's shoulder.
"Is it because of your dad?" he asked gently.
House shrugged away from Wilson's touch. "I don't want to talk about it." He struggled to lift himself up off the floor. Wilson got up and held out his hand for him, but House ignored it, managing to leverage himself up with his cane.
"Why can't you tell me, House?" Wilson asked, watching House gimp over to sit on the bed.
"It's none of your business! It's my personal life and it's nobody else's business how I deal with crappy holidays like Christmas!" House turned away from Wilson to look at the wall. Wilson just walked around to House's other side, forcing House to look at him.
"You made it my business when you refused a gift from me. Now I want to know why. Tell me, House." Wilson demanded.
House looked extremely uncomfortable for a minute under Wilson's unwavering gaze. He broke his eyes away from Wilson's, but could still feel Wilson just keep staring at him. Finally he blurted out, "He said nobody who demonstrated my behavior deserved to get presents." Realizing what he had said, House clammed up and looked intently at his hands. Wilson was silent for a while. Finally, he tentatively put his hand back on House's shoulder. House flinched, but this time did not pull away.
"That was forty years ago," Wilson said softly.
House nodded. "But my behavior hasn't changed since then. If anything, it's worse now."
Wilson thought about what House had said. "So you think that because of your behavior, you're not worth giving a present to?"
House didn't answer. Taking the lack of response as a sign that House was listening, Wilson plowed on. "House, putting aside the completely wrong ideas you have about your own worth, presents aren't only for the person who receives them. They're also a pleasure to give. And I want the pleasure of giving you this. Don't take that away from me."
House shook his head. "He wouldn't like it."
"So you're going to listen to his ghost? You're a grown-up now, House. You can live your own life. I want you to take this. It's my gift to you. What's he going to do? He's dead!"
House looked at Wilson as the words sunk in. "He's dead."
"Yeah, that's right. He's dead, House."
"He can't do anything."
"No, he can't. And you are worth it."
House gave Wilson a questioning look, as if he didn't believe it. Then he thought of something else. "But I didn't get you anything."
Wilson thought for a moment, then burst into a devious grin. "I know exactly what I want from you."
"What?" House looked at Wilson's expression worriedly.
Wilson opened the closet again and pulled the amp back out. "Write me a song."
House hesitated for an instant, then pushed himself off of the bed and went to get his guitar.