A/N: I'm fascinated with how different Christmas Eve would have been for everyone...

Long chapter, dunno why it came out that way.


"Dr. House!"

He looked around, then down. "Oh, there you are. Hi."

Her short legs matched stride with his limp easily as he headed towards the elevator. "Sorry to bother you ... just tell me once more: is my daughter going to be all right? Honestly."

Her gaze was fierce, even though he needed to look down to meet it. "No bother. She should be fine, as long as the surgery goes okay - and there's no reason it shouldn't."

They stood in silence til the elevator came. When the doors opened, he stepped in and she said, "Isn't that a bad idea in a hospital? Doesn't it spread a lot of diseases?"

"What?"

She stepped in with him just before the doors closed, and pointed up at the ceiling. "Mistletoe."

"Ah." Neither of them pushed a button, and the elevator just waited. "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck to stand under this stuff and not kiss?" he asked at last. "Or is that just for us tall folk?"

She smiled. "I think that one's universal."

"In that case..." He went down carefully on one knee, and she stepped close. She looked wary, as if she expected him to laugh or give her a brotherly peck on the cheek or some other new, horrifying form of rejection she hadn't yet encountered.

She wasn't kept in suspense long, though: he locked his lips over hers without hesitation, and slid a hand up into her hair.

Her fingers were small and light on his jaw, but her kiss was all confidence and he went where she led him – long and slow and lots of tongue.

Afterwards they made shy eye contact for a moment, and then he struggled to his feet.

"So, what flavor cripple are you?" she breezed.

He grinned – if she hadn't said something offensive to break the mood, he would have. "A few years ago surgeons took out a chunk of my thigh muscle about as big as you." He blinked. "What's so funny?"

"Well… I was going to say: about as big as me? Great, that means there should be just enough room for me to get into your pants… but then I decided that would be insensitive."

House's first thought was that no amount of pain was going to rob him of the bizarre experience of nailing a dwarf on Christmas Eve, but then he winced. Without Wilson breathing down his neck he was going to have to be his own conscience for a while… and this, fun as it would be, was a huge ethical no-no.

He heaved a sigh. "Why couldn't we have met someplace else? A bar… the circus… anywhere…"

She took it in stride. "If we'd met at the circus, then maybe I'd be on the job and I'd have to say no."

They both laughed, and then, before things could get any more out of hand, he hit the Door Open button. "It's Christmas. Go on, go be with the little one."

"Soon to be big one," she corrected, stepping out of the elevator. "We decided to take the growth hormone."

"I knew you would."

"Oh, bullshit."

"I did!" he called as the doors started closing. "Because only a huge idiot would disagree with me, and you obviously don't qualify as a huge anything!"


A moment later House was limping out of the elevator downstairs, wincing at the sight in his peripheral vision: Cuddy was making a beeline for him and calling his name. How could she have found out so quickly?

"House - you can't outrun me!" She reached the door just before he did, and blocked his way.

He tried to stop her lecture before it started. "She started it. It was her idea!"

Cuddy frowned. "Who started what?"

"Oh. Never mind." He tried to look innocent. "So what did you want, then?"

"I just... First of all, I am going to get to the bottom of that. But anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. You didn't hold Abigail hostage for your pills... I was worried you were going to."

"If her mother wasn't so adorable I would have." House tried to step around her. "Can I go now?"

"Why? In a hurry to go cut yourself again?" She sighed. "House, it's Christmas. Wilson was looking for you, everyone's worried... Listen. I want you to be able to sleep tonight, but I need you at your best tomorrow - not stoned out of your mind. So, here: two pills."

He stared at the Vicodin in her hand, not quite able to look up at her. "Tomorrow? That's when... the deal expires." He took a deep breath. "I'm not taking it."

"I know. And I've decided I don't want you to. It'd be bad enough to lose you to a rehab facility for two months, but I've just been advised that Tritter is full of shit – the DA can't guarantee the safety of your medical license. Once you plead guilty, even if he doesn't go out of his way to turn you in, the board can still-"

He took the pills from her and jiggled them in his hand. "So now you're willing to let my rampant drug use run unchecked?"

"Call me soft if you want." She shook her head helplessly. "I won't put you through any more pain. I do want tabs on what you're taking, though, so as of now Wilson is off duty and I will write your prescriptions. After," she added, before he could spontaneously combust with gratitude, "We somehow clear up this mess you've gotten yourself into."

House swallowed hard as the brief flash of hope faded away. "But he's not going to just let it go, not now that he knows some of those scrips were forged. Allegedly."

"Not without some concessions, no. You're going to have to apologize to him. You might end up paying fines, picking up trash by the highway, I don't know what. Nothing that endangers your freedom or your practice."

"Or my meds," he added firmly. "I also won't go to a shrink. I won't go to group meetings. And I won't sleep with Tritter, if that's what he's after. None of that is negotiable." He cocked his head. "Unless Tritter is secretly a woman. Then maybe we could talk."

She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him. "This is serious! A lot of people are going out on a limb for you. I called… don't go crazy… I called Stacy."

"You what?"

"We need someone who cares what happens to you, and who is a lawyer. That list consists of exactly one person, and if you're afraid to deal with her, that's just too bad! Go get some sleep. You look like crap." She turned to go, then: "Oh! I meant to tell you: Abigail just agreed to the growth hormone."

"I already heard. Good night."

She looked somewhat puzzled but let him go.


House considered gulping down the pills before he even left the hospital, then decided he would rather enjoy them in the comfort of his own home than waste them on the commute.

The whole way home, he pictured chewing up both pills and washing them down with a good bit of liquor. It would be a last hurrah before tomorrow, just in case things didn't go well and he ended up in jail… or, worse, rehab. When he got home he checked himself out in the hallway mirror and winced at his own reflection - he looked pretty awful. Sweating despite the cold, holding his stomach, grimacing with every step and literally shaking with the anticipation of how good it was going to feel to get it all to stop.

His hand was already in his pocket when he changed his mind. Why nod off in the hallway here like a homeless junkie? Why not shower - because he was filthy - change the ruined bandages on his forearm, and then sit down for a nice Christmas meal of Vicodin and Chinese food?

He looked at the pills. Seeing them helped.

He dragged himself slowly to the bathroom and turned on the shower. He put his prize on the sink, in easy reach, and took his clothes off. He took the last of the anti-emetic Chase had brought him, so that he wouldn't spoil the wonderful evening he had planned by puking up his Vicodin as soon as he took them. While he waited for the water to get hot he turned around and peeked at his back in the mirror. The upper part was clean except for a few little belt marks, but his ass was a real mess, covered in painful ridges he could feel with his fingers. At least... he guessed they were painful. The leg made it hard to notice.

When he got in the shower, the hot water stung so badly that he gasped and shielded his ass with both hands, then laughed at himself for being such a baby.

Two minutes later he was used to the water. Standing was getting too miserable, but he didn't want to leave the warm quite yet because it was a nice change from the shivering, so o he closed the drain and let the bath fill up. Sitting down produced an angry throbbing from his welts, and he was amazed all over again that Chase had had such violence in him. Not that it was a bad thing.

He sat in the tub, rubbing his leg and trying not to think about tomorrow, Fortunately, since long achy baths were nothing new to him, he had a bottle under the bathroom sink that he could reach with his cane without even getting out of the water.

An hour later (he was still in the tub), his phone rang. He wasn't sure who would be calling him on Christmas Eve, but figured it was probably important, so he fumbled around his heap of clothes until he found it and flipped it open. "What?"

"House?"

"Chase? What's up - is our fake dwarf okay? Somebody whisk her back up to the North Pole or something?"

The voice on the other end went all muffled: "He wants to know if it's about the patient!"

Raucous squealing and laughing in the background. Ah. The kiddies had apparently gone drinking. House figured it out on his own even before a shrill, slurred voice demanded "Gimme the phone!" and then got on to complain, "House, it's Cameron, you can't be a grouch tonight, it's Chrissmseeve! You have to be happy!"

"I was happy - until you called. Put someone else on."

"He wantsa talk t'someone else-"

"Gimme-"

"No- gim- hey-"

"House?" someone spoke properly into the phone. "It's Chase again."

"Really?" House gasped. "I thought Foreman was the Australian one. What do you want?"

"We just want to say: Merry Christmas! And that's all!"

House heard a scuffle, screeching from Cameron, Foreman demanding the phone, and then a sound suspiciously like someone being pushed from his stool. Foreman seemed to have won. "House? "

"Who the hell else would it be?"

"Look, as you may or may not realize, we're all out getting toasted. And wewere all just wondering whether you'd like to come out and have a drink with us."

"No we're not!" Chase shouted from the background. "I told you he won't want to! He's just going to laugh at you."

House did laugh, but not at Foreman. Looks like little Robbie doesn't want to share his toys. "Nope... I don't drink."

"You... don't sound sober to me," Foreman pointed out.

"Aren't you the clever one. Do a couple of shots for me. I'll return the favor."

"Okay." Foreman wasn't too surprised to have been turned down. "Good luck tomorrow."

"We love you, House!" Cameron called drunkenly in the background.

"No we don't," Chase protested. "That's sick!"

"Night, kids." House hung up, laughed a little, and had another drink.


He finally ordered himself out of the bath, put on sweats and a t-shirt, and set himself up on the couch with the firm intention of not needing to get up again, ever, for any reason. He had food, drinks, pills, the remote, his phone, some work, some porn, a box of tissues, a scalpel and a couple of bandaids...

He was warm and relaxed and all set to go – it was Vicodin time. He was amazed that he'd waited as long as he had. He reached out...

And hesitated again. Those two pills were all that stood between him and hell. Once he took them, that was it. While feeling better right now would be nice... weigh it against the horror of the last forty-eight hours: trapped, helpless, tortured with no hope of relief...

He grit his teeth and reached past the pills for the remote. Distraction time. If TV failed him there was always the knife... And if he really, really couldn't take it, then there were the pills. If he turned desperate.

A few minutes of crappy TV later, he thought he was going to make it. He might not be able to get to sleep, but other than that, he could manage. After some time with hardly any pills and then two days with none at all, it seemed that the Vicodin's chokehold on his body was finally beginning to weaken. It had been a while since the anti-emetic, and yet his aching stomach had not rejected his Chinese food. The alcohol had fuzzed the edges of his headache. And sitting under a blanket after a hot bath, he found he was only quaking just a little.

He would still be feeling ill all week, but it wasn't going to get any worse. In fact, soon the withdrawal would start getting better.

The pain, on the other hand... He could sit still and let it suffocate him, or he could get up and have every single inch of movement make him want to scream. Not so appealing, either option. The pills? Not yet, he told himself, It gets worse and you know it. The knife looked like a better and better idea every second... but it was unhealthy and a mess, too a high price for such a small distraction. Where was Chase when you needed him?

Someone banged on the door and House jumped. "Chase?"

A long silence outside. "No, it's- It's me. Wilson."

"Should've known the knock. It's okay - you can come in."


Wilson came in self-consciously, offered a tentative smile. "Hi."

"Hi."

He was looking over everything House had laid out. "Well. Feeling a little hedonistic today, are we?"

"That's me, pleasure all day and night, in all ways shapes and forms." Long practice let House toss it off without a shred of bitterness showing through. If he could manage to play nice and not pick a fight, then Wilson might stick around and distract him for a little bit.

But then Wilson froze. "House: pills?" he accused, pointing.

A surge of terror took House's breath away, and he lunged for them. "Didn't take 'em yet," he explained, relaxing once the precious, precious Vicodin was safe in his hand.

"Oh. So you're… feeling okay?"

"Do I look like I'm feeling okay?"

"Then why…?"

House clutched them tighter, staring at his fist. "Because once I take them," he explained, "I have no more. And then, no matter how bad it gets, there's nothing I can do about it."

There was a long silence. Wilson, who prided himself on not running away from his patients' suffering, found himself staring at the wall. It was one thing to see suffering and try to relieve it... but how did you sit and look calmly at pain you had caused?

House's breathing was labored as he hauled his leg up across the couch so that Wilson couldn't sit next to him. "So what are you… doing here? Planning to, I don't know, sing me a Christmas carol?"

"Take them," Wilson said softly. "You need pain medication, that's why we prescribe it."

That was all it took for House's frayed nerves to snap. "Don't tell me what I need and don't need!" he exploded. "You're not my boss, or my wife, or my parents! I don't know why you think you have these special rights over me – because you don't."

"Don't say that," he said wearily. "House come on, we're... I mean, best friends doesn't even cover it..."

"It does now," House informed him. "So be happy. No more taking liberties, stealing your prescription pad, any of that. I'll behave - you can be my friend without worrying that I'm going to put you in any more awkward positions."

Wilson could hardly believe it. "You- You're... breaking up with me?"

"What?" House reacted to the word choice, even though he knew it was exactly what he meant. "Don't be such a drama queen. I said I still want us to be friends…"

"You're breaking up with me," he repeated, dazed. "Just friends... arm's length... or, in your world, twenty arms' length..." He could hardly get the words out. "House... I'm sorry – I'm so sorry. Please don't do this to me."

"Don't apologize, it's as much my fault as yours," House pointed out. "I should have asked for a new prescribing as soon as you didn't believe me that the ketamine was wearing off. I should have made a deal with that cop instead of asking you to risk your career for me. Of course you wouldn't do that; you'd be an idiot if you did."

"No. Please, House. Please – I should have. That's what friends-"

"The way we were was stupid and dangerous - for both of us. Let's be clear: from now on, my pain management is none of your business. Neither is my pain. If I pop twenty pills in the course of an evening, or if you see me have a hard time moving around, you will tactfully ignore it like all the other guys in my poker game. Okay?" Wilson was just shaking his head, so he heaved a sigh and assured: "You can still hang out here and I'm still going to eat all your lunches. Nothing changes."

"In other words, everything changes."

"If you don't like it, there's the door." There was a long silence. House stared at him until he made eye contact. "But if it's okay with you, then you can stay and help me with this Chinese food."

"Do you… want me to stay?" Wilson hated himself for sounding so pathetic, but he had been floored by this huge, unexpected and totally devastating development. After everything they'd been through, all the years and fights and marriages and secrets… now, that quickly, in the blink of an eye… House was dumping him.

House didn't say yes, and in fact made a dismissive sort of gesture with his hand, but he was nodding.

"Then… I'll stay. I have to use your bathroom. D'you need anything while I'm up?"

House shook his head and pretended to be engrossed in the muted TV.

Wilson took a moment to compose himself in the bathroom. When he came back out, he discovered that although he was still being ignored, food and a fork had been pushed towards where he was sitting.

Mixed signals. He could deal with that. He had, in fact, plenty of practice nursing relationships through crises of this nature... the struggle to find a comfortable distance, the long mutual journey towards apologies, and then, eventually, the return of trust.

(And then, eventually, a repetition of the original betrayal and an eventual divorce... but he told himself to be positive for a change.)

"One of my patients died tonight," he said quietly, to break the ice.

"Kid?"

"Old guy. Zebalusky. He had a wife..."

"Sorry. My patient's going to live," House said. "I think I'm beating you by, what? Like a million? Well... maybe nine hudred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine and a half. The dwarf chick's too tiny to count as a whole person."

"That's very sensitive of you. Although, for all your ribbing, I heard you and the mother managed to see eye to eye okay..."

He'd meant to just tease a little on an innocuous subject, but House froze. "How'd you hear that?"

"Hear what? Oh my God... did something actually happen?"

House leered and obliged him with a litany of his very dirtiest innuendos. Soon they were both laughing, and for a moment, Wilson could almost believe that they were okay... or at least that they were someday going to be.

But he decided to wait til after tomorrow, once they knew for sure whether House was going to dodge jail or not, before asking.


TBC.

Next chapter: Tritter doesn't give ground easily, the ducklings are fairly awkward with one another, Chase finds himself feeling protective, and Wilson tries to get up the nerve to ask questions.

Thanks muchly to everyone who's reviewed so far!