An internal alarm clock clangs warning bells. Awake, still, not even opening her eyes, just enjoying the warmth, the closeness. Time to take a chance. Lashes quake as she peeks through them. The digital blaze on the bedside cabinet tells her to stay in bed. It's early and she feels young, childish, wanting to run to Mom and Dad's room, jump on the bed, open presents. She smiles, remembering Christmas as it was, Christmas Past. Last year, these thoughts would have filled her with sorrow. Now she relishes them. He is her family.

Slipping around in his arms she kisses his chest, cuddling into warmth. A broad hand slides down her spine, pressing her close.

His voice, muffled with sleep, lurches out of the darkness, "What time is it?"

"Early."

Melodramatic groan, he kisses her forehead, "Do you always wake up this early on Christmas?"

She nods, "I can't help it. Go back to sleep."

"Nope." Sitting up, his hand grabs for his vicodin, popping two. She watches him, her stretching fingers touching his thigh, rubbing, his head flopping back against the wall behind him, "Thanks."

Festive silence mutes all sound. The world slows as she soothes his aching leg, his fingers smoothing down her hair, pain fading into oblivion. Muscles relax beneath her fingers, her smile growing as she kneels, kissing his neck.

"I'll make coffee." His nod is imperceptibly small, fingers brushing over her legs, letting her steal his shirt.


She nudges his side, "House." Blinking, he wakes, taking the offered coffee and pulling her close. Hot coffee, rich and bitter, it brings him to his senses. His tongue burns but he pushes on, draining it before the initial buzz passes.

Eyes observe her, his shirt baggy dangling from her shoulders, nipples creating two peaks in the cotton. Her legs are hidden beneath the duvet, a cruel hand moving to run up between them. The inhale is sharp, trying to twitch her legs away but unable. She shuffles back away from teasing fingers, running out of room as her ass hits the wall.

"Oh god…" He's touching her perfectly, teasing higher and higher until his fingers find her sex, applying gentle pressure. She bites her lip, arching as the unseen hand controls her better than any puppeteer, the heat spreading rapidly through her, stabbing down her thighs, radiating through her tummy. He pushes between her lips, damping his fingers as they slide upwards to her clit.

Fingering at the thick duvet, she turns her face away from him, this act too intimate for her to bear with him studying her. He responds by pushing her gently, a finger sliding up and down over the bundle of nerves that dominates her thoughts. A solitary whimper escapes her, tears filling eyes, too much sensation. His other hand touches her arm and she grabs it, gripping it tightly, making him smile.

"Cameron, look at me." She shakes her head, eyes shut tight, wet trails running down her cheeks. He pushes a little harder against her clit, her cry strangled hard.

"Cameron, relax. You don't have to be in control of everything."

She glances over at him, so focused, clinical eyes gleaming as he pushes her over the edge, both hands gripping his arm, shuddering against him. Fingers back off, teasing gently as she comes down, his kiss welcomed. When his hand slips from between her thighs she slips down into the bed, pulling him down with her.

"House…" He smiles a little, her voice exhausted, almost hoarse. Moving to lie down, she wraps herself around his side immediately, kissing at his shoulder.

He shatters the afterglow, "So what did you get me for Christmas?" He laughs at her groan of exasperation, condescendingly patting her, freezing a little when he feels her fingers slide down inside his boxers.

"House, do you like fucking me?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"Yes."

Better for all involved if he shuts up. She trails her fingers across him until she has him painfully hard, pulling her hand back and leaving him in torment.

"Has anybody told you that you are cruel and unusual?"

She smiles, kissing him, "No, but thank you, I'll take it as a compliment."


The snow billowed and puffed past the windows of her apartment as House watched, fascinated. Snowflakes, perfect fractal universes, a potent metaphor for the human condition, perfect but ever-decaying as time inexorably flows on. Tapping the window two flakes float fatly away, caught by the wind and blurred out of existence. She strikes from behind, hugging him, skin fresh and hair wet from the shower.

"Whatcha looking at?"

He turns, eyes losing interest in the universe at large, preferring to focus on her complexities, pale skin, nose red, dark hair leaving her a striking portrait of modern beauty.

She smiles at him, "What?" growing more attractive than ever.

Shaking his head, "Nothing important," he kisses her slowly, noses pressed together, bodies close. She snuggles against him, leeching warmth.

"I got you something."

Grin ecstatic, "Finally! Gimme!"

She laughs, "Say please!"

He pouts at her, waving his cane, "Please don't make me beat you."

"Oh, that sounds like fun. Maybe after dinner though. Wilson will ask questions if I'm all bruised." Her wink leaves him feeling like he needs to take a jog in the snow. This isn't helped as she waves her fingers in front of him, sliding them down her contours, eeking into the waistband of her jeans and extracting a flat, gaily wrapped but very small, gift. He squints at it.

"Ever heard the saying 'it's not the size, it's what you do with it?'" She licks her lips, leaning up to plant a kiss on his, "Merry Christmas Greg."

That causes his pupils to flare, his first name, she hadn't called him that since… before all this started anyway. He accepts the gift with aplomb.

"Actually, I've decided to become a druid. Winter solstice and all. Good excuse for a holiday and lax dress code." Fingers work at the gift, shredding rapidly, exposing a key.

He laughs, "You have got to be kidding me."

Her expression hurts, "What? I thought…" But he is already gone, leaving her perplexed. Returning with a book-shaped parcel he presses it into her hands.

"House, could you just tell me-" "No, shut up and open it."

The frown becomes a scowl. He really can be an ass. Stripping away the brown wrapping paper, she was confronted by a thin, well-used book entitled Ethics: Key Concepts in Philosophy. Finding this wanting, her eyes jumped back to him, earning a sigh.

"Open it."

Flipping the cover open exposes the contents page and buried carefully into the upper right hand corner margin, a key. Ruffling the pages dislodges it slightly, until she can slip a fingernail in under it, leaving a perfectly key-shaped hole in fifteen pages. It's not even a copy, it's his key, a patina established only through frequent use easily distinguishing it from her shiny clone he holds in his hand.

"House, this is your key."

He shrugs sheepishly, "You can have it."

She searches his face, for some clue, subtext, "But how will you get in?"

"You won't let me in?"

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

His eyes jump to hers. Shit, he didn't think of that. That's bad. That's bad? Is that bad? No, that's not bad. Why would that be bad, you idiot! You love her, just say yes before she figures it out!

"Yes."

"Are you serious?"

He shrugs again, "Don't know why you'd want to, but sure."

"House…" Frowning and smiling, emotions mixing together in a jumble. She's so small against him, holding him tight, kissing, loving.

Tears cascade down her face, a grin breaking out until she buries it in his shirt, out of sight. He strokes her hair, this might just work.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

She sniffs, laughing as she nods, "Yes!"


Wilson was happy for them, though surprisingly unsurprised by the news.

"You're afraid she'll try and escape when she realizes what a bastard you are. It's a primal thing."

House eyed him over the roast chicken that was squatting corpulent in the middle of the table, violently stabbing a cold ham that desperately wished it was somewhere else.

"Are you going to psychoanalyse all my decisions?"

"Just getting facts straight before I try talk Allison out of this madness. Don't blame me for trying to save an innocent soul."

"Cameron! Why did we invite the jew? He's ruining the Christmas spirit." House screeches at the kitchen.

The faint response of "You boys play nice," was lost on all involved as Cameron entered with roast potatoes and vegetables in a large bowl.

Wilson eyed the laden table, "Thanks for inviting me Allison, this looks great."

Ignoring House's face she beamed back, "Glad to have you here. Now let's eat."

It was a fascinating experience for Wilson. House was opening up to somebody. So many opportunities for quips and insults passed without even a twitch, his friend smiling, laughing with somebody new. Stacy had always been somewhat closed off about their relationship, cautious, as though any interference from outside forces would disrupt the fragile creation. Allison was the opposite, happy to let people see, proud of House, not wanting to push him to be something different but content to let him be. Not to say she wasn't rubbing off on him, his generally improved humour was evidence of that.

It was good to see them happy. God knows they deserved it. Though he was worried, things were so easy, free, could they simply be riding in the eye of the storm. Watching him laugh at something she said, Wilson could only hope that that storm was not one they would have to weather.


Author's Note: This took longer to finish up than it should have, a victim of holidays. See you all again soon.