Hi everyone!

Here's a late Christmas present... :D

This one is set in "The Socratic Method", which isn't that Christmas-y if memory serves well. But it is House's birthday (ergo, cause for celebration). And it aired on December 21th, twelve years ago... (feeling old yet?)

Anyway, since French TV started re-airing the show every Monday night (save for today. Ha.), you may expect some drabbles from the past. It's how this one came to life, anyway. Here's to re-airing the old episodes! :D

I'll let you read now - thank you for the feedback you left last time! I hope you guys have a great holiday, and a happy new year if I don't see you till then.

38. Happy birthday.

When Cuddy heard knocking on her door at past midnight, her first instinct was to mentally step back into her dean of medicine shoes, knowing who was behind her door, and the reason for it – she'd stopped being surprised by his late night visits long ago. She wrapped her robe around herself, ran her hand through her curls without realising it, and unlocked her front door.

She was only half-right; House was behind the door, but instead of holding up his schizophrenic patient's file, he was holding up a birthday card.

Specifically, the one she'd written for his birthday. It was nothing too fancy, just a drawing of a cake with a bunch of candles. She'd thought – like an idiot – that it would make him smile, perhaps make him just a little bit happy that she'd remembered. Besides, he was her friend, and friends wrote each other birthday cards all the time, right?

She had ended up scolding herself for still believing after all this time that he was a well-adjusted human being.

"Found this in the trash," he announced with a smirk.

She bit back her smile. "Oh, gee, you caught me. I did something nice for you. How awful."

"Nothing awful in writing someone a birthday card," he said, limping past her and making his way to her kitchen, like he lived here. "Writing someone a birthday card and not giving it to them, on the other hand..."

Cuddy shut her door and followed him. "Oh, spare me. Don't tell me you're taking it personally. You didn't even want the damn card!" She leaned against the doorway, crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, you didn't leave me a choice, so you owe me a drink," he continued as he opened a cupboard, and took out a bottle of wine.

She rolled her eyes at his logic. "Sure. That makes sense. By all means, help yourself."

"Chardonnay? 'This all you have?"

"Liquor store's down the street, you pain in the ass."

House shrugged and grabbed a corkscrew – he found it in the first drawer he pulled open, as though he'd always known it was here – removing the cork with a pop. Amazed by how easily he'd made himself at home in her kitchen, Cuddy was quickly brought back to reality when she saw him lift the bottle to his mouth. She quickly grabbed a glass and shoved it in his hand.

"Not indulging?" he asked.

"Have you looked at the time? It's midnight. Technically, it's not even your birthday anymore."

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking his question again.

"No, House, I'm going to bed in a few."

His other eyebrow went up, as did the corners of his mouth.

"Alone," she added with a smirk. "Some people actually work in the morning."

"Killjoy."

"You wanted to sleep with me, you should have come over while it was still your birthday." House turned to her with a shocked look on his face. She laughed. "You're so easy."

"You're a mean killjoy."

Cuddy watched him pour himself a glass, bring it to his lips. He let the wine settle on his tongue for a second – she swore she could taste it just by looking at him – and swallowed it, his Adam's apple bobbing. Her eyes followed a trail from his throat to his jawline, his stubble, his short nose and his chickenpox scar, his ocean blue eyes and his long lashes, his seemingly permanent frown, and… his receding hairline.

She wondered if she'd ever have the occasion to touch his fluffy, thick hair again, before the years took it away from her. It was already greying at the temples, after all. Not that there was much hair around his temples anyway...

She tried to imagine what he would look like with a bald spot.

She wondered if he'd still be around for her to see it.

So she did just that: ran her hand through his hair. He didn't startle like she expected him to, just watched her. She let his surprisingly soft hair tickle her palm and fill the gaps between her fingers – it felt just like college – before her thumb curled around the delicate cartilage of his ear.

She smiled and put her other hand on his chest, raising herself on her toes. "Happy birthday, House," she whispered, before kissing his cheek. His stubble tickled her lips just like she thought it would – that didn't feel like college. "Lock the door on your way out." He didn't say a word and watched her quietly head back to bed.