Title: Holiday Spirits Not so High
A./N: Made some changes in spelling and made some sentences more coherent. Everything else is the same.
The sounds annoy him. The dim lights and the Christmas trees idiotically placed in the middle of the lobby, the waiting room, and maybe even the bathroom. That cheery look everyone puts on for a month sends him into his pocket for a Vicodin. He hates the holiday seasons.
As he walks by the nurse's station, he remembers that not everyone celebrates Christmas and so he quietly mutters how Cuddy's turning the hospital into Santa's Village. But as he limps through the halls, he studies the faces of the people that hate him and he realizes that even those who don't celebrate seem happier.
And as he walks into his office, he sees Cameron sitting at his desk, glasses on, sorting out his mail. She doesn't look up, but says Merry Christmas and then gives him only the important mail. She smiles sweetly, a genuine smile, not some fake holiday cheer that is temporally covering everyone else's face. She gets up slowly and walks out the door saying that she has clinic duty.
And as she walks out, he cannot help but wonder. She's always been a puzzle to him. Something so complex that he knows that there's a simple solution, yet he can't figure out what it is. As he throws his mail back onto his desk, he takes a seat in his leather arm chair and relaxes. Twirling around his cane, he ponders.
Jimmy, James, Jim, whatever you want to call him, Wilson sits at his desk fighting to hold back the silent tears which threaten to escape. A soft whimper and he sucks it all back in. He is fighting to be a man and not a wimp. With his square toed dress shoes up on his immaculately clean desk, he closes his eyes and wonders. He thinks about Christmas, the lights, and the trees. He thinks about the joy and the glint in everybody's eyes and he remembers that he doesn't celebrate Christmas.
With his eyes still closed, he thinks about his patients, and how he hates telling them that they've got cancer, especially around the holidays. He wonders aloud and asks to whatever, or whoever is up there in the clouds, why? Why should someone have to get cancer when others are as healthy as can be? And why do some people have to get cancer when they're supposed to be joyous and with family?
Then, he thinks about the families of his patients and he wonders how they cope. He feels for them, or at least he tries to. The tears he has witnessed from his patients brings an emptiness to his heart and he pictures his wife, Julie. As he reminisces over the arguments and the hated words, his heart only grows heavier
He thinks about Cameron and her need to help everyone; fix everyone. He things about Wilson's genuine kindness and his ability to care and then he thinks about Cuddy and her ability to govern her hospital as if it were a country. Finally, he thinks about himself and he wonders what is wrong with him.
And as he does so, his pride kicks in and his arrogance is put back in place. He sets his cane back on the floor and slowly stands to his full height. There is nothing wrong with him. He is happy as he is and doesn't need any fixing, kindness, or integrity.
Grabbing his leather coat, he limps quietly down the hall. The lights are out, the nurses are gone, but the soft sound of Christmas music still plays. As he makes his way around the hospital, he stops at the office of James Wilson. And as he looks inside, he sees his friend with his feet propped up on his desk.
And as he opens the door, he doesn't have to speak. James is looking at him intently. Neither men smile, nor make direct eye contact. House doesn't make a rude comment, and Wilson doesn't try to make small talk. It is a silent agreement, an invisible message of body language and prior knowledge.
And as Wilson turns the light out on his way through the door, He looks back into darkness and shakes his head.