-scene-

"I was thinking Chinese." House decided. "But I'm not paying the tip."

Wilson slipped his shoes on. "Actually… I'm just gonna catch something while I'm out. Here," he pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, giving them to House. "That should be enough for the delivery."

House stared at him incredulously. "Where do you have to go?"

Wilson hesitated, obviously a little uncomfortable with the question. "To the gym, if you must know."

House raised an eyebrow. "The gym? It's winter. Oncology pool party at the Holiday Inn this year? Afraid you might not fit into your bikini?"

"I just like to stay in shape," the younger man rolled his eyes. "Anyway, my membership ends in January, so I might as well get my money out of it."

"Ah, guilt," House decided. "A great holiday motivator."

"Something like that." Wilson slung his bag over his shoulders. "I'll uh… I'll probably be back late."

"You have a key." House reminded.

"Yeah." Wilson replied. "Okay. Just thought I'd… yeah." He hastily exited the apartment, leaving House to his thoughts.

House didn't like to doubt Wilson, but that was his mantra, after all; everybody lies. Even Wilson wasn't excluded from that category; especially Wilson. But then again, Christmas was the one time of year when lying to your loved ones didn't always come with a devious intent. He sighed; disappointed as he was to lose his dinner companion, House realized that his possessiveness had been the cause of their rift the last time Wilson had lived with him; well, that and eating Wilson's food, but hey, the man insisted on making him eat healthier now; a feat he certainly wasn't going to accomplish on his own, so that was on Wilson's head now.

-scene-

It was late when Wilson finally returned. House lifted his head from the top of the piano where he'd been dozing on and off for the past hour or so. He listened as the key turned in the lock, waiting patiently.

The door swung open, admitting a very cold, very tired looking Wilson. The man stooped to untie his shoes, letting the gym bag fall to the floor and almost keeled over on the spot as he was assailed with "I will walk alone by the black muddy river And sing me a song of my own!" from the mouth of the reviled rubber fish.

"Surprise!" House called gleefully. "I found batteries!"

"Dammit House!" Wilson panted, grabbing at his chest in momentary panic. He finally got a hold of himself enough to close the door and pop the batteries out of the fish, throwing them at House.

The older man ducked, laughing. "Hey! No picking on the cripple!"

Wilson paused a moment, taking stock of the room. "What are you still doing up?" he asked, baffled.

House glanced to the fish.

Wilson followed his gaze. "Oh God… don't tell me you waited up this late, just for that?"

House only shrugged in his own defense.

"That's really… sad." Wilson told him, shaking his head and toeing off his sneakers. He flopped down unceremoniously in House's lone armchair. "God, I'm beat." He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Clean towels in the bathroom." House told him in an offhand tone.

This seemed to surprise the man almost as much as the fish. "You… washed towels for me?"

"No," House replied. "It's for me. Your smell is an affront to my delicate nature."

Wilson grinned. "Thanks." He told him. "You should go to bed. I'll be in in a bit."

"Don't want me to join you?" House teased.

Wilson flushed. At least, House thought he did. The light wasn't that good, and he had just had the daylights scared out of him, but maybe…

"Ha ha." The man told him in a completely humorless tone as he forced himself to stand, trudging to the bathroom.

-scene-

It wasn't a sound… It wasn't a feeling… He wasn't too hot or cold, but something had woken the doctor up. He cracked his eyes open blearily, peeking at the alarm clock as if it might hold the answers. 6:30 and not set to go off for another half hour; no signs there. He sniffed. That was it. It was a smell. House opened his eyes fully this time, sitting up in bed. Wilson was no longer beside him, but the place he'd occupied was relatively warm. His T-shirt and boxers had been folded carefully and laid out on the chest at the foot while his pillow had been propped carefully at the head.

House swung his legs out of the bed, kicking the covers off unceremoniously and grabbing his cane. He limped into the kitchen, hating the way his leg felt so dead and stiff fist thing. The hard wood floor was a bit cold in comparison to the jersey sheets and down comforter he'd just unearthed himself from, but he ignored it, padding into the kitchen.

"Oh," Wilson started upon seeing him, then turned to the clock. "It's only six-thirty," he furrowed his brow, confused. "What are you doing up?"

House blinked at him. "I think the more important question is what are you doing up?"

Wilson stared at him for a moment, something sizzling promisingly on the stove top. "I'm cooking." He replied in a tone that said well obviously.

"You're cooking?" House inquired, not sure he was fully awake yet as he flopped down unceremoniously in the kitchen-facing armchair.

"Oh, are we doing that thing where you repeat everything I say with a rising voice inflection?" Wilson teased, taking a freshly washed plate down from the cabinets and dishing some of the mysterious food onto it. "Yes. I'm cooking." He replied, then set the plate on the end table next to House with a big bowl of oatmeal.

House glared at the oatmeal, but was cut off as Wilson set his own bowl of oatmeal beside it. "I'm having it to." He told him. "It's not old-people food. It's good for you."

House was about to protest anyway, but that was when he noticed the other plate. "Wait a minute," he interrupted incredulously. "Is this… bacon?" He said the word in a tone that most would reserve upon receiving an invitation to the apocalypse. He picked it up, examining it distrustfully. "It looks like bacon," he accused. "Feels like bacon, even smells like bacon… but that's impossible! You're Mr. Good Cholesterol, there's no way you're giving me bacon."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Eat it."

House hesitated but took a bite. "My God! It even tastes like bacon! Jimmy, are you feeling alright?!"

"It's turkey bacon." The man replied nonchalantly as he turned off the stove, quickly rinsing the dishes before taking a seat on the floor next to the armchair.

"Blasphemy!" the older doctor spat, tossing the strip of meat back onto his plate. "I don't eat birds that masquerade as mammals!"

Wilson sighed. "It looks like bacon, it smells like bacon, it tastes like bacon, it is bacon, just eat it. It's good for you and you like it, so what's the big deal?"

House studied him a moment. "You know, that's the same kind of marking genius that had kids in the ER from eating too many doggy treats a few years back…" he pointed out, then paused. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

"You burnt the sofa." Wilson reminded. "It's the floor or your lap."

House moved his plate aside, patting his knee. "Come on up, tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

Wilson blushed, this time for sure! "Shut-up." He mumbled, turning back to his plate. "Eat your turkey."

"I thought it was bacon?" House challenged.

-scene-

House practically danced a jig; well, it was more of a cancan with the cane and all; relatively inappropriate, considering that the patient was a seventeen year old male with congestive heart failure and no logical reason why.

"A case!" he sing-songed, "Come on, you guys, a case!"

The team stared at him incredulously. He reached over and yanked one of Chase's golden hairs out.

"Ow!" the man exclaimed, jumping up and clapping his hands over his head.

"Oh good, a reaction." House replied.

"Sorry we're not jumping for joy!" Chase growled sarcastically, "We should be happy the kid's dying!"

"Oh, he's not dying." House poo-pooed. "You're just mad that I pulled your hair. You know in some cultures, hair pulling is a sign of respect."

"Yah, kindergarten!" the man retorted.

"What do you know, a natural blonde…" House replied, examining the strand. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded. "Get me bloodwork, get me tests!"

The trio hesitated. "Which tests?" Foreman finally asked.

House gave them an excited look. "Oh, it's been so long, let's get all of them!" Before they could challenge him with their inane questions, he began to scrawl symptoms across his whiteboard.

"But-" Cameron began to protest.

"No." he hushed her, tossing a marker at her. "Get out. We're about to have an intimate moment." He ran his fingers lovingly along the ledge of the whiteboard.

"That's… wrong." Foreman shook his head.

"You're just jealous." House accused. "It takes a very special touch to please a real lady."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Well she didn't seem to mind when Chase wrote on her yesterday."

Chase froze like a deer in the headlights as House shot him a scandalized look before turning back to the board. "Whore." He called it disgustedly.