-scene-

House bounced the ball listlessly against the wall. It actually was drugs. He was, admittedly, a little depressed. Their first case in such a long time, and it was cocaine. They'd only actually had the case for three days.

"Come on, there'll be other cases. I'll make you dinner."

House glanced up to see Wilson waiting at the door. "Not going to the gym?" he shot bitterly.

The oncologist rubbed at the back of his hair awkwardly. "I was planning on going tomorrow morning."

The older doctor hesitated. "It's not going to be turkey steak or some other god-awful thing, is it?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "If it was, you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference."

"It's the principle of the thing." House argued, getting to his feet and snagging his jacket off of the hook by the door.

"Right," Wilson nodded. "And you are a man of principle."

"I have principles," House defended. "I just make them up as I go."

Once in the parking lot, House revved the engine of his bike. "Race you!" he challenged.

"It's been snowing." Wilson replied, raising an eyebrow.

"You're just afraid to lose." House replied with a grin.

Wilson shook his head. "Yes." He replied in a deadpan. "I am."

-scene-

"I want a case." House whined at Wilson as the other man prepared for bed.

"Be good and maybe Santa will get you one for Christmas." Wilson replied from the bathroom.

"Ha!" House returned, wincing a little, realizing retrospectively with the twinge in his leg that he probably shouldn't have taken their race so seriously. "More like Cuddy." He paused. "Speaking of which, what did you get her?"

Wilson returned, slipping the tank top over his head and House had to raise an eyebrow appreciatively at the glimpse of developing six pack he noticed. "What?" he asked, sounding distracted. "Why would I get something for Cuddy?"
House merely grinned.

The silence was allowed to continue for only a second as realization finally dawned on the young oncologist.

"I- Oh, the secret… Santa…" he trailed off, his eyes searching left and right for an excuse.

"I knew it." House grinned, propping himself up on his elbows. "You lied."

"I- I did not." Wilson protested, turning away.

"There's only one reason you would lie about that," he continued. "You don't want me to know who you got. And why is that, I wonder? Well, it could either mean that you-"

"Stop it, House! Okay?"

The man's sudden defensiveness threw House off and for a moment, he could only blink.

"Look, it's Christmas, alright? Can't you just accept, for one more week that not everything has an ulterior motive?"

"Sure." House replied after a minute, his devious wheels already turning. "Are you going to get in bed or did you intend to sleep on the sofa, oh wait," He grinned.

"Shut up," the younger man replied, shaking his head and hiding a smile as he reached for the light switch before crawling over the other man and into bed.

House sighed as he felt Wilson shifting beside him, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep in. After a moment, there was silence again, except for the barely audible ticking of House's wristwatch, buried somewhere on the floor beneath his discarded clothes. He concentrated on this ticking to take his mind off of other things, namely, the throbbing pain in his right leg.

Tick

Tick

Tick

One throb every four ticks, he counted out. Just as he thought about reaching over for a nightcap of vicodin, Wilson stirred beside him.

"You're leg hurts." The younger man pointed out.

"Oh my gosh, are you a doctor?" House replied sarcastically, but without venom.

"I mean, more than usual." Wilson replied, ignoring the jab yet again. "You haven't moved it since I got in bed."

House listened as the man shifted onto his knees. "It happens." He replied in a noncommittal sort of voice. "I'll take a vicodin."

"Well, let me try something." Wilson replied quietly, pushing the blankets down and off of both of them.

House waited; the dark and the obscure nature of such a gesture heightening his curiosity. He tensed momentarily as he felt the man's cool hands suddenly pressing against the muscle of his outer thigh. "Ooh," he hissed, shocked at the touch.

"Sorry," Wilson replied with a chuckle. "You know doctors, cold hands."

No… House thought, the cold was good. He leaned his head back as the man's heavy fingers kneaded the damaged muscle. He'd never have guessed that Wilson would be so good with his hands. Fantasized, maybe, but not guessed.

He let out a soft sound as the man's fingertips slipped up and under the cuff of his shorts.

"Sorry," Wilson replied again, more quietly, drawing his fingers back down. "Did that hurt?"

House shook his head, too surprised for words. Either Wilson was playing coy, or he honestly had no idea what those gentle ministrations and explorations were doing to the older man! Either way, he thought, good thing the lights were off.

House tried again to concentrate on the distant ticking of his wristwatch, but this time, to take his mind off of an all together different sort of pressure.

Tick

Ooh…

Tick

Such a gentle touch…

Tick

That was it…

House sat up suddenly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"House?" Wilson asked, obviously shocked by the man's sudden movement.

"Bathroom." House replied.

"Now?" The younger man blinked incredulously.

"Aren't you glad I took the outside?" With that, he grabbed for his cane, levering himself to his feet and hobbling across the room, shutting the door behind him, and just in time, he thought.

He leaned his weight on the edge of the sink, letting the water run over his towel for a few seconds to get cool before rubbing at his face vigorously with the wet cloth. God, he thought, gazing at his flushed reflection in the mirror, You old letch… But it had been years since he'd had anyone's hands on his body. Still, he realized, anyone's wouldn't have had that result. He took another breath, trying to regain some composure before rifling through the medicine cabinet for a stray tab of vicodin. Once located, he glared at the pill ruefully. Reduces sex drive, my ass!

He swallowed the pill and washed his face once more time before retreating to the bedroom, his step a little stiffer than usual and not because of his leg, that problem, thanks to Wilson, was all taken care of.

He sighed, sliding back into the bed and pulling the covers up, way up.

"Sorry it didn't help…" the other man apologized softly.

House hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Yah, well…" he replied evenly, "Thanks anyway."

-scene-

House was up at eight and thinking about dodging out the back door rather than going to meet Wilson in the kitchen for breakfast. It wasn't that he didn't like the meals, or even the new routine of sitting and talking together over some healthful concoction, but he wasn't sure if he could even look at the man without getting hard now, and he didn't think an hour before work was a good time to test that theory.

Sadly, or gladly, depending, the decision was quickly taken out of his hands.

"Breakfast." Wilson told him, poking his head around the doorframe. "You're… up."

"You're shocked." House pointed out.

"It's eight o' clock."

"Yes, well," the older man cast him off evasively. "I'll catch something on the way in."

"But I already made breakfast." Wilson protested.

"Well that's too bad." House replied, a bit sharply. "Because as yummy as oatmeal and burnt turkey sound this morning, I'm more in the mood for-"

"Pancakes." The younger doctor finished for him.

"Excuse me?"

"Maple Walnut, silver dollar pancakes." Wilson replied, a smile threatening House from the corner of the young man's lips. "On the end table. With a beer."

House stared at him speechless for a moment. "The money shot!" he finally replied, caving, his curiosity, once again, getting the better of his good sense.

"What happened to healthy, bland, blah blah blah?" he demanded as he hobbled into the living room.

"They are healthy." Wilson argued. "The bonus is, you actually like them."

"And the beer?" House raised an eyebrow, flopping into his armchair and not even waiting for the go-ahead.

Wilson shrugged. "I was feeling generous."

"Generous?" He stuffed a bite of the pancake into his mouth. "Oh god!" he moaned around the mouthful of fluff. "What? Is it my birthday?"

"Last Sunday." Wilson replied with a done grin.

House paused. "What'd you get me?"

Wilson opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by another ejaculation of "Oh my GOD! These pancakes are fantastic! Tell me you're having some, so I can steal off your plate."

Wilson gave a little chuckle at that. "I made enough to keep you out of mine." he replied. "There's more for you to take to work."

House stared at Wilson a moment longer, suddenly suspicious. "Why are you doing this? Is this because my leg hurt last night?" he gave a scathingly pitiful look.

"Yes." Wilson rolled his eyes. "Because pancakes are the answer, where therapy, vicodin, and hypnosis have failed."

House gave him one more good moment of staring before turning back to the pancakes. "Maybe…" he replied, but his mind had already shifted gears. If not pity, then what?

He glanced to Wilson slyly. "I get it." He smirked. "You're sliding on your pre-New Year's resolution to tone up and get the most of that gym pass, and you wanna bring me down with you! Ha! You vile persuader with your fluffy, buttery pancakes and beer!"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's olive oil, not butter, the beer is low fat, and I haven't given anything up."
House paused, turning his beer around to inspect the label. 50 lower fat! He blinked. "Well you didn't go to the gym this morning, little Suzy homemaker," he accused, shaking a bite of pancake at the man.

"Actually, I did." Wilson replied, nonsurplused from his seat on the floor. "At six, and got home with plenty of time to make your pancakes."

House stared at him. "Got home." He repeated.

Wilson gave him a confused look. "Yah? I got home at six. Does is surprise you that I don't bi-locate?"

House merely smiled at the man, feeling the last puzzle piece slide into place. Got home.

-scene-