2b

Andie and House walked towards the barn doors, leaving Uncle George standing in the empty stall tending to Crisco the colt.

Andie opened the door and led her charge through it. Searing white light had House momentarily blinded; he covered his eyes until the light ebbed away.

"Good evening, Dr. Greg," a soft, warble of a voice murmured.

House opened his eyes.

House and Andie were standing in a sad-looking navy-colored hospital room. Five empty beds lined one wall, the sheets pulled taught over the mattresses. Only the bed at the end of the room was occupied; the bed next to it had to be moved away from it in order to make space for the life support system and three IV poles keeping the tiny patient stable. Approaching this bed was a tall man wearing a white doctor's coat and a grim expression on his clean-shaven, familiar face. His red-and-yellow sneakers barely made a sound as he walked fluidly across the immaculate white floor of the room.

"You look okay when you don't have a beard, Dr. House," Andie said, walking behind the cane-free, pain-free Dr. House and sitting on the empty hospital bed next to the patient. Looking up, Andie continued, "You do have weird hair. Did you have it curled in a salon?"

The caneless, temporarily pain-free Dr. House replied derisively, "That's natural, tiny Andie. Never heard the nurses complaining about it."

He didn't elaborate further as he ran a hand over his bald spot. Moving behind his younger self, House made a small frown. Was it only 12 years ago that he had the kind of hair that would give Chase and Wilson a run for their barbershop money?

Then he looked over the other guy's shoulder—which should make it his shoulder—and saw the patient. "Esther," he said softly.

The woman was small, with a thick thatch of graying black hair and a set of warm brown eyes framed with deep crow's feet and pale skin. She seemed to be shrinking as she lay helplessly on the bed, what with the bulky medical equipment surrounding her and everything. Just as Dr. Greg and the two phantoms behind him were looking at her, it was evident that she was running out of time.

"Merry Christmas, Esther," Dr. Greg said gruffly, pulling out a bottle of grape juice and a couple of plastic cups. Esther smiled up at him through her oxygen mask.

"You're going romantic on me, Dr. Greg," she whispered as Dr. Greg opened the bottle and poured the sparkling purple liquid into the cups. He placed one cup on the portable table and moved closer to Esther, helping her drink her share of the stuff until she signaled for him to stop.

"Thank you, dear," she said, lying back on the bed in happiness.

Dr. Greg didn't smile, choosing to down his drink in one gulp.

"I won't be able to see Dick Clark drop the ball this year, Dr. Greg," Esther said.

"She doesn't sound sad or angry," Andie murmured, looking up at House, who had sat next to her on the bed during the alcohol consumption.

"She already knew," House replied, rubbing a hand over his eyes. In front of them, Dr. Greg did the same thing. "At the time, we tried every test known to us. Every test came up negative or inconclusive, and each time, Esther coughed up another symptom. Her family was already preparing her funeral—their gift to her this Christmas."

The last six words were accompanied by a snarl.

"We'll see about that, Esther," Dr. Greg replied softly.

"It's Christmas, dear," Esther said. Her eyelids were fluttering—she was getting sleepy. "You should be out celebrating, kiss a nice girl under the mistletoe, spend time with your family. Anything is better than keeping this old thing company."

Dr. Greg shrugged. "Thought you might need company yourself—where's your family?"

"I told them to go home and rest, have fun," Esther said almost imperceptibly. She was slipping away. "They shouldn't be here—doesn't make a fun Christmas."

Tears began to slip down her withered cheeks. Dr. Greg looked uncomfortable—it looked like he wanted to bolt.

Both Dr. Greg and his older phantom self suddenly froze, staring straight at Esther's heart monitor seconds before a red dot began to blip wildly.

Andie took House's hand and walked through the horde of nurses and interns running straight to Esther's bed.

Their next destination was a Christmas party at a fancy-looking hotel. Someone was playing a jovial rendition of a jazz tune on a piano as the murmurs of hundreds of people wafted over and up for the chandeliers in the large ballroom.

"Oh no!" House groaned. He turned to Andie, who suddenly left his side to check out the buffet table. Steve was settled on top of her head, his tail twitching in anticipation.

"Dr. House," a familiar voice rang from his left. "Didn't know you played."

House closed his eyes, breathed in, and turned left to look at the black grand piano set on an elevated stage. A slim form sheathed in a slinky red number is leaning to one side of the instrument, looking on as the piano player slowed down his playing before tinkling some random notes and expertly shifting to a new tune.

House couldn't help it; he walked slowly towards the piano.

The piano player in the tuxedo replied, "Hard knock life, Miss—"

A pair of pickled doctors waltzed past phantom-House; he instinctively jumped back to avoid a collision before remembering that he was defying all the known laws of physics.

"—I had to pay my way through med school, hookers, smokes, the whole nine yards."

The red hot number chuckled throatily. "Call me Stacy."

Dr. House looked up from his piano playing and said, "My lawyer told me not to give away too much information to the sniper who colored my ass purple, but I will give you leave to call me Purple Sweet Cheeks."

Stacy chuckled. "You'll never forgive me for winning in that paintball tournament, are you, Sweet Cheeks?"

"Can you shout out the last part orgasmically? It'll make me feel so much better!"

"Orgas-mi-ca-wha?" Andie piped up beside phantom-House. He saw that his guide and his rat were eating pigs-in-a-blanket; Andie was holding a plate filled with food. Seeing his expression, Andie held up the plate to House.

"Thanks," he said, picking up a weiner and popped it into his mouth. Dr. House had stopped playing, signaling to the piano player actually hired for this event before walking away with Stacy.

"She became your girlfriend, right?" Andie said, following the handsome couple walking for the bar.

House snatched a chocolate-covered bonbon from the plate before answering, "Only after the New Year's—we didn't see each other after this shindig. I went back to New Jersey and she went to wherever it was she was practicing at. Only got together when the hospital hired her as the legal counsel."

Dr. House and Stacy, drinks in hand, were moving to the glass doors leading to the hotel's garden. Andie and phantom-House followed them.

"Dammit!"

Andie jumped and looked up at her companion. "What?"

"I hate this jumping forward thing," House grumbled, shaking his head. "Weren't we following me and Stacy in the hotel a moment ago?"

"Oh, that," Andie replied, licking the chocolate off her satiny gloves. The glove was stained brown for a few moments before the color began to fade to oblivion. "Sorry—had to move it on."

House didn't ask where Andie placed the plate—or what happened to the mountain of pilfered food. Steve looked like an inflated, gray balloon on Andie's right shoulder. He looked sleepy.

The scenery changed. Andie and House were walking at the snow-covered University campus near the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. It looked eerie and lovely at the same time; the moon made the snow-topped walkway shimmer like silver. Four figures were running up the stairs behind House and Andie.

"I win!" Dr. House gasped, his breaths coming out in white puffs. He raised his arms up and waved them up and down. Three people groaned audibly below him.

"No fair!" Stacy wheezed, leaning on the banister of the walkway as she composed herself. "You cheated!"

"And you have longer legs!" cried the third contestant, taking her place behind Stacy to get her wind back. A younger, slightly chubbier Dr. Cuddy pushed the hair off her pink face, taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. "Oh, stop that, House! No one wants to see your Rocky imitation!"

"I'm a winner, baby!" Dr. House said triumphantly, giving the frosty air several quick, short jabs with his fists before turning his back to them and wagged his ass left to right. He had to jump away when Stacy lunged forward to slap it.

"Some—bo—dy—help—me!" Wilson cried out below them. He trudged up carefully behind Cuddy, holding his waist like his guts were about to spill out from an imaginary hole there. "I'm—going—to—have—a—heart—at—tack!"

"Stop being a baby, Wilson," Dr. House cried, pulling Stacy up against his long, lean frame. "C'mon, baby—let's ditch these amateurs and find a mistletoe to shag under."

Stacy laughed, trying half-heartedly to get back to Cuddy and Wilson, who were still trying to catch their breath. "We can't leave them there, Greg!"

Dr. House looked down at Stacy in pretend shock. "You want to—"

He wagged his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"No!" Stacy cried out, giggling madly as Dr. House tried to sneak a kiss on her bright red lips.

"Wow, Dr. House," Andie said, tilting her head to the side and smiling dreamily at the happy couple. "You were smiling!"

House snorted. "Don't call the Vatican yet, kid."

"And you're tickling her," Andie continued, peering out as the couple stopped under a snow-covered tree. "And—ew! Tongue!" Andie made an exaggerated face of disgust.

"This from the girl who coerced a grown Australian to mooch her on the mouth," House muttered, rolling his eyes.

However, like Andie, he couldn't keep his eyes off the couple in front of them. "Its not going to last," House grumbled.

Andie nodded, walking away from the kissing duo. "You got sick yourself—and your girlfriend had to make a decision…"

"And then she left me," House finished quietly, turning around to follow Andie.

The scenery changed as House and Stacy stopped to look deep into each other's eyes.

Someone was ringing a doorbell.

Something glass broke on wood. "Go away!"

House blinked.

"We're home, Dr. House," Andie said softly. And so they were.

"What a mess!" Andie said, stepping aside to avoid an unsteady pile of books. Steve was jolted out of his nap and almost off the shoulder he was slumped over as Andie jumped nimbly up over a pile of dirty shirts.

"It's a living," House said. He didn't want to move into the living room. He didn't have to move there to know that it would be littered with empty bottles of Scotch and painkillers, papers, and smelly boxes of Chinese take-out.

A key clicked somewhere and the front door creaked open.

"Holy shit!" Wilson yelled before slamming the door shut. "House—are you in here? Do I need to call the FBI to find you?"

"Not here!" came the reply—it was coming from the bedroom behind House.

"Right," Wilson said sardonically, gingerly stepping on some random clean spots within the living room. "Jeez, it's cold!"

Wilson suddenly appeared in the hallway in front of phantom-House. He still wore his longcoat and bright maroon scarf around his neck; snowflakes covered his tousled brown hair and shoulders, which he brushed off him with one of his gloved hands. His other hand held a large brown paper bag. Wilson walked through phantom-House and approached the bedroom.

House reluctantly followed his friend into his bedroom—or rather, the doorway to his bedroom. Wilson blocked the entryway, standing stock-still in shock and disgust.

"Jesus Christ!" he gasped, running another hand through his messed-up hair.

"Didn't I tell you already I wasn't here?" a slurred, gruff voice emanated from the king-sized bed. "And shouldn't you be Catholic to use His name in vain?"

Andie and Steve were already inside the room, standing on the other side of the bed and mirroring Wilson's look of disgust and horror.

This version of Gregory House was slumped on the side of the bed nearest the doorway. The number of liquor bottles and small orange plastic bottles were more concentrated here. The pajama-wearing man lying on the bed was nearly emaciated, ghastly pale, and had a full growth of beard. He had propped his right leg up on a very tall pile of pillows; against the backdrop of gray pajama pants was a dry, dark red stain that covered up the thigh area.

"Got the Grizzly Adams look going for me here," phantom-House murmured.

"When was the last time you took a bath then, Dr. House?" Andie whispered in horror. Steve squeaked in similar protest.

Phantom-House shrugged. "It was cold!"

Wilson recovered instantly, walking to the prone man and whipping out a tiny flashlight from his coat.

"You opened up your wound!" Wilson snarled, checking Dr. House's pupils. Dr. House stretched out an arm and pushed the flashlight away from his face before struggling to raise himself up from the bed.

"That's not blood, Wilson," the man slurred. He managed to raise himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes with his right hand before looking up at Wilson. "Had an accident with the tomato juice; it didn't agree with me, so I showed it who's the boss and tossed it around somewhere."

Wilson winced in disgust. "You're a pig, House."

"Merry Christmas to you then," the older man replied.

"I'd ask how you were holding up since—"

"Don't," Dr. House growled, giving his friend a warning glance. Wilson sighed.

After a moment of silence between the men, House looked down, around his room, then at the dark stain on his pants. "Happy holidays, huh?"

Wilson snorted in agreement.

House continued, pushing himself awkwardly up on his haunches. "Shouldn't you be spending time with the new missus—what's her name—Junie?"

"Julie," Wilson said in vexation, looking around himself before bending over and picking up a cane. "Told her I'll be at the hospital tonight; she understood. Not the first time."

House raised an eyebrow at Wilson. "Barely a year into your marriage, and you're already lying."

"What marriage doesn't have little white lies?" Wilson asked, handing the cane to House. "Now, make that lie worthwhile by getting up off your lazy ass and helping me in cleaning up this mess. I'm not sharing the food with you until all the bottles and boxes and dead things in this hole are disposed of—including the ones hiding in your beard."

"Aw, dad!" House whined pathetically. "Its Christmas eve! I'm an invalid!"

"Yeah right," Wilson chuckled, shaking his head as he removed his coat and scarf before rolling up his sleeves. "If you can summon up the energy to make this much mess all throughout your apartment, you can certainly pick up after yourself."

"You're evil."

"To deal with you, I have to be."

Andie looked awestruck at Wilson. "Wow."

"I know," House shrugged as he observed his funky-looking self hobbling painfully on his cane to his closet. "Beneath that cuddly exterior, Wilson's really a descendant of Genghis Khan."

Andie rolled her eyes, taking Steve from her shoulder to cuddle and stroke.

"I noticed something, Dr. House," she said after real-life House left the uncluttered bedroom with Wilson, holding a large garbage bag between them. "You weren't as nasty then as you are now. And even when you were mean to Dr. Wilson, he didn't leave you, and you kind of listened to him eventually."

"Didn't you hear him, kid? He was holding the food hostage!"

His leg began to ache.

"I was kidding, I was kidding!" he cried. "You obviously can't take a joke."

"No—just doesn't like your sarcasm," Andie responded serenely. Beyond the bedroom door, Dr. House and Wilson were heard trudging through the hallway for the living room.

"Look," House muttered, hobbling painfully to his bed and carefully sitting himself down on it. "I've gone through things that made me into who I am. Sure, I've had some good moments here and there, but even those didn't turn me into a fluffy person. Even if Stacy hadn't left weeks before this particular Christmas, she'd have left me eventually. Only reason I put up with Wilson is because he's—he's Wilson!"

House stopped to get his air back and to rub his aching thigh. Andie kept looking down at him.

House settled down on the bed. "Go back and tell Ezra I haven't changed. Nothing will make me turn into Cameron."

Andie raised an eyebrow at House.

"Very well," she said softly. "Its 12:30 AM, Dr. House. My time with you is almost up. I'll take Steve back to his cage and be on my way. The next visitor arrives in five minutes."

With that, Andie leaned over House and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Ah!"

House was back in his bed. He turned around to look at his digital alarm clock, but the gadget wasn't on top of his night table. Muttering, he eased himself up and limped towards the clock, which was lying upside down on the floor next to the night table.

He checked the time. It was 12:31 AM.

How am I doing so far?