House MD Fanfiction

Obligatory Holiday

Hilson, smut,  4,400 words

By: magie_05

Wilson takes another drink and wonders what the hell he's doing here.

He seems to be doing that a lot lately. Since Amber, since last year, since the day he found himself shaking hands with a stranger in the parking lot of a police station. Maybe it never really made sense, following House when his usual M.O. was to push everyone away.

But after those two months of make-believe, part of him realizes – maybe always has – that he's here because it's the only place he wants to be.

Still, the timing could be a little better. He's not sure how House will react to walk in and find his bourbon being consumed by his recently rechristened best friend on Christmas Eve. Probably with slightly less shock and horror than when Wilson reveals the purpose of his visit.

Which is – what, exactly?

He's not sure what he expects when House walks though the front door. He doesn't want to think about what was he expecting this time last year, before...her. Before it even started. Before it had to end. Back when he'd thought, if only for a few months, that this wasn't insane.

Objectively, he knows it's crazy, showing up here with this old, familiar ache in chest after weeks of urging House toward someone else. He knows he's a hypocrite for wanting what he knows House is incapable of, some form of relationship that's not rooted in desperation.

If that is what he wants. If that's why he came here tonight. If it's something he can even have.

This is ridiculous. House is going to start in on the mocking the second he walks in, not that Wilson can blame him. He has become a character in a made-for-TV Christmas movie, all the spirit of the season condensed into one clichéd moment, declarations of love next to a chestnut-roasting fire and climatic kisses under mistletoe. He's perfectly aware of how pathetic he is.

But if he's learned anything this year, it's that he has to do what makes him happy, has to, before it's gone.

He could leave here tonight with nothing changed.

Or he could get what he's finally allowed himself to want.

At this stage, Wilson is leaning toward the third option: get so drunk he can't remember why he's here.

However, like in every made-for-TV Christmas special, the plot thickens before he can make up his mind. He looks up from his glass when he hears House's key turn in the lock.

The light snaps on and he thinks he can hear a stifled gasp. House blinks at him. "You're...out late."

Wilson swallows over a sudden surge of fear. "You too."

The question in House's expression is too heavy, so Wilson looks away, his eyes sliding down House's neck, over his worn wool overcoat to his hand clenched on the cane. In his other hand is an object Wilson hasn't seen in a year, which House tries (too late) to slip behind his back.

When he looks back up, House's eyes are averted.

He jerks his head in the book's general direction. "Did you decide to put it on Ebay?"

Slowly, House brings the book around to stare down at it, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he looks back at Wilson on the sofa. "Think I could get anything for it?"

His tone is soft and gravelly and makes Wilson need to turn his eyes back to the floor, taking a deep, steadying breath. House is going to ask him why he's here, and he's not going to have an answer, and the awkward silence will speak for him –