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Heart's Desire
by gena
Heart's Desire
"Wilson!" House hissed, holding the phone to his ear even as he limped slowly across the room. He could hear a muffled grunt then Wilson's voice sounding groggy and not a little angry.
"Why the hell are you calling me at - 2 AM?" Wilson demanded.
House edged closer to his goal, pausing every couple of steps to listen. He reached out blindly, groping for the door handles. "Because I need some help."
"What? House, are you all right?" Wilson had gone from sleepy to concerned in about .02 seconds and while the fact would have been gratifying under different circumstances at the moment House was too busy fumbling inside the gigantic space where he piled everything he didn't want to deal with, also known as a bedroom closet.
"No, I am not all right," House snapped. "If I was I'd be asleep instead of having phone sex with you."
"We're not having - House," Wilson's voice changed to a slow gentle cadence as if he were suddenly afraid the wrong words might send House screaming into the street, "how many pills did you take?"
"Enough to make me taste colors and see flavors,' House whispered, his hand searching through layers of clothes, and along the shelf until his fingers closed over something cold and hard. "Eureka! I just said that to rattle you," House mumbled, using his chin to hold the phone as he pried his prize from where it had been lodged, "don't you think you should be hurrying over here?"
"I am," Wilson said. "I'm in the garage right now. What's going on?"
"Elves." House paused in his struggles, waiting for Wilson's reaction. He smiled when he heard the near desperate moan come from his friend.
"O-kay. Elves, hmm?" Wilson's voice had a breathless quality and House could imagine he had suddenly stomped the accelerator and was now racing along the deserted streets. "Okay, I'm only a mile away House, can you describe them to me?"
"No. It's dark, Wilson and I think it's really only one." He gave a tug to the object in his hand and felt it give. It was wedged tightly but maybe with another - House balanced himself on his left leg, and gave another pull. The thing came loose and he nearly toppled over, an involuntary gasp coming from him as he shifted awkwardly.
"House!" Wilson sounded close now.
"It's okay, the jolly old elf hasn't gotten me," House said, hefting the now free object. "I had to get a weapon."
"Weapon?" If panic had a picture in the dictionary it would have been one of James Wilson and the thought made House grin.
"Yeah, can't face something like this empty handed, can I? Who knows what he's capable of." House leaned against his bedroom wall, he could hear a car outside his townhouse and knew it Wilson had arrived. "Listen, I'm in the bedroom, don't knock just use your key and I'll meet you around the piano." He paused, thinking it over, "do you have a gun?"
"House! No guns! Please, come on, House," Wilson's voice had risen a full octave, giving him an adolescent squeak House found amusing.
"Okay, you're right, it wouldn't do to shoot the guy even if he did break and enter."
"I'm at the front door," Wilson said, "I'm coming in."
House snapped his phone closed and eased into the hall. He held himself up with his right hand, carrying his weapon in his left as he limped as quickly as he could for the front room. He saw a splash of streetlight slide across the floor and over his piano before the door closed behind Wilson. He didn't see his intruder but he could sense him somewhere just out of sight. "Wilson," House whispered and rolled his eyes when a shadow near the door yelped and whirled in his general direction. "Don't give away our position, you idiot!" He crept closer and laid a hand on Wilson's shoulder.
"House, thank god," Wilson murmured and House found himself engulfed in a painful hug. "What's wrong?"
"Other than a collapsed lung and maybe a hairline fracture to the third rib," he wheezed, pushing at Wilson's chest, "nothing." He couldn't budge his friend and finally had to just relax until Wilson felt reassured enough by his physical presence to let go. He was loathe to admit it but having Wilson wrapped around him like a very friendly cardigan was kind of - hot and not in the sweater way either. House quickly shied away from those thoughts, picturing a clinic full of snot-nosed patients all hacking up phlegm in unison. When he was sufficiently disgusted, he said, "Wilson, I need to breathe."
"Sorry," Wilson said and the pressure on his ribs as well as the pleasant sensation of muscled thigh tucked tight against his crotch disappeared all too quickly. "We need to sit down and-"
"No can do," House cut him off, pulling and pushing at Wilson, using him as a crutch, until they were both sprawled under the piano. "And no calling in the cavalry," he growled, swatting Wilson's cell phone out of his hand before he could hit send. House could see Cuddy's number still lit up and knew it would have been only seconds before Wilson conspired with their boss to have him forcibly detoxed in some exclusive place. "I need your help."
"I am trying to help," Wilson told him, eyeing the object in House's hand with suspicion. "Why are you clutching a golf club?"
House, turned to glare at him, bringing them nose to nose, "I was playing a round a Pebble Beach and forgot to give it to my caddy. What is wrong with you, Wilson. I called because I'm under attack here. This is the only weapon I could find."
Wilson was silent for a moment, but House could practically hear him discarding rational explanations. Obviously out of ideas, Wilson finally said, "so this elf?"
"It's Santa," House said quickly. He heard a scratching sound coming from the fireplace, a small noise that grew louder in the silence following his statement. He could even see a little soot drifting down onto the logs placed between the andirons.
"Santa," Wilson repeated.
"Yes, he's trying to break in and leave presents," House explained. "we go through this every year. He shows up, I beat him off - well, not beat him off like that, I mean I attack him with a golf club or my cane - once I used a Nerf bat but that didn't do more than make him angry."
"House," the high-pitched squeak had returned to Wilson's voice, "you're telling me that we are lying under your piano in the dark because you and Santa engage in a - a battle of sorts every year just so he won't leave you presents?" He watched Wilson raise up on his elbows, one hand gently settling on House's temple, long fingers exploring the side of his face. "You didn't fall did you?"
The touch sent a wave through House, one that ended in a delicious shudder in the pit of his stomach and even thinking about mucous spewing morons couldn't quell it. He edged closer to Wilson, refusing to acknowledge that the movement could be called cuddling, preferring to think of it in more manly terms like - well, there wasn't a manly term for what they were doing. "I did not fall," he insisted. "And my fight with Santa isn't just about presents. You know I love presents but if I accept one from him then I have to believe in him and I can't do that. I can't put my trust in a man wearing a red suit and telling me I'll get my heart's desire."
"Ah, I see," Wilson said slowly and a knowing smile formed on his extremely kissable looking lips. "You didn't get the pony you wanted as a boy, right?"
House sighed. "It was a chemistry set. Mom and dad wouldn't buy it because they thought I might blow myself or the house up."
"A justifiable fear," Wilson observed.
"I wrote to Santa ever year for five years." House glared at the fireplace. "I was good as gold and still never got it. Not a test tube, or a Bunsen burner. I got socks and underwear. I'm a little bitter, you know?"
"Yes, I can see that," Wilson said. His hand shifted from House's face to his curl around his back. "Why don't we go back to your bedroom, House? We'd be more comfortable there and we can talk about your feud with St. Nick." House tapped a finger against the cold golf club in one hand and Wilson's warm cheek in the other.
"Okay," he said, choosing the best of the pair. With a bit of a struggle and some covert groping, House got to his feet with Wilson's help and the pair moved down the hall to the bedroom. They talked for about five seconds, just long enough to figure out which would be top then the talking kind of disintegrated into muffled curses and unintelligible moaning. It wasn't until a couple of hours later, fortified with a Vicodin and in need of a pee that House wandered out into the hallway. He could see a tiny red glow and with a sinking heart limped into the living room. "You win," he said to the figure seated in his favorite chair, smoking one of his cigars.
"I'd say you won," Santa said with a smirk.
"Don't think I've forgiven you."
"That chemistry set wasn't your Heart's Desire," Santa told him with a self-satisfied grin.
House glanced back towards his bedroom, his own expression soft, "no, it wasn't was it?" He turned back to the red-suited man, "Hey, I've got pizza and beer, that's a nice change from milk and cookies."
Santa rose and laid a finger aside his nose, "Thanks for the offer, House, but not when I'm flying." He let out a laugh and ducked into the fireplace.
"See you next year," House called after him.
Santa stuck his head back down the chimney, "Oh, no you won't. This is it. I am not giving you a three-way with Cuddy no matter how much you beg."
House shook his head and hobbled back to his gift, thankful he hadn't gotten his Heart's Desire when he was eight. He could appreciate it so much more now.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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