flywoman

Okay, now that House is officially on hiatus, our collaborative holiday H/W fic can begin! To make it safe and fun for everyone, I'd like us all to follow a few simple rules:

1) If you want to write the next section, please post a comment at the end of the previous part indicating your intentions. That way we won't have multiple people competing for the same section. Also indicate approximately how long you expect the writing to take. 3 days or less would be ideal.

2) Keep it friendly. I know it's tempting, based on recent events on the show, but please focus on House and Wilson and try to minimize any serious character-bashing. But... no need to keep it clean! :D

3) Please limit your contribution to 1000 words so that everyone gets a chance to put in their two cents. (You are welcome to contribute again once everyone who's expressed interest has had a turn.) You can end anywhere you wish - cliffhangers are encouraged.

4) Once you are done with your section, please place the link in the comments at the end of this post. Ideally, indicate the number of your part as well. Once we're done, I'll write a new post with all of the sections, authors, and links, and we can post it on house_wilson, etc.

5) You are welcome to advertise this collaboration to your f-list, but please send prospective participants back here to read the rules - thanks!

By the way, I claimed this prompt at sick_wilson, thinking that we might fulfill it with this fic. But I won't insist!

The annual Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital holiday party was staggering reluctantly to a close. Everyone on House’s team had left over an hour ago, Chase on the arms of two different women. Cuddy, however, was deep in conversation with one of her most important donors, still gamely smiling despite the telltale shadows under her eyes. Sprawled in the least uncomfortable of the folding chairs in the corner of the lobby, House allowed himself yet another admiring appraisal of the way her crimson strapless evening gown clung to the curves of her ample ass.

“Housh?” It was Wilson, looming unsteadily into view from his left.

“Evening, Jimmy,” House responded, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I see you found the eggnog.”

“Wanna ashk you something,” his friend slurred.

“Yes, Wilson, those pants do make you look fat.”

“Serioushly,” Wilson said with a long-suffering sigh. “Who the hellshitty idea was thish? I’m Jewish for Chrisshake. And I’m not old.”

“No… but you are pudgy and jolly and beloved by the bald little kiddies.”

“They were animals,” Wilson whined, yanking irritably at his ticklish white beard. “That blond boy in the elf ears kicked me in the nutzh.”

“Did you drive?” House asked.

“Yeah. That’s… that’s it. What I was ashking.” Wilson blinked owlishly at him. “Gimme a ride?”

“I’m on the bike today,” House said. They gazed more or less levelly at each other, although Wilson rather spoiled the effect by swaying slightly where he stood. House lowered his voice. “Feeling lucky, punk?”

“Go ahead,” Wilson responded, trying his best to look tough despite the fur-trimmed hat and crushed red velvet suit. “Make my day.”

House eyed him skeptically. “You’re gonna have to hang on tight.”

“I’m allll over you,” Wilson assured him. He frowned. “It. All over it.”

“Yeah,” House smirked. “Lemme just see if Cuddy’s planning to leave soon, and she can drive both of us.”

“Go ‘head,” Wilson mumbled, waving his arm and almost unbalancing himself. “Be right here.”

House grabbed his cane and hauled himself up to hobble across the lobby, wishing he’d thought to secrete a double dose of ibuprofen someplace on his person. His thigh was beginning to throb like a bitch. As he got closer to Cuddy and her companion, he saw her laugh appreciatively and reach out to touch the older man lightly on the arm. Then she noticed House and tensed, the smile frozen on her face.

He felt his heart sink. He knew that she must be close to a commitment to a major gift for the hospital and was just scared that he was about to humiliate her and blow the whole thing – and it was not, he had to admit, an unreasonable fear. But the sight of her obvious anxiety in place of the pleasure or pride that she might have evinced at her boyfriend’s approach almost made him long for Wilson’s more literal blow below the belt.

“Joe,” Cuddy said, feigning delight, “have you met Dr. House? He heads our Diagnostics department.”

“Diagnostics?” the other man chuckled. “Isn’t that what all doctors do?”

“Actually,” House began, but stopped at the sight of Cuddy’s slight frown and thinned lips. “Um. Pleased to meet you, there, uh, sir.”

“Did you need something, Doctor?” Cuddy asked blandly, her blue eyes begging him to play along, or better yet, just go away. The idea of asking her to give him and her head of Oncology a ride home in the face of such formality suddenly struck him as ludicrous. He couldn’t come up with a way of discreetly broaching the subject without dragging her off out of earshot, and he could see from the stubborn set of her mouth that this tactic would be resisted now and probably punished later.

“Uh, no, actually,” he said, summoning a grim smile of his own. “Just wanted to say that it was a lovely evening and to wish you both happy holidays.” He nodded to each of them and limped painfully back to Wilson, who was slumped pathetically in his chair, hat halfway off and hair endearingly mussed.

“Forget it,” House told him. “You wait here. I’ll grab the extra helmet from my office.”