Wilson parked the car down the street from the house. Both man stayed seated, staring down the road.

"We could go; there are still eighteen states we haven't visited." House said, but with a note of defeat in his voice, he knew this fight was already lost.

"You agreed to do this," Wilson pointed out. "And it's twenty states."

"Nobody counts Hawaii and Alaska." House placed his ace card. "She's an old lady. The shock could kill her. You don't want me to be responsible for my mother's death do you? On Christmas Eve? I'll be in therapy for the rest of my life."

"Which is why I'm going in first - to prepare her."

"She thinks you're dead too."

"She hasn't been to my funeral. And I'm not her son. She'll survive."

"What are you going to say? That I didn't give a fuck that I was making her grieve for her son? That all that mattered to me was being with my bestie? And, oh by the way Mom, you know how you always wanted me to settle down with a nice girl, well, I did - but he's a nice boy? Grandchildren are out, sorry."

"I'll find a better way to say it than that. And I'm pretty sure Blythe ruled out grandchildren a long time ago."

"But..."

Wilson opened the car door and got out. He leaned back in the open window. "It's going to be okay, House. The only thing she's going to care about is that you're still alive, and that you're happy. Trust me, I know Moms." He started to walk off and then he reached back in the car and quickly snatched the keys out of the ignition. "Just in case you get any ideas about driving off."

"Bastard!" House called after him, and Wilson flipped him the bird behind his back. House scowled and put his ear buds in, slouching down in his seat to let his music take him away. A few seconds later he snatched the buds out of his ears in disgust, a particularly cheery version of 'Jingle Bells' reverberating in his head. Wilson had filled his IPod with Christmas songs.

Despite his reassuring words Wilson was nervous as he walked up the immaculate path towards the house. He knew that, despite his show of indifference, House's Mom was important to him, in an abstract type of way. She represented something in his life, something important - maybe even that unconditional love he claimed didn't exist.

He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, torn between hoping that Blythe had already gone to her sister's for Christmas and hoping that she would be there so they could get this over with.

Just as he was beginning to turn away the door opened.

"James?" Blythe put one hand up to her chest and Wilson had a sudden vision of House's gloomy prophecy coming true and Blythe expiring on the doorstep. "James! What a surprise."

Aren't you dead? Wilson heard the unspoken thought. Eighteen months had passed since his 'five months to live' death sentence - a sentence Wilson knew Blythe had heard about at the funeral.

"I got better," he said. There was a lot more to it of course. His mind flashed over the last eighteen months, touching only lightly on those moments he'd rather forget. She didn't need the details.

Suddenly he was embraced, her arms wrapped around him. Wilson was touched by her concern. He wondered if he was standing in for the son she thought she'd never hug again.

"Oh James, Greg... "her voice faltered, "Greg would have been so pleased." She pulled back, looking at him at arm's length. "You meant a great deal to him, you know that, don't you?"

Yes, he did. He thought that he always had, really.

They were still standing on the doorstep and he glanced down the street, the car could just be seen beyond a bend in the road. Blythe followed his glance.

"Is there someone with you, James?" She glanced down at his hand, spotting the gold ring on his finger. Her face lit up and she was about to say something when he shook his head.

"There is, but I need to tell you about them first. It's going to be a bit of a shock." He took a deep breath, he hadn't meant to do this here, on the doorstep but he didn't want to keep the truth from her any longer.

"House... Greg survived the fire, Blythe. He isn't dead."

Her eyes went wide and she stared at him, speechless. Then her gaze flicked back to the car and she went past him at a speed he wouldn't have thought possible.

"Greg!"

Wilson quickly caught up to Blythe and as they approached the car the door opened and House stood up, standing still on the sidewalk, his stance apprehensive. His Mom stopped and stared at him for a second and then came forward, embracing him, her arms coming around and hugging her son.

House looked at Wilson over Blythe's shoulder, and smiled at him, his relief showing. He returned his Mom's embrace, holding her tightly.

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

End