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12
“I love you thiiis much,” some insipid commercial sounds from behind him as he pours his scotch on the rocks and peers out the ice-bedecked windows to see snow falling in his small backyard. It’s twelve days to Christmas and he’s lucky enough to have the day off; he’s spending it watching the fourteenth presentation of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, going through mail, and wondering what everyone else is doing.
The commercials end – Hallmark jingle leading its way back into the movie and Foreman scoffs in disbelief, can’t quite believe he’s watching this. He’s nearly ready to retire to bed; he doesn’t want to look at student loan payments or hydro bills or any of the other demands that came in the mail today. He just wants to sleep.
His eyes catch the small package on his kitchen table and he advances with slight trepidation. The hospital had organized a very wide, inter-departmental Secret Santa gift exchange and his had shown up in his box today. He wasn’t sure about Christmas, because in the past, hospital gift exchanges tended to be frugal – t’is the season to be cheap.
He flips open the small, calligraphy-styled card.
‘On the twelfth day of Christmas…’
Foreman pulls at the ribbon and unwraps the box to find a leather wallet, just the kind he uses lately. Inside, there’s a gift certificate for Starbucks. Foreman smiles and lightly taps the wallet against his palm as he glances outside once more to the snow. “Thank you, Santa,” he says, to the unseen person in their house somewhere in Princeton who actually gave his gift a little bit of thought.
11
He arrives to work, wincing at the cold. He’s lost his hat, god knows where, and his scarf is so threadbare that it might as well be a tea towel. Chase is charting by the nurse’s station when Foreman arrives and shivers, brushing snow off his coat. “You know…” Chase starts, not even looking up.
Foreman gives him a warning glance. “Man, I know you’re about to say something about Australia,” he warns, not breaking his stride as he picks up his paperwork by the station, pausing long enough to talk to Chase – who’s leaning against the counter like he’s just hanging out. “I don’t give a damn how hot it is down there right now.”
“Eighty six Fahrenheit today,” Chase supplies helpfully, looking up long enough to smile at Foreman. For all that Foreman didn’t want to hear that, he smiles back at Chase and signs off on a few procedures for his patients before he goes to the office to settle in for the day.
On his chair, there’s a square box with a bow atop.
Foreman advances with slight trepidation. He’s not quite sure who would give him gifts now that secret santa is done. Cameron, maybe. He hasn’t spent his time at the hospital making friends. He flips open the small tented placard atop the box.
‘On the eleventh day of Christmas…
Love, your Secret Santa.’
Foreman arches an eyebrow as he unties the bow and tosses it to the side of the table carelessly. He pries open the box to find a matching hat and scarf set, woolen and exactly the same pattern as Foreman’s old set. He lets out a small sound of disbelief as he wonders if this means he’ll get ten more days of gifts.
10
Foreman’s gift on the tenth day is almost waylaid. He arrives in the morning to find House playing with a box, shaking it. Foreman isn’t paying much attention. “Your gift arrive?” he asks casually as he erases the whiteboard. Their patient had just been discharged that morning.
“Yeah, except, Santa screwed up,” House scoffs. “He wrote, ‘To Eric’ on this thing.”
Foreman stops and gives House a glare, clearly not amused. House rolls his eyes and tosses over the square box, which Foreman is very, very careful to catch. His Secret Santa – who he has his suspicions about, namely Cameron – must have been shilling out a good amount of money. Foreman had heard about some kind of hundred dollar limit, but who knows, he’s not going to complain.
House limps over. “Was Santa good to you?”
Foreman slowly opens the box to reveal a watch with a silver band and Roman numerals denoting the hour. It’s nice. It’s nicer than anything Foreman would ever buy for himself – he’s used to finding bargains and feeling proud about them. He smiles and slips the watch on.
“Santa’s rich,” House observes. “Lucky.”
“Who’d you get, anyway?”
House glances over his shoulder. “Secret, duh.”
9
“That’s a nice scarf,” Cameron says with a playful smile, fingering the frayed edges with her hands and observing it. Foreman studies her expression, as though he can figure out if she’s his Santa by that alone. “Just like you were wanting!” she provides.
“Santa is good,” Foreman chuckles and unwraps the scarf from around his neck.
As he’s come to expect, there’s another perfectly wrapped gift sitting on the conference table. This one is thin and rectangular. Foreman sits down and picks at the wrapping while Cameron pours herself a cup of coffee. She doesn’t seem to be too interested in the gift, but as Foreman finishes unwrapping it, she turns and sits down, eagerly watching Foreman.
It’s a navy blue folder, a simple thing, really.
Foreman opens it up and gapes. “What?” Cameron inquires. “What’d you get?”
“It’s a portfolio,” he remarks with a bit of confusion and wonder. “Blue chip stocks. Two hundred and fifty dollars worth.” Well, there goes that pesky old limit, blown to the sky. When he looks up, Cameron is staring at the folder, the envy clear on her face. She’s probably wondering why her secret santa wasn’t shilling out hundreds on her.
“Wow…”
Foreman just nods. “Yeah.” Practical too.
8
On the eighth day before Christmas, Foreman gets a treat. He finds his gift in a tin with a card sitting atop. There’s a recipe printed in neat writing within the card and in the tin are homemade cookies. They’re not Foreman’s favorite – the kind his mother used to make – but they taste damn close. Foreman reads the recipe as he works on an article at lunch and Chase wanders into the office.
“Who gave you the food?” Chase asks curiously, eyes lingering on the cookie tin. If Foreman closes his eyes, he bets he would hear Chase’s stomach growling. The man eats a lot for someone so thin. Foreman offers one of the cookies, which Chase takes with a smile and sits down.
There’s still three layers of homemade cookies in there. He can spare a few.
“My Secret Santa,” he mumbles, wiping away crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “I think it’s a woman. Maybe one of the nurses. Maybe Cameron.”
“Yeah?” Chase prods, sitting down in the chair and kicking up his feet. “Why’s that?”
“The cards, they always say ‘love, secret santa’. And hey, Santa baked me cookies,” Foreman points out, devouring another two at once. They really are good. Chase has finished his by the time Foreman is done his two. “I figure, maybe a nurse. Maybe someone’s got a crush on me.”
Chase just laughs at that, that same insufferable smirk on his face – the same one he gets when he knows he has a one-up on Foreman.
“Wait,” Foreman realizes. “You know.”
Chase’s smirk doesn’t disappear. “Good cookies,” is all he says.
7
When Foreman gets back from lunch, there’s a gift on his chair and Wilson is pacing around the room. Foreman wanders in, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Maybe all that ‘love’ stuff was to throw him off. Wilson’s sensible enough to give him a portfolio and his wife is a master in the kitchen – she sometimes brought by food for Wilson, which winds up in the Diagnostics Office.
Foreman tosses out a casual, ‘hey’, as he picks up the gift and begins unwrapping it. It’s bigger than the others, and when he finishes, he finds a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch. Foreman lets out a low whistle, which gets Wilson’s attention.
“Isn’t that your favorite brand?” Wilson asks.
Foreman just nods. “Yeah.”
“Nice gift.”
“I know.”
6
He goes out with drinks with Cameron while waiting to open that day’s gift. It’s in an envelope, tied off with a simple green bow. They sit in a booth, both staring into space and deep in thought. Foreman’s wondering if maybe he should stop opening the damn gifts. He’s getting a little bit enamoured with whoever is giving him this stuff. Whoever has Foreman in the exchange clearly knows him; knows him so well, it’s a bit unsettling.
“I bought Cuddy lingerie,” Cameron finally says, voice distracted.
Foreman had been sipping his drink, which had been a mistake. He chokes on the beer as it goes down and his eyes widen. “Cam?”
“For Secret Santa,” she quickly clarifies.
Well, that rules out Cameron. And she’d been the sure bet, too.
There’s only one thing to say to that: “Why?” Foreman demands.
“I couldn’t think of anything else, so I asked House and Wilson her cup size and went to Victoria’s Secret. I heard she loved her gift.” Cameron is pleased, but still somewhat unsettled. “Except I think there are rumors going around about me.”
“Yeah, Cameron, probably,” Foreman remarks, shaking his head. Some days, he worries about that girl. He finally gets up the courage and slips off the bow on the envelope, opening Day Six’s gift and finding two annual passes for the Princeton Performing Arts Center.
Cameron’s peering over his shoulder when Foreman looks up to comment on the gift; she takes the ticket into her hands. “Why didn’t I get your Secret Santa?” she mutters. “Mine just gave me jewelry.”
Foreman snorts. Chase probably had Cameron. The man seemed like the kind to drop a couple hundred in a jewelry shop, barely a look at what he was even buying.
“Maybe next year?”
“I hope so.”
5
He catches Cuddy’s eye as she passes by the office and Foreman studies today’s gift. It’s a gift bag this time and with the same card as always. Maybe it’s been her all along. She definitely has the money and she always seems to have a rather prescient knowing of what people liked and didn’t like. When she’s gone, he opens the gift to find a few small pieces of paper.
Annual subscription to two neurology journals and a year’s worth of GQ. In neat script – that he doesn’t recognize – there’s a small ‘Merry Christmas’ written on the corner of the receipt.
Maybe it’s Wilson. Wilson loves medical journals, his office was stuffed with them.
Though…the GQ.
Foreman pales slightly. Maybe it’s House.
4
House is sipping his coffee as he sits at the table, staring at Foreman. Foreman is sitting and staring at his present – a long, rectangular box. It’s not much of a fun staring contest, but it’ll do.
“You must have been a good boy this year,” House remarks, “to get so many gifts.”
Foreman doesn’t say anything, idly running his finger against the silk ribbon on the package. He’s not quite sure, but he’s got a pretty good idea that whoever is giving him the gifts – late at night, he’d decided it wasn’t House or Wilson after all, but rather some cute nurse who had the hots for him – is doing a bang-up job. Foreman will have to ask her out when this is all done.
“It doesn’t open itself,” House scowls.
Foreman doesn’t look up, but he’s overcome with the impulse to ask. “Who’d you get?” Days ago, he didn’t get an answer, but there’s no harm in asking twice.
“Chase,” House says, sipping his coffee. “I gave him two weeks off and a round trip to Australia.”
That gets Foreman’s attention. “That had to cost you nearly two grand.”
“Two grand and change, actually,” House clarifies.
Once again, that ever-present question: “Why?”
House stands and takes his coffee to the sink to dump it, his eyes on the door, as though Chase were about to wander into the room any minute now. “Because he didn’t take time off for his Dad’s funeral and he hasn’t taken vacation in over a year. Besides, Wilson loaned me most of the money and I owed Chase a grand from the monster truck rally.”
Foreman just watches House leave the room and he’s not sure what he’s more surprised about. House’s generosity, that Chase’s father had died, or the fact that Chase was going to be gone for two weeks and never even told him about it.
Foreman opens the box and finds silk ties laid out for him.
Okay, he’s a little bit smitten.
4
He finds Chase in the middle of doing an MRI and closes the door behind him. He’s been carrying around today’s gift – heavier than the others – and wants an answer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chase barely turns, chewing on a pen. “Tell you what?”
“That you’re going to Melbourne for two weeks!” He’s pissed off. He thought they had some kind of friendship going on, where they trusted each other to talk about things. He sits down in the second chair and fidgets with the gift. Chase splits his attention between the screen and Foreman’s fingers.
Chase turns so he’s giving Foreman his complete attention while he turns off the machine and a nurse gets the patient out. He laughs, surprised. “Foreman, I’m only going for two weeks.”
Foreman scowls and opens his gift instead of replying to Chase and he finds a bottle of expensive cologne.
“Nice,” Chase remarks. “Marks and Spencer?”
“Looks it.”
He’ll enjoy the gift later. Right now, he’s angry with Chase.
3
He doesn’t spend any time contemplating his gift. It’s nearly Christmas and apparently, Chase is going on Boxing Day – some Commonwealth thing, he never understands it, and Chase has stopped trying to explain it to him. Today’s gift is a set of operas. Mozart and Puccini and some Handel and it’s so damn nice.
Foreman scowls slightly, wondering who the hell is giving him this stuff and when he’s going to find out.
Chase rubs his eyes as he enters the office, chart in his hands. His tie is god-awful today and he looks like he hasn’t slept. There are bags under his eyes and for a good-looking man, he looks terrible. Foreman stands and blocks his exit.
“What?” Chase asks tiredly, but Foreman manually sits him down in a chair. “I don’t have time, I need to run a biopsy on Mrs. Smithers.”
“C’mon, I need advice.” He does, but it doesn’t have to be from Chase. The man needs to stop running for just a minute, so this’ll do. Chase props his head up with one hand and his eyes are barely open. “So, I think I’m going to ask out my Secret Santa when I find out who she is.”
“Why d’you think it’s a she?” Chase mumbles.
Foreman scoffs. “What man around the hospital would like me?”
“So ask her out.” Chase sounds tired, like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s up and out of the room before Foreman can stop him again.
2
There’s a note and a key in a simple grey box: Dinner. Seven PM. Tomorrow. And there was an address.
Maybe Foreman wouldn’t have to ask her out after all.
1
On the first day of Christmas…
Foreman stands outside the door that he’d been directed to. It’s 6:55 – which he tells from his new watch. He’s wearing the new cologne and one of the silk ties and his new scarf is wrapped around his neck and he’s nervous. He’s oddly nervous. He doesn’t recognize the place, but he thanks his stars it isn’t House’s apartment.
It’s a nice townhome. Maybe it has been Cuddy all along.
He uses the key to let himself in and hears music playing – Mozart, by the sound of it – and wanders down the hall, small arrows on the ground leading his way. He locks the door behind him and takes off his scarf, hanging it on the coatrack in the foyer with his jacket. He follow the hardwood floors into a quaint little dining room, decorated perfectly. It has a cozy feel to it and when Foreman takes a deep breath, he smells about five kinds of home-cooked foods.
There’s two plates set out and atop one of them is an envelope with ‘ERIC’ written on it in neat block letters.
He sits down, wondering whose home he’s wandered into, and opens up the letter carefully. It’s a simple card with a snowflake on the front and when he opens it, there’s nothing but script inside, painstakingly neat.
Eric,
I hope you’ve enjoyed your Christmas gifts. Please don’t be concerned with the price. I suppose you’re going to be a bit disappointed. I wanted to do this anyway. I guess what I want to say is that I like you. I don’t know, maybe I’d call it love. Maybe it’s just a stupid crush, but I like you. I like you a lot.
Maybe it’s love, fuck, I don’t know.
Foreman smiles slightly at the written profanity.
I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.
Rob.
Foreman closes the card and turns to find Chase standing in the doorway of the dining room, arms crossed tightly and watching. Foreman has no idea how long he’s been standing there for, but he stands slowly and approaches Chase.
“I made a dinner,” Chase says, tapping his foot nervously against the ground. “You don’t have to stay, but it would be nice. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable is all.”
Foreman glances up and sees mistletoe hanging above them.
“Oh,” Chase coughs. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean for that. Cameron was by here, she put that up…”
Foreman reaches up and plucks the mistletoe from the ceiling, placing it out of the way on the table. Now, there’s nothing above them. Chase still looks a bit nervous, but Foreman places one hand on Chase’s cheek, trying to still the man from twitching like a jackrabbit on speed. Chase stops at that and Foreman leans in to give him a very soft kiss on the lips, no mistletoe to blame. Foreman finds Chase’s arm with his other hand and places it on his hip for him.
He parts and looks at Chase, the distance very close between them.
“Hey Chase,” he starts in a quiet voice. “Wanna go out with me sometime?”
“Yeah,” Chase replies breathlessly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
They have dinner together and it’s not until Chase is leaning over his plate, serving Foreman candied sweet potatoes that Foreman realizes that it’s Christmas and he’s exactly where he wants to be.