House slowly became aware of the unusual smell of bacon frying and coffee emanating through his apartment, setting his empty stomach to growling like a bear coming out of hibernation and having to force his mouth close before he began slobbering from the enticing aroma. Lifting his head mere centimetres from the pillow he peered at the bleary numbers as his foggy brain tried to make sense of the digits displayed on his clock radio.

Ten forty-three.

Letting his head drop back to the firm support he groaned, rubbing his face against the cotton material. There went that resolution he thought humourlessly. He'd hoped to be at work by now so that he could avoid the wrath of Cuddy, if only for one day in the New Year. This was why he didn't bother to make a list of resolutions at the stroke of midnight December thirty-first, proving once again that changing a clock was not a miraculous cure all for the human race's bad habits.

Snuggling further into the bedcovers he pulled the sheets up under his chin and waited. Maybe if he played possum Wilson would take pity on him and serve him breakfast in bed.

"Unless you're willing to settle for leftovers, come and get it." Wilson's voice negated his thoughts. The oncologist looked like a cover model for GQ, leaning against the doorframe. Arms folded across the white tee shirt tucked into faded Levi's and legs crossed at the knees, bare feet giving him the look of easy carelessness.

"Boy Wonder turning over a new leaf?" House mocked.

Wilson's right eyebrow lifted even as House gave him a half hearted wave indicating the other's attire. Giving the older man a slight grin, Wilson dropped his gaze to take in his own appearance then broke into a bigger grin as he reached up ruffling his already dishevelled mop of brown hair.

"I still have five more days of vacation," he announced triumphantly, which explained the mutinous apparel he now modelled, from the meticulously pressed and fluffed image the young Doctor was normally infamous for.

"Yeah, yeah yeah," House mumbled. "I'm still going to blame my being late to work on your primping session," he finished smugly.

Pulling a dishtowel off his shoulder, Wilson walked away calling back towards the room and its lone occupant. "I told Cameron to call if they happened upon a case."

House rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling as if it held the answer to whether the rest of the New Year could get any better than this. Absently rubbing his right thigh, more from habit than actual pain, as the Vicodin still flowed through his system he heard Wilson shout from the kitchen. "You're won't get any better looking just lying there."

House smirked not taking the bait and making his way slowly out of bed. Grabbing his cane he headed towards the bathroom, his stiff gait a reminder of lying on the sofa in an awkward position too long last night, although the overpowering smell of breakfast urging him to move a bit quicker.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, Wilson gave him a cursory glance. "Don't bother getting dressed," he scoffed lightly, nodding at the plate already piled with macadamia nut pancakes. Shaking his head in resignation at the sight of House's thin striped pyjama bottoms and wrinkled Led Zeppelin shirt hanging loosely on his frame.

"Didn't give it a second thought," retorted House already chewing on a piece of bacon he'd swiped from Wilson's plate. Taking a seat he poured a generous portion of maple syrup over the thick stack of cakes in front of him while ignoring Wilson's feeble attempts at swatting away his other hand, reaching for more bacon. House quickly snagged two more pieces seemingly oblivious to the cook's outburst. "Get your own!"

House almost moaned in pleasure as he took the first bite of the pancakes. Letting the nutty crunch combine with the sugary maple, this was close to heavenly. Sure they were his favourite, and not just from the fact they were terrific, but that someone actually cared enough to go to that kind of trouble for him. Not that he would ever admit it to another living soul.

House shovelled more food into his mouth watching Wilson out of the corner of his eye. The brown haired man turned, expertly tossing freshly cooked cakes onto his own plate, giving House a discouraging glare. "You couldn't have even left me one piece?" he asked incredulously. House shrugged.

"I was saving you all those calories. You need to keep that boyish figure, don't want any unseemly bulging," House said as Wilson rolled his eyes. "Besides, I was hungry," finished House quietly, stuffing more pancakes into his mouth and chewing eagerly.

Wilson watched his friend closely for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. Forking the top few golden circles off his own stack, Wilson dropped them onto House's half eaten pile. "Not all that hungry," Wilson shrugged in answer to House's look. Reaching for more bacon, he again added a few strips to the plate of a now surprised looking House.

"I can get my own," stated House indignantly while dousing the newest additions with more syrup.

"Normally one says thank you," he pointedly corrected House, who only scowled.

Wilson shook his head, concentrating on his own meal. They ate in silence, broken by the sound of forks scraping across plates and mugs being set back onto the tabletop.

House pushed back from the table having finished and let out a loud belch.

"You're welcome," Wilson answered, as House grabbing the empty coffee cup, refilled the red ceramic mug and headed into the living room.

"You getting dressed?" the oncologist asked quietly. Stopping, House turned toward Wilson wondering why the other man cared about his state of dress.

"You care because—"

Wilson shrugged, picking up the dirty dishes and moving them to the sink as House followed the younger man's every move, searching for a clue to this odd behaviour.

"Thought maybe you'd want to get your gift."

"What gift?" he asked tentatively.

Wilson faced House and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the counter. "The one I wasn't here at Christmas to give you."

House just stared.

"Fine." Wilson shrugged, turning back to the sink and started running water over the dishes.

"I didn't get you anything," House said apologetically.

"Doesn't matter."

House leaned on his cane, contemplating the back of Wilson's head, then deliberately made his way back to the bedroom.

Wilson smirked as he rinsed the sticky plates off before placing them in the dishwasher.