Fandom: House/Battlestar Galactica
Summary: Of new years and pancakes. Seriously.
Notes: This is mostly a quick and short ficlet that may or may not be folded into a larger fic later, but I thought that it would would be happily appropriate for today, so I'm posting it here right now. I totally made this holiday up. As far as I know, it doesn't actually exist in BSG canon.
On Janus Day, the first day of the New Year, Wilson wakes up early.
The morning air smells surprisingly fresh (for New Caprica, anyway); spring must have finally arrived. Wilson pulls the front flap of the tent open, letting the air inside. It makes him happy, makes him think that maybe, for today at the very least, the Gods have decided to smile down on them.
Then he sits at their only desk with a clean piece of paper and begins to write. On this piece of paper, he writes all the things he regrets about the past year, all the things he hopes for in the new. He's done this every Janus Day since he was old enough to write, but this year is the first time it feels like it has weight, has meaning.
When he's done writing, he kneels in front of the shrine, folds the piece of paper in half, and holds it over one of the candles, letting it catch fire. Some of the sects believe that you have to perform the ceremony in the temple, that the only way the Gods will hear you if you do speak to them in a place of public worship. Wilson doesn't agree.
He watches as the paper burns between his fingers, as the flame travels from one corner to the other. It's calming, in its own way, to watch as the fire consumes the things that he carries with him, the things that are weighing him down. He drops it into the shrine at the last moment, letting the paper blacken and turn to ashes.
A cool breeze comes in from outside, pulling at the hair at the back of his neck. The candles flicker but remain alight. It feels good, calming. Wilson closes his eyes and folds his hands in front of him, whispers a prayer to the Gods asking for good luck in the new year.
When he gets up, House is waiting for him. "Done yet?" House asks. He's just awoken, still looking rumpled and tired sitting on the bed. He sounds hungry and kind of irritated. "I want food."
Wilson still manages to find him irresistibly cute like this, scruffy and sleepy and House, and so he laughs, a soft chuckle, and presses a kiss to House's lips. "Yes," he says, quietly. "Happy Janus Day."
"I would have made breakfast myself if I'd known you'd get all sappy about it." House rolls his eyes.
Wilson smirks. "I'll make pancakes. To celebrate." It's a dirty maneuver, but it's not anything dirtier than House has ever pulled himself.
House sighs and looks away, and Wilson knows that he's won. "Fine, fine. Happy Janus Day." He glares at Wilson. "Pancakes now?"
"Yeah, sure." Wilson's smirk melts into a genuine smile as he walks toward the stove. The day is quiet, mostly. The birds haven't come back yet, and most people are still asleep or praying themselves or in the temple. Outside, the sun is shining, and the air is warm, and Wilson thinks that maybe this will be a good year.
Happy New Year, everyone!