Title: Almost Forget

Author: koshiii

Characters: House, Wilson, Linda

Rating: PG

Warnings: Vague references to torture.

Summary: Takes place in diysheep's Contract!verse, in which House was imprisoned and tortured for several years. You could call this a prequel to Priority's Exigencies. House is making progress in recovery, but still has not returned to work. He wants to go hear the Philadelphia Orchestra.

Disclaimer: House and Wilson belong to David Shore, et al. and Linda belongs to Priority. I am just borrowing the three for a minute.

House could not remember the last time he had been to hear an orchestra perform. As he fingered the Kimmel Center brochure for the Philadelphia Orchestra performing Beethoven's Third Symphony, he imagined what it would be like to go now. He did not do well in crowds these days. If people weren't staring at him, then he usually managed to work himself into a panicked frenzy over being so overstimulated himself. He did not think a trip to the Kimmel Center would end well. As he softly hummed the notes of Beethoven's "Eroica" to himself, he heard Wilson come home and announce himself loudly.

Wilson had taken to making his presence clearly known after the time he had startled House with his sudden appearance so badly that House had ended up under the bed. No amount of coaxing would convince House that it was just Wilson, and he was too far under for Wilson to touch him at all. House had ridden that one out alone, sure that one of Thompson's men had found him at last and was here to take him back. When House snapped out of it, and finally pulled himself out from under the bed, Wilson had apologized profusely, and the two had decided that preventive measures needed to be taken to avoid such an incident in the future.

House heard Wilson taking such measures, and immediately hid the brochure inside the desk drawer. Wilson hung up his coat and walked over to House. "Hey," he said softly, "how was your day?"

House shrugged. "About the same as yesterday. About the same as tomorrow. Nothing special."

"Where's Linda?" Wilson wondered, looking around.

"I sent her home early."

Wilson looked at House in confusion. Linda was there to support House. She was there to make sure he didn't wake up from a nightmare alone. She was there to remind House to eat, and maybe even encourage his appetite by making delectable meals. Linda was an angel. And House sent her home? "Why would you do that?"

House didn't provide a lot of detail. "I wanted to be alone."

Something was wrong. Wilson had to be delicate in his approach. "Is something going on, House?"

House just shook his head. Usually House tried to conserve his voice, speaking a minimum of words if possible. Tonight, though, Wilson thought it was something else.

"What's wrong?" Wilson tried again. Still, House just shook his head. This time Wilson noticed a solitary tear leaking out of House's right eye, escaping the older man's otherwise impenetrable emotions.

"There is something bothering you!" cried Wilson.

House sighed, clearly warring internally about something. The side that said it was okay to let Wilson in on the secret eventually won, and House opened the desk drawer and fished out the brochure. Handing it over to Wilson, he looked down, as if ashamed.

Wilson glanced at the brochure, turning it over in his hands in case there was a secret message on it somewhere. "What's this?"

"They're playing Beethoven's Third next weekend in Philly."

Wilson was confused. "Okay...?"

"I want to go." House finally looked up to meet Wilson's eye.

Wilson was silent for a long moment. Then, gently, he looked back into House's gaze. "House...you don't do so well in big crowds."

House nodded. "I know."

"Are you sure this is the best idea?"

House shook his head. "It's a horrible idea. I want to go, but I know I can't. It's like watching everybody else eat dinner when you know you –" At this point, House choked up for a second. He had played that particular scenario out hundreds of times, watching the guards wheel the meal cart to every other inmate, but skip him. "When you know you can't have any," House finished shakily.

Wilson looked away. At times like these, all he wanted to do was take House in his arms and hold him; comfort him. But he knew that House needed the opposite. He did not respond well to people touching him, except for those times when Wilson was able to pull House out of a nightmare with his touch. Those times were few and far between, and sometimes that touch only served to exacerbate the nightmare. Wilson had to do something, though.

"One day you'll be well enough to try, House," he ventured.

House rolled his eyes automatically, then realized what he had done and immediately looked down. He was still conditioned not to show resistance, not to give trouble, to be compliant. Wilson saw this; saw the old House peeking through, then being squelched by invisible remnants of Thompson's men, and his heart broke a little.

"It's okay to be angry," he insisted. "House, you have every right to be mad."

"I don't want to be mad. I want to hear Beethoven at the Kimmel Center."

"Yeah," answered Wilson. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Wilson sat thoughtfully behind his office desk the next morning. What if there actually was a way to get House to the symphony without freaking him out? An idea came to him. He picked up the phone to see what he could arrange.

"House, I think we should do a dry run."

House looked at Wilson quizzically.

"I want to go to the Kimmel center in the middle of the day, when there won't be anyone around – just to, you know, get you used to the trip. Used to going there, being there. We'll just drive up there, take a look around, and come right back to Princeton."

House wasn't sure how much that would help him really deal with a crowd of people during a performance, but he had to admit that he was feeling a bit bored lately. It was easy for cabin fever to set in when he didn't really go anywhere. Trips to the grocery store had been replaced by delivered groceries and whatever Linda and Wilson brought in with them; he didn't have a job to get him out of the house; and he didn't socialize. A frivolous drive down to Philly could be just what the doctor ordered.

"Okay...when do you want to go?"

Wilson smiled. "I've already cleared my schedule for tomorrow."

"Is that all you're eating?" asked Wilson, concerned. House had only eaten three tiny bites out of one french toast stick.

House shrugged. "Not hungry."

Wilson schemed. House had a very small appetite these days, which was why they fed him food like french toast sticks in the first place. The more calories they could pack into a food, the better – and if the food was easily handled without utensils, it was a perfect food. Usually Wilson would let it slide, but today House was going to have to eat more than that, or his plan would leave House hungry and cranky later. Just as he got up to clear their dishes, Linda swooped in with three tupperware containers. In one were slices of apple, in another were two peanut butter sandwiches, and the third held carrots and celery. Perfect road trip snacks.

"Linda, you're a life saver!" exclaimed Wilson. Linda just smiled.

"Doc, we better hit the road if we're going to make it there in time," Linda said. House didn't see what the big rush was all about. In time for what? To turn back around again? He slowly grabbed his crutches and levered himself up. Wilson walked up behind House with his warm coat, and helped House into it, one arm at a time, holding each crutch for House as need be.

"You sure you don't want to bring the chair?" asked Linda. House shook his head. Every step with his crutches hurt, but he was used to the pain. He couldn't stand to be wheeled around like a complete invalid, especially when he was only going to the car. Linda grabbed the wheelchair anyway, and folded it up. When they got to the car, she threw it into the trunk.

"Just in case," she said airily. Now House knew something was going on, and it was starting to make him nervous. He watched as Linda settled herself into the back, and Wilson slid into the driver's seat. He was looking for some kind of clue, but neither Linda or Wilson gave anything away.

"Ready?" asked Wilson, turning the key in the ignition.

"Onward," said House.

By the time the trio got to Broad Street, House was having a hard time keeping his anxiety in check. They were at the Kimmel Center, just like Wilson had promised. It was the middle of the day, so no crowd, just like Wilson had said. But still, House couldn't help but feel that something was being kept from him, and he did not like that feeling. He tried to still his shaking hand and breathe deeply.

Wilson parked in the garage and went around to the passenger side to help House out.

"I think it would probably just be easier if you used the chair, House," Wilson said, though he knew it was going to be a battle. House was too distracted to put up a fight, though.

"Sure," he said, waiting as Linda wheeled it around before settling into it. Wilson procured a large blanket from somewhere, and House gratefully took it. The car had been heated, but the garage was fairly chilly, and House still became cold easily. He pulled the blanket up to his chin as Linda wheeled him through the dark garage.

In the elevator, Wilson noticed House clutching the blanket tightly with his right hand, but neither said a word. The doors opened, and House stared out into the brightly lit hall. He suddenly did not want to go any further.

"We came, we saw. I think it's time to leave now," he managed to say.

Wilson knew House was nervous, but could not allow him to leave yet. "Let's just go down to the concert hall, House. See what it's like. Then we'll go home."

House knew he didn't have much of a choice, as he was being wheeled around. "Okay," he said softly. He drew the blanket up to his face, ready for the stares of passers-by. There were none. The place was truly deserted, just as Wilson had predicted. As they approached the concert hall, they heard the sound of dozens of instruments tuning. House looked up at Wilson for an explanation. Wilson grinned.

"Rehearsal. I called and found out when they were planning to rehearse for Saturday. Turns out it was today. They sometimes let people watch the rehearsal, like tour groups, other artists...and special cases. I asked, and they said it was no problem for us to come."

Relief spread through House. So this was the big secret. "So...we'll still get to hear them perform, but without the nuisance of the rest of the audience?"

Wilson smiled. "Yep." As House processed this information, a smiling woman in an usher's uniform approached them. She shook Wilson's hand, and they exchanged a few brief words. Then she guided them down to the front row. There was nobody else in the hall aside from the orchestra on stage. They parked House's wheelchair at the end of the first row, and Wilson and Linda both took seats next to him. The usher, whose name House hadn't caught, told them to "Enjoy!" and then made herself scarce.

Almost as soon as she was gone, the conductor tapped his stand and the three were treated to the strains of Beethoven's Third Symphony. House closed his eyes In this concert hall, listening to this music, surrounded by the people who truly cared about him, he could almost forget.