"Hey House, It's Wilson. Are you home?" He asks hesitantly. He'd have to be blind not to see how House was gone more and more often during his free time. They went from hanging out a couple times a week to once every two weeks. He wondered what he'd done to drive him away but House seemed oblivious to his changes. He didn't act any different from what little he saw of his friend, but that's what had him worried. His thoughts were interrupted with House's response.
"No Jimmy. I'm not home now. Do you need a place to crash?" He asked.
"That'd be nice." The 'But I really wanted company' went left unsaid.
"Well you're welcome to let yourself in. I should be home in a few hours."
"Alright-" Wilson's reply was cut short.
"Greg! You coming or what? I don't care how good you are, I'm paying you by the hour! I'll get my monnies worth outta you!"
"I'll be out in a bit! Just lemme wrap this up!" His friend calls out to the man.
"House..."
"Go on and let yourself in Jimmy. I gotta go, duty calls." And with that the line went dead.
"What are you doing...?" He asked the dial tone. He walked up the short walk to House's door and pulled out his spare key. As he let himself in he pondered over what the man on the other line had said. 'Good you are,' 'I'm paying you by the hour.' What did that mean? House got a job? But he was a Doctor, admittedly, a cranky, abrasive, misanthropic doctor, but a doctor none-the-less. And being a doctor he made a lot of money, what on earth did he need more money for? Unless he wasn't doing whatever it was he was doing for the money...but that would imply he wanted to do it...He let his head hit the arm of House's couch as he toed off his shoes and undid his tie. He would just ask House about it when he got home...whenever that would be.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
House glanced down at the phone. He wondered what was up with Wilson these days. He seemed especially clingy and worrisome lately. It's not like House was playing Crippled-Hooker or something. He just wanted some time to himself...well as alone as one could get in a crowded room full of drunks, he amended silently. He sighed as he slipped the phone into his pocket and limped his way over to his cane. He grabbed it gracefully from the brick wall and used it to open the back door into the kitchen of the gritty pub he had been working at in his spare time.
The lounge was filled, as had become custom since he had started working. There in the corner sat his prize, a sleek black Baby Grand like the one at home. He hobbled his way over to it and the room became quieter. He smiled slightly as he sat with a flourish and let his hands rest over the ivory keys. He started of slowly but soon enough his hands were flying over the keys a melody humming throughout the room.
It was haunting, captivating, elegant. The room was filled to the brim with his notes, his feelings, his music. It was a high like no other. And he relished in it.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
When he returned that night with a slight smile on his face, Wilson was asleep on his couch. He moved quietly, so as to not awaken his friend. If his feelings about tomorrow were right, he would need his rest.
In House's opinion morning came too soon. The sunlight shone in his eyes making him squint against it. He heard the shower running and moved to get to his feet. His leg hurt but today would be a good day. Directly as a result of the wonderful night I had, he mused as he made his way to the kitchen to get something into his stomach. He ate quickly and when he was done he made his way to his room to get ready for the day.
Wilson got out of the shower just as House had finished picking out what to wear. He took his shower and donned the clothes he had chosen. He walked into the hardly-ever-used kitchen and took a seat across from Wilson.
"Morning Wilson. What brings you to my humble abode?" He asks studying his friend.
"I just wanted to hang but I guess you were busy..." He replies with a shake of his head. Trying to dispel the urge to grill House on what he was doing last night.
"Yeah well, we can hang today if you'd like, well after work that is, unless you wanna get me outta clinic duty... Nah, can't let all those people that need me die, now can I?" House's normal sarcasm put him slightly at ease but his curiosity got the better of him.
"Where were you last night?" Wilson asks.
"Out." House's reply is sharp and short. "You need a ride to work?" He asks changing the subject.
"House..."
"I'm fine. You coming?" House asks grabbing his keys and heading towards the door.
"Yeah." He says giving in. He knew he wouldn't get any answers anyways.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
The ride to PPTH was quiet, not that they could talk over the loud engine of House's bike. Wilson had decided arguing over riding the dumb bike was counter-productive in his goal to spend more time with House. It was strange. When House was being normal (well normal for House, he amended) he couldn't get the man away from him. He was always popping in and out, and stealing his lunch, and making lewd comments about anything walking with curves. But now that House spent his free time elsewhere, he couldn't seem to spend enough time with the man. He'd asked his team about any odd behavior but they all said he was the same, nothing had changed. He was still abrasive, rude, misanthropic, and still popping Vicodin. But Cameron had said it seemed more good-natured. What she had described was more like the pre-infraction House. But that meant whatever he was doing was good for him, and who was James Wilson to stop his poor crippled friend from being happy? He was interrupted from his thoughts when they came to a stop in the parking lot.
They gathered their stuff and began the long walk to their offices. Cuddy tried, and failed to get to House before they caught the elevator. The silence was neither comfortable nor awkward it was like a warm blanket wrapped a little too tightly on a cold winter day.
"See you at Lunch?" House asks as they reach Wilson's room.
"Sure." He says watching House limp the rest of the way to his room with a small almost unnoticeable smile on his face. He sighed as he unlocked the door to his office. Maybe House was right and he had a need for needy people...
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
House in the next room over was unaware to his friend's train of thought. He hummed slightly to himself remembering the feeling of all those eyes on him as he played, the claps at the end, the emotional high he got from playing in front of a crowd. He popped his iPod in and listened to random tracks till Forman came in with a case. Sadly it was pretty easy to diagnose but that didn't stop him from leading his Ducklings around in circles before finally giving them the last clue to the puzzle, after a few pointless hours of them running tests, of course.
Lunch came quickly and House left his Ducklings tired and drained. He limped over to Wilson's room and smiled as he saw him hunched over his paperwork.
"You going to eat anytime soon? It is already 1 o'clock." He asks poking his head in the door. Wilson's head jerks up and looks to the clock before sighing.
"Alright I'm coming."
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
The rest of the day passed quickly with House avoiding Clinic duty and Wilson working with his patients. They both met once they were off (Read: House came barging in his room and told him they were leaving.) and made their way back to House's house. They spent the night like nothing had happened, which in House's case nothing had. They ate Chinese, watched cheesy movies and talked like the old buddies they were. Everything was fine.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
"You wanna hang out again today?" Wilson asked as they walked in line to get their lunch. He had all but forgotten House was doing things without him. Things were fine. Until House made his response.
"Actually...I have something I need to do today..." He said smiling at his friend. "I'm getting lucky."
"You're...hiring a hooker?" Wilson asks incredulous. For some reason it seemed to bother him.
"No." he says sarcastically. Not technically lying, 'getting lucky' didn't necessarily equal 'having sex'. Really, you'd think his friend should know him by now. "Cause I can get laid by any woman that I walk past. And all I need you to do is blurt it out to the world. Go on Wilson! Tell all these fabulous people about my sex life!" He yells sarcastically while gesturing to all the people in the room.
"House!" He whisper-yells blushing.
"Well you asked!" He says stealing a fry from Wilson's plate before the two settle into a regular conversation.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
Wilson, on a hunch, went to House's place later that night only to not find the stethoscope on the doorknob. Well House could've forgotten to put it there since he warned Wilson what he was doing. But then on his way back to his car he noticed House's bike wasn't there. Which meant House wasn't home.
Which meant House lied to him.
Which meant Wilson was going to drown himself in a nearby bar. He decided to go to an older pub, one he heard recently got a good musician. Music would help distract him from his friends 'People lie' concept.
*H*O*U*S*E**M*D*
He could hear the music before he even entered the pub. He walked in slowly, noticing the crowd first. Then he took in the interior. There was cheep wallpaper that lined the walls but in the dim lights it didn't look half bad. There were several tables and booths along the wall and more tables filling the middle, the bar was crowded but had several bottles lining the wall behind it, at least a hundred. There were waiters wandering around getting orders and helping out. The room was quite with only a few murmured conversations taking place, which was why he could hear the piano from outside the bar. He couldn't see the pianist but made his way over to the bar. He ordered a scotch on the rocks and let his body sway to the music.
"You new here?" The bartender asks with a whisper.
"Not to Princeton but to this bar, yeah." He responds in kind thinking he had heard his voice somewhere before. He couldn't place it…maybe it was a patient? Or a family member of a patient?
"You come here cause you heard about my pianist?" He asks. Wilson nods slightly. "Damn, that's another one. I should just stop asking. I'm going to end up indebted to him."
"To who?" Wilson asks as the man pours him another shot.
"My pianist. Made a bet with the bastard. He said if he played most of the new customers would come for his music. I bet him 20 bucks for every 10 people that say that. Congrats your the ninth on the next 20."
"Is he that good?" He asks.
"Oh god yeah, Greg's a genius. Don't let him hear you say that though. Go straight to his head it will."
"Wait...Greg? As in Gregory?" He asks looking back over to the pianist trying to get a good view of the man's face.
"I don't know his name. Told me to call him Greg and the rest didn't matter. Heh. Frankly I agree. I don't care what his name is. He can play. That's all that matters." It clicked; this was the man House was talking with on the other side of the phone...
The man finally turns towards him. Wilson's breath hitches. His face is calm, happy even. A smile sits on his face making him look years younger. Suddenly he can see why Stacy might've dated him, hell he couldn't see why anyone wouldn't date him. Well Wilson, he reminds himself, this is House. The sarcastic, rude, misanthropic, bastard doctor. But he couldn't reconcile the two men. House swayed on the bench his hands glided over the keys putting his whole body into the music. The people nearest him were also swaying, consciously or subconsciously, he couldn't say.
Truthfully, Wilson thought he was beautiful, not that he let the thought form the words in his head.
He just sat stunned, not even realizing the bartender was trying to talk with him. A half hour later House's first break came. He got up and immediately the pub got rowdy. From what Wilson could see from his face a smug grin twisted his lips.
Wilson, with his own grin, gets up and leaves the bar to go crash at House's place. He won't have to worry about his friend as much if thing keep going the way they are.