AN: An idea I had watching House reruns the other day… this happens maybe between seasons 5 and 6, before House is hospitalized in Mayfield. In KHR universe, it happens TYL – Hayato is on a mission in the states ;)
Piano Conversation.
A bar in the outskirts of New Jersey.
The bar was one of those old saloon style places that still served homemade beer and had a free, open karaoke – and to Gregory House's delight, also had a beautiful dark mahogany vintage piano, that despite its yellowed keys still played a fine tune. The dim lightning of the place combined with the musky smell coming from the tattered World War II carpets made the secluded booths seem all the more isolated.
It was a relatively new find for Greg, he's not one to come into these parts of Princeton – a complete 180 from the hospital and his house. But this was a special occasion, he sarcastically congratulated himself on his cunning.
With Cuddy, Wilson and possibly his own cronies staking out his favorite haunts in fear he'd be doing something stupid, he had to find somewhere completely unrelated to his routine to hide in until they dropped their guards.
Maybe he'd even pick up a hooker or two on his way home. It was only fair after what Lisa- no, Dr. Cuddy did.
But then again, he did like to provoke her like there's no tomorrow.
Dingle.
There goes the bell tied to the top of the door. The saloon was quite quaint, small and homely so the sound penetrated through the ambience music and all conversation stopped for a second or two as everyone turned almost at the same time to check out the new comer – the way they did with Greg before he limped his way to a seat and bellowed for a beer.
("What? Can't a man get a dose of his medicine in peace?"
"A man can order his medicine, yes" The barman joked back, cheeks stretching familiar laugh marks to show unashamedly yellowed teeth. The other factory workers occupying the saloon laughed good naturally. "Forgive the old gossipers, it's rare to find someone looking like you in these parts"
"Oh?" Greg's raised eyebrow only made the barman's eyes narrow in another quiet grin
"Money. But don't worry, we're all good men"
Greg wasn't worried, his own fastidious mind have already come to that conclusion already).
The door creaked as it opened, the hinges rusted beyond a simple oiling, to admit a curious looking young man… Noting the singular sight around the place, Greg came to the conclusion that this young man came here often, or was a common enough face.
At first glance, he looked like a punk.
One of those rich boys wanna-be delinquents who didn't know street life if it bit them in the ass – Shoulder length silvery grey hair (eyebrows and eyelashes the same color, maybe it was his natural coloring, how rare stress,cancer,congenitaldisease,hypothyroidism,wierdgenetics?), beaten up black leather jacket, dark jeans and boots – plus the half a kilogram worth of metal in the shape of chains covering the kid. A square shaped object in his pocket and the yellowed finger tips were a bit of a clue into the smoking habit, but what really came as a surprise was when the kid made a bee-line for the piano.
What skin he could see from the kid was also covered with thin scars.
Rachmaninoff started sounding, weirdly out of place from that old piano but compelling all the same.
The piece was a hard one to master and play with any decree of assurance, but the kid owned it, to Greg's new found fascination. Such a contradiction! With a huff, Greg hobbled out of his cozy booth and made his painfully slow way to one of the stools facing the bar and the crackling tube television in the corner.
"Who's the kid?" He asked the barman, who was caught along with the other gruff old men in the kid's music.
"Dunno, but he been coming since Monday and plays that old thing like no one else I've seen (or heard) before" Rachmaninoff trailed off with a wailing last note before starting again in Liszt. "Don't even know half the fancy things he plays! But the boys love it when it's not a game night" Greg didn't even know undedicated badly paid factory workers were even sensible enough to appreciate classical music, but apparently they were developing the taste.
Amusement swelled in him.
Until his own fingers started mimicking key strokes as if he, himself was playing. That silver haired punk was something else, Greg allowed a small smile to creep up his lips – so in typical House fashion, he waited until Liszt was over to scoop a chair beside the piano bench and lean unnervingly close to the kid. The young man twitched, his fingers spamming over the notes for a second before he relaxed again.
Greg took the opportunity to strike a conversation… and Wilson said he was antisocial. "Do you know any Gershwin?" He asked curiously and a little bit challengingly. "If you do I will pay you a drink" Was the enticing offer that he was kind of hoping to lose, strangely enough.
The mysterious silver haired pianist bristled. Literally. Like an angry cat. Turning sharp light green eyes to meet
Greg's luminous blue ones to measure the elder man up…
"What is it to you, old man!?" Who do you think you're talking to!? Went largely unsaid, but one thing was clear when Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue started skillfully and with sharp, angry precision.
Greg sat back satisfied with himself.
The boy had a strange accent, more European than American, though it was pretty hard to detect until he spoke the word old and curled his L just so, like the remains of Spanish or Italian that put more emphasis on those sounds. He also smelled of leather, tobacco and gunpowder.
The Doctor was horribly tempted to ask 'who do you work for' but found utterly unnecessary to antagonize the kid this early in their acquaintance and drive him away before he could be unraveled. Greg likes puzzles, what could he do?
So he clenched his fist on top of his aching lag, drawing the kid's eyes to it and making the fingers playing the keys fumble a bit. The face that before was hard as stone relaxed a little.
'So my little friend is compassionate?' Greg thought to himself 'No, it's more like nostalgia than pity' better, he thought, but what must the kid be thinking about that melted that stern visage? "Schumann" Greg piped out another composer when Rhapsody in Blue was slowing off. "Two drinks"
(Unknown to Greg, his young friend was thinking of his own Boss, who'd have taken pity on the poor cripled old man who might or might not be senile, so Hayato humored him)
Immediately, Kinderszenen's first note played out, making Greg's eyes twinkle. "Chopin"… The notes of Minuette danced away, and Greg went on, spouting out one composer after the other and enjoying himself immensely when the kid knew about them enough to play a composition or two. At least until Greg decided to pick the ace of his deck and test it "Rimsky Korsakov".
The kid paused, looking utterly astonished, so much it drew a snicker out of Greg. "I don't know that one" He admitted after a while of glaring angrily at the piano, and then later throwing a glower at Greg's direction.
This was his chance, the Doctor thought, to crack through the kid's defenses if only a little bit. With a large, challenging grin, Greg pushed the kid out of the piano bench and cracked his fingers.
Before long, One of Rimsky Korsakov's Tsar Saltan's Opera pieces were being played. Perhaps not as inspiringly professional like the kid, but in his defense he also knew how to play a number of other instruments and spoke a dozen languages.
And then the husky voice of his young puzzle sounded out "Not bad for a senior, Sonata Pathethic" He ordered, not even bothering to mention the composer. If Greg didn't recognize the piece he might as well give up the piano. The piece Beethoven wrote while in the beginning of his career was raw, but Gregory House knew how to work his fingers. "Diabelli" Sneaky kid.
Diabelli has hundreds of versions! So Greg grinned and continued with Beethoven's version.
"Enough!" Their bonding experience over the piano was interrupted by the bar man, who stood over them with a frown. "Today is game night" he said simply, pointing to the collection of old men bodies circling around the single TV. "You can play more after the game"
"Fine, rude gorillas" The kid mumbled in Japanese, curiously enough. Greg's grin stretched wider.
"It's rude to curse another person behind their back in a language they don't speak"
"No one asked you, you sack of bones!" Chinese.
"Don't try me" Was what Greg answered with a large, unrepentant grin. He was having fun! The kid he thought was a punk at first was a genius! Oho! He loved puzzles, and challenging puzzles were the best. "Better yet, please do"
"Horse faced arsehole" French, kid.
"Snot nosed brat" Italian, Greg.
"Stupid ass cripple" Portuguese, kid.
"You're related to a goat" Spanish, Greg.
"You smell like garbage" German, kid.
"Wait… do I?" Greg surreptitiously inclined his head to mock sniff his own armpits. "No I don't, fresh as a daisy. I thought we were hurling insults, what happened to good old satire?"
"It died and rotted in your ass" Russian. Kid. damnit, he got one over, and by the little smirk playing on the youth's face he quite knew it too!
"Alright, you know how to play the piano and at least half a dozen languages. How about we get us pissed drunk since now that I've stooped low enough to trade insults with a pre-scholar I might as well do the decent thing and give him alcohol" Of course he didn't care if the kid was old enough to drink. "Name's House, what's your name?"
"Hayato" The silver haired kid grunted out, sliding into a booth right in front of Greg and giving him the stink eye.
Interesting. How many grades did the kid skip in high school? He looked to be in his early/mid-twenties at most. "So... what brings you here? You know, my friend would think the world is coming down if he ever saw me conversing with someone else but him and my inflatable doll"
Hayato's eyes brightened in amusement, Greg was getting under his skin. He could be charming and cunningly friendly if the situation asked for it. It also helped that Hayato was a genius from his own observations, thus he promised not to be dull. "A job. What brings you here?"
Smells like gunpowder. A Job. Skin littered with scars. Greg was playing with fire. It was amusing.
"My boss" He answered succinctly, with a tilt of his head that spoke volumes coupled with a knowing look. Hayato bristled once more, as if offended by something but then caught himself, shaking his head and nodding with this understanding glint in his green eyes. "She wears these really tantalizing tank tops that practically spell sexual harassment and when I show a bit of interest she plays coy"
And so the two of them spent the night talking… Somewhere in Princeton Plainsborough, the combined population shuddered as one.
Gregory House won himself a friend, who might be an assassin, and Hayato won himself a pen pal who wouldn't laugh about his obsession with his boss. Win-win.
(If House even tried to make fun of his obcession with Tsuna, Hayato would just drop Lisa's name. Hah!)
...
Thoughts? I thought about continuing this, in which House calls Hayato to assist with a case after he learns Hayato has gone through med-school (influenced by Shamal) just to freak his team off. But I have a piteous low knowledge on medical stuff aside from what I see or read by myself, while House MD series has a team of doctors that do that for the show, hahah! I don't think I can unearth a disease interesting enough for House to pick the case! If someone is interested in the idea and writes something, PLEASE LET ME KNOW! :D