Important first note! Please read THIS before reading the story:

This is my first House M.D. fiction story. I'm very excited to write this! Especially during the last few weeks which are piled high with schoolwork and assignments. ;) I'm not new to fanfiction, but I'm definitely new to the House fanfic community. I started watching House this year, and after watching all the episodes (without sleeping haaahahah), I'm totally hooked! I gotta say that I was a little reluctant to join the bandwagon, but now I'm proud to say that I am now a happy cruiser. So! Before you read, I just want to let you guys know that there will be some changes in this story. Some characters who are deceased will still be alive, some who have left will return or come back briefly, and certain relationships between characters will also be altered. I know this first chapter isn't that great of an opening to my story/ideas, but I'm really looking forward to writing Wilson/House friendships, Cuddy/House awesomeness and other fantastic things. And I hope you loving readers are too!

(Also, disclaimers blah blah I don't own anything, and sorry if there are any errors, grammatical or punctual or just any other error. Forgive me, people!)

So, to end the note: Please enjoy reading and review, I hope you'll stick around! Thank you very much. - MBS

It was only a little quiet.

Except for that tinkling sound of piano keys, quietly pulling their strings under the hands of an individual, whose eyebrows furrowed as his fingers quietly performed their musical magic.

An individual whom was also sporting a deep purple bruise and small cut on his left eye and eyebrow.

Gregory House quietly continued plunking away at the piano, the mellow tune floating up into the air and past the thin walls of his office, into the long and nearly silent hallways of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The music continued to travel, as House kept playing softly, not stopping his rhythm for a second. Quiet footsteps paced throughout the almost empty corridors, and dim voices were slowly being carried through the halls. There were nurses and there were doctors, putting away gurneys, picking up gloves, cleaning empty desk spaces and mopping floors; patients being wheeled back to their rooms, and other hospital employees packing out for the day. The shuffling of feet, fumbling of papers, murmuring voices and cleaning of the hospital accompanied by the faint sound of one piano spread their noises throughout post-meningitis outbreak Princeton Plainsboro, and House paid no account to any of it.

The music suddenly stopped as the doctor finally tore away his attention from his quiet performance, only to be rudely interrupted by a painful throb in his thigh and a fist quietly rapping on the door of his office. House looked up.

A familiar oncologist poked his head through the doorway. House greeted his friend with a nod but without looking at him, as James Wilson sidestepped through the glass and into the office, dragging a chair from the desk and taking a seat. His eyes look down at House's hand rubbing his thigh, his eyebrows furrowing together curiously.

"Hey."

House peered at Wilson through the corner of his bruised eye, still rubbing his leg.

"Leg okay?" Wilson asked, not wanting to press on too much. House exhaled a tiny breath.

"'S fine. Gaping hole in my leg here, likes to say hello sometimes. Good ol' Ibuprofen here says goodbye," he replies calmly, much to Wilson's relief as he watched House pop a tablet of the medication.

"I uh, heard about what happened with your patient. Sorry," Wilson offered, knowing it'd be useless, although his nature allowed him to apologize anyway. House looked over to Wilson fully this time.

"Patient's a patient," he throws back casually, standing up and limping over to his desk. He fumbled around in his drawer before pulling out a small pocket knife. He flashed it at Wilson who raised his eyebrows in interest. "Nice. Where'd you snag it?"

"Patient gave it to me," he answered, lightly twirling the knife in between his fingers. "Her dad, gave me this after I told the family that she didn't make it in time for surgery." He pointed to his bruised eye with his other hand.

"Meningitis does that. Careful," Wilson mentioned. He grabbed the gray and red ball off of House's desk, throwing it up in the air and catching it.

"Oh, don't worry daddy. Greg here's gonna have oodles of fun with this," he retorted, his eyes glued to the sharp glint over the curve of the knife. He paused, running his fingertips over the edge of the blade, as Wilson continued with bouncing the ball against the wall of the desk and back.

"Patient gave this to me because she was happy." House mentioned quietly, and Wilson set the ball down on his lap while glancing over at the other doctor and the blade. "Happy, or glad?"

"No, joyful," House deadpanned, hitting Wilson with a random burst of sarcasm. "She was glad that I was able to figure out what was wrong with her," he said, folding the knife back into its slit. Wilson nodded.

"So, she's an idiot."

"Of course she's an idiot!" House exclaimed, throwing out his hand almost dramatically and drawing Wilson's attention away from the over-sized tennis ball. "Patient didn't even get angry over the fact that she'd been infected with a disease at the last minute and that we couldn't help her!" House looked over at Wilson, hoping for some rationalization of some sort.

"Yes, she's an idiot because she didn't want to die without figuring out what killed her," Wilson shrugged, and threw the ball up in the air again. "Obviously the proper thing to do was scream and curse at her doctors and make her parents sue the hospital until we're dry out of money. Those selfless idiots."

"Oh shut up," House mildly snapped, rolling his eyes at the oncologist who was shaking his head. "You're just jealous because if you had more patients like that, you wouldn't have to hold their hands and painfully listen as they croak their last words while cancer slowly sucks the life out of their bodies." Wilson let out a small chuckle and shook his head again.

"So now you're gloating about this? House," Wilson slightly raised his voice, attempting to gather House's full attention and stood up from his chair. "Admit it. You're angry at yourself," he says, pointing at House with his finger and only receiving a raised eyebrow in return. "You feel guilty about not figuring out the diagnosis sooner, otherwise your patient wouldn't be in the morgue right now. Instead you're blaming the patient for not getting angry at you. You're deflecting on the patient!"

"You're right. I am mad. But take out the guilt part and that little accusation of yours would be perfect." House reached for his jacket, putting an arm through his sleeve while Wilson sighed, his arms flopping back to his sides. "You're just being human, and you don't want to show it because you're just a stubborn mule who takes pity and doesn't accept other humans being human." Wilson looked over at House, who had on his jacket and cane in hand. His foot shuffled slightly, and for a moment, Wilson thought he spotted that flicker of what could possibly be said humanness, before House's stare drew itself to the ground again. House paused for a moment, tapping his cane against the floor lightly before glancing up at Wilson.

"You wanna grab something to eat?"

"I love it when I'm right."

"Shut up, I am not guilty," House said, hobbling over to a smiling Wilson before turning off the light switch. "But we're going for drinks, too." He proceeded to reach for the door handle before suddenly stopping.

"You hear that?"

"What?"

A faint clacking noise was heard outside of House's office, down the hallway. It was coming closer.

"...High heels?" Wilson asked. House's eyes began scanning the hallway outside his office, before turning his head away towards Wilson.

"The bald eagle is approaching."

"The bald eagl-- who is the bald eagle?" Wilson asked confusedly.

"Cuddy is about to come into my office and make me do clinic hours. Make you do some, too."House turned his back to the door and walked around the piano, Wilson following.

"What? How do you know?" The clacking noise grew louder and closer.

"I stared into her bosom and knew she would make us. Her shirt is low cut today."

"That doesn't even make any sense, and isn't her shirt low cut almost everyda--"

"Ahem?"

Both heads turned towards the doorway, which was now open with the presence of Lisa Cuddy standing in the middle of it.

"Yes, your royal pain in my... groin?" House waggled his eyebrows towards the Dean of Medicine, who returned a brief but curt smile.

"I need you both to do some clinic hours, we're opening up in... thirty minutes," Cuddy said, her attention drawn to the piano sitting awkwardly in House's office, to House's brusing eyelid "how did you get that piano in here? And what happened to your eye?" Cuddy pointed at the instrument lying in between Wilson and House, before pointing her finger back at the diagnostician.

"I know, makes me look kinda cool, doesn't it?" Cuddy raised an eyebrow as House stepped around the piano, running his hand over the smooth top. "The magic lamp that was in here just minutes ago granted me the gift of music, right here in my office!" Wilson rested his elbow over the top, and Cuddy gave House a look, waiting for him to continue. "Found it in storage, paid Luey the janitor fifty to bring it up here. Could you even believe this beautiful piece of gold was just sitting down there to collect dust? And what's a piano doing down in storage anyway?"

"Well before I ask why you were down in storage and make you return the piano, I need you two to go down to the clinic for just a few hours. Two or three tops."

"Sure, I could spare a fe--" Wilson began, before House cut in. "Actually, we were about to go embark out to a magical journey, to good food and plenty of drinks. See, I lost a patient, and we're both kind of hung up about it--" he said mockingly before momentarily looking over at Wilson, who helplessly nods, "--and we're about to go eat and drink ourselves cherry and merry." he interjected. Wilson looked back and forth to House and Cuddy, scratching behind his ear. Cuddy tilted her head and placed a hand on her hip.

"Lost a patient? To the meningitis?" She took out the clipboard she had with her and unhooked the pen, scribbling over her paper. House rolled his eyes and groaned, heading over to the other side of the room and leaning his head back against the inner wall of his office. "Yeah, yeah, she was going to have brain surgery, but some loon decided to pass out in the middle of a hospital and spread a deadly pandemic all over the place." Cuddy merely shook her head.

"That makes six confirmed dead." Cuddy pursed her lips. "Do I need to inform the family, or...?" House shook his head, and pointed at his eye. "I told the family. Good ol' Pops sent me a gift in return for the wonderful news." Wilson let out a chuckle. "He feels guilty," he mentioned, receiving a nudge in the ribs from House's elbow. "Ow! Easy..." he rubbed his abdomen while Cuddy's rubbed her creased forehead with her fingers. "Damn, I forgot. Do you need some ice for that on your way out?"

"Nah, I'm fine." He briefly averted his stare towards Cuddy and patted Wilson on the back. "C'mon, let's go get House some shots of bourbon. Daddy's thirsty," he chides at Cuddy, turning away with his best friend.

"Don't come buzzed to work! I need focused doctors here tomorrow!" Cuddy called after them, and House waved his cane in the air without looking back. "I'll take care of Wilson!" House replied, along with Wilson rolling his eyes at House and hitting him back. "Jerk," he murmured, putting on his jacket. House smirked as they strolled along the long hallway, leaving Princeton Plainsboro.

"How did you know she'd make us do clinic hours?"

"I told you. Her breasts tell all," he reminded Wilson, his eyes widening as he retold him so. Wilson guffawed at House's smug expression while stabbing his eggs with his fork.

"Cuddy forgot to ask you why you were in storage." Wilson began covering his hash browns in ketchup.

"She forgot to tell me to take back the piano, too. She's a busy woman." House cringed at Wilson's plate.

"Why were you down in storage?" Wilson stopped, his hand holding his fork over his potatoes. House tapped his spoon against the rim of his coffee cup, looking out at the muted sky through the glass window.

"Curiosity?" Wilson huffed.

"You're curious about everything, but you don't go snooping around in storage to find the answers." Wilson gave House an odd look, which House returned sardonically before answering again.

"While everyone else was out tending to patients with false symptoms of false meningitis," House started, shoving a large forkful of syrup-soaked pancake in his mouth, "I was hiding away in storage."

"Really."

"Yes, really."

"Don't talk with your mouthful."

"Yes mommy."

Wilson raised his eyebrow at House, before taking a swig of coffee.

"Like I said," House continued, "needed a place to hide out. It was either there or hang out with one of my coma pals."

Wilson sighed. "Of course. You must've had so much fun, using your time wisely by going garbage dumping," he reached for a new napkin, "the hospital can do without the extra help." House nodded slowly.

"Change in environment is good," House added, and made a sick face at Wilson taking a bite of his goopy hash browns. Wilson threw his napkin at House.

"I got distracted by the piano. I started playing, and my fingers practically flew. It's a little out of tune, but... it's great." House rested his shabby chin in his hand, while the fingers of his other tapped along the edge of his plate.

"A piano. Down in storage, hm. Wonder what that was doing down there, anyway." Wilson let out a small breath, looking out the window. House's hand made a grab at Wilson's bacon, who turned away from the window seconds after. "But I believe you. For now." House grinned, chewing at the stolen food. Wilson glanced at him.

"You stole my bacon."

"I saved it from drowning in maple syrup."

And their conversation became quiet again, as they continued to eat their early breakfast and drink their morning coffees. After a long moment of eating and forking over pancakes, House inhaled slowly and loudly before setting down his fork.

"Cuddy's bra," he began, "holds no decency in protecting her stubbed nipples."

Slowly grinning, the two doctors looked at each other for an instant before snorting and laughing over breasts, pancakes and good coffee.