Jam Session
(Summary: House discovers Chase's prowess for music. Of course, this is the perfect opportunity to show off. Chase and House friendship.)
(Author's Note: I decided to write this while listening to Band from TV's version of "You Can't Always Get What You Want," in which Hugh Laurie sings with Bob Guiney. Except I replaced Bob with Jesse, because I would kill to see this musical interlude. Kind of song-fic-y, but not completely based around the song. Both Jesse and Hugh are so multi-talented, I can't imagine what could happen if the two played together – which is odd, since they are in the same band, but haven't sung together yet. Too bad. I'll be patient. Two House one-shots in two days? Wow!)
At first, he quite honestly believed he was hearing things.
The annual charity party had died down to a dull roar, and as Greg House made his way down the hallway, pulling himself away from the activities in the cafeteria – where all the food was being served. The lobby had an eerie silence to it without the crowd of people practically pushing against each other to have another shot at schmoozing or gambling. Though he had had quite his fill of gambling that evening, the schmoozing had got on his nerves.
So off he went in search of silence.
But that silence was broken when the soft chime of a piano reached his ears. He paused in place, his ears perking to the sweet sounds of "Amazing Grace," flowing beautifully from seemingly liquid fingertips. As he approached the sound, the sound of a voice began to stand out amongst the keys, a heavily accented baritone with an obvious emotional attachment to the song. He didn't have to turn the corner to know whom it was – even if he did.
Robert Chase was sitting at the piano, his eyes half lidded as he carelessly moved about the keys, singing ever so softly.
"I once was lost, but now am found… was blind, but now… I see…"
Just as he began to carry into the second verse, his eyes trailed upward to see his new companion suddenly appear. His hands stumbled over the notes for a minute, and then the sound died into silence.
"O-oh." He stood up to leave.
"You play, eh?" House questioned, gesturing his cane to the piano. "You worked for me for two years and you never told me you played?" House actually was rather offended.
Chase crossed his arms. "Three years. And I never thought it really mattered. It's not important."
House took a seat at the piano, tickling the ivories for a moment. Chase watched quietly, his hands in his pockets, waiting for what else House had to say.
"You know what I find strange?" House asked.
"What?" Chase was obviously humoring him.
"I fire you. You go off to a new department."
"Yes…"
"But you still stood up and let me have the piano when I entered the room. I didn't have to say a word. Not that you wouldn't have listened to me or anything…"
Chase's eyebrows arched rather irritably. "I was being polite. I know you like to play."
"I could have easily picked up that guitar instead," House replied, gesturing with his head.
Chase raised his eyebrows. Competition. "Yeah, well, so could I."
House mimicked Chase's previous reaction. "Oh, really?"
He nodded. "I took guitar, piano, violin, and voice lessons for years growing up."
"Well, look at you. Child prodigy. Is there anything Mummy and Daddy didn't make you do?"
Chase looked a little bitter at the thought. "Not really."
"So you were in the little boys' choir when you were a little wombat, eh?"
Chase chuckled to himself. "I suppose I was, but I wasn't a very nice choir boy."
"Please," House rolled his eyes. "We all know it's the choir boys that are the sluts."
Instead of being annoyed, a grin actually spread across his face and he snickered at the thought.
House fiddled with the musical instrument for another moment, deep in thought. Chase ran his fingers down the fret board of the guitar in the corner.
"So…"
Chase turned around to his former boss.
"You know any Stones?"
Chase smiled and picked up the guitar, plugging it into the amp. "Do I really have to answer that?"
House gave a quick little bump to the piano, picking up a beat as Chase began to strum the guitar in time with it. House began:
I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man
No, you can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometime you find
You get what you need
Slowly, they started to pick it up, and Chase couldn't wipe the smirk from his face. Hell, they sounded pretty damn good. House continued into the second verse. Chase jumped in with harmony.
We went down to the demonstration
To get your fair share of abuse
Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration
If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need
…
"Do you hear something?" Cuddy asked, holding her hand up to silence the few people at the table with her.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Foreman said, listening carefully. "I think it's coming from the lobby."
Cameron immediately stood and made her way toward said lobby. She was such a busy body, it was hardly surprising. Then again, when Foreman saw Kutner tagging along behind, he wasn't surprised either. Kutner was just naturally curious – so much so, he'd probably end up dead one day. Slowly but surely, the rest of the crowd began to move in that direction as well. Wilson was the third to get to the door and he cast a look back to the rest of the group. Should I interrupt?
"That's the Stones," Kutner said, a smile brightening his features. "Awesome."
Cuddy pushed through the group and thrust the door open.
Chase and House were, for a lack of a better description, rocking out. This time, Chase jumped in on the verse, his voice ringing out over the room.
I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy
And man, did he look pretty ill
House jumped in again.
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"
I said to him
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You get what you need
Cuddy's mouth hung open. Cameron's did too. Wilson looked completely amused, and Kutner looked like a shameless fanboy.
"They're good," Thirteen offered, rather impressed as she watched the goings on.
"They're… having fun," Wilson stumbled over the words as if they shocked him. Well, they weren't completely normal.
Chase was keeping the beat with his feet and House was rocking on the piano as if he were Ray Charles himself. The two were obviously more than familiar with the song. Their harmonies were flawless. Still, as Chase took a spin with his guitar, he opened his eyes to see just about every person he'd ever worked with was watching him. The guitar immediately cut out as he stared at the group.
For the second time that night, his only response was "O-oh…"
House finished the chord and glanced up. He may not have known they'd been there, but he played it off well.
"Hi, everyone. Tips?" He took off his fedora and dropped it to the floor.
Chase gave House a dubious look.
House looked around for a moment, waiting for movement. "Groupies then?"
Cuddy stepped forward, smiling in spite of the lewd comment.
"Ah I knew it-"
She dropped a ten dollar bill in the hat. "I was entertained."
House dropped his voice to a lower octave and gave her a playful look. "Baby, you don't know entertained yet."
She rolled her eyes. Oddly enough, however, most of the crowd followed suit, dropping money into the hat. Chase's shoulders drooped in surprise.
"Excellent work, Dr. House. This money will do great things for charity," Cuddy called across the room.
So they didn't keep it. And they didn't play anymore.
…
The party-goers were leaving and hospital was starting to look dark and brooding once more. House's office was quiet. Just the way he liked it. He popped a Vicodin and kicked his heels up on the desk. He'd wait awhile for traffic to die down and then fly down the streets on his motorcycle.
The glass door opened and he opened one eye. Chase was standing in the doorway.
"What?"
Chase placed a check on his desk. "Cuddy told me to give this to you. Your cut. Live entertainment and all."
House smirked. "Knew she'd cave."
Chase nodded rather awkwardly and turned to leave, his shoulders slumped a bit. "It was… fun playing with you, House."
There was a brief moment of silence while Chase opened the door. Just before it closed, however, House stopped him.
"You know…"
Chase glanced over his shoulder.
"That guitar sounded like crap. It was a cheap little Fender."
"I know," Chase said, getting the point. "I wish I'd brought mine."
House gave him an overdramatic scoff, then added in a strong, surfer-accent: "You haven't heard mine… any of them. We should totally jam sometime, dude."
Chase smiled. "Goodnight, House."
The door shut.
That night, guitar picking echoed out of Chase's apartment.
No one knew that earlier, it was the first time he'd played in years.