AN: Yet another short piece. Yet another one-sided (at least, implied one-sided) H/W. I swear I'll write something longer, sooner or later.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gregory House. I wish I did, because his character is so awesome, but I definitely don't.
"Wrong Notes"
House sat himself down at his piano, stretching out his fingers. He needed to relax--needed to think, needed to wind down. What better way to do that but play piano? As he put his fingers to the keys, he felt a calmness that only ever rarely came over him. He involved himself in the notes, just as he involved himself in his cases. But recently the cases had become dull, boring--easy to diagnose. He needed a challenge--needed something to keep his mind occupied.
It was in times like this that his thoughts wandered to Wilson. House winced at a sour note, deciding that he would play the part over--and again he struck the wrong chord. He slowed his fingers down, letting them play the piece of out familiarity, finding his mistake and playing the correct note. He smiled to himself at the sound of the minor chord--relishing in the anger hidden within it. He remembered Wilson storming into his office, upset over something or other.
That's right--House had yet again made the decision to do something that may have harmed his patient and disabled them for life. Again Wilson had to be his conscience; again Wilson convinced him that what he was doing was wrong. He hated that about Wilson--hated the fact that Wilson was the only one who could keep him from doing what it was that he truly wanted to do.
House hit yet another sour chord. He was starting to get frustrated--it was evidenced by the fact he kept hitting the wrong notes. Soon he cleared his mind, concentrating once again on just his playing. He didn't need to think about why Wilson had such a hold on him--he didn't need to consider that his feelings for Wilson ran deeper than--another wrong chord! Frowning, House played the part again, certain that he had played the part right the first time. Maybe it was time to tune his piano again--a note that out of tune with the rest of the notes was only going to cause trouble, just as how House's heart was going to cause trouble once House's mind came to terms with what his heart already knew.
House was in love with Wilson. Slowly House's fingers stopped pressing down the keys, realization setting in as to why Wilson could control so much of what House did. This wasn't the first time House had come to this conclusion--no, he had been arriving at it for months. But every time he did, he would back-track, replay the thoughts that lead to the realization until he slowly reached a different, more comfortable conclusion. He would convince himself again and again that he wasn't in love with Wilson, just as he would replay the piano piece until the chords sounded right. Who cared about the truth, anyway? Honesty could only get you so far--everybody lies, even if it is to themselves.