It was finally moving day, a bright and sunny but very cold and blustery January morning. Wilson's penchant for organization was fully on display, in the form of an intricately labeled and numbered row of boxes of varying sizes, with specifics as to which room each belonged in and exactly what each contained. House glanced at one of the larger boxes and laughed at the label: "Kitchen #6 – pots, pans, and assorted small appliances (but see Kitchen #7 for large mixer)."
"Did you expect the movers to actually put this right next to the cupboard you intend to use for pots and pans? This is crazy – all they'll do is drop everything in the middle of the living room floor and let us deal with it," House said.
"It's not for them, per se, but more for me. I don't wanna be guessing about which box to open first, and I need to put things away in a certain order," Wilson replied.
"Whatever. I'm not letting them touch any of my guitars, though. We're taking those in the car."
"Fine. But it's pretty icy out there, so let me know if you need help carrying anything."
"Thanks." House looked around at the now bare, two-toned blue walls of Amber's place (he'd always think of it as Amber's place) and felt a little nostalgic. He never thought he'd be sorry to leave this particular apartment behind, but it had been home for several months now, and he'd gotten used to it.
"What are you thinking?" Wilson asked.
House shook his head and looked at Wilson. "Nothing important." Suddenly he felt the need to get out of there quickly, and thought of a good excuse. "Did you tell Murphy we were moving?"
"Why would I tell Murphy? You're the one who's gotten sort of chummy with him."
"I should probably go down and tell him, then." House turned to leave, but Wilson had another question.
"House, you sure you don't wanna change your mind about the piano? We could still ask the movers to make a trip to your old apartment."
House had decided not to move the piano, but hadn't really given Wilson a reason, and Wilson still couldn't seem to grasp why. The truth was that House felt moving the piano would be giving up, in a way -- acknowledging that he needed to live with Wilson for the foreseeable future. Leaving it in his old apartment was kind of an incentive to keep getting better. It was a prize he could give himself when he finally felt ready to live alone again. And he desperately wanted to feel like he'd be ready to do that soon, even if the new apartment would be very comfortable and convenient.
"No, one trip from here should do it," House said.
"You sure?" Wilson couldn't seem to drop this subject.
House was getting aggravated now. "Yes, I'm sure! What the hell is it with you and the piano?"
"I just think it might help you to have it there. You know, another diversion, and one you're damn good at, by the way."
"I can go over there and play it if I really want to."
"But then I won't hear it."
"You miss hearing me play? Every time I pick up a guitar, you get that 'not again' look on your face."
"The piano's different," Wilson said. "It's like it's a part of you. I still can't believe you don't want it."
Wilson wouldn't let this go, so House figured he might as well fess up, at least to a point.
"It's not that I don't want it, Wilson. I want it, a lot."
"Then why not move it?"
"I need to leave it where it is, just so I can envision myself getting back there someday."
Wilson didn't know how to respond to that. A moment later there was a loud knock on the door, as the movers had arrived. House took this as a chance to exit, since he really didn't want to continue this conversation any longer, and did actually intend on going down to say goodbye to Murphy. Wilson stared at him as he walked out.
"Hey, Mack, we're ready to start loading," one of the movers said to Wilson. "Whaddya got for us?"
Wilson's attention went to the movers, and he said, "All the boxes in here, and then there are more in the bedroom and hallway. Furniture should go in first, though."
"We know how to do a move, fella."
Wilson sighed, and hoped they'd at least try to keep his boxes in order. He grabbed two of House's guitar cases and headed down to the street.
He passed House and Murphy standing and talking at Murphy's door. House had never actually explained what he'd done to "be nice" to Murphy, but, whatever it was, it had obviously worked. In all the time Wilson had lived in this building (over a year and half now), he'd never seen Murphy smile, and here he was, smiling at House, of all people. It was a mystery, but one Wilson felt hopeful about – a sign that, even if he didn't always want everyone to see it, House really was trying to change. Wilson nodded at both of them and stepped outside into the frigid air. He breathed deeply and then walked over to put the guitars in the car. This new apartment would be a new start, for him as well as House, and leaving this building was like dropping a weight from his shoulders. He hoped Amber was watching, and would understand.