rating: PG-13 (I mentioned sex and
nearly naked Wilson) A/N: this
is not betaed, but my muse was forced me to post. Please R&R, I
need it so bad.
pairing: Wilson/Amber, hints of
House/Wilson
warnings: brief het – I am disgusted that I wrote
it, but it is slight
summary: distracted!Wilson and the magic
appearance of music sheets
disclaimer: I own nothing except this
trustworthy 400 MHz laptop. But I really would want to own Thirteen -
I don´t, so she will randomly appear in my fiction.
domestic bliss
Wilson´s day had been exceptionally bad. First all his attempts to find out about House´s crush had been in vain and later in the afternoon one of his youngest patients had died during a routine operation. He had spent at least an hour after that telling the parents he was so sorry and that this had been completely unexpected. Sometimes specializing in oncology was really crap. But he was looking forward to a nice and soothing evening with Amber, wine and sensual sex.
When he opened the door, he heard the sounds of Amber´s old piano, that she had moved to their apartment two weeks ago. He shed his coat and shoes and flopped down onto the couch for a while to listen without her noticing him. The music was definitely extraordinary, nothing like the Bach pieces she used to practice with nearly manic eagerness. In fact it was not a classic piece, it was something he couldn´t really define, not as sad as blues, not as hard as rock and not as overblown as Tschaikowsky or Schubert and it was in every way bittersweet. In fact it tore at his heart strings like nothing he had ever heard. It was adorably beautiful and heartbreakingly painful at the same time. It sounded just like love felt - passionate, vulnerable, sometimes sad but soft like velvet. The sound was soothing and comforting and so sensual it gave him goosebumps.
He got up, walked over, still captured by the notes expelled by the instrument.
Amber noticed his footsteps, flinched a little, but continued, smiling at him.
"Oh my god, this is so adorable. Where does this come from? I don´t think I have ever heard something similar." Wilson was reminded of the expression on House´s face when he had admired the savant ´s piano creations.
Amber didn´t answer, but played the last notes and closed the lid. Slamming it shut would have been too suspicious. Fortunately it was easy to distract Wilson now and come up with a clever explanation later. She captured Wilson´s lips in a demanding kiss. Wilson let himself be led to the bedroom. When they fell back on the mattress later, sated and exhausted, Wilson looked over to Amber:
"You haven´t answered my question earlier."
"Hm?"
"Who wrote that piece?"
"Oh, that...", she grinned smugly: "House wrote it."
"You´re kidding me."
"No, he left it on his office desk and it was mixed up with my application papers I got back. I found it when I sorted them this morning. I thought I´d try them out."
"They are brilliant. I have to ask him when he wrote them."
Amber reacted a little too fast: "No! He might think I stole them. They are old, probably he wrote them for Stacy. Leave it be, I will drop them in one of his drawers the other day when he doesn´t notice."
"O.K.," Wilson smiled and went to sleep.
At night he was woken by a car alarm system outside. After tossing and turning he decided to get up, so he wrapped one of the blankets around himself and walked over to the living room. He sat down on the piano bench and opened the lid. When he inspected the sheets, he recognized House´s awful handwriting. He grazed the paper with his fingertips and studied it. It was obviously written in a flow, nothing had been corrected – like it had directly poured out of his mind or – more likely – out of his heart. Music sometimes seemed to be the only way House could express something inside his sarcastic shell. He turned the page and found something written on it. He looked closer and furrowed his brow to get a better view: "for" - that word was decipherable and there was a "W" at the end. But what the hell was that letter in between? Should be an "S", no, never. Wilson switched on a lamp in the corner and carried the sheet over. That was a "J". He held his breath and read again: "for J.W.". Was there anyone with the same initials? No. Wilson was flabbergasted.
He couldn´t believe House wrote something that beautiful and never told him about it. Then it dawned on him. No, that could not be. That had been clearly the sound of a love-song. Amber herself had suggested it might have been for Stacy. Why would she lie? Probably she had not read the writing on the backside. Yeah, House was straight as an arrow. And so was he. But what if...? His mind started racing. That was ridiculous. It was 5 a.m. and he sat in the living-room wearing nothing but a satin blanket and wondered about the sexual orientation of his best friend, that he used to know for nearly 20 years. He rubbed his neck.
If someone could help him with that, it was Thirteen. Maybe he could talk to her again.
