Chapter 7

Piano Music

House was playing around on the piano after a long day at work, trying to compose a new arrangement for Putting on the Ritz. Annie was floating above, eyes closed, trying to get some rest.

She opened her eyes. "Greg, would you play Begin the Beguine for me?"

"Why?"

"I don't know; I just love the song."

"I guess you would, that was popular right around the time you were in your twenties, right?"

She nodded.

He played and she sang. "You have a pleasant voice."

"Thanks."

"Any other requests?"

For the next three hours they alternated between playing music from the thirties, forties and the fifties and discussing everything under the sun- infectious diseases, singularities in space, the theory of jazz, Wilson's wives, Chase's hair. Fatigue finally caught up with House, his body exhausted from the constant adrenalin pumping while he tried to diagnose his patient earlier that day. He yawned and motioned to the bedroom, so they retired for the night. As his eyes began to close, House realized that he hadn't been this intellectually stimulated in years, not since his internship at Hopkins. Annie was articulate and opinionated, but rarely took offense when he called her a moron or other names. She dished it right back, calling him names he had to look up in the dictionary the next day.

Over the next few months House found himself spending substantially more time at home with Annie doing things with her. He bought several books of sheet music for songs from the early and mid twentieth century. When they tired of music, they played games with House moving the pieces and turning up the cards for Annie. They went to movies; House occasionally letting Annie pick the movie after she complained—often waking him up in the middle of the night to complain so that he got the point. It was an odd feeling when he'd show up, apparently alone, at a chic flick. The looks he got both amused and annoyed him. One night a woman took the seat that Annie was in and House almost lost his cool, but Annie simply hovered above as they watched the show. House patted his lap to let her know she could sit on his knee. She laughed, shook her head and continued to hover just above the person to his right, so he could see her.

Wilson and Cuddy were becoming concerned, meeting several times to discuss the one concern they had in common—House's mental status. Both worried that he was becoming a hermit, albeit, if he was, he was a happy hermit. Everyone had noticed and commented that, although House was still acerbic and rude, he hadn't been outright cruel in months and had even had moments of levity and compliments for the team.

It was a weekday night. During a commercial break, Annie broached a delicate subject while they watched a re-run of Star Trek, "Greg, you need to have a night out with Wilson."

House, sitting in his boxers and a t-shirt, a wine glass in one hand, was reclined with his legs in front of him. They were suspended by the ottoman which couched his long, narrow feet. "Why?"

"You're spending too much time at home with me. People are beginning to talk about you at work. Your friends think you're sulking over the breakup with Cuddy."

"So?"

"It's been months since you went out on a date. You need human companionship."

"I have human companionship at work and on Tuesdays."

"Your team and poker games with three strangers doesn't count."

"Why not, Wilson comes to the game sometimes?"

"Because it consists mostly of gambling, drinking and gorging on carbohydrates. Very few words actually get spoken."

"Men don't need a lot of conversation. It's a guy thing."

"Still, why don't you grab Wilson and go find yourself some female companionship?"

He laughed. "I have female companionship twenty-four/seven or have you forgotten that you're a woman?"

"I'm dead, Greg."

"You're a very lively dead woman. Sometimes I understand why your husband took a knife to your back."

"That's a cheap shot."

"Annie, you do talk a lot."

In reality, House talked as much as Annie. They found conversation to be easy between them, but Annie was miffed when he complained about it, "Fine, I won't talk unless spoken to. I'll keep my answers brief and stop annoying you with my incessant chatter."

She disappeared. House knew he was being punished. Despite the fact that he actually enjoyed the conversations tremendously, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling her how much pleasure he received from her company. He not only appreciated her razor sharp intelligence, but Annie's humor was a strange mixture of home-spun jokes laced with sarcasm and strange historical references, all which would normally be incongruent, but worked when it came from Annie. He yelled out, "Great, maybe I'll get some peace!"

That night when the Poker boys showed up, Annie stood behind the players and looked down at their cards, smiled at House and then floated out of the room. House knew she was probably watching the new television he had bought her when she complained that they always watched the programs he liked. The day after she complained he walked into the nearest Best Buy and checked out a 32 inch Samsung LED television before looking around for someone to help him.

Annie shook her head in puzzlement. "You have a new flatscreen in the living room. It's less than a year old. Why do you need this one?"

"This is so you don't hassle me anymore."

"Excuse me sir?" A young male voice said. "I was just doing my job, just seeing if you need help. I wasn't trying to hassle you."

House turned forty-five degrees and found a young twenty-something guy looking very confused. House shook his head and then pointed at the Samsung. "I want that one installed in my bedroom."

Annie screamed with delight and started dancing around whooping and fist pumping. House watched and smiled at her joy. "This is the first gift I've had in fifty-five years. Thank you, thank you, thank you." She floated up and kissed him on his cheek. Once again he felt a slight electrical vibration.

The poker game continued for an hour before House finally went to the bathroom as an excuse to check on her. She stayed ensconced in the bedroom with the Samsung tuned to some Lifetime Movie. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sir." She said curtly.

"Good." House snickered to himself and went back to the table.

After the boys left, House made a call. Half an hour later Annie walked out to the living room, but said nothing. He was about to say something to her, warn her, but there was a knock on the door. She shot a look at him of surprise and disappointment. She disappeared through the door into the entrance hall of the building and then back inside the living room, her jaw locked, arms crossed over her chest and eyes shooting daggers at him.

Now he wished that he hadn't called the escort service. He felt sheepish and defiant at the same time. How dare some dead woman make him feel guilty! He opened the door and welcomed the woman inside.

"Hi, I'm Mona, the escort service sent me." The beautiful woman with a velvet voice and chocolate eyes said.

"Hello, Mona."

Mona continued smiling through the awkward silence. "I'll need the money up front."

House pulled his wallet out of his pocket and peeled off six one hundred dollar bills, handing them to the beautiful dark skinned woman. "You have an accent, where are you from?"

"I was born in Nigeria, but raised in France and New York."

"That would explain it."

"Well, where should I go?"

House glanced over at Annie, who now looked more sad than angry. "Back this way." When they went back to the bedroom, House was sure that Annie was going to follow, but she had been good to her word—only talking when talked to and staying out of his way. She stayed in the living room for the hour that Mona was with House. Eventually, House grabbed a robe and walked Mona to the door, giving her a $50 tip.

"Thanks, I hope you'll ask for me again." She said as she pocketed the money.

"Definitely."

She smiled and gave him a kiss on his lips before leaving. House turned around and saw that Annie's back was to him. She was sitting on the sofa, her legs curled up under her.

Nothing was said, they ignored each other. House took a shower and went back to bed. He waited a few minutes hoping that she'd take up one of her usual spots, either on the bed next to him or on the ceiling watching over him, but she didn't. He turned off the light and went to sleep.

Annie eventually made her way back to his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him as he slept, snoring lightly. She had grown used to that noise; he had started snoring when he was in his forties as he gained weight. Always a skinny kid and a skinny adult, it wasn't until he turned forty-two that the weight started to creep on and the snoring began. The last few months had been so strange compared to the lonely fifty-one years she had spent talking only to guardian angels and other TDLs. She enjoyed Wilson's guardian angel because he had a wicked sense of humor and he didn't mind being around House. Cuddy's guardian angel was above it all and rarely spoke to her when they were together. The team all had angels except for Remy; she had a TDL that was almost as screwed up as Remy.

But over the last few months, she thought that there had been a deep bond between herself and House. He was beginning to look for her both at home and work and was even anxious one day when she had wandered off to watch a heart transplant and he wanted to ask her a question about a case they had studied in his immunology class in med school. When he couldn't find her, he thought she had been given a new body and was being replaced with someone that he couldn't see. He finally found her in the observation room. Climbing as fast as he could up the stairs to talk to her, he started chastising her from the minute he entered the door.

"Where have you been? I needed you! I couldn't remember what Garvin had told us at Hopkins about how they used to diagnose mold allergies. I have a patient that I can't move and I need to find a way to test her without…" House looked down and saw the entire surgical team looking up at him.

The surgeon, William Johnson, knitted his eyebrows and shouted. "How the hell would I know what your teacher said in med school? I went to UCLA."

House swallowed hard and nodded down to Johnson, realizing that this was going to go viral as soon as they were out of surgery. House whispered, "Come on, I need you in my office."

She followed him and they worked out the problem together. But now she was pissed. His comment about her talking too much was mean considering that for half a decade she rarely got to talk to anyone. It had been two weeks and she had held true to her word. She only spoke when he spoke to her and her responses were curt. In addition, she spent as much time as she could away from him or at least out of sight. He may have thought she'd cave, but she'd practiced fifty odd years of not talking.

House was annoyed. He kept asking questions that should have elicited long responses from her, but she didn't bite. It was hell knowing she was around, but he couldn't share his thoughts, questions, inside jokes, or make her laugh. More importantly, her silence brought to light his addiction to her, how she had become a fifth member of his team, his confidant, buddy, sounding board. It was as if he had lost his partner. Still, House refused to apologize, especially to a ghost. Why should he care about her feelings? She was dead!