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Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent - Victor Hugo

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"You get the mousse, I'll go get changed," he said.

"Changed?" She squeaked. "But we haven't finished dinner yet!" There was annoyed disappointment on her face.

"You set the precedent!" he returned.

"You were being an ass! Besides, I kept with the spirit of the bet and cooked in the outfit without hiding under an apron. You did not cook dinner wearing just the apron and do not give me any weasel words about how you had it on underneath. If there is a precedent then you need to stay like that until dessert is finished to make up the time," she replied hotly, hands on hips.

"But you wouldn't have seen much more as my back was turned to you, while I cooked," he wheedled.

"Even more reason that the bet isn't over now," she insisted.

"You just can't keep your eyes off me!" He accused, deflecting.

"You wish," she replied, dryly. "No doubt you're hoping I'll jump you too and make good use of your white satin sheets." Cuddy was fishing. House took the bait, as it moved the conversation away from the apron.

"Erm, are they a pre-requisite? Only, somehow, I've managed to miss those - just plain cotton… cream, although I do have Nights in White Satin on CD. The real one - none of this shortened single or remixed crap, it's got to be the real thing - beautiful song, the full version. Recommended as a song to make love to but it's only six minutes long, so, more of a set the mood piece."

Cuddy swallowed and broke eye contact with him. Nanoseconds stretched into milliseconds stretched into seconds.

"I'll get the mousse," she said, heading for the kitchen. House dithered – dithered. To change or not to change, that was the question. He had to admit to himself that he was feeling a little… vulnerable like this, but she did have a point. There was a rummaging and a rustling in the kitchen.

"Do you want a top up on your wine?" She asked, bringing the mousse, spoons and the bottle of wine with her. He sighed and held out his wine glass, his opportunity gone – well, not really, there was nothing stopping him from going to change now… except himself… trying to be fair… or open… or something he had no idea how to be… Perhaps he'd tried once in the dim and distant past, but not in a very long time... not that he had long to ponder.

"So, I've got them all except the violin piece that Dr. Hadley sent," said Cuddy, boldly grasping the nettle. Typical of Cuddy to go straight for the problem she could see, thought House. While he, for once, was trying to approach tangentially so as not to spook her, while gently trying to nudge her out of her well worn thought patterns. He didn't seem to be having much luck but then he knew he was expecting Cuddy to process most of this later. The trouble was, if she thought about it later and realised what he was trying to tell her, she may not act on it. Therefore, House had been hoping, not that he'd actually acknowledge hope – hope being for sissies, that she would begin to realize what he was on about and give him an opening. Otherwise, he might have to approach her all over again – something he might not be given the opportunity to do – let alone have the nerve for.

They were sat at opposite ends of the couch, the chocolate mousse between them, a spoon each - both apparently intent on the food and not each other or what was going on in each other's heads.

"Mmmm, wine and chocolate mousse – a mouth puckering combination!" said House, stalling. Though why he was doing that when he'd deliberately set out to get to this point… well, it wasn't a mystery - he'd hoped for something more positive from Cuddy by now. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

"Was it just one violin?" he asked. She took a mouthful of mousse, sucking the mousse off the spoon while she thought… then licked the spoon. House watched mesmerized before she jolted him out of his trance when she replied.

"No, there was more than one."

"Sure it was violins?"

"It sounded like violins but I'm no expert. I think there were other instruments." She took another spoonful of mousse and slowly raised it to her lips.

He paused for thought, then continued. "Considering she swings both ways, it's probably two instruments playing different tunes but in harmony with each other… maybe a double violin concerto."

"Does that narrow it down?" She was doing that thing with the spoon again and the apron was not doing much to hide his physical response to it. He knew she'd seen she was having an effect on him because she was smirking. He swallowed.

"There are quite a few of them. Vivaldi's got several. Beethoven, of course, went for a triple concerto. If we stretch the point, Brahms has a double concerto for violin and cello, Bruch violin and viola, Schubert's got a sonata for violin and piano, Philip Glass wrote one for violin and cello… there's a Prokofiev Sonata for two violins … Martinu has a Double Violin Concerto. Then, of course, there's Bach and his well known Double Violin Concerto."

"Well known? I didn't recognise it, so perhaps it isn't that…" she trailed off as House used his finger to remove the mousse he had dropped on his chest… then sucked his finger before continuing with his theme.

"Concerto for 2 Violins, Strings and Continuo in D Minor also known as the Double Violin Concerto – one of Bach's masterpieces. Some think it drop dead gorgeous others that it's mechanical and pedantic. It's full of counterpoints."

"Counterpoints?"

"Dorothy Sayers used it in he book, 'Gaudy Night'. Ever read any of her work?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"That era of detective fiction has several musical detectives starting with Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes who's a violinist – 'a composer of no ordinary merit' and the author of a monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. Whenever a case is over, Holmes drags Watson off to a violin recital or opera performance. Wilson's never been one for culture… don't suppose you want to be a body substitute?" he leered.

"Going by that analogy I'm Irene Adler which was more a meeting of minds than bodies. As Holmes considered emotional qualities antagonistic to clear reasoning, I can see why you might empathise with the character. However, Irene Adler did best him in one of his cases, didn't she?"

"The analogy doesn't hold - I have never eschewed female company or desired a monastic lifestyle."

"Really! The man who thinks he's better off alone?" The incredulity in her voice almost sounded sincere. Well, he had said that but that wasn't necessarily what he wanted. He may deserve to be alone but not many people got what they deserved and he was selfish enough and greedy enough to accept what he didn't deserve when it was to his advantage. He needed his solitude occasionally, many people did but that didn't mean he wanted to be alone all the time. He'd told Amber he didn't want to be miserable. He hadn't changed his mind about the existence of a God therefore no divine intervention coming any time soon – so, if he was at least going to be less miserable, he had to do something about it himself.

"Not all the time - hence the occasional cultural pursuit."

"Oh! You mean like monster trucks, women's mud wrestling, lap dancing clubs. I'll pass thanks."

Was she being deliberately obtuse or just pushing him to be more specific? There were no telltale signs in her demeanour. Her whole attitude was closed, guarded – her tower door firmly shut. Still Wilson would consider this as him knocking and asking, right? And she was still talking… even if it was from the battlements.

"Those are things that Wilson likes to do, I just keep him company. I drew the line at the erotic art exhibition." He referred back to Wilson and Cuddy's visit to a gallery a few years ago. She laughed.

"You should have seen his face. He was soooo embarrassed. So, Dorothy Sayers and the counterpoints…?"

"Right… Musical detectives… Funny thing is Agatha Christie in her truck load of detective books has few musical references, yet, she considered becoming either an opera singer or a concert pianist when she was young. She also composed songs including a waltz which was actually published – it had a funny title for a waltz, 'One Hour With Thee'. Anyway, Dorothy Sayers made her detective, Lord Peter Wimsey, a pianist – a musician of 'some skill and more understanding'. Her first novel, 'Whose Body' mentions Wimsey's baby grand…"

He trailed off. She was doing that thing with the spoon again… he grabbed the bowl and put it in his lap.

"Are we getting to the counterpoints any time soon?" She interrupted his thought processes with a smug smile. He cleared his throat.

"Wimsey's been trying to get the girl to marry him for five or six years and with his last effort he sort of compares the relationship he's after to the music… and whether she's interested. It's all about balance… equality. The girl's been given the advice that 'a marriage of two independent and equally irritable intelligences seems to me reckless to the point of insanity. You can hurt one another so dreadfully.' He's told her that anybody can have the harmony if they're left with the counterpoint. She asks him what he means. He says he likes his music polyphonic and if there's an undercurrent to what he said she knows what he meant. She says – 'polyphonic music needs a musician or, in this case, two'. He admits that 'Bach isn't a matter of an autocratic virtuoso and a meek accompanist' but says she knows enough and asks if she wants to be on the team."

"Oh, I see. Very clever. And you think that's what Thirteen sent?"

"Shall I play it?" She hesitated, then nodded.

"Sure," she said, then leaned back in her seat with an expectant look on her face. Of course, he'd have to get up and she'd get the full dorsal. Not that that would bother him, if he wasn't at such a disadvantage. He'd have to bend down to put the CD in the player. Should he let the apron drop forward and flash her or should he crouch down and keep his catering pack wrapped? Rachel snuffled in her sleep.

"Do you need to do something about that?" he asked glancing over at the baby.

"No," she said, with a smile.

"What no paranoid check?"

"No, happy with the visuals here." Her eyes were laughing. He scowled as she used his own words against him.

"Those are my words get your own."

"Pay back's a bitch," she said trying not to laugh. He sighed and went to change the CD.

"Well?" he asked as he turned back round as the first few notes came though the speakers. Her gaze slowly scanned up his body to his face.

"Odd Chippendale style music."

"Ha, ha." Still, the fact that she had associated him, his body and a Chippendale's scenario couldn't be all bad, could it?

"Don't I even get a token gesture?" she waved her hand in emphasis. He knew what she meant and he'd be asking for something similar if the situations were reversed. This could go one of two ways she could laugh… evilly or happily. Of course, if the situation was reversed and Cuddy did a 'token gesture' it could be a very potent weapon. He just thought he'd look silly. Got to be more vulnerable to find out how interested she is, he reminded himself. At least this could be laughed off.

"I hate you," he said, but he put his hands on his hips and gamely tilted his hips backwards and forwards suggestively. She looked him up and down. Then did it again more slowly, appreciation in her eyes.

"Satisfied?"

"I think you need to work on your style – presentation's not bad though," she said eyeing the twitching apron.

"I hope you realise this is unfair." He aimed for her guilt complex.

"All's fair in love and war," she returned, then laughed.

"Cuddy, laughing at a guy when he's almost naked is not fair – even wars have rules."

"I know, but you don't play by them so, for you, I'm making an exception." Okay, missed her guilt complex by miles back to the music.

"Is this the piece Thirteen sent?"

She shook her head looking disappointed. He reached for the remote and moved the CD on a track.

"How about this?" he asked softly. Her face lit up.

"Yes, that's it."

"Second movement."

"Is that significant?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Highlights the counterpoints more."

"Do you think that Thirteen knew about the Dorothy Sayers' reference when she sent the music?"

"I shouldn't think so," he returned, dryly.

Cuddy didn't seem to be getting his message or she deliberately didn't want to get it. Other people… other men had got through her defences, hell, he had once, surely it wasn't a one way system?

"Did he get the girl… Wimsey, did he get the girl?" asked Cuddy, breaking his reverie.

"Typical girlie question. Yes, he got the girl."

"But it took him six years?" she asked, watching him as he limped back to the couch to sit down.

"He screwed it up the first time… and the second and the third. Once it was screwed it was very difficult to unscrew it," he said, with some feeling, staring at the speakers across the room.

"And did they live happily ever after?"

"Apparently. The meeting of minds was matched by a meeting of bodies and they were still going strong after three kids, a house in the country… oh, and a war," he finished, turning his head to look at her.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, catching him off-guard.