CHAPTER NINE: Mood Music

Wilson is so tired as he unlocks the door to the apartment. Had he not felt a ridiculous obligation to House's ridiculous rat, he'd just collapse on the couch for a couple of hours and forget everything. But the rat needs to eat. And drink. Do rats need socialization as well? Wilson can't remember, considers singing a chorus of "Three Blind Mice" to Steve, just in case. "If House were here, he could play you 'Ben' on the piano," he tells Steve as he settles into the couch.

He closes his eyes, but he's overtired, and sleep eludes his desperate, weary grasp. So he imagines that House is here, at the piano. Wilson hasn't heard him play much since the infarct, but he remembers the beauty of the music, the real joy House used to take in running his fingers effortlessly over the keys. He thinks he knows why House so jealously guards his talent now—his music is the sole thing he has in his life that's not stained; it's completely untouched by the consequences of the infarction. It's the only thing left that's effortless. So it's pure and clean and real; it doesn't cause pain--it releases it.

Wilson muses that it's as if House saves up all the true emotions he has, and pours them all into the piano where they'll be protected. Wilson listens to the phantom sound of House's fingers on the keys, listens to his friend pour his humanity into the piano. And he allows the music to lull him to sleep.

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House is having a lovely dream. He's swimming in a bright, peaceful ocean. The water is warm, and it cradles his body as he glides effortlessly along in its depths. His legs are strong and healthy; they carry him swiftly. He knows this is a dream, but he's reveling in all the sensations. His body belongs to him again, and not to Pain. Hmm…. he thinks, there's even musical accompaniment. Für Elise. Wait—that's not a piano playing; it's… it's… c'mon brain, function; you know that sound. It's electronic, annoying. Just listen, House, it'll come to you.

The music stops as soon as Cuddy starts talking. Ah… that's it! A cellphone. Who the hell would have a synthesized version of Für Elise as their ringtone? Cuddy. Figures. Well, I'm awake now, thankyouverymuch, so I may as well eavesdrop.

"No, you didn't wake me. As a matter of fact, I'm in the building." pause "Standing guard over the esteemed Dr. Gregory House. He owes me five more charts before I'll let him have a ten minute nap." pause martyred sigh "Yeah, I drew the short straw." pause pause pause "No one else can sign it? It has to be signed now?" pause pause "I'll be there. I can't be gone long, this slug is falling asleep as it is. Coming." click

Very funny, Cuddy. Now get outta here so I can open my eyes. And what was that about me doing charts? I'm the one who's supposed to be dreaming here.

Cuddy doesn't want to leave, not even for the five minutes it'll take. This is House, after all, and she knows the man could upset a High Mass, given a free 30 seconds. But she really doesn't have a choice, so, like a mother anxiously child-proofing a house (which is exactly what I'm doing, she smiles, I'm child-proofing a House) she tries to anticipate the things a stoned House could do, given an entire 300 unsupervised seconds.

The possibilities are mind-boggling, and she finally sighs in anticipatory exasperation, disconnects the IV from the heplock, makes sure he can reach the ice chips, the urinal—but not his cane. She gently removes the O2 cannula and shuts off the flow. One more look at the patient—eyes closed, breathing regular—"Please, House, be a good boy while I'm gone. I've got a very grumpy judge down there waiting to sign off on an involuntary commitment order, and if you don't behave, I'll ask him for a group rate. It's just five minutes, stay asleep," and she's gone.

House opens his eyes and waits. He'd heard Cuddy lock the door as she left, and wonders briefly if he needs to get up, unlock it. Nah, shouldn't be necessary. And before he can even finish the thought, the door opens and his visitor enters. "What took you so long?" asks House.

A/N: For you wee ones out there too young to remember, "Ben" is a truly lovely song about a rat, from a movie of the same name, which told the story of a boy named Willard, who was—ahh, nevermind….Gawd, I feel old…