House got drunk or high as a habit, or for fun. Where normal people did this to relieve stress or forget pain, House did it as a matter of course. Watch television with Wilson, take some Vicoden, drink a double scotch or three, and go to bed. End of the day.

When House wanted to relieve stress, or forget about life, or get new ideas, he played. He would start off formally, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven. Then, he moved on to jazz or rock tunes, and finally, he'd play improv.

Wilson could always tell how House's day had been by his improvisation work. It was the only time he was fully unguarded, and let out all emotion, and Wilson was always amazed that he let anyone hear the beautiful sounds that came out.

But he let Wilson hear it all, every day. Sometimes, when they were alone at the end of the day, he'd take requests, and while he'd tease Wilson about whatever he picked, he would always play it, sometimes singing along in his gravely baritone.

Wilson thought House could have been a pianist, if it hadn't been for his father forcing him into a respectable, decent job.

Sure, he was a brilliant diagnostician, probably the best in America, or even the world, but he loved the music. Sometimes Wilson felt inexplicably jealous of the piano, and laughed at himself for feeling that way. He still felt it though.

It was the end of a long day. House was exhausted, but as happy as he got, having solved the mystery, and saved the patient. Wilson was happy too, several patients had been put in remission, and he hadn't had to tell anyone they were dying, which always brightened his day.

So when House found Wilson sitting expectantly beside the piano that sat at work, he threw a few jibes about neediness, before launching into the Midnight Sonata, which was the standard happy day song starter.

At the end of his playing time, House cracked his fingers and stood up, gesturing to the sleepy Wilson to leave.

"You know," Wilson murmured quietly, "I just wish I could show the world this you. Everyone already asks me why I put up with you, and they don't even know I love you, they just think we're friends. This would show them why I love you so much."

He snuggled into House a bit more, falling asleep the instant he reached the car seat. He was woken up to walk into House's apartment, but went back to his slumber once they reached the bedroom.

The next morning he'd forgotten all about his quiet words, helped by House's enthusiastic performance in bed, and Cuddy's scolding as they turned up late.

A few weeks later, at his birthday party, Wilson looked around, hoping to find his partner amongst the crowd of overly flirtatious nurses and oncologists hoping for a raise. Though he questioned Cuddy and the ducklings, apparently no one had seen him. Wilson supposed it had been too much to hope for. It wasn't like House had ever shown up to a staff party without bribery before, why would he start now?

Maybe because he's supposed to love you? An insidious voice suggested, and Wilson shook his head. House had never said he loved Wilson, and Wilson doubted he ever would. There was something about House that wouldn't allow him to say those words, and unless he changed completely, which Wilson wouldn't want anyway, he would never be able to. Which was fine, of course. It was only some little part, deep inside him that wanted to know for sure that he wasn't just wanted or needed, but treasured.

The sound of a piano made all heads turn, and Wilson grinned, not caring how much he looked like an idiot at that moment. He walked quickly to the room that contained the piano, other partygoers following him like children after the pied piper.

House perched on the edge of the piano, playing a tune that sounded like Happy Birthday with a jazzy edge. Once Wilson had come in, House blew him a kiss before everyone else filed in, and smoothly started on the happy day song, Moonlight Sonata. Then he moved to an old favourite of Wilson's, before going to the best moment. Improv.

Wilson smiled as he listened, a single tear falling down his face. House didn't have to say the words, Wilson could hear it anyway.

House stood up, to much applause from the surprised audience. Wilson realised that no one else had ever heard the dour man play, and he ran up to House, kissing him passionately.

"Why did you do it? You hate crowds!" Wilson asked, after they had finished thoroughly shocking the Hospital staff, and disappointing all the nurses (and a few doctors).

House smiled, a warm smile he only used with Wilson.

"For you."