After they finished and Wilson had paid the bill (Why do I get the feeling this could become a habit? he thought), they walked down the block toward the bar. They moved quickly, dodging the increasing number of tourists and drunken revelers who were weaving in both directions. Wilson was glad that House knew where he was going, because Wilson himself was already lost even though he knew they weren't that far from the hotel.
Wilson's eyes widened as House suddenly stopped and reached for the handle of an old wooden door in a windowless storefront. Not for the first time that day, he couldn't help but wonder just what House might be getting him into as they crossed into the even darker space. In the few moments that it took for Wilson's eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, House had already settled himself onto an ancient barstool and ordered drinks for both of them. He noticed that several of the patrons raised their glasses in House's direction in greeting as he sat down and wondered how so many people seemed to know the man when he'd only been in town for a few days.
Wilson had an unwelcome flashback to the previous night the moment he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the old mirror behind the bar. House noticed and threw a sarcastic and completely inappropriate joke his way in an effort to keep him from becoming a morose lump so early in the evening. Wilson laughed despite himself, profoundly grateful at the backhanded attempt to cheer him up. He turned on the bar stool and looked around. Spotting the dimly lit stage and instruments at the back of the room, he wondered if this was what Lisette meant about showing up to play.
House finished his first bourbon of the evening and found his gaze drawn repeatedly toward the piano. Bill wandered back down the bar to where House and Wilson sat while a younger man covered patrons' drink orders at the opposite end. House introduced Bill to Wilson as Bill refilled their glasses.
"So how do you know House?" Bill asked Wilson. "Y'all play too?"
House scoffed a muffled chuckle into his glass. Wilson glared in his direction before explaining to Bill that he was just there to enjoy the evening before having to leave for home the next day. He didn't even bother to try to explain how he'd come to know House. House, on the other hand, was more than willing to share.
"I bailed him out of jail this morning," House said to Bill, jerking his thumb toward Wilson. Wilson's mouth dropped open as he glowered at House, speechless. Bill looked from House to Wilson and back, waiting for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, Bill laughed and shook his head, turning to check on the other patrons at his end of the bar. As soon as Bill's back was to them, Wilson turned on House.
"What the everloving FUCK, House?!" Wilson seethed in a low voice.
House regarded Wilson impassively. To say the man was overreacting about such an offhanded comment spoke volumes.
"What? Bill asked how you knew me, so I told him." When Wilson's expression only got darker, House continued. "Oh, please. Relax. It's not like anyone was paying attention. Besides, the way you look, Bill probably didn't even believe me."
"Whaddya mean, 'the way I look'"? Wilson was starting to feel the effects of the bourbon, his voice rising ever so slightly and beginning to sound just a bit manic.
House merely rolled his eyes, then grabbed his drink and made off for the stage. The last thing he needed was for Wilson to get wound up enough to throw another bottle. Sitting down at the piano, House set his glass on the ancient water rings at the end of the keyboard. He placed his fingers on the keys and glanced back at Wilson, whose eyes widened slightly as House started into a rather funky zydeco-flavored jazz piece. House smiled a bit to himself, actually glad for once that he had managed to diffuse the situation rather than inflame it, and let the music carry him away.
Wilson watched as House's whole demeanor changed the moment he began to play. The stories he'd heard about House had always been so derisive - that he was a sarcastic, narcissistic but completely brilliant ass who had already been fired from 2 different hospitals in the Tri-State area - and while he certainly had to agree with the ass part of the description, he was beginning to think that some of the stories might be somewhat overblown.
As soon as the music began to fill the space, other patrons began to make their way up to the stage. They picked up instruments that were already there, opened cases and began tuning those instruments that they'd brought with them, and Wilson marveled at how quickly people picked up on what House was playing. It didn't take long for the music to take over the entire bar.
When House found his glass empty, he pulled himself away from the piano and went back to sit next to Wilson. One of the other patrons took his place and seamlessly joined in the jam session. Wilson stared at House in awe as House signaled another round to Bill, taking in the light sheen of sweat on House's brow and the gleam in his eye. House could feel himself getting uncomfortable at Wilson's incessant gaze, and glared back.
"Wow," Wilson started, impressed. House's glare turned quizzical. "I had no idea you could play like that."
House turned his eyes forward and shrugged as he took a long pull from his glass. Wilson could see barriers being erected behind House's eyes and couldn't help but wonder what was going on in there. He turned his own eyes forward and the two men drank in silence as the music played on.
Wilson had no intention of staying at the bar until closing. He had a 10am flight into Newark the next morning and an hour and a half drive home after that if traffic was light. House, Wilson quickly came to learn, had other ideas. He always had a reason why they had to stay. Usually that involved "just one more." Sometimes it was because House would spontaneously get up from his spot at the bar and head back onto the stage with whoever happened to be up there, picking up whatever instrument wasn't being played at the time and joining in as if he'd been doing it forever. Other times it was because he was busy chatting up the local girls with an easy sense of teasing and not-quite flirting. Wilson lost count of how many different instruments House played that night. He also lost count of the number of "just one mores" the two of them drank. He was well and truly drunk, but truth be told he was also having a good time. This was exactly what he'd needed.
Watching as House got up and headed back to the stage one more time slightly unsteady on his feet, Wilson was surprised to find that he actually liked being around him. He still thought House was an ass, but that was a trait he was willing to overlook. There was a lot to admire, despite the stories.
House had no intention of leaving the bar until he absolutely had to. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the daily routine and constant badgering by his boss at Jefferson. Between flight time and the minimum one hour drive to get to his apartment if traffic was light, it would practically be evening before he got home. At that moment however, as he picked up a guitar from the stage, there was no place else House wanted to be.
Pulling the guitar strap over his head and checking the tuning, House caught a glimpse of Wilson's face as he relaxed and enjoyed the impromptu jam session taking place. He was secretly glad to see the younger man actually having a good time rather than tying himself up in knots over what he'd be facing once he got home. Any other thoughts that House might've had disappeared as he began to play.
Bill shook both House and Wilson's hands and wished them well as he shooed everyone out of the bar at closing. They peeled away from the crowd of musicians and patrons flowing out into the night, heading back to the hotel with their arms flung over each other's shoulders as they wove their way drunkenly down the block. Wilson chattered animatedly about absolutely nothing as House attempted to keep them both upright. His brain was swimming as the adrenaline from the evening started to wear off, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Wilson, on the other hand, wouldn't shut the fuck up.
House poured Wilson into his room, leaving him sprawled across the bed. Relieved at the sudden silence when he re-entered the hallway, House staggered toward the elevators and his own room. He got as far as kicking off his sneakers before passing out in the center of the bed.