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Gregory House, aside from his medical skill, was a dedicated musician in his own right.
Not that he ever really got paid to play (crowds distracted him and frankly, who deserved such blessed music?) but there was something that appealed to him when he got a song just right. The memorization was just the first part, you needed a certain level of skill to execute the piece and House craved that test of competence.
There was an appeal to it all, just like solving obscene patient cases and the unraveling of the puzzle. The simplicity behind each element but once combined, it became something larger.
Admittedly, this particular skill of his wasn’t as hidden but regardless, few knew. Much fewer have witnessed.
House was satisfied with his piano and guitars. His late night recitals to his neighbors’ occasional compliment before they’d realized who it was.
Though, every few months, he’d learn a brand new instrument just to switch things up.
~
“How many instruments do you even know?” Wilson questioned incredulously. He stood by his office door, hands on his hips, as he stared at House and the impromptu concert in Wilson’s office.
House had his frame leaned against Wilson’s desk, violin in hand and bow in the other. Each movement was deliberate against the strings of the violin, a subsequent melody forming. It was rather melodramatic to play Dance of the Knights in the afternoon whilst skipping Clinic Duty but House didn’t seem too bothered.
His cane was nowhere in sight, his entire body supported by what seemed like Wilson’s table and a prayer to a higher deity. Wilson supposed his leg didn’t hurt as much today.
The violin itself was scuffed in a certain House way. Used, polished, and clean with effort; but with that certain bit of personality that screamed at an irresponsible owner and lots of practice.
House hadn’t paused in his one-man concert but wagged his eyebrows at Wilson as he answered, “I get around. You can really pick up a thing or two from chicks.”
Wilson huffed. He strode to his desk with his documents, making a commendable effort at ignoring the deranged man playing the violin half-seated on the same desk.
Surprisingly, House hadn’t stopped once to mock Wilson for doing his paperwork in the evening or even talk, at all. His focus was on the violin, each note played to a certain type of perfection that showed an almost obsessive compulsion for skill mastery.
Or, simply, that concentration House had for a few weeks whilst learning a skill before promptly ignoring it in favor of another skill that caught his eye.
In fact, other than the occasional spikes in volume whilst playing his violin, House was hardly a disruption at all. Wilson had managed to get a considerable amount of work done, all things considered.
Though, just as Wilson was reaching for another case file, his office door swung open with a dramatic sort of momentum. Foreman, Cameron, and Chase practically stormed in-- well, mostly Foreman and Cameron.
Wilson looked up from his paperwork, with a slight deer-in-headlights look. House, on the other hand, hadn’t even as much as glanced at his team.
“Where were you?” Foreman spoke up, glowering at the violin in House’s hands. The piece had gone to some jazz piece Wilson didn’t recognize. The melody spun the tension of the room into something far more casual.
House tilted his head at Foreman, Violin still pressed against his chin as he drew his bow hair. “Jerking off. I know it looks like I’m playing violin but I’m actually just jerking off.”
“When did you.. learn that?” Chase asked curiously beside Cameron, his gaze on House’s violin. Cameron was less impressed but she did look curious too. The playing was ethereal, not exactly something you’d associate with the person playing it.
House drew his final note. He let his violin rest on Wilson’s desk. Wilson couldn’t fathom anyone else saying as much bullshit as House did. “My prostitute from last night gave me a few lessons.”
“So,” House raised an eyebrow, “What’s on with our patient?”