Chapter 3 – Prophet
Wilson and I decided to relocate to the cafeteria around two. We were both starving, and he offered to pay, so how could I refuse? I sure as hell wasn't going to pass up the chance to eat lunch with one of my favorite fictional characters.
Not so fictional anymore, I guess.
My mind, at present, was kind of split in two. On one hand, I was absolutely terrified. Being stuck in a world where everyone and everything I ever cared about didn't exist... not exactly a stellar situation. I didn't know where I was sleeping, how I would feed myself, or what the fuck was going on in general. Never mind the fact that my parents were no doubt worried sick about me.
On the other hand...well. I was an obsessive House fan trapped inside the show. I was eating lunch in PPTH's cafeteria with James Wilson.
Pros and cons, right?
I bit into the burger I'd ordered, feeling guilty for the money Wilson spent on me. Then again, at least I'm not stealing his food like House, I thought with a hint of amusement.
Wilson poked his fork into his salad, barely seeming to pay attention to his food.
"Alright, how did House and I meet?" Wilson asked.
For the past hour or so, Wilson had been quizzing me on facts about him and House to see if I knew them. Eight times out of ten, I did, but some of the trivia was never mentioned in the show, so I wasn't doing perfectly.
"Season five, episode four, Birthmarks," I said immediately.
I'd also taken to answering his questions with the episode I learned the information in, unless the name gave away something about the plot. I had decided not to reveal anything to House and Wilson about their futures. A wise man once taught me that the truth is a powerful thing. Plus, you know, like EVERY single piece of time travel media out there.
"Sam had just had her lawyer serve you the divorce papers while you were at a medical conference in New Orleans. You were drowning your sorrows in the hotel bar, and someone kept playing 'Leave a Tender Moment Alone' on the jukebox. You flipped, threw a bottle into an antique mirror. You were taken into custody by the police, but House bailed you out a few hours later because you seemed interesting," I summarized.
Wilson, for the umpteenth time that day, shook his head in amazement. "You must have really loved the show," he commented.
I grinned. "Yeah...I did. Uh, do. I'm a huge fan. It's a shame this isn't season three or four, I could say everything that was about to come out of your mouth before you actually said it." Wilson just raised an eyebrow at me. "Those were the seasons I watched the most. My favorites."
"So, care to tell me anything about my future?" Wilson covered his full mouth with a hand and looked at me expectantly.
I sighed, taking another bite of my burger and chewing slowly. I shook my head after I swallowed. "Listen, Wilson, I believe everything happens for a reason, which means I don't believe in coincidences. I'll tell you what I told House. I think I'm here to make sure his life, and everybody else's for that matter, turns out less crappy. I don't want to screw things up by telling you guys your future. Assuming I stick around, I'm going to only prevent the stuff that didn't have any positive affects. I don't want to tamper too much."
Wilson nodded, seeming to understand my reasons.
Amber's battered corpse floated into my mind...Thirteen's face, covered in blood after trying to resuscitate a long-dead Kutner...House, lying in a hospital bed on God knows how many occasions...
Yeah, some stuff definitely needed to be changed. It was the smaller, non-life-threatening stuff I had trouble with. If I was really here to help House, how was I supposed to know what events needed to stay and what events needed to go?
I massaged my forehead. I could already feel a tension headache building there. I could focus on what details to tweek in House's timeline later. Right now, I had bigger fish to fry. I just hoped I hadn't mixed up Rebecca's diagnosis with some other season one patient. If I got the diagnosis wrong, there was no chance of House believing me. None. House was suspicious by nature, and my story was more than a little far-fetched.
"Alright..." He finished off his salad, pushing the plastic bowl away. "What was House's childhood like?" Wilson asked, tilting his head.
My eyes widened. Wilson seemed curious for the answer this time, not curious as to whether I knew it or not. Had House really told Wilson nothing about how he was raised? I mean, they never showed it on the show, but I just assumed that at some point, House had told Wilson about his not-so-sunny upbringing.
Apparently not.
And I wasn't going to be the one to violate House's confidence, even if he didn't know that I knew.
Wilson must have seen how my gaze darkened, and he squinted at me.
"Wilson..." I trailed off, pursing my lips. "I don't think it's my place to tell you if you don't already know," I said quietly.
Wilson seemed slightly affronted for a moment before nodding. "Okay...maybe I'll ask him about it sometime," Wilson said gently.
"Thanks. For not pushing, I mean."
"Don't mention it."
The funny thing was, Wilson was as easy to get along with in real life as he had appeared on TV. James Wilson, carefully calibrating his level of attention to your personal needs.
I popped the last bite of my burger in my mouth, and drained the dregs of my drink. Leaning back in my chair, I gave Wilson a grateful smile. "Oh, and thanks for paying for me. I owe you one."
Wilson waved me off. "It's just lunch. No big deal. If I was keeping tabs–"
"–House's would be astronomical," I finished for him.
For the twentieth time that day, I saw Wilson visibly stop himself from asking, "How did you know that?"
Wilson glanced around the cafeteria, and his eyes fixed on someone behind us. I turned to see who he was looking at. "Well, this should be exciting for you," he told me.
Holy shit. It was the original ducklings. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman strolled into the cafeteria, making a beeline for Wilson's table. They stopped in front of us, Cameron and Foreman stealing somewhat nervous side glances at one another. God, they would've been new at this point. Foreman for just a month or two, Cameron just freshly hired. Chase had been around the longest, but not that long.
I just stared up at them, frozen in a surreal kind of wonder. Foreman had hair. Cameron was a brunette. And sweet Jesus, Chase was even prettier in person, with those baby blue eyes. They looked so young, so...
Unbroken.
They had no idea what the next eight years had in store for them.
"Dr. Wilson?" Cameron asked tentatively. Strange to hear her be so formal, but we were in season one.
"That's my name." Wilson smiled at the three and extended his hand. "Dr. Cameron, right?"
She nodded, taking his hand and giving it a brief shake. "Yes. Um, Dr. House wanted us to let you know that, er–"
"He told us to say, and I quote, 'Tell Wilson his fake cousin is cured, and then tell him to bring the midget to my office and I'll meet him there,'" Foreman relayed, briefly flicking his eyes me. "His words, not mine."
Wilson inclined his head, not even faintly surprised by House's wording. "Alright, thank you for telling me."
"No problem," Chase said, Australian accent thicker than what I was used to hearing. I supposed he was fresher to the States, back in 2004.
The three turned and left, leaving Wilson and I alone once again. Once the cafeteria doors swung shut behind them, Wilson looked at me expectantly.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to not scream with pure, unadulterated joy," I said, flashing him a self-deprecating smile. "God, they're so little!"
Wilson just stared at me like I was insane. Considering the circumstances, I probably was.
I took a deep breath, "I apologize for the fangirling...you just don't get what a big thing House was in my world. It was easily one of the most popular shows on television in its heyday."
"Its heyday?" Wilson questioned as he stood up. I followed suit.
"Yeah, I'm not sure one hundred percent on the statistics, but I think the ratings probably peaked around season five or six. I did read somewhere though that worldwide, over eight hundred million people had watched the show," I mentioned.
Wilson headed out of the cafeteria, and I followed close behind. "You're kidding. Is House's life really that interesting?"
"House doesn't do uninteresting. Can you ever remember being bored around House?" I asked him.
Wilson seemed to consider that, then shrugged his shoulders. "Point," he conceded. "But House isn't exactly–"
"Your typical good guy main character?" We entered the lobby, the elevator bank our next stop.
"House isn't evil, but he's not exactly crusading for the common good, either."
"That what made the show so good!" I burst out, unable to control myself. What could I say? I loved talking about House, and I had exhausted my friends and family in my own universe with it long ago. "He wasn't the perfect protagonist, he wasn't even necessarily a good guy–he didn't always do the right thing. None of the characters did. The show didn't have characters, it had people. People who were human. Imperfect and screwed up beyond belief, each with their own personal demons, and House had more than all of them put together," I said, all in one rambling breath.
A thin, amused smile played on Wilson's lips. "You sure you can handle being in the same room with House without falling to your knees in hero worship?"
I rolled my eyes as we reached the elevators. "I handled myself fine in your office. It's really cool to meet him, but right now I'm just worried about convincing him that I'm not insane," I explained as Wilson hit the button for the fourth floor, and the elevator doors dinged shut. "He's really intimidating. I didn't expect him to be like that."
"You find House intimidating?"
"Yeah. You probably don't feel like that because you've been around him so long, but seeing someone through a TV screen and meeting them in person...two completely different things," I said, tilting my head in thought. "For instance, you're much more likable in person."
Wilson balked. "What, I wasn't likable on the show?"
"No, no, it's not that. It's just in ninety percent of the scenes you were in, you were with House, and you're not nice when you're around House. It's not because you yourself aren't nice, it's because you know nice bores him. So, I never really got much of an idea of what you were like just to talk to and be around." I smiled nervously at the oncologist. "You're really easy to talk to, by the way."
"Same goes for you," Wilson said, returning my smile. Wilson really was a nice guy. Quick to smile and laugh. How the hell was he friends with House? I thought to myself. I couldn't fathom what glue held the two men's friendship together. I was a scholar on all things House, but being here, in their world, was showing me just how little I really knew about them as people.
The elevator doors opened to reveal the fourth floor. We walked down the corridor, and I matched my pace with Wilson's so we walked side by side. Trying as best as I could to be subtle, I sniffed in his general direction. Yes, I was a giant creep, but I couldn't be the only one who wondered what they all smelled like.
Wilson didn't really have a smell...he just smelled clean, like fresh linens or something. Hmm. I made a mental note that during my time here, I would sniff every one of the main cast members. Hopefully without being noticed.
Focus! Got to convince House! I yelled at myself. I had to convince a world class skeptic of something nutty and inexplicable that I had no proof of other than my uncanny knowledge of future events.
We stopped in front of House's office. Through the glass, I saw the diagnostician combing his piercing eyes over a file, apparently unaware of our attention, or at least pretending to be unaware of it.
"I really hope I got the diagnosis right on Rebecca."
Wilson seemed perplexed by my concern. "You're not sure? Didn't they say that in the show?"
"Yes, but I can't be expected to remember the diagnosis for one hundred and seventy seven episodes, can I? Well, roughly one hundred and seventy seven episodes, since technically, a few of them didn't have patients of the week, like Broken and 5 to 9, and I guess technically although there was a POTW in No Reason, we never found out the diagnosis–" I broke off, noticing the look the oncologist was giving me. "Sorry. Shutting up now."
Wilson held open the door for me, something I noticed he did with every door we came to. How chivalrous. I walked through, greeting House with a stiff nod. He took of his glasses and examined me, and I felt positively naked in front of those searching eyes.
Well. This is awkward.
"Rebecca's leg turned up some larvae, I presume?" I said, swallowing my fear and putting on a cocky smirk. Fight fire with fire. I had to be able to match House in sheer arrogance and self-assuredness if I wanted to actually convince him to buy what I was selling. I had to be sure I was right, against all contrary evidence.
House's eyes were practically drilling holes through me. "Yeah. And now you're going to explain to me what the hell is going on." He seemed intrigued, but also frustrated. I'd no doubt taken the wind out of his sails by diagnosing his patient only a few hours after he had taken her on, not to mention he was probably annoyed at Wilson for pretending Rebecca was his cousin.
I sighed, my eyes bouncing to House's recliner in the corner of his office. I thought of asking his permission, but then remembered it was House, and I plopped down without any invitation. Sitting in House's Eames chair! my fangirl side screamed. Leaning forward, I folded my hands together.
"I already told you, I'm from an alternate universe. Some way I can't explain, I fell through some cross-dimensional portal and ended up here, in your dimension, which in my dimension is a television show. You'd mock me for this, but I personally think I was sent here for a reason. Like I said before, I think I can stop some of the stuff that happens over the next decade or so. Make all of you guys' lives turn out better." I held up my hands. "Not much more to explain. If I knew how the hell I ended up here, I'd tell you. Trust me."
"You see, if I can't trust you, then I–"
"Can't believe me when I say you can trust me?" I finished. If House looked surprised by my comment, he didn't show it. Wrapping his hand around his cane, he rose from his desk.
Wilson pointed at me. "House, I really don't think she's lying. She knows...everything. About you, about me, she knows stuff I've never told anybody! Stuff you've never told anybody! She knew Rebecca's diagnosis before you did, and you're arguably the best diagnostician in the world," Wilson insisted.
I flushed at his assistance, but was grateful for it. Having House's best friend on my side would definitely help my case.
"How do I know this isn't some elaborate prank? You give me a patient you already know the diagnosis to, then drum up some niece to pretend to be a mythical emissary from the future in an alternate universe," House pointed out, limping towards us.
Without meaning to, I winced. It had always helped watching the show to know that House wasn't actually in pain. That it was really just Hugh Laurie playing his part. But in this world, he was in very real pain. I felt bad for him. Terrible, actually. Although I had just technically met him, I cared about House a great deal. TV does that to you.
"One, from my knowledge, Wilson's brother doesn't have any kids. Two, I told you stuff that Wilson didn't know. There's other things I could say that Wilson didn't know, but since he's in the room, I don't want to violate your privacy," I explained.
House's eyes darted to Wilson. "Well, that's convenient, isn't it?"
"It's true," Wilson confirmed. "I was quizzing her about me and you, and she knew everything there was to know about either of us. The stuff that I didn't know about you and she did, she wouldn't tell me. She knew that I didn't know the answer," Wilson said. He gave me a pensive look, then returned his gaze to House. "This isn't a joke, this isn't a scam...I'm convinced this is real. I'm not being gullible. I can't explain how she knows what she does, unless she can somehow get inside of my head, and I know you don't believe in psychics."
I could see the battle raging behind House's eyes. The part that refused to believe something that couldn't be explained, and the part that was faced with the proof of the situation.
Right now, I was depending on the latter.