Chapter 6—Face Off

Well, this is awkward.

Watching the show since I was a small child aside, I was now alone in the home of someone who I had technically just met that day.

Come on, you've known him for eight years! He just hasn't known you...okay, this reasoning isn't getting me anywhere.

"So, uh, is it okay if I grab a blanket from the hall closet?" I asked, glancing sideways at House. He made a vague gesture in response, and I took that as a yes.

I made my way to the closet and opened it up, already knowing what it contained. House's old lacrosse equipment, spare canes, dozens of tennis shoes, one of his many vicodin stashes, a few blankets, and coats. I wasn't sure whether the box with his father's officer's sword and pistol was in there yet. The show never made it clear as to whether House had gotten those before or after John died. That doesn't happen for over four years.

Damn. Having future knowledge was weird, and it was definitely going to take some getting used to. I was facing a massive dilemma in front of me. I had the power to change the course of House's life, and I intended to do so, and make sure that it changed for the better.

But how exactly did I know when to interfere and when not to? What if I changed something, and House's life just ended up being way worse? I'd been pretty distracted over the past couple of hours, but I already knew that at the very least, I had four things I needed to prevent:

1) Amber's death

2) Kutner's death

3) Wilson's cancer

4) House going to jail

Preventing death is kind of a given, but figuring out how the hell I was going to save the three of them was the problem. Amber was simple enough, just tell her to never ever get on a bus, or tell House to never call Wilson for a ride home from the bar once he and Amber started dating. Amber's death was random, deeply unfortunate chance, at the end of the day. So many pieces had to fall into place for her to die. Knocking a few out of the puzzle wouldn't be hard.

Kutner's would be a lot more complicated, considering the show never really gave an explanation as to why he killed himself. I mean, the guy had seemed happy and chipper almost to a fault, and then BAM! (quite literally) he suffers an unfortunate self-inflicted ballistic injury to the skull. Kutner, seemingly, had been a victim of 'actor got a new job' syndrome, which was lethal in most cases, especially with medical dramas. Kal Penn went to work for Obama, so David Shore and Katie Jacobs shot Kutner in the head. It was all very tragic and also did the double job of not telling me shit about how to save the guy.

They'd killed Kutner off because it was the perfect set-up for House's descent into insanity; the one puzzle House couldn't solve. Why did Kutner kill himself? House always had a pathological need for reason...but sometimes, there just wasn't a reason, or the reason was as simple as dysfunctional brain chemistry. Or as complicated as having to watch your parents get gunned down in front of you at age nine, and live with it every single day.

With Wilson, I guess I would just tell him to screen his chest for cancer every week until the thymoma developed, that way he could catch it as early as humanly possible. I probably wouldn't need to give him a heads-up for a few years yet, though.

Last but not least, I obviously couldn't let House go to jail, so by extension I couldn't let him drive his car into Cuddy's house. There were a couple ways to go about that. I could keep House and Cuddy from breaking up, I could make sure House wasn't at Cuddy's at that particular moment, or I could just straight up tell House that if he did that, he would go to jail.

That still left all the other terrible stuff that happened to House, and it left me wondering what I should change and what I should let run its course...

I had a lot of work ahead of me.

The biggest problem was, most of the time, the crappy situations House got himself into generally tended to resolve themselves. In the Vogler arc, everything basically went back to normal, and although there were definitely some sore feelings left behind after the whole Tritter incident, everything turned out fine in the end.

"Transfixed by the beauty of my shoe closet?"

I jumped, having not even having realized House was behind me. How come I didn't hear his cane on the floor? I must have really spaced out.

"S-sorry," I stammered, turning to face him, clutching the blanket in my hands. "I tend to get a bit lost sometimes."

He just shrugged before heading towards the kitchen. "You want a drink?" he called.

I blinked, surprised by the offer. I headed out into the living room and put the folded blanket down on the couch. "I don't drink," I called after him, having been asked that easily a hundred times since I turned fifteen. I was kind of a goodie-two-shoes. No alcohol. No drugs. Made life a hell of a lot easier in the long run, at least in my opinion. Also, if my parents ever caught me, I'd never be allowed to leave the house again.

"I heard a legend of there being this thing called soda, which apparently contains no alcohol," House responded, and I mentally slapped myself for automatically assuming he was offering me booze.

"Oh, duh...sorry. Wasn't thinking." Curse my social awkwardness. This was uncomfortable. I wanted it not to be, but there was a definite disconnect between the two of us; I knew everything about House, and he knew almost nothing about me.

House pulled two bottles of Nos out of the fridge. Ah. House's favorite energy drink, and also mine. I had been inspired to try it after I saw House chugging it in a season three episode. It was weird how I was just noticing how much the show had influenced my life. I truly believed my ambition to become a doctor had been a base desire I'd possessed for a long time, but maybe the thing that finally made me decide on medical school was watching the show...on repeat...day after day.

Beats me. But now it wasn't just influencing my life, it was my life. The home sick feeling returned, but I tried to shake myself out of it. When I was alone later, I would...mourn, I guess. Right now, however...

Well, right now, I guess I needed to get to know my new roommate.

I headed out into the kitchen. House sat down on one end of the table, placing the bottle meant for me on the other side, facing him.

Ah. Now I understood. House was sizing me up, turning the sides of the metaphorical Rubik's cube I represented. This should be interesting. Or frightening. Or both.

I sat down across from House, uncapping the bottle. It was only nine o'clock, and I generally didn't go to bed until one or two in the morning at the earliest. I also knew that House was a night owl. It looked like I was getting some quality time with my hero. Still, I really wished Wilson was here. I felt at ease around him, despite only technically knowing him for a day. House, on the other hand, made me incredibly fucking nervous. Especially because at that particular moment, he was staring at me with those trademark, piercing blue eyes.

I felt like a lamb in the lion's den.

"So," he began, his drink sitting untouched in front of him. "What exactly are you going to try to fix? What terrible fate am I doomed to if I supposedly need some discount guardian angel?"

Doesn't waste much time, does he?

"House, I don't think it's a good idea for me to tell you your future. It would probably just make things end up worse," I said carefully. Not revealing House's future would be difficult. I wasn't good at hiding things from people. I prided myself on my honesty, and House prided himself on prying things out of people.

"Logic would dictate that if I knew what to do and what not to do, things would turn out better because I wouldn't make mistakes," House said, unscrewing the cap of his drink.

"Yeah, well, every time travel book, movie, and video game would indicate that telling you your future is a terrible idea," I responded. "The truth is a powerful thing. You of all people should know that."

"Turning my own world views back on me? Kind of hypocritical, since you don't agree with most of them." He narrowed his eyes at me as he drained a sizable portion of his Nos in one go.

I mirrored him. He wanted to see if I could keep up with him, in more ways than one. "I agree with most of them, actually," I said, wiping my mouth. "Besides your stubborn refusal to accept a higher power, I pretty much roll with your point of view."

"So what exactly is my point of view?" he challenged.

"Everybody lies. Perseverance does not equal worthiness. Arrogance has to be earned. Most people are idiots, and people don't change," I told him, refusing to drop his gaze. Earning House's respect was a monumental challenge, but I would have to face it if I wanted living with him to be possible.

"People don't change..." House trailed off, seeming intrigued. "So, people don't change when they find God. Proving religion to be only a shallow comfort at best, something to hold close at night so you can tell yourself, yes, you really are better than everybody else, because Jesus loves you."

I noticed the trap immediately for what it was, but I was quick with a response: "I think we're all waiting to find out who we are. Once we really discover ourselves, we don't change. We'll always be that person on the inside. We can change how we look and act, but we can't change our essence, if that makes any sense."

House considered that. "Okay, I'll play along. How does one discover themselves? Is it those pamphlets the Jehovah's Witnesses keep showing up at my door with?"

"It's different for everyone. I believe everyone has a defining moment in their life where they're shown the...the mirror to their soul, I guess," I said carefully. House was trying to gauge how smart I was, and I was reasonably terrified that he would deem me to be an idiot and not worth his time. Compared to House, most people were idiots, and I wasn't confident I was an exception.

"Oh? If you know me so well, what was my defining moment?" he asked, lacing his fingers together around the bottle of Nos.

I tilted my head, some of my anxiety fading as my mind wrapped around House's question. "Hmm..."

The answer came to me quickly. There was never really any doubt, was there?

Problem: I couldn't tell House what it was.

"SHUT UP YOU IDIOT"

House, waiting on the doorstep for Wilson. "I'm dead, Wilson. How do you want to spend your last five months?"

The series finale held up the mirror to House, held up by the ghosts of everyone he'd loved, or had left him behind. What really matters to you, House?

And House had answered.

It wasn't the puzzles. Not the vicodin. Not even himself.

Wilson.

I sighed, knowing that I'd have to give House a half-answer, not wanting to reveal his future to him. "You haven't reached the point yet, but let's say that in a few years you'll find out what's really important to you," I deflected.

He let out a short, sharp laugh "Yeah, okay. I feel like I'm talking to a priest. Non-answers and no proof to back up anything you say." He leaned back in his chair and lifted his drink to his mouth, tilting his head back as far as it would go. He was chugging it. Taking the silent challenge, I took the bottle and began pouring it down my throat, only pausing to swallow.

We both slammed our empty drinks down at the same time. Our eyes were still locked.

"I'm not here to make your life more difficult," I told him, faintly out of breath. "I'm here to make your life better. I'll help around the house, as soon as you get me a fake ID I'll get a job. I'm not going to just freeload off of you under the auspice of being your personal savior. If I have any say, things will turn out differently, but in the meantime I'm not going to get in your way."

I fully intended to pay House back for all the clothes and necessities he'd paid for. I already felt extremely guilty, despite House's financial security.

"Hard not to get in my way when you're living in my way," he observed.

My heart clenched, and I desperately hoped that House wasn't rethinking his decision on letting me stay with him. Squaring my jaw and making sure my fears didn't show, I shrugged. "If it's a problem, I'll leave."

House didn't buy it. "No, you won't."

He pushed himself out of his chair, and limped slowly into the living room. I knew from experience that House just expected people to follow him without giving them any indication that they needed to, so I tailed him to the couch, where he sat down and flipped on the TV.

"I'm going to go get changed real quick," I told him. I had just noticed that I was still in my cobbled together outfit, and with my nice new clothes sitting in plastic bags just a few feet away, it seemed pointless to continue wearing the hand-me-downs.

I headed into House's bathroom, taking one of the bags with me. I quickly stripped out of my over-sized clothes and red bikini. The only thing I left on my body was my gold cross necklace.

I slipped on a pair of comfortable pajama pants and a tank top, then tugged a hoody on over top of it.

I walked out of the bathroom, in the midst of putting my thick auburn hair into a messy pony tail. House was still sitting on the couch, and I wondered if this was House conceding that I would at least be tolerable to live with, or another test. I finished my pony tail, and then I considered him for a moment before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. I knew how much House valued his personal space. Plus, I was still majorly uncomfortable with...well, all of this. I mean, maybe I was just star struck or something, but House's mere presence put me very much on edge, though not in a wholly bad way.

House had turned on What's Not to Wear. I didn't much care for the show, but House had possession of the remote.

So, there we sat. Me, and my fictional hero come to life. The reality still had yet to come fully crashing down on me, but the mundanity of just sitting on the couch, watching television with House...this isn't a dream. This isn't a hallucination. This is, in some capacity, reality.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" I voiced my thoughts to House quietly.

"Either that, or you took the brown acid," House said distractedly. "Now shut up. I want to know how to make earth tones work in summer. Clinton's a genius."