Chapter 10 — Pop Quiz
I poked my head into the differential room. House faced away from me, eyes combing over the white board, willing it to give him answers. Chase and Foreman were evidently waiting for House to say something, both looking simultaneously wiped and interested as they stared at their boss's back.
"Uh, is it okay if I hang out in here?" I asked, though I wasn't sure why I bothered. I probably could have just sat down at the table without saying a word, and House would have paid me no mind.
House didn't even glance at me, but he did dignify my question with a response: "Last time I checked, you didn't have a medical degree."
"Must have left it at home," I replied mordantly, leaning up against the glass wall that separated House's office and the differential room.
Chase and Foreman's attention slid to me. Chase was curious; Foreman more wary.
"Um...well, uh, the oligoclonal bands must indicate a brain infection," Chase began.
"Ah, why'd you have to break the awkward silence? I was having so much fun," House said over his shoulder before turning to me. "Give me a good idea and you can stay, otherwise, go scurry off to Wilson's office or something."
Crap. For the first time in my life, my medical knowledge would actually be tested. I sighed, staring at the white board. Double vision. Night terrors. Myoclonic jerk. Hallucinations. I bit hard on the inside of my lip, trying to focus. I didn't bother trying to remember what anyone's ideas were from the episode, my memory was too fuzzy for that.
"Neurosyphilis," I suggested, hoping to God my idea wasn't ridiculous or stupid. The constellation of Dan's symptoms definitely fit, and it went without saying that the guy was sexually active. Sixteen-year-old lacrosse star? I knew guys in my grade that didn't have anything going for them, and they still got laid. Plus, kids were stupid. Thought protection was an option, not a requirement.
"RPR was negative," House replied, and I took a second to remember what the hell an RPR test was. Rapid...rapid something? Rapid Plasma Reagin, is that it?
"RPRs are false positives thirty percent of the time," I argued, not sure whether that was a statistic from the show, something I'd read somewhere, or something I pulled entirely out of my ass.
"Parents said he wasn't sexually active," Foreman added, shooting a sideways glance in my direction, seeming confused by my medical knowledge.
I gave the neurologist a look that translated roughly into, Come on, dude. "Everybody lies," I said simply.
I thought I saw a ghost of a smile cross House's face, but a split second later Cameron pushed through the outer door to the differential room before I could confirm my suspicions.
"I got your page, what happened?" she asked.
"Patient tried to take a dive off of the roof. Thought he was on the lacrosse field. Question is, why?"
Cameron furrowed her brow at House's response. "How did you get him off of the roof?"
"Apparently when push comes to shove, Chase is the brave hero who tackles damsels in distress before they can accidentally kill themselves. Way to drop the ball on that one, Foreman." To my dread and fascination, I noticed a familiar spark in House's eyes.
I pursed my lips nervously. Oh no. That's the 'idea' look, but I'm pretty sure he didn't just have an epiphany.
"He doesn't have MS, then," Cameron surmised as she took a seat next to Chase, eyes darting to me for a split second. "Why don't you sit down?"
I smiled at her before glancing at House. "Thanks," I plopped down across from Cameron and next to Foreman.
"So, Dr. Cameron, considering the new symptom, what do you think our patient has?" House asked, twirling his cane and tilting his head at her.
Oh shit. Please, please let her have a different idea than me.
"Judging by the constellation of symptoms I'd say neurosyphilis, if the RPR test was a false positive—"
"I agree completely," House interrupted her. "Go start him on penicillin injections. Call me if anything changes, but only if anything changes."
Without another word, House headed for the door.
"Dr. House!" Foreman called. "It's way too risky doing injections into a brain that's already on the fritz, especially a high volume drug like penicillin. Increased ICP could cause his brain to herniate and kill him."
House seemed to ponder this for a moment before looking at me. "Care to tell him why his worrying is completely needless?"
I stared at him, wondering what the hell he wanted me to say. Paternity, think!
"Um...he has a shunt left in from the LP, doesn't he?" I questioned hesitantly.
"And the fourteen year old beats out the thirty two year old neurologist," House muttered as he left the room, leaving Foreman looking dumbfounded and pissed off at the same time. House had obviously asked me that just to dumbfound the team, there wasn't really anything impressive about me remembering that Dan had a shunt.
"How did you know?" Chase asked, absolutely befuddled.
"House and I talked about the case earlier," I answered, not really able to think of any other way I would've known how Dan had been treated. "Also, don't listen to him. I'm eighteen, not fourteen."
"Isn't that a breach of confidentiality?" Cameron asked carefully.
I shrugged. "House doesn't seem like he's all that into ethics," was the only response I could think of.
There was a long moment of awkward silence, and contrary to what House had said, it was not fun. I sat there uncomfortably, my face growing hot under the team's scrutiny.
"I'm uh, going to go follow him," I muttered, standing up from the chair and making a beeline for House's office. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"Wait," Foreman called from behind me.
I turned apprehensively, eager to get out of the room as quickly as possible. I obviously needed to tail House, as he was my ride home, not to mention I just hadn't murdered my fangirl side well enough to be around all three of them at once without throwing up on my shoes.
"Yes?" I asked, fiddling nervously with the bottom of my shirt.
"Are you really House's daughter, or is he just screwing with us?" Foreman asked.
I almost had to laugh. Even after only having known House for a short time at this point during the series, his team was still highly suspicious of him. Like I mentioned before, it really was lucky I came in during the pilot, or else no one would have bought for even half a second that House was my father.
"Yeah, yeah...he really is."
Feigning somberness wasn't something I had to worry about. Not only had I lost my mother, but my father too—not to death, but to say they were out of my reach was an understatement. This loss was complicated and difficult to process; lost in a fantasy I had entertained thousands of times, but without the only things that had made my life, my original life, worth living.
Foreman and Chase nodded slowly.
Cameron frowned, not so easily convinced. "And you've only known since yesterday?" she asked for clarification.
"Yeah. My mom, she died in a car crash not too long ago. She left a letter explaining everything in her will about who my father was. Said she thought I would be better off without him in my life, but if something happened, she was pretty sure he could provide for me. I didn't have any living relatives, so, now I'm kind of stuck with him until I finish my senior year."
I was a garbage liar, but I think the fact that in this particular situation, truth was definitely stranger than fiction, helped me perpetuate it with greater ease than usual.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Chase said, and I was pretty sure he meant it.
I gave the three of them a half-smile. "Thank you. I better get going before he leaves without me." I turned on my heel and beat a hasty retreat to House's office. Once inside, I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding.
House already had his backpack over his shoulder. "Tea time with my new team?"
I nodded. "Yep. They wanted to know if you were serious about me being your daughter." House pushed out of his office. I followed behind, scooping my coat up from where I had thrown it over his recliner.
We walked side by side down the hallway. "They buy it?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes. You were so vague about it they thought you were messing with them. The sad thing is, I can't even yell at you for saying it like you did, 'cause if you really did have a daughter, that's probably exactly how you would act."
"How do you know how I would act?" he asked.
"SHOW. EIGHTS YEARS," I emphasized.
"Speak up, I don't think the kids down in pediatrics heard you," a voice said behind us, and I jumped, though House didn't.
"Hey, Wilson," I greeted him, as the oncologist sidled up beside House, having just left his own office.
"Hi, Anya. Still standing?"
I snorted. "And how."
Wilson switched his attention to House. "Shouldn't you be home? It's way past five."
"My patient made like a 1920s stockbroker and tried to walk off the roof," House explained as we reached the elevator. I jabbed the button for the ground floor before House had the chance.
Wilson, understandably, appeared confused. "He tried to kill himself?"
House shook his head as the elevator doors slid open. "Nope. Thought he was on the lacrosse field. Chase tackled him down, and we got a new symptom: hallucinations. Which is way more exciting than him just being really, really sad."
The elevator doors closed, and Wilson asked, "What is your team thinking?"
"My team is thinking it's neurosyphillis," House replied. "And apparently she is, too," he said, jerking his head towards me. "Gotta love that recycled medical knowledge."
"House, I told you earlier, I don't remember everything said on the show. I looked at the symptoms, the progression, and the other factors involved, and I came up with neurosyphillis. It's not my fault that Cameron came up with the same idea," I defended.
Although I knew it would be a rough battle, I really did want to gain House's respect. This was definitely not a good way to start.
"Right, you and a doctor who's had ten years of medical schooling immediately jump to the same conclusion," House said sarcastically.
I just glared at him, mainly because I couldn't think of a decent rebuttal. Obviously I didn't know jackshit about medicine compared to a professional, but I had a grasp of concepts beyond just regurgitation. I could extrapolate things that—if I do say so myself, an average teenager probably couldn't—from a list of symptoms.
"Test me, then. Give me a set of symptoms, and ask me what my medical opinion is on them," I proposed, the idea striking me suddenly. "Then I'll be able to prove that I didn't just steal Cameron's idea."
"How about I give you the symptoms," Wilson interjected before House could speak. "House'll just be sadistic and give you a trick question."
"That...is probably true," I admitted.
House just rolled his eyes. "Get on with it. You've got until the elevator opens."
"Alright...seizures, blindness, lower-limb paralysis, and general weakness," Wilson offered.
I probably only had another thirty seconds before the elevator doors opened, so I was going to have to think fast, here.
Nature of the symptoms is neurological...I don't have any deeper information on the patient, no tox screens, blood panels, vitamin levels, MRI scans, so knowing Wilson, I should jump to the most obvious scenario, and not something that would require deeper knowledge. Also knowing Wilson, it won't be something overly difficult, but it'll be something obscure enough that House won't say the question was too easy.
"Err. Cerebral vasculitis?" I guessed, biting the edge of my lip.
"Is that your final answer?" House asked in a dramatic voice.
"Yeah," I replied as resolutely as I could.
"Close, but no cigar," Wilson said, giving me an apologetic half smile.
"One point for House, zero points for the faux prodigy from another dimension," House gloated.
"Okay, come on, give me another chance, elevator isn't open yet." I closed my eyes again, searching through the possibilities I had earlier discarded. I had to at least partially pass this test.
"Final answer means final answer."
"Give her another chance, House."
"Polyneuropathy. CIDP, to be more specific," I said quickly and somewhat confidently.
Wilson looked surprised and a little bit impressed. Yes! Victory! "That's—"
"And how would you test for CIDP?" House interrupted Wilson before he could confirm that I had the right diagnosis.
"Um...you could either do a sural nerve biopsy, or you could do a spinal tap and test for anti-ganglioside antibodies."
I was really thanking God that I had volunteered at the local hospital for the past two summers, sitting with patients. I'd picked up a thing or two. Never mind the fact that I read medical journals out of interest since season eight ended, desperate for something that could give me that same thrill as new episodes of the show did.
"And how would you treat for CIDP?" House pressed, apparently not satisfied.
"IVIG," I responded, not missing a beat. The elevator doors opened, punctuating the end of my statement. We filtered out into the crowd in the lobby.
"Wow," Wilson said. "Not bad."
"Please. A first year med student could have guessed that. And she got it wrong the first time," House added.
I frowned, scratching the back of my neck. "Not easily impressed, are you?"
House snorted. "Shouldn't you already know that?"
Wilson looked amused, but actually spoke up to defend me. "House, cut her some slack. Not many people would even understand a word of what's said in your differentials, the fact that she can give a sort-of informed medical opinion, that's a lot for a teenager."
I tried to hide how pleased I was by Wilson's praise.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't you have a wife to go home and disappoint?" House retorted.
We stepped out into the cold, blustery November night, and I shivered, looking forward to the relative warmth of House's car.
"Nice," was Wilson's only reply. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck with your patient. Anya, good luck with him," he said, jerking his thumb at his best friend.
"Thanks, Wilson."
"Oh, God. Are you two going to hug again?" House groaned as Wilson separated from us to head to his own car. I could hear Wilson's laugh echo in the near-empty parking lot.
House pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his car with a small click. I blinked a few times, rubbing a hand over my eyes. It wasn't even that late, but I was exhausted nonetheless.
"Ready for beddy-bye?" House asked, sliding into the driver's seat as I walked around to the passenger side door. "Sorry, I'm short on bedtime stories, but I can tell you about the seeping gonorrhea I had to look at in the clinic last week—"
"I'm really good," I said quickly. "And I don't know if you've realized this by now, but I'm actually not six."
"Really? Could've fooled me," House responded as he started up the car. "Clueless, naive, four feet tall, and so tragically innocent that you make Wilson want to adopt you."
"I'd say being from the future by default makes me anything but clueless, I'm not naive, I'm over five feet, and I'm not that innocent."
"Ever had sex?" he asked abruptly, and I was grateful for the dark car, because I'm pretty sure my face was glowing bright red at the moment.
"That has nothing—" I spluttered in response, but House cut me off.
"Ever done drugs?"
"No, I—"
"Ever stolen anything?"
"Breaking the law doesn't—"
"Have you ever done anything bad ever?" he asked.
He pulled out of PPTH parking lot, and we were on our way back to his apartment.
"I've done stupid, bad things just like anyone else, but I have a moral compass, you know? That doesn't make me innocent, it means I have integrity," I explained, trying to steer the conversation away from the more personal direction it had been threatening to go in.
"Integrity," House began, pulling onto the main drag, "is a joke."
Well, this should be a fun argument...