Chapter 11 — Misguided Ghosts

"Oh, I feel a philosophical debate coming on," I groaned, leaning my back against the passenger seat.

House snorted. "Integrity isn't a philosophy, it's a farce. Mythical. You offer anyone what they want, money, fame, power, and all those precious convictions and beliefs go straight out the window without a second thought."

"That's not true," I sighed. I immediately wanted to use an example of one of the many times that House refused to sacrifice his convictions for anything, even his own health, but none of them had happened yet, so I obviously couldn't use that in an argument.

"That's it?" House asked. "'That's not true'? Well, say no more, you have me convinced."

"You're the perfect example!" I burst out, deciding to focus on House's personality instead of specific incidents. "You are always sure you're right, you wouldn't sacrifice your depressing-ass world view for anything! That's integrity, House!" I pointed my finger in his direction. "You're a hypocrite."

Okay, maybe I was stepping out of line here, but if I didn't give back as good as I got, House would think he could walk all over me. If I wanted his respect, I had to earn it.

"That's not integrity, that's called having a spine," House responded. "If someone offered me millions of dollars to abandon my beliefs, gave me everything I wanted in life, I'd ditch them just as quickly as anybody else."

But you don't! You risked your job and one hundred million dollars of the hospital's money when you botched that speech for Vogler! You never abandon your ideals, ever!

That's what I wanted to say, but obviously I couldn't. And unfortunately, House must have seen the look on my face and figured that out for himself.

"You are biting your tongue so hard right now," House said, and I caught a hint of a smile from him as a stray street light illuminated his face.

"I'm not telling you anything about the future," I reaffirmed resolutely, crossing my arms and looking out the window.

"We'll see."

I opened the fridge, hunting for something to quench my growing thirst. House had already poured himself a glass of scotch, and with a sigh I realized the only thing the doctor had to drink in his apartment was beer, scotch, bourbon, and milk. I went to the sink and got a glass of water.

House surprised me by settling down not in front of the TV, but on the bench in front of his piano. Keep calm. Do not have a fangirl attack. I had managed thus far (for the most part) to maintain my composure, but I couldn't make any guarantees if House started playing the piano.

I'd always loved the piano; it was the first instrument I learned to play, though I learned that my talent was more oriented towards the guitar as I grew up. Still, nothing sounded better to me...especially if House was the one behind the keys.

So, I grabbed a medical text that House had left out on the kitchen table (Curtis on Immunology, which apparently was not yet being used to prop up House's piano) and plopped down on the couch, trying not reveal my hopefulness.

I flipped open to the first page, realizing what an incredible asset living with the world's greatest medical mind would be to my future career as a doctor. I began reading through the introduction chapter of the immunology textbook, patiently waiting (and hoping) for the tinkle of the keys on the piano.

By the time I reached the end of the first chapter, I decided that it was more likely that House had just sat as far away from me as possible. I didn't really take any offense. House's apartment only had three rooms, not including the bathroom, so House and I were going to be practically on top of each other a lot of the time. For a man that valued being alone and having privacy and personal space, it probably sucked.

I began working my way through the second chapter, picking out various grammar mistakes made by the good doctor Curtis (whom I hadn't liked during "Whatever It Takes") but still trying to take in as much as I could.

"Enjoying that?" House questioned after the long silence. "Most teenagers read magazines, not immunology textbooks."

"I'm not most teenagers," I replied distractedly, focused on the text. "Immunology's always interested me."

"Is that the specialty you're going to pick in med school?" he asked, sipping at his glass of scotch, which he had refilled twice since we had arrived back at his apartment. The alcohol seemed to be loosening House's tongue to some degree.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've been stuck between that and infectious disease. I'd do a double specialty like you, but I really don't think I can handle the workload." I stopped, staring into the distance as a realization crashed down on me.

"What?" House asked, noticing my sudden look of horror.

"God, I'm going to have to re-do all of those college essays!" I whined, thumping my head back against the couch. "Great. I busted my ass all junior year to get accepted to a good university, and now I have to do everything again."

"You sure swear a lot for a so-called devout Christian," House commented offhandedly.

A lot of people had observed that about me over the years; I was used to it. "Bad habit I picked up from my older brother. I've been trying to reign it in...I'm just upset. I came dangerously close to a mental breakdown last year with all the shit I had to do to get accepted to Brown. And that was only after I got rejected by both Temple and Michigan."

"One of the many drawbacks of switching universes. I assume you're going to try to get into Princeton?" he asked.

"Do I really have a chance of getting in, though? I mean, I'd love to go there, but I only pulled a 3.8 GPA my junior year, and other than student council, volunteering at the hospital, and my youth group, I didn't have any other extracurriculars."

House snorted. "Remind me to put good grades on your forged report cards. And some sports, too. Mind, body, spirit, bla bla bla."

"Will do." Silence again, only less uncomfortable, and more...companionable? I wasn't sure. I glanced at House, who was staring down at the keys, and I grew impatient of waiting. "Are you going to play?" I asked, feigning casualness.

It took a House a few moments to respond. His fingers brushed the keys, but didn't apply enough pressure to bring forth sound. "Not tonight," he said quietly.

He grabbed his glass of scotch and rose from his seat, picking up his cane from where it leaned against the wall. Without looking at me, House limped towards his bedroom door, halting briefly at the threshold.

"See you in the morning," was the last thing he said before opening and closing his door, disappearing into his room. I sat on the couch, utterly confused as to House's abrupt departure, and the fact that it wasn't even ten thirty and the legendary night owl was already heading to bed. I thought bourbon put him to sleep, and scotch kept him up?

I exhaled, making myself more comfortable on the couch as I grabbed the blanket that I had folded and placed underneath it earlier that day. I spread it over me before punching one of the sofa's pillows into a more comfortable shape.

I curled up with Curtis on Immunology, trying to quell the questions bouncing back and forth in my mind. Mainly, what the hell is going on with House?

For the second night in a row, I fell asleep without planning to, waking up to utter darkness. For a moment, I thought it was still nighttime, but then I realized that the black in front of my eyes was caused by the book that was open and covering my face.

Hmph. Well, at least this is familiar. I'd say six days out of seven, I fell asleep reading, which aside from watching House reruns religiously, was my favorite hobby. I peeled the book off of my face, blinking rapidly to adjust to the pale morning light streaming through the windows. Day three, I counted mentally.

I lifted my head as I set Curtis on Immunology on the floor, searching the apartment for signs that House was still home. I glanced at the clock. 10:45. He probably had only been gone for about a half an hour. I wasn't surprised that he hadn't interrupted my sleep during his morning routine. For the most part, I was a heavy sleeper. Yesterday had been an outlier, probably because I hadn't exactly been sleeping restfully—new universe, and all.

I contemplated going back to bed, but then changed my mind and threw my legs over the side of the couch, rubbing my eyes with my palms. Ugh...well, I guess this is better than waking up at six in the morning to go to school.

I stood up and stretched, groaning as my neck popped. It was a lucky thing I was young, or else sleeping on the couch would kill me. It reminded me of House's six week stint on Wilson's couch at the beginning of season six. I was always lost on why Wilson hadn't immediately reconverted his office into a guestroom. I mean, for a guy House's age, sleeping on a couch must have been murder, add in the complications from his leg...I shuddered at the thought.

Well, if I stop House from going to Mayfield, that will never happen, I told myself, moving like a zombie in the direction of the kitchen. I really needed to start coming up with a better game plan for when, why, and how I was going to interfere with the House timeline without making things worse.

I poured myself a cup of water, then hunted down a jar of jam and set about making myself some breakfast. I made a mental note to ask House to pick up some real food next time he went shopping.

What if it's hard for him to shop with his leg? Standing, walking around, pushing a cart with one hand would be hard, then loading the stuff into the trunk...

I blinked, kind of pissed at myself for not thinking of it before.

That's why the cupboards and fridge are so empty. It's difficult – borderline impossible – for him to shop, but there's no way he'd ever admit it and hire a personal shopper, or ask Wilson for help.

As I spread jam on my bread, I felt a sharp pang of compassion for House. Pathologically obsessed with his own independence and appalled by the idea of asking anyone for help, no matter how badly he needed it—who knew how many things he went without, just to save face?

I sighed as I took my plate and cup to the coffee table, sitting cross legged on the couch. I turned on the TV, hunting through the channels. I spotted a World War II documentary, something that wouldn't usually interest me, but my mother had taught 20th Century American History at my high school. Stupid, but I settled in to watch it. It let me feel closer to her, for a moment. Reminded me of home. My parents were always watching things like this together. Dad had a vested military interest, being ex-Air Force, and then Mom of course had been teaching the stuff every year, over and over, since 1999.

Fuck. I missed my parents.

What to do today? I asked myself as I gnawed on the jam-covered bread, trying desperately to distract myself from thoughts of home. I'd just have to hang out in front of the TV and wait for House to get home if I didn't think of anything else to occupy my time with. My eyes wandered around the room. There were plenty of records and books to entertain me as well, and I contemplated putting on one of the old records, but worried that maybe that was something I should ask House before doing.

Books then. I pondered going back to Curtis on Immunology, but then after perusing House's bookshelves, I decided to busy myself with the Hounds of Baskerville instead, deeming it a more worthy way to spend the day.

So, for the rest of the morning, I engrossed myself in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work. I had read the entire set of Sherlock Holmes books before (House was a Holmesian analogue, and that had piqued my interest) but they were really fantastic books, so I had no problem rereading them.

It gave me something to do, and it alleviated my boredom, and some of my homesickness. I couldn't wait for House to gather all the proper fake paper work so I could begin cyber school. I couldn't believe I was actually dying to go back to school. Back in my own universe, I had friends (well, friend, really) and family to spend time with. In this universe...well, everyone I knew was a doctor and an adult, people who generally didn't have time to hang out with a bored teenager.

So the day went on, I switched between watching TV, reading, and lamented over my loneliness. I didn't care if it annoyed House; tomorrow, I was asking to come to work with him.

House didn't come home around five like yesterday, so I assumed they must have been reaching the end of Dan's case. Cuddy was probably berating House for his paternity bet at that very moment. I leaned my head back on the sofa, wondering what to do now.

Why don't I just go for a walk? I was eighteen years old, and it's not like I needed House's permission to go somewhere. Fresh air sounded like quite possibly the best idea ever at the moment, and it wasn't terribly cold outside for November, far less blustery than the past few days. I glanced outside; the sun had yet to go down.

I grabbed a notepad from one of the drawers in the kitchen and scribbled a quick note to House.

House,

I was getting a little stir crazy, so I went for a walk. I'll be back before dark.

Anya

Short, sweet, and to the point. I left it on the coffee table in the living room and grabbed my coat from the hallway closet before heading out the door. I felt frightfully unprepared leaving the house without a cell phone. I was never much of a materialistic person, but I liked my stuff well enough. My cell phone, game systems, TV, laptop, guitar, skateboard...all the objects that had made up my daily routine were a universe away.

It made me feel oddly naked.

I shook it off, reminding myself that there were a lot more important things in the world than all the various toys I no longer had. I took the steps two at a time out of House's apartment, sucking a deep breath of cool air as soon as I was outside. Blissful.

I looked up and down the street, wondering where I should go. To my left seemed to be the busier part of Princeton, heading towards downtown. To the right appeared solely residential.

I decided not to risk getting hit by cars (navigating traffic on foot had never been one of my specialties) so I decided to head west. I walked down Baker Street, taking in the scenery that House saw every day of his life.

The most any House fan could really ever hope for was somehow getting a studio tour of where the show was shot. No one ever really dreamed that they could literally go into House's universe, actually stepping through the TV and landing in a world where it wasn't actors and props and backdrops, but real people and places. Solid. Touchable. Not a drop of fiction to be found. My mind was still caught between this is a pretty sweet deal and I have been sentenced to a lonely hell. I just desperately hoped that the novelty of House Land wouldn't wear off anytime soon, or I'd probably be diving in random fountains trying to get back to my own world.

Yes, because it's that simple. I ran a hand absentmindedly through my hair, wincing slightly against the cold breeze. I continued down the street, the only thing marking the passage of time was my feet hitting the sidewalk and the sun slowly continuing its journey to the horizon.

When I had been stressed out back at home, I would walk or skate around for hours, just watching everyone else go about their business. Seeing so many other people living their lives right in front of me gave me a sense of detachment from my own problems, something I appreciated. I would get myself lost in the city until my mom would call me and tell me to go home, or I had cleared my head enough to head back on my own.

Obviously I couldn't strike out as far as I wanted to, with no money, no cell phone, and no real knowledge of the area surrounding House's apartment, but I could at least stretch my legs and continue in a straight line until something stopped me. It turns out a sports field of some kind was what ended up being my dead end. I determined it to probably be six o'clock or so, and I was presented with the empty field and bleachers. There was no fence barring my entry, so I decided I might as well sit in the bleachers and relax for a moment before heading back to the apartment.

That's when I spotted a lone figure standing near the bleachers. From what I could gather at this distance, it was a he, and he was tall. Curious and wary at the same time, I bee-lined to the bleachers. However, I stopped dead in my tracks when a sudden feeling of deja vu hit me.

This is a lacrosse field...

Now that I was a bit closer, I could see a cane clutched in the man's hand. House! This is the end of Paternity! I wasn't aware that the case had been solved so quickly. I wondered how the timeline would work itself out.

I continued on my way, but veered far enough to the left to stay out of House's direct line of sight, though if he was paying attention, he would definitely see me. If my suspicions were correct, however, House would be right in the middle of reliving a game of lacrosse from his youth.

A distant memory hit me: watching Paternity for the first time, only nine years old and already hooked on House after just one episode. I remembered it as the first time a television show elicited any real emotion from me. The melancholy music playing in the background while House remembered the days before his leg was destroyed brought tears to my eyes. Hell, almost nine years later, it was threatening to do it again.

I kept a trained eye on House as I skirted around the back of the bleachers, ending up behind House, who still hadn't noticed me.

"Wheels, eighteen, wheels!" I heard him say, and I think my heart may have snapped in two at that moment. I was once more presented with two options. Alert House to my presence and talk to him, or return to the apartment and hope that I would beat him there (upon further inspection, I saw his car parked further down the block) and he wouldn't know that I'd ever been there at all.

Still deciding, I watched as House released his white knuckled grip on his cane, and put the rubber stopper back on the ground. I bit the inside of my lip, still racked with indecision. I opened up my mouth, about to speak, but then closed it.

I've already seen the most private moments of his life, and he never wanted that. He doesn't need to know I was here.

House was an intensely private person who was already putting himself way out of his comfort zone by letting me live with him. I wasn't going to push him any farther.

With one last look at the diagnostician's lonely figure, I headed back to the closest thing I had to a home.