Chapter 12 — Keep It Simple, Stupid
"No way. Not happening," House affirmed adamantly as he plucked his keys and wallet off the counter.
"House, I don't want to start an argument this early, because frankly I don't function well before noon, but I might actually die of boredom if I have to stay here alone all day again," I pleaded my case with the diagnostician, hoping that I could convince him to let me tag along with him to work. I wasn't sure when Occam's Razor was going to begin, but I expected House had a few boring days of avoiding clinic duty before the case came along.
Wandering around PPTH would sound boring to the normal person, but to me it sounded like a dream come true. I hadn't had much of a chance to explore yet. Not to mention, House still hadn't told Cuddy about me, and I expected that Wilson was waiting for House to bring it up instead of going around his back to Cuddy.
"What's the difference between staying here alone and staying at the hospital alone? I have things to do. I'm a busy guy; I can't baby-sit you all day," House said, making his way toward the door.
"I'm eighteen! You don't have to! I can take care of myself."
"Then stay home," House suggested as he pulled open the front door.
Sighing, I tailed him out. I had decided early the day before that I was not spending another day alone in Taj MaHouse, so I was dressed by the time House emerged from his room. We had both gone to bed late that night. Dead Poets Society had been on, and I convinced House to watch it with me because I wanted to see who played Neal now since Robert Sean Leonard was quite obviously absent from the film.
House's running commentary had made it interesting, especially with his opening impression being, "So Wilson played the gayest guy in the film?"
When House had arrived home the night before, he had made no comment about the lacrosse field and gave no indication that he had seen me or knew that I had been present during his flashback, and I was totally fine with that. He actually surprised me with takeout, which I was incredibly grateful for. We had eaten in front of the TV and remained there until after the movie was over at about two in the morning.
I was tired as hell, but I was determined. I stubbornly stepped in front of the door, facing House head on.
Don't throw up…don't cry…don't curl into a ball…don't pass out.
Complete defiance. That's what I was going for. House was not leaving this apartment without me.
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Get out of my way," he said quietly.
Willpower!
I quickly stepped out of House's way and let him open the door. Damn it, I'm weak. But how was I supposed to just not listen to House when he was towering over me and staring me down like that?
However, I did follow him out of the apartment. "Still coming with you!" I said in a sing-song voice, keeping pace with him.
"God, you're like a parasite," he said, completely exasperated as the two of us headed down the steps of his apartment building.
"I'll take what I can get," I said with a shrug, pursuing him to his car and opening the side door, sitting resolutely in the passenger seat.
House just stared at me. "Seriously?" he asked me, obviously annoyed.
"Dead serious," I replied, crossing my arms after I buckled my seat belt. House continued to stare at me for a few more seconds before rolling his eyes at me and starting up the car, pulling away from the curb without further argument.
I tried to keep the self-satisfied smile off of my face, I really did...but hey, I had just strong-armed House. That was something to be proud of, if you ask me. The car ride to PPTH passed mostly in silence. House wasn't much of a talker in the early hours of the day, I noticed, and honestly, I was much the same. When we arrived, House and I walked side by side into the hospital lobby, and I tugged at his sleeve before we could pass the registration desk. He looked at me, eyes flashing with irritation, and I motioned to Cuddy's office.
"It's time to tell Mother Superior about your daughter," I said pointedly.
"I still like the maid cover better," House muttered, though I could tell he knew that it was time to finish spreading our little cover story around. "Fine. But you're coming."
"Oh, now you want me along?"
House turned and headed for Cuddy's glass-enclosed office, with me trailing behind.
"You think she'll believe me if I don't sit the proof directly in front of her?" House asked as his hand settled on the door. He pushed it open without knocking. He strolled in, and Cuddy didn't even bother looking up at him.
I stopped on House's left, examining the last of the original House cast I had yet to meet. Cuddy's hair was thick, curly, and bound back in a ponytail of sorts (as she usually did in the first season) and of course she had the classic 'I'm the boss and I'm a very attractive woman' look going on.
In regards to Cuddy, I liked her...most of the time. She and House's banter had a certain quality to it that I always found entertaining, especially in the earlier seasons. She was one of the only people House treated as an equal. Respected, even...as much as House respected anyone.
And of course I was a die-hard Huddy shipper, which meant I both adored Cuddy and simultaneously hated her for dumping House. Not to the level that I thought she deserved how House treated her after they broke up, but enough that I still had that dim sense of resentment towards her, even though what I was miffed about wouldn't happen for another seven years.
Mental note, don't let that happen this time.
"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy! How are you on this fine day?" House asked loudly, jarring her from her work.
With a long-suffering sigh, Cuddy lifted her head, lips pursed and eyes wary. "Busy. What do you want, House?" Cuddy glanced at me, arching a thin eyebrow at my presence. "Who's this?"
"My name's Anya," I said before House could make some smartass comment. "I'm, uh..." Come on, tap into your acting skills. Fake it till you make it, right? "Well, I'm kind of his daughter," I finished, motioning to House weakly. Oh yeah. That was great. Where's my fucking Oscar?
"Daughter," Cuddy repeated. She stared at the two of us like we were insane. "You're his daughter?" she asked for clarification, looking directly at me.
"Yep," House answered for me. "She's the product of a combination of a few too many Jaeger Bombs and Ladies Drink Free Night at a dive bar in Goldsboro." Leave it to House to not even attempt to romanticize my fake origin story.
"My mom never told me about my father," I said, trying to cover House's remark with further elucidation. "She died in a car crash not too long ago. She didn't have any family, there was really no one left to take care of me for my last year of high school." I glanced at House. "So—"
"So we're stuck with each other," House finished. "Just thought I'd let you know. A pay raise may be in order, now that I've got a dependent to look after..."
Cuddy bit the inside of her lip, and watched the two of us for a moment, and I would a hazard a guess that she was trying to determine if our story was true. "How old are you?" she asked, directing the question at me.
I actually had to stop myself from saying seventeen before I replied with, "I just turned eighteen."
"I'm working on enrolling her in school. Until then I don't want to leave her alone in my apartment," House said. "I brought her here. I figured I don't have a patient, so she won't be a distraction. Plus, she wants to grow up to be just like me, so hanging around the hospital will just be great for her future career as a candy striper."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," I muttered. "So, is it alright if I hang out at the hospital today?" I asked politely, hoping Cuddy wouldn't sentence me to another boring day back at my new home.
"I guess I don't see any harm in it," Cuddy said slowly before rising. "Anya, could you give..." She glanced at House, gaze ripe with suspicion. "Can you give me a minute with your father?"
"Um, sure," I said, quickly exchanging a look with House before retreating out of the room and shutting the door.
I rested my back against the glass, waiting patiently for Cuddy to most likely give House the third degree as to whether this was all true or not.
Poor House. I was glad I wasn't in there for his interrogation. I waited idly outside of the door for a few minutes, pacing as I watched the crowd in the hospital's lobby thicken with morning traffic.
I was jostled from my position when the door opened. I stepped aside as House limped out of Cuddy's office, slamming the door behind him. He didn't halt as he continued on his way to the elevators.
"Is everything alright?" I asked, trotting to catch up with him. He seemed pissed off, and I kind of felt bad for leaving him alone in the lion's den.
"Well, first she asked me if I thought I was fit to take care of a teenager, then she launched into a lecture on doing clinic duty. She's revoking my treatment privileges until I start making an effort," he growled.
We stepped onto the elevator. "But..." That didn't make any sense. House's treatment privileges were temporarily revoked in the pilot episode, not between Paternity and Occam's Razor. But I interfered with the timeline when I told House Rebecca's diagnosis...it bumped the whole clinic duty lecture ahead by a few days. "Oh, I see."
"What?" House asked.
"In the original timeline she cut you off earlier. It doesn't really matter. But hey, look at it this way! You'll be caught up in 2054." I offered him a reassuring smile. House simply groaned in response.
"Well, at least you're being punished, too. You get to sit around and watch me wipe noses and treat whatever flavor of crotch rot the idiots in the clinics have," House snarked.
Honestly, hanging out with House while he did clinic duty didn't sound bad at all. I thought it was kind of awesome. Yeah, most of the patients would probably be boring as hell by House standards, but getting to watch him work and apply his usual brand of condescending sarcasm to said work would be pretty entertaining.
House must have seen the faint smile on my face. "Oh God, you're excited by it."
"I wouldn't say excited, but..." I relented. "Okay, fine. Yeah, I find it exciting. What can I say, I'm enthusiastic about medicine, even if it is pretty mundane stuff."
"Lucky you," House said as we exited out onto the fourth floor, making our way to House's office.
I furrowed my brow for a second when I saw Cameron, Chase, and Foreman sitting in the differential room. "Why are they here on the weekend if you don't have a case?" I asked, tilting my head up to look at House.
"What, you think they have somewhere else to be?"
"Dr. Cuddy told me to give you these," Nurse Brenda said, handing House a thick stack of patient files.
House grudgingly accepted them and leaned against the counter of the nurse's station and paged through a few of them, tossing them to the side as he did so. "Cold... cold...faking sick to get out of school...cold...probably syphilis..." he muttered, barely looking at each file for more than a couple of seconds.
"House, I'm pretty sure you have to actually see the patients to know what's wrong with them," Brenda said tiredly, leveling a glare at the older doctor.
"I'm sorry, did you miss that class in med school?" He then made a face of mock surprise at her. "Oh right, you didn't go to med school!" House grabbed one of the charts from the thick pile and jerked his head toward exam room one. "Come on, kid. Runny noses to treat."
"Am I allowed to actually be in the exam room? I mean, doctor-patient confidentiality, right?" I inquired.
"If anyone asks, you're a nursing student," House responded, opening the door and heading inside. A young woman sat there with a small child who was gripping a frog toy. This seems familiar...
"I see here she doesn't take formula," House began immediately, not bothering to introduce himself or even really look at the patient. He dragged over a stool and sat to the woman's right, near her child. I leaned against the wall and smiled pleasantly at her.
"No formula, just Mommy's healthy, natural breast milk," she replied with a small smile. Wait a minute...she's not the 'teeny tiny coffins' woman is she?
"Yummy," House commented offhandedly.
"Her whole face just got swollen like this overnight," the woman explained, motioning to her child's puffy and bright red face.
"No fever, glands are normal...missing her vaccination dates," House pointed out, eyeing the woman and the child respectively.
Oh God. It is.
"We're not getting her vaccinated," the oblivious woman said, making the frog dance in front of the baby, which she giggled along with as she made frog noises. "Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit."
"Do you think they don't work?" House asked, watching the woman play with her child. And here we go...
"I think some multinational pharmaceutical company wants me to think they work. Pad their bottom line," the woman told him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. Jesus Christ. It hadn't occurred to me that before the advent of Facebook, anti-vaxxers were still a thing. Just as dumb in 2004 as they were in 2012.
"Mmm," House replied, pursing his lips before extending his hand towards the frog. "May I?"
"Sure," the baby's mother responded, handing House the frog, which he held in front of the little girl.
"Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit," House echoed, smirking at the toddler before examining the frog with a keen eye. "All natural, no dyes, that's a good business: all natural children's toys. Those toy companies, they don't arbitrarily mark up their frogs. They don't lie about how much they spend on research and development. The worst a toy company can be accused of is making a really boring frog."
The woman, foolishly thinking that House was agreeing with her, laughed. House laughed with her, and the baby giggled.
"Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit. You know what's another really good business? Teeny tiny baby coffins. You can get them in frog green or fire engine red. Really. The antibodies in yummy mummy only protect the kid for six months, which is why these companies think they can gouge you. They think that you'll spend whatever they ask to keep your kid alive. Want to change things? Prove them wrong. A few hundred parents like you decide they'd rather let their kid die than cough up forty bucks for a vaccination, believe me, prices will drop really fast. Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit."
I couldn't help it; I cringed. On TV, it was funny. In real life, it was still kind of funny, but also astoundingly insensitive. The woman just gaped at House for a straight minute as he continued to play with the frog.
"Tell me what she has!" the woman finally demanded.
House handed the frog back to her and grabbed the chart where he had laid it on the exam table. He rose from his stool and grabbed his cane. "A cold," he said over his shoulder as he exited the exam room without another word. The woman stared at me as House left, apparently expecting me to give her some kind of guidance.
"Um," I said. "Sorry about that. He's kind of straightforward. But he is right, you should really get her vaccinated."
"Does she really have a cold?"
"I would say so, yes. Just give her a lot of fluids and keep an eye on her, bring her back in if her symptoms become more severe," I instructed in my best doctor-voice.
The woman nodded slowly, glancing at her child and biting her lip. "Alright."
I exited the room and chased after House. "No wonder you get so many lawsuits. You're as delicate as a bulldozer," I sighed, coming to stand next to House at the counter.
"The woman's an idiot," House said, nonplussed.
"Well, yes. But she was worried about her kid."
"Still an idiot!" House responded. "Come on, looks like we've got our first STD of the day. This should be a blast."
Oh, joy.