Chapter 28 – Strange Fruit
A/N: I'm human garbage. Thank you all for the undeserved love. Here's an update. Please don't hate me and my turtle-dying-of-cancer writing speed.
"Our argument stands. Mr. Giles's mental state when he signed the DNR was not sound, and Dr. House did nothing other than save his life – and now that this has become a legal issue, he deserves the chance to face his accuser and attest to the charges against him, and prove that he was acting in the patient's best interest."
The judge lifted his hammer, eyes still distant, distracted. "Given the circumstances, I think a many-sided issue like this is something that needs to be dealt with in a full trial. I rule that John Henry Giles is to be kept on life support until we can have a full trial and come to a decision regarding the DNR and the criminal charges against Dr. House."
Judge Winter brought down his gavel, and then called, "The court is adjourned."
Wilson and I stood, and House followed, and I could see that he was trying hard to hide a victorious smirk. The three of us joined up, then weaved through the thick crowd in the court room, making our way out into the corridor. As soon as we were out, House immediately began to loosen his tie, as if it had been choking him.
"Congratulations. Impressive legal argument," Wilson acknowledged.
"I watched Matlock last night," House said, which, funnily enough, was actually true.
"Say no more." Wilson snorted. "You didn't see any clubbing on the judge's fingers."
"Of course I didn't." House removed is tie and handed it to me. I didn't know what he expected me to do with it. I folded it neatly and tucked it in the pocket of my jacket.
"So the family history thing…"
"Every family has some history of heart disease," House told Wilson.
"And mental illness," Wilson said dryly.
"Let's hope it skips a generation," I joked. "I have to admit, though, that trick you pulled with the judge was slick as hell. Nice job, House."
"People are self-centered. Give them a reason to worry about themselves, and everything else goes out the window," the diagnostician responded as we headed down the courthouse steps.
"Maybe some people. Not all."
House just rolled his eyes as we made it to the car. "All people. Except you and Wilson."
"We're a breed of our own. I'll see you two later," Wilson said, heading for his own vehicle.
I turned to House. "Can you drop me off at the apartment? I have to work in an hour."
"You're not going to get the joy of seeing me flaunt my court order in Foreman's ex-boss's face," House said, pulling away from the curb. "I'm looking forward to it. He might cry."
"You are a never-ending ray of sunshine," I said. "And sorry, I can't skip work to watch you crush people's dreams."
"You used to be more fun."
"Just try not to get any more felonies today, okay?"
"No promises."
House dropped me off at Baker Street on his way back to the hospital. If I remembered correctly, House's court order was thrown to the wind due to John Henry dropping all charges against him. House was in for an unpleasant surprise – though at least when they pulled the plug, John Henry wouldn't actually die.
As I got changed for work, I realized that I'd yet to meet or even see John Henry. I usually didn't run into House's patients, but this one in particular, I really wanted to meet. I'd heard his music, and through that, I felt as though I'd connected with him on a certain level. Music creates bridges, and one had been built between me and the man who was dying in the ICU. He had something very special, he had a talent many would kill for – a talent that was the only thing that he wanted to live for.
I was interested. Not in the pragmatic way that House tended to be interested in things, but on a more personal level. I didn't understand why John Henry was so quick to give up on his life. I wanted to speak with him. Hopefully I would be afforded the chance sometime in the near future.
Later, once I was at work, I received a text from House.
"They're pulling the plug on JHG."
After serving a table of three several steaming cups of hot chocolate, I returned to my place behind the counter and replied, "I know."
"Will he die?"
"Do you really expect me to answer?"
"You would have done something if he was really going to bite it."
I didn't text back. I got three more text messages from House. On my next break, which was about an hour later, I checked them all.
The first: "We've been over this. Not responding is as good as responding."
Followed by: "He's totally going to live. I can't wait to see Hamilton's face. Can you believe he calls Foreman 'Eric'? What a douche."
And finally: "I bought you this phone. I'm pretty sure that makes you obligated by law to text me back."
I laughed to myself. Zach, one of the other waiters, glanced at me. He was currently puffing on a cigarette. Missy had given him permission to smoke in the backroom, which was where I took my breaks. Zach was a nice enough guy, kind of blunt, but funny in his own way, and wickedly smart under his aloof demeanor. He had a long mop of blond hair and a broad build. He kind of looked like Thor in the right light and with a bit of squinting.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said. "Just my– my dad." Yeah, that still didn't feel natural. "He's an asshole. It's kind of hilarious."
"He's some big shot doctor, right?" Zach asked. I'd mentioned House in passing before. I kept mostly to myself, but I'd befriended a few of the other waiters and waitresses who worked at Ryan's, mainly because most of them were right around my age. Of all of them, I was probably closest with Zach, who was only two years older than me.
"Well, big shot's kind of a relative term, but yeah."
"Is he an asshole to you?" Zach asked, tapping his cigarette off into a nearby ash tray.
"Kind of. He's an asshole to everyone, really. I'm just kind of used to it. It's who he is."
"You've only been living with him for a few months, though."
I nodded. "Feels like a hell of a lot longer, though," I said, and it was true. Even though I'd only been living with House for three months, it felt as though I'd been stuck in this universe for years, no doubt because I'd been watching the show for so long before I was sent here.
My phone buzzed again. "I'm going to start spamming you pictures of infected scrotums." I laughed again. That time, I showed Zach the message. He snorted in subdued amusement.
"Wow, he's a treasure."
"No kidding." I finally texted House back.
"Please don't. And I haven't been texting you back because you're going to find out what happens in a few hours, anyway. There's no point."
"BUT I WANNA KNOW NOWWWWW."
"You're five," was the last thing I sent him before promptly turning my phone off with a shake of my head.
"He send you infected dick pics yet?" Zach asked as he blew smoke rings.
"Not yet, but I'm sure he's going to," I said with a grimace. A curious House was a persistent House, that was for sure.
House didn't come home that night, or if he did, it had been after I'd fallen asleep.
I woke up shortly before noon the next day. I decided there was no point in waiting around the apartment when I could go to the hospital and be right in the middle of whatever action was currently going on.
I wasn't sure where House was when I arrived, and I didn't want to text him to find out – I currently had forty five unopened messages in my inbox, and I had a pretty good idea of what they were – so I decided to just look for him the good old fashioned way. Instead of carrying me to the diagnostic offices, my feet brought me to the second floor ICU.
In other words: John Henry's room.
Okay, so I'd set out to search for House… but I definitely had an ulterior motive in mind.
It didn't take me long to find John Henry's ICU room. I stopped outside the glass doors, looking inside. At first glance, my brain immediately thought that it was Harry Lennix in the hospital bed. I quickly reminded myself that in my current state of reality, John Henry Giles was a real, honest to God, living, sort-of breathing person. He wasn't just an actor playing a dying patient.
"Huh, he's that guy from Dollhouse," I muttered to myself. "I can't believe I never noticed that before."
John Henry's eyes opened, and his attention turned to the door. My heart skipped a few beats, and I prayed that he hadn't heard me. I gulped nervously before sliding open the door and slipping inside.
"Hello Mr. Giles," I greeted, half-shy, half-apprehensive. I found it strange, interacting with one of House's weekly patients. I'd gone out of my comfort zone. "I'm sorry to disturb you, I was– I'm looking for my father."
"Who's your father?" he asked, his voice deep and raspy, words laced with pain. Was it difficult for him to speak? It must've been.
Saying I was looking for House was probably a bad idea, but in for a penny, in for a pound. "Dr. House."
John Henry seemed genuinely surprised by that. "You're House's daughter?"
"That's me. I thought he might be here."
"Huh." John Henry narrowed his eyes at me. "I never pegged him for a man with kids."
"I'm kind of a new addition to his life," I admitted. "He didn't even know that I existed until a few months ago."
"Yeah, that I can believe." He adjusted himself, taking in a few tight, strained breaths. "Well, go on. You and me, we both know you didn't come here just to look for your old man."
Smart guy. "I'm a big fan, Mr. Giles," I told him. "I've listened to all of your albums– you're an amazing musician."
He didn't respond, and I felt as though maybe I'd said the wrong thing, complimenting him for his music, especially given the fact that he was currently looking at a life without the ability to play.
"But... why? Why do you wanna..." I couldn't find a way to phrase it that wouldn't come off as morbid.
"Die?" John Henry filled in for me.
I nodded, plucking at the edge of my sweater. "It would be horrible, not being able to play music anymore... but..."
"What's the most important thing to you?" he broke in. "That thing that gets your heart beatin'? That thing that's always in the back of your thoughts, first thing you think of before bed, first thing when you wake up?"
"I don't..."
"You do," he cut across me. "You got that look in your eye, I can tell."
I crossed my arms, mulling over the question and suddenly feeling very vulnerable under John Henry's scrutiny. He was like House in that way; when he looked directly at you, you felt naked, exposed, like everything about you was just right there on the table for the taking.
What's the most important thing to you?
Right now? Saving House... and everyone else, not that they would need it, for at least a little while.
The thing that gets your heart beatin'?
Well, not always in the fun ways, but that was House, too– whether he was worrying the hell out of me or pissing me off, or sticking me on that death trap he called a motorcycle.
That thing that's always in the back of your thoughts, first thing you think of before bed, first thing when you wake up?
It was always what's next for him, what do I have to change, what has to stay the same, what if I screw up, oh God what if I screw this up and make things worse–
Ah. So there was my answer.
House was my... thing? I didn't know how to feel about that. I guess it made sense. I'd lost everything else when I'd done my little across-the-universe trip to TV Land. The only thing I had left was him, and my 'mission', or whatever you wanted to call it. If I couldn't do right by House, then what was the point?
John Henry's head lifted slightly. I forced my eyes away, staring down at my feet. I couldn't bring myself to answer.
"Now imagine if you lost that," he said quietly, more of a growled out tiny whisper than an actual sentence.
That... was not the kind of thought I particularly liked to entertain. I tucked into myself a little tighter, my skin seeming to lose all of its warmth.
"I don't know," I replied at length. If I lost House, that would mean that I'd failed. That I'd put my foot in the wrong puddle of the space time continuum and ended up killing my hero instead of pulling him out of the fire like I intended. I'd be stuck in a different universe, without my family, without House, alone and...
And empty.
I shook my head and repeated, "I don't know."
"Well, kid... I haven't known for a long, long time. And I am sick of not knowing," he told me. "It's just a big black hole in my chest, and it's sucking me up. I ain't plannin' to stick around much longer so it can just keep on eatin' at me. I don't wanna just be. Life's meant for living, and without my air, without my horn, I can't live."
Well, if his goal was to make me understand his point of view, he'd certainly succeeded on that front. I pushed away from the wall and took a few steps towards John Henry. He watched me closely.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry you're going through this. But don't give up hope, okay? If anyone can fix you, it's House. This... saving people, that's his one thing."
"Oh, I know." John Henry's cavernous frown seemed to lift, if only for a second. "Your daddy and me, we have an understanding, now. I'll let him play his obsessive games... but if in the end, he don't work out a way to give me back what I need..."
"He'll help you die," I finished. Ah. So I'd come in after House and John Henry's conversation. That at least gave me a clue as to where House would be, right now. Probably heading to imaging to meet with the team and discuss the results of John Henry's MR angiogram.
John Henry nodded.
"He'll fix you," I promised. "He will."
"I hope you're right, kid."
"It's a partnership. Three times the money, car allowance, moving expenses, pension plan, the chance to work for a guy who actually gives a crap what other people think–"
"Sounds boring," I interrupted, pushing through the doors of one of the imaging labs. The ducklings all turned as one to look at me.
"Looking for your dad?" Chase asked.
"Sort of. He'll be here soon." I sank down onto one of the stools, my sneakered feet dangling a few inches above the ground. Damn that growth spurt that never came. "Hamilton offered you a job, didn't he?"
Foreman's lips pursed. "Look, Anya–"
"Are you gonna take it?" Of course I already knew he wouldn't, but I had to play along.
Foreman drew up his shoulders. "I made a commitment here."
I laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure that's the real reason."
Chase snorted, and Cameron hid a smile behind her hand as she continued to click through the results from John Henry's MR angiogram on a nearby computer screen.
"House would let you out of it in a heartbeat," she answered, fingernails clickity-clacking against the keyboard.
"Or, he wouldn't, just to jerk me around," Foreman responded.
"Yeah, but he'd give up eventually. That would only be entertaining for so long," I said. I leaned, peering over Cameron's shoulders at the images. Nothing so far, from what I could tell... which wasn't much, the show hadn't exactly taught me how to read angiograms.
"Would you guys have taken the job?" he asked.
Chase shrugged. "Don't need the money." That was for sure.
"I'm not like you. I don't hate House," Cameron said.
Foreman floundered a bit, there. "I don't hate House–" His eyes unmistakably darted towards me.
"I don't care if you hate him." I reassured him. "I can't exactly get mad every time someone does. I'd be pissed off constantly."
Chase inserted himself between the two of us to get a better view of the computer screen himself. Foreman paced behind us, agitation in every movement.
"But I don't hate House," Foreman repeated forcefully. "It's just– he does this job like he doesn't care! He assaults John Henry, and he moves on to the next differential like it's nothing."
"What do you want from him?" Cameron challenged as "More hand-wringing, more torment? You want him to cry himself to sleep at night?"
"Yes!" Foreman burst out. "I want some clue that he knows it's a big deal! That it scares him, that it matters."
"House can't do his job if he's scared," I told him, glancing over my shoulder at the neurologist. "He second guesses himself, people die."
"People die if he makes reckless decisions and doesn't second guess himself!" Foreman argued. "You can't do this job and not care about human life. Not care about the consequences."
"If House didn't care, he wouldn't have risked his freedom and his medical license to save the guy," I retorted.
"He's not doing it for him, he's doing it for his own obsession–"
"Whoa," Chase interrupted, leaning closer to the screen and putting a finger on it. "What was that?"
"That... looks like an embolic stroke," I said. Which was bullshit, I didn't know what it looked like, but I remembered that it was the next step in DNR. Cue weird looks from the team, as usual. Giving the three of them the illusion that I was some child medical genius never ceased to amuse me.
"Well done, Cameron," Chase complimented.
"House called it," she said. Ah. Cameron was fun when she was in love with House. Sometimes. She looked pointedly at Foreman. "The arms and legs are unrelated."
"You make enough calls, one of them is bound to be right," Foreman said dismissively.
I could practically sense House enter the room, but the others didn't seem to notice. I crossed my ankles and tried to hide my smirk.
"Yeah. He's just a lucky, lucky guy," Chase deadpanned.
"Listen," Foreman said, frustrated. "I just think it wouldn't hurt him to learn a little humility."
"You'd be surprised," I muttered, the words remember season three? poised on my tongue, but, oh yeah, they couldn't remember something that hadn't happened yet.
"So, what's the verdict?" House asked, making Foreman jump. The ducklings all swung their heads around to look at the diagnostician, who's eyes were fixed directly on Foreman.
Foreman. Poor, comically guilty Foreman. I could see the amusement in House's eyes, so I knew he wasn't mad. Foreman didn't know him well enough yet to get that particular memo.
"Embolus," Cameron provided. "The arm problem was probably caused by a clot."
"There's a good chance we can still bust the clot with tPA," Chase added.
House nodded. "Do it. See what happens to his arm." He was still staring directly at Foreman. Foreman dropped his gaze, looking like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. House gave him one of his tight, sarcastic almost-smiles. House turned to leave. I hopped off of my stool and followed behind him.
"This is funny," I told him once we were out of earshot of the team.
"What? Foreman whining about me?"
"Yeah. He gets all flustered when you catch him saying you should learn some humility. That's tame compared to the kind of stuff he says straight to your face a few years down the line."
"Oh, so he grows a pair?" House inquired, feigning interest. "Finally, you tell me something useful about the future."
I snorted. "You could've guessed that one on your own. Enough time with you, anyone will turn into an ass."
"And yet Wilson is still a living saint."
"He's built up an immunity." I skipped to match pace with House. "I talked to John Henry."
"Did he try to get you to wrap his IV around his throat?"
"Nope. But he gave me an epiphany."
"Beer before liquor, never been sicker?"
"A little deeper than that." I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "Apparently, my entire world revolves around you."
"Hadn't we already established that you're a hiding-in-the-bushes-with-a-rope-level fan of the 'show'?" He did air quotes with his free hand.
"No, I don't mean like that. I mean..." It was hard for me to put it to words. "Just, um, don't die on me or anything, okay? Or get sent to jail. Or... I don't know, vanish dramatically in the middle of the night, never to return again."
"Am I allowed to fake my own death?"
I had to suppress a shudder. That was hitting way too close to home.
"Just... stick around. That's all I'm asking. I don't want to be like John Henry," I said quietly.
"What, you're saying you'll kill yourself if I'm gone?" House raised an eyebrow at me.
"No, I'm just..." Okay, this conversation was very much in danger of heading towards feelings, which I knew full-well House was allergic to. "Never mind."
We walked in silence for a few minutes. We slipped through the nearly closed doors of the elevator. House hit the button for the fourth floor.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, quick and dismissively. He wouldn't meet my eyes when I looked at him.
I smiled. Good.