Chapter 35 – Knock Once for the Father

I spent that night furiously preparing for my interview with the admissions officer at Princeton. First, I poured over everything House had given me, memorizing each document word for word and repeating it under my breath. Once I was convinced I was sufficiently ready on that front, I started going over mock interview questions in my head. Back in my own world, I'd been accepted to Brown, and had already gone through the interview process and secured early enrollment there. But questions at Brown in 2012 vs. questions in Princeton in 2005 could be wildly different. I needed to be prepared for anything.

Getting into college all over again. Ugh. It had been hell the first time, but at least now House had done a lot of the heavy lifting for me. The hunt for colleges in my own world had been a time of extreme anxiety and existential dread for me. I'd desperately wanted to get early enrollment, and my parents had pressured me hard to get accepted before I started my senior year.

I'd been rejected by both Temple and Michigan's pre-med programs by the time May 2012 rolled around. I distinctly remembered putting off writing yet another "Please let me go to your school" essay so I could sob over the House series finale for a few days.

Brown had, in all reality, been a complete Hail Mary on my part. I didn't think for a second that I'd actually score an interview, let alone get accepted. I was amazed when I got the letter in the mail that said they'd be seeing me in the fall of 2013. The admissions officer said I seemed an even mixture of "desperate, tenacious, and passionate".

I could only hope I could charm the Princeton admissions officer in the same way... perhaps without the desperate, this time.

"I want to be a doctor for so many reasons. I feel like its one of the most worthwhile professions; I won't be remembered, but my actions will have a domino effect that's immeasurable... every life I save... wait, no, I don't want them to think I have some kind of God complex..." I muttered under by breath as the front door opened.

I glanced at the clock; it was past midnight. I didn't expect House to be so late getting home; it sounded like it was just a waiting game while they got back some of Gabe's test results and the mass spec analysis on the insulation Chase had pulled from the empty house.

House shuffled through the door, closing it behind him. He shook himself like a wet dog, spraying water droplets everywhere. He took off his coat and hung it up, dropped his backpack on the ottoman, then plopped down next to me on the couch.

"Hey," I greeted. "You're home late."

"Those pesky patients just keep dying. Figured I'd better put in an extra hour or too, for the good of my fellow man." He took the notebook out of my hands without asking, pale blue eyes combing down over the possible questions and responses jotted down. He took the pen, scribbled something, then handed it back to me.

I checked to see what he'd edited:

Q: What is the most important thing to you?

A: Helping people. WRONG

"It is the most important thing to me!" I complained. "Isn't that what they want to hear? It's what I told the people at Brown."

"Maybe that flew over there, but at Princeton, they'll laugh you out the door. While I'm more than happy to condone lying – hell, I encourage it – for this one, answer honestly. And we both know the honest answer isn't helping people. That isn't anyone's honest answer."

"But for me, it is."

"No, it's not." House narrowed his eyes at me. "An AO hears that the most important thing to you is helping people, the first thing that comes to mind is God complex, and there are plenty of doctors out there with just that... and let's face it, both of us know that you're the textbook psych definition of a Messiah complex. Make sure they know that. Everybody loves a martyr. Except the Romans. And the Jews."

"I don't have a Messiah complex."

"Says the girl who's express purpose in life is to 'save me'." The use of air quotes was not lost on me.

"Just because it's one of my purposes doesn't mean it's my express purpose."

"Weren't you just saying a few weeks ago that you'd kill yourself if you lost me?"

"I seem to remember a conversation where I asked you politely not to die or run out on me, and you made wild and incorrect inferences," I grumbled. "If I don't answer that way, then I don't know how to answer." I realized I was being stubborn, but come on. Why else would I want to be a doctor, other than to help people?

"Then don't count on getting in," House told me. He grabbed his bottle of bourbon from the coffee table and uncorked the top. "But what do I know? It's not like I had to go through two med school interviews myself, or anything. There's actually just a gumball machine in the lobby that dispenses medical licenses. Do you have a quarter?"

I sighed, pushing the folder and notebook to the side. I was starting to get a headache. I was done for the night. "I'll figure it out." I leaned against the small mountain of pillows I'd built up next to me, huffing. "And we both know you're just getting on my case because you don't want to tell me why you're getting home so late."

House snorted. "You caught me. I'm cheating on you."

"House, I'm serious."

"So am I. If you're gonna act like my wife, I'll treat you like my wife, honey. The new mistress says I don't have to answer any probing questions."

I narrowed my eyes at him, letting my open suspicion shine through. I wasn't about to let him off without giving me a straight answer. If he was just staying late at the hospital for patient-related reasons, he would've told me... so what was the deal?

Determined, I leaned forward and sniffed House. House shifted away from me. "What the hell are you doing?"

I stared at him. "I'd recognize that apple blossom smell anywhere," I said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You were with Cameron!"

"You recognize her perfume? Should I be asking what you two are getting up to behind closed doors?"

"Oh, lame evasion! You. Were. With. Cameron! Outside of work, seemingly, off your own accord." I sniffed him again. "Beer, fried food... Connelly's, too, am I right? That bar and grill across the street from PPTH?" House wasn't the only one who could smell people to figure out where they'd been. I was no Hannibal Lecter, but I had a sharp nose.

House lifted his cane, brandishing it at me. "Back, heathen!"

I did pull away, but I was still staring at him. To my knowledge, this had never happened in the show. House didn't go out with Cameron again until their ill-fated date towards the end of the season. Maybe it was just a weird, random event that happened on the show but was never seen? A late meal after work wasn't that strange...

Okay. For just anyone it wasn't that strange. But for humanity-hating, shut-in House? Doing anything, anywhere, with anyone that wasn't Wilson was unusual. Hell, I'd lived with House for over six months, and I couldn't remember ever doing something with him outside of the apartment or the hospital... except for his little court date in DNR, but that hardly counted.

This means something. But what? And why did it happen?

"House," I said slowly. "Did you actually listen to me?"

House clicked on the TV and started flipping through the channels. "What?"

"When I said you should go out with Cameron again... was this you listening to me?"

"No," he said. "It was me wanting a free meal. She paid. Connelly's beer-battered chicken is just killer."

I knew I wasn't going to get him to admit the real reason he went out with her. I felt a little thrill of worry creep into my gut. This wouldn't have too much impact on anything in the future, would it? A dinner date with Cameron that wasn't horribly awkward (presumably) wouldn't have some kind of disastrous domino effect on the rest of House's life...

Unless.

Oh no.

Unless he actually ends up with Cameron.

Oh my God.

"You look like you're gonna be sick," House observed mildly. "Puke bucket's under the sink. I don't want you throwing up on the couch."

"Caring as always," I managed. "Uh, House. Remember how I asked you the other day if you like Cameron?"

"What part of 'free food' do you not understand?"

More evasions. Not a good sign.

I could only hope that I hadn't inadvertently sunk two of my own ships.

The next day, House and I found ourselves on the balcony in the PPTH lobby. House, bored out of his mind as they waited for the results from the numerous autoimmune tests Chase was running to come back, was chucking fruit snacks at passing pedestrians below us.

"Bald guy at your two o'clock. Big target."

Aim and fire. House hit right on the money, and the guy was looking around with an expression of utter confusion. Both of us chuckled, and I stole a fruit snack from House, popping it in my mouth.

"So," I said. "How are things with Chase Senior?

"He's smart. Good at what he does. Funny accent." House shrugged, aiming at a nurse who was just about to walk underneath us. "Junior sure as hell hates him."

"Yeah, I kind of got that vibe."

"Any clue why?"

"Yep."

"Care to share?"

"Nope."

"Of course not." He hit the nurse squarely in the forehead. Damn. House had a good throwing arm. "I'm assuming you know about the elder Chase's less than sunny diagnosis? And his reason for flying across the world?"

I swallowed, crossing my arms on the balcony railing, suddenly feeling cold. "Yeah. Rowan came to see Wilson. Cancer. Stage IV."

"He'll be dead by the summer."

"I know."

House emptied the remainder of the bag of fruit snacks into his mouth, then balled up the bag and tossed it into the waiting mouth of a trashcan by the reception desk.

"I promised his father I wouldn't tell him."

"Were your fingers crossed?" I asked dully.

"You think I should tell him?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter what I think. It's up to you." I knew that House would originally plan to tell him, then decide ultimately not to go through with it.

Which is why I had to step in.

House's pager beeped loudly. He pulled it out of his pocket. "Hmm. My patient is paralyzed."

"That's decidedly bad."

House smirked. "Could be fun." He tossed me the car keys, and I snatched them out of the air. "Catch you later."

I watched him limp away, off to meet his team in the diagnostic offices. I sighed, looking back down at the lobby. I had a shift in a few hours, so I did need to be getting home. Normally I would've followed House to the differential, but I didn't want to face Chase right now. I didn't want to think about what I would have to tell him.

His father was leaving tomorrow night. I didn't have much time left.

I had to figure out what to say, how to say it.

Don't try to minimize the hurt.

Yeah.

Easier said than done.

"This," I said, picking gunk out of my hair, "is fucking disgusting."

Closing shifts at work really were horrible. Generally it was me, Zach, and one of the managers, a damn near empty shop, and a shit ton of unpleasant cleaning tasks to accomplish. Zach and I had done rock-paper-scissors in order to decide who got stuck cleaning the oven. Rock beats scissors, so I'd spent the past hour inside an industrial oven, spraying a strange gelatinous pink substance on the nasty buildup in the hopes that it would come off.

"Glad it's you and not me," Zach said from the sink, where he was scraping off the oven racks.

I chucked a ball of steel wool at his head, but he dodged it, and it sunk into the foamy bubbles of the sink.

"Too slow," he said, sticking his tongue out at me.

"I hate you."

"Vicious."

I patted the oven, satisfied that I'd done enough that it could loosely be considered 'clean'. "If I come in on Monday and see this thing a wreck again, I will personally strangle half the staff. I'm not even kidding."

"Not if I strangle them first." Carol, the night manager, zipped past us, register drawer in hand. I liked Carol; she wasn't very old, maybe thirty or thirty one, and she was eminently calm, even in the middle of our worst rushes. Her managing style was somewhere between death threats and just not giving very many fucks. Carol disappeared into the back office, leaving Zach and I up front.

I checked the clock. Ten minutes to go.

"What's on Thursday?"

I looked back at Zach as I washed up in the hand sink, trying to get the oven ick off of me. "What?"

"Schedule in the break room says you put in an RO."

"Oh! Yeah, I've got an interview with Princeton Thursday morning. First round interview. I'm hoping they let me in," I explained.

Zach whistled. "Damn. Princeton. Your dad help get you in?"

I blushed a bit at that. "Yeah." I dried off my hands. That was the one downside of all of this. It was great that I was getting into Princeton (hopefully) but it did kind of bum me out that I hadn't gotten the interview off my own merit; House had got me there, no doubt about it.

"I'm not saying you don't deserve it," he said mildly. "I was just asking. No amount of help can get you to a college like that if you're a moron."

"I feel like a moron sometimes," I admitted. "I'm just praying they'll let me in. It sounds cheesy, but this is kind of my lifelong dream."

"Gonna be a doctor, right?"

"That's the plan."

Zach seemed to contemplate that for a long moment as he started sliding the oven racks back inside their proper place. "You'll be good at it."

"Was that a compliment I just got from you?"

"There's a difference between a compliment and a statement of fact."

"Right." I smiled at him. I was about to say more when the bell for the front door dinged. I made for the cash register, not really bothering to look up until I was there.

To my shock, Chase sat at one of the stools lined up at the counter, looking... well, looking like complete hell. His hair was a wreck, his eyes were red, and he may or may not have been half drunk.

"Chase," I said, stunned. "You're the last person I expected to see here."

He gave me a tight little smile, dimmed significantly by his bloodshot blue eyes. "I, ah..." He swallowed, averting his gaze. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. "I wanted to know if it was too late for that rain check."

Wow. Talk about blindside. I fumbled over my words for a few seconds, trying to come up with a response.

"I get off in just a couple minutes," I told him.

Chase just nodded. I swiped my employee card and rang up a hot chocolate for him. When I turned, Zach was already making him one. I gave him a nod of thanks as he passed me the steaming cup of cocoa. I turned back to Chase and handed it to him. He accepted it, warming his hands on the sides.

"Chase," I said quietly, leaning forward. "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then just shook his head and went silent.

I almost jumped when I felt Zach's hand on my shoulder. "Get out of here. I'll cover for you with Carol."

"Thank you."

I practically whipped off my apron. I went to the break room and grabbed my coat and bag. I clocked out, and barely a minute later, I was waiting by Chase's side. He rose from his seat, still nursing his hot chocolate.

He knows. There's no other explanation.

"My car or yours?"

Chase shuffled. "There's... there's an all night diner about two blocks away. Feeling up for a walk?"

"Yeah, sure."

I glanced at Zach before following Chase out the door. He mouthed 'good luck' at me.

I had a feeling I was going to need it.