Chapter 41 – Family Matters

I leaned against the waterfall fountain in the ICU's waiting room, watching as Carly was wheeled down the length of the hallway, headed to the OR. She had a new heart waiting for her there.

Hopefully a new life, too.

"So. You lied through your teeth?" I asked.

Next to me, House snorted. "Just as directed by my holier-than-thou fake offspring."

"And the Ipecac?"

"Stored in my desk for the next time Foreman pisses me off. Give his morning coffee a little kick."

"And you didn't put Carly on the transplant list until after you ran the echo. You actually listened to me. Amazing."

I was only gloating a little bit.

"I didn't listen to you. I took the logical course of action. Which, shockingly enough, I can do without you holding my hand."

I smirked. "You listened to me," I chimed in a sing-song voice.

"Still not wearing the lab coat."

"I'll take what I can get." I pushed off from the fountain, heading in the opposite direction of Carly's trundling stretcher. The tip-tap of House's cane behind me let me know that he was tagging along. "Just wondering, where do you keep your revenue statements? List of expenses? Financial stuff like that?"

"Trashcan. Or on Cameron's desk. I have a hard time telling the two apart. Why?"

"Preventative measures. Vogler hasn't come to snoop on diagnostics yet, and I don't want him to have a reason to. He sees that you haven't filed a budget report in God knows how long, he'll come knocking. So, in spite of my open hatred of anything involving math, I'm going to try to put one together. With the help of Google."

"Maid, cook, secretary, and you work for free. Boy, didn't I luck out," House commented dryly. "Vogler's going to look into what we're doing behind those fancy glass doors eventually. Hospitals don't have diagnostic departments. They're a financial black hole. Some tight-ass in a suit like Vogler? He'll sniff that out in a second."

Logically, I knew that. But I was still praying that I could make Vogler overlook House's less than lucrative department, if he wasn't given any other reason to worry about it. Like House acting out, or there being a big blank space in the hospital budget when it came to diagnostics.

"Just let me do this, okay? Preventative measures. It helps me sleep at night."

I received nothing but silence in response. When I looked to my side, I realized House was gone.

The next week passed by at a beleaguered and agonizing pace. While I waited for both my call from Princeton and for Vogler to inevitably come snooping around diagnostics, I had little to distract me. The budget report was actually much easier to put together than I thought, and with a little help from Cameron, I composed it in the span of two afternoons.

Verdict? Lots and lots and lots of expensive tests and medicine...and not enough donations to cover even half of it. Financial black hole indeed. But still, plenty of departments in the hospital lost money hand over fist. Diagnostics probably wasn't even the worst of them.

Vogler still hadn't come to introduce himself to House. I wasn't ready to break out the hallelujah praise chorus just yet, but my worry had diminished slightly. My actions were having subtle positive impacts. That's all I could really hope for, right?

Well, I mean...I wouldn't be mad at less subtle impacts. But I'd take what I could get.

That was the stream of thought I entertained while cooking dinner for House and I. He was between cases at the moment, so I knew he'd be home at a reasonable time. Usually we'd have our typical Street Fighter battle to determine who got stuck cooking, but I'd been bored out of my mind and anxious, so I thought maybe putting together some lasagna would chill me out a bit.

The nerves had been getting to me lately, like never before. I hadn't been sleeping half as much as usual, it was taking me one to three hours to fall asleep each night...there was too much on my mind, too much nagging at my conscience. It was like that feeling when you know your forgetting something, only magnified by five, and it never seemed to leave me alone.

Anxiety. With like, a capital A. I wasn't a fan.

My phone started blasting Green Day's "Basket Case," and I jumped, splattering marinara sauce on the counter. It was so rare that someone actually called my phone, it caught me by surprise.

I pulled it out of my pocket. Unknown number, but a Princeton area code.

I picked up, putting my cell to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Anya Carhart?" a woman's prim voice cut across the line.

"That's me. Who is this?"

"This is Doctor Natalie Preciado. I'm head of the admissions office at Princeton Med, and I'm calling to let you know that you've been accepted into our pre med program for next semester."

My brain was so busy taking in what she had just told me, that I almost missed what she said next.

"–also have been awarded the James D. Smitty scholarship, meaning that your entire tenure at Princeton, short of your text books and room and board, should you choose to live on campus, will be fully funded–"

Oh my God.

I got it.

I actually got it.

"I–I'm so sorry, mam, could you hold on for just a moment, please?" I asked politely, struggling to keep my voice even.

Dr. Preciado seemed surprised that I'd interrupted her, but not insulted, thankfully. "Yes, that's fine."

I hit mute on the phone. Set it on the counter.

And screamed.

I screamed at the top of my damn lungs, as loud as I could, in pure, fucking, unadulterated joy.

The dream I'd had since I was just a little girl, to be a doctor, was going to be granted. And true, I'd already lived through this once, when I was accepted to Brown. But this was different. This was something from my own world that survived that leap to the House universe. My passion, my dream, it had come with me, and now I knew that I was going to be able to accomplish it.

Not just accomplish it. Accomplish it through one of the best damn schools in the country, almost fully-funded. No crushing student loan debt to follow me for the rest of my life.

I just went on screaming. I had quite the pair of lungs on me.

Once I'd successfully ruined my throat, I went back to the phone, picking up once more and un-muting Dr. Preciado. "I'm so sorry about that. Please, continue."

I half-listened as Preciado told me the details of orientation, when term would start, the financial aspects, the various paperwork that I would need to come to the admissions office to fill out sometime in the next few weeks. I made an appointment for the following Friday, and my face hurt from grinning.

"I think that's everything, Ms. Carhart. We're happy to have you in the program. I'll be seeing you soon."

"I'm happy to be a part of it, Dr. Preciado. Thank you so much."

"You've earned it. Have a nice day, Ms. Carhart."

When the call ended, I stared blankly at my cell phone. I heard the apartment door open, the audible sound of cane on wood, and then a sniffing noise.

"Why does it smell like burnt lasagna in here?"

That night, I made the poor financial decision of taking Wilson and House out to a ritzy Italian joint in Princeton to celebrate. In spite of the massive hit on my pocketbook (House made sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu, naturally), it had been nice to go out with them and just kind of...I don't know. Bask in my own glory, I guess.

House hadn't exactly been the proud papa, but I hadn't expected him to be. Him being there was enough. That was something I was finally starting to learn; more often than not, House's presence meant more than anything that came out of his mouth. He was there, sitting with me, making fun of the others kids I'd been up against and saying that, "it was like taking candy from a trust fund baby."

Plus, Auntie Wilson was proud enough for the both of them.

I headed to Ryan's that night to work a short closing shift, eight to midnight, looking for all the world like a self-satisfied asshole.

Zach looked up when the bell above the door rung, signifying my entrance. He glanced at the clock. "Wow, you're almost a minute late. The end is nigh."

I did have a habit of being obsessively early for work. Not tonight, though. I'd been cutting it close at dinner, and had managed to get away just in the nick of time.

"I'm docking you sixty seconds' pay," Carol chimed from within the depths of the walk-in cooler.

"Oh, what ever will I do?" I punched in and pulled my apron off the hook, slipping it over my head, then tying it around my waist. Zach eyed me as he wiped down the counter. "What? Something in my teeth?"

"Nah, you just look happy," he observed. "You've been on edge lately. It's kind of a nice change."

So someone had noticed that. Or rather, had noticed and decided to point it out. I'm sure House had picked up on it, but House picked up on everything.

I grinned at Zach. "I got a call today."

It took a moment before understanding dawned on him. "Princeton?"

My corresponding nod was an ecstatic one. "Oh yeah."

I was surprised to see a bright smile slowly spread across Zach's face. "Well, holy shit." He surprised me by gently tugging me into a hug. "Nice job."

I warmed slightly, even with my face pressed somewhat uncomfortably into Zach's shoulder. I hugged him back. Okay, this feels...nice.

Our fuzzy moment was interrupted by Carol whacking Zach on the back of the head with a dish towel. "That doesn't look like work to me, Pedley!"

Zach pulled away from me, rubbing the back of his head with a disgruntled expression. I stifled a laugh, patting him on the shoulder and moving past him to go see if I needed to do stock or not. However, before I could make it there, Zach caught my wrist, halting my progress.

"Hold up, before I forget–you've got mail."

He released my wrist, and I turned to him, more than a little confused. Why would mail be waiting for me at work? The list of people who knew I worked here was a very short one.

Zach passed me a blue envelope with a kangaroo stamp pasted at an uneven angle onto the corner. The address of the coffee shop and my name was written clearly in the center. In the corner was an address in...

"Australia," I murmured to myself. "Ah, Chase. You shouldn't have."

Huh. So he didn't forget about the postcard thing. And apparently he'd been smart enough to send the postcard here, so House wouldn't get to it before I could.

I carefully opened up the letter and slid out what was inside. A postcard of the Great Barrier Reef, multicolored fish roaming around mountains of coral in aqua blue waters, bright sunlight refracting in ripples on the surface.

I turned it over and read what was written on the back:

Hey Anya,

Been at the Reef this week with Dad, getting some R&R. My family used to come here a lot when I was small. It's nice being back.

I think you'd like it here.

Hope everything's alright back in Princeton, and House hasn't burned down the hospital. Don't have too much fun while I'm gone.

See you soon,

Chase

"From your Australian male model boyfriend?" Zach asked casually from behind me.

"Not my boyfriend." I shook my head, still smiling like a moron. "Just a friend. A friend who's really far away right now."

"He went back home?" Zach asked.

"Just for awhile. He'll be back in a month or so." I tucked the postcard back in the envelope, then stuck it in my back pocket for safekeeping.

"You miss him?"

I scratched the back of my neck, a surprisingly strong wave of emotion washing over me. "Yeah...I do."

A lot more than I thought I would, honestly.

Over the next week, my work schedule got less and less conducive to me taking on Chase's role.

Mob Rules had begun that morning, if House's vague texts were anything to go by. I was relatively sure I'd already missed the first differential, and if I didn't rush my ass to the hospital post-haste, I'd likely miss the next one as well.

Plus, I was currently sitting on a very alarming and cryptic text from House.

"Finally met Vogler. What a guy."

He hadn't responded to any text I'd sent him afterwards, in typical House fashion, so now I found myself speeding to the hospital, still half-dressed in my work uniform.

Before long, I was pulling into the parking garage at PPTH. I locked the doors to House's car as an afterthought, then practically sprinted my way through the hospital, eventually arriving on the fourth floor in a huff.

Damn. More exercise than I needed.

I tramped into the differential room, expecting to see Foreman, Cameron, and House seated around the whiteboard, but there was no one in sight. However, the door to House's office was propped open. I could hear two voices, House and Wilson's. I stopped in my tracks, trying to focus on what they were saying.

"You can't just think about yourself anymore, House."

"Can we stop pretending that we live in a world where anyone does anything but? People are selfish. I'm selfish. The only difference between me and the guy down the street is that I own up to it. Selfishness is a fundamental part of the human condition."

"Stop evading. Even if you don't want to factor her in, you have to," Wilson chastised him.

Her? As in...me?

Don't jump to conclusions.

Maybe they were talking about Cameron, or Cuddy.

"When you took Anya in, it was more than just letting her stay with you."

Okay, scratch that. Definitely talking about me.

Like the nosy little snot that I am, I sidled up to the wall, pressing my back against it to make sure I could stay out of sight and continue snooping.

"I know she looks twelve, but she's an adult. She can take care of herself. I don't have to babysit her."

"House, he threatened to take away everything you love if you don't do what he wants you to."

"Gee, isn't it convenient that I don't love anything?"

Wilson sighed, and I could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "To everyone outside of this room, the only apparent connection you have to anyone is Anya." Wilson cleared his throat, adopting a crude imitation of House's voice. "Perception is everything! Reality is irrelevant! We are who people think we are!"

"Oh, here we go." I could hear the eye roll in House's voice. "He's not going to touch me, and he's not going to touch Anya. It's all just intimidation tactics."

"If you were still living by yourself, that's a risk that would be up to you to take. But you're not alone, not anymore. Anya's tied to you. And if someone wants to hurt you, she's going to be the one they go after."

Huh. I'd completely forgotten about Joey's brother's threat at the start of Mob Rules, about taking away everything House loved until there was nothing left. In that moment I registered that from an outside perspective, I would be first on that list of things House loved.

Loved was a pretty strong word. Tolerated, more like it. But nevertheless, if you wanted to hurt someone, going after one of their kids would seem like an obvious way to accomplish that goal.

Which, in a way...I guess that put me in actual danger.

Bizarre.

"What do you want me to do? Guard her day and night?"

"I want you to do something. Anything."

"I'm sure she already knows about it. She's not hiding in a bunker somewhere, waiting for the mob to drop a dead horse head in her bed. I'm not sensing a plot episode, here."

"And if she gets hurt because of this? Or worse?"

"She won't!" House insisted.

"But what if she does?"

I heard footfalls, Wilson stepping closer to House.

"I know it's hard for you, so bear with me: I want you to do something that is completely against your entire personality. I want you to entertain the idea for just a second that this time, you might be wrong."

House didn't respond.

"You can pretend that you don't give a shit all you want. But I know you care about her. At least enough to try to protect her from something like this."

"If you care so much, then have her stay with you and Julie. I'm sure she'd love that," House eventually answered him. "You want to be the white knight, go right ahead. That's your specialty, not mine."

"Fine."

A pause. "What?"

"Until this case is over, I'm asking her to stay with Julie and I."

"You're going to have Anya sleep at your house? You don't even sleep at your house! You might as well just set up a tent for her in your office."

It was Wilson's turn to fall silent, but only for a few uncomfortable moments before he let out a slow exhale and simply said, "It's up to Anya. I'll talk to her."

"Well, she's listening outside the door. Now would be a great time to ask her."

Oh shit.