Chapter 48 – Still and Storm

I stared down at Vogler's offered hand. Numbly, I took it.

What are you doing!? Don't shake his hand! Seasonal antagonists are not to be fraternized with!

As if I really had a choice. Any sleight I committed against Vogler would likely be taken out on House. So, I had to play nice.

"Mr. Vogler. It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, trying not grit my teeth.

"Please, call me Ed." Vogler's grin was distinctly unsettling to me. Vogler didn't do anything without an ulterior motive, at least as far as I could tell from the show. It begged the question, what the hell did he want with me?

Also, he was still shaking my hand, and that was weird.

"You'd be surprised how much talk there is about you around the hospital," Vogler continued, finally letting me out of his iron grip. "House's little prodigy daughter, always following her old man around like a lost puppy."

Hey, I resented that. I did not follow House around like a puppy. My guardian angel analogy was far more flattering. A lost puppy. Please.

But did people really talk about me around the hospital? I thought I'd done an okay job of keeping a low profile thus far. The only people who knew me by sight were the clinic staff, and then the nurses and doctors from the pediatrics ward, since I still played music there for the kids on Fridays.

Then again, I was generally tagging along in House's shadow, and House was...significantly less low profile than myself.

"Well, if I want to be a doctor, I can't think of anyone better to learn from," I told him, keeping my tone as even and polite as I could.

"Well, with that full scholarship to Princeton you've got under your belt, I think you're well on your way."

A pit began to form in my stomach. I didn't like where this was going. The fact that Vogler even knew about that set off about a hundred different warning bells in my head.

"I'm great friends with some of the folks in the admissions department," Vogler said casually, but I could smell the threat a mile away.

I took a step back, but I made sure to keep my chin up. Vogler didn't intimidate me. "Why are you telling me this?"

Okay, yeah, he kind of did intimidate me, but I wasn't about to show it.

"Just making conversation." Vogler flashed a smile at me. "I think you mean a lot to House. God knows he's one of the most difficult employees I've ever had working under me, but I guess he does have a heart after all."

"Right..."

"If anything were to happen to you, or that dream of yours, I bet it would just crush him."

Okay. Time to drop the pretenses. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Vogler?"

"No. I think the mob already has that covered." He gave me an appraising look, finally dropping the fake smile. "I know about your ordeal the other day, and there are things that don't add up. I can't help but wonder if Joey Arnello really died of cardiac arrest."

"What do you think happened, then?" I asked, dangerously quiet, pulse thrumming in my neck.

What if he knows? What if he's got proof? House could lose his license over this! He might even go to jail!

Oh God, season eight was starting seven years too early.

Keep your cool. If you panic, he's going to know that something's up.

"I think that House might've done something bad to save someone he cared about. I also think – actually, I know – that you know more than you let on to the Princeton police."

Was that why Vogler hadn't approached me until now? He'd been waiting for my interview with Detective Compson? Which meant that he had friends high up in the PPD. Of course.

"Look," I said, trying to think on my feet, "I get that you have a grudge against House. But it's not going to get you anywhere. There's no point in going after him, because one way or another, he's going to win."

"You know," Vogler smirked. "Anyone who knew me would probably tell House the same thing."

And that was why Vogler and House clashed in the way that they did; they were both so unwilling to yield by nature, even if it meant saving themselves.

The advice I was giving Vogler wasn't even bad. More prophetic, really, considering I knew for a fact that he would fail to get rid of House, and eventually lose the entire hospital in the process.

But the timeline's changed. Anything could happen, now. The past couple of days have been proof enough of that.

"I'm not going to judge House for what he did. I would've done the same, I think...on both accounts."

Both accounts? What did that even mean?

"But," Vogler continued. "If he doesn't learn to fall in line, and fall in line very quickly, well, maybe what I know might become known to Dr. Cuddy, and the hospital board, the admissions board at Princeton...maybe even the police." Vogler shrugged as if we were talking about the weather, or our plans for the weekend.

But he was threatening everything that I'd worked to protect.

"I've got to get going." Vogler clapped me on the shoulder. "You have a good day, Anya."

I was left standing there in the middle of the clinic, frozen.

It was awhile before I could move again.

I have to find House.

"House! Open up! It's me!" I banged on the door to his apartment, cheeks burnt from the cold and clothes reeking of bus smell.

To be fair, I could've used my key to get in, but I wanted House to choose to let me in. Trying to have a conversation with him if he didn't want to have one would be like talking to a brick wall. A really snarky, probably stoned brick wall.

I heard muffled voices from inside. Voices, as in plural...someone was with House? But Wilson was at work.

I knocked again. "Come on, House! I know you're in there!"

There was a bit of muttered cursing on the other side. The door knob turned, and House poked his head out, shielding himself and the way in with the door.

"Remind me to put a sock on the door next time," he grumbled.

"What?" I tried to look around him, but he blocked my view with his body, shooting me a warning glare. Oh, and he was shirtless, so that allowed me to put together the necessary context clues. "Seriously, a hooker? Who gets a hooker at 2pm on a Thursday?"

"Curmudgeonly doctors with annoying fake kids that mercifully decided to go stay with their auntie for a few days. If you want a heart-to-heart, now is not the time," House told me, and there was something in his eyes, the same thing that was there the day I'd gone to my interview at Princeton, when he lied to me about where he'd been.

I didn't know if I just was finely tuned to pick up deception, or if I'd just been watching him on TV for so long that I was just geared to pick up on the tiny changes in his expression and in his eyes.

"Vogler knows."

House's eyes widened. "What did you tell him?"

"You think I ratted on you?" I was appalled by the idea. "He figured it out on his own, House, he's not a moron. And I'm not just talking about the Joey thing. He mentioned something else, but he didn't give me any details. Something else you did that could get you in trouble."

"And why exactly did he tell you this instead of just coming and threatening me directly?" House asked, arching an eyebrow. He was trying to play it off, but I could tell he was worried.

"Maybe he thought it would freak you out more if it came from me. I don't know. Regardless, he's got a shit load of stuff he can hold over you, now. And I'm guessing that you didn't exactly win any brownie points with him since I've been staying with Wilson."

"He hates me, I hate him. It's a hate-hate relationship."

"But you defied him."

"Maybe once or twice."

"House..." I shook my head, sighing. "You can't do that, okay? This is serious. You could lose your medical license. You could go to jail."

"Why don't you let me worry about that–"

"It is my JOB to worry about you, House! Arguably my sole purpose in life and God-given destiny–"

"I am way too sober for this conversation," House went to shut the door, but I stuck out a hand, stopping him.

"Are you seriously going to walk away from this conversation to go...attend...to a hooker?"

"Yeah, I am."

"I can't believe you."

"And I can't believe that you can't believe it." House brushed my hand away, and promptly shut the door.

I just stood there. How could he just...? Ugh!

There had to be something more going on here, but I wasn't about to find it out today, that much was clear.

I grimaced. Time to go catch another bus.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd run away," Wilson commented from the living room when I half-stumbled through the door later that night, shoulders dragging.

"I had to walk here," I said, kicking off my shoes. "The bus broke down halfway here, so I got some serious exercise hoofing it the rest of the way to Rosedale."

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked, brow furrowing. "I would've picked you up."

I didn't meet his eyes as I shirked off my coat. "I'm understandably a little freaked out about the idea of people picking me up in cars, right now. You know. After everything that happened the other night."

In other words, I didn't want to run the remote risk of what happened to Zach happening to Wilson. Sure, the fear was irrational and by all appearances the mob matter was put to bed, but I couldn't help the paranoia.

I was hoping it would fade, and soon, but I doubted it. Near death experiences aren't something you can just wash off. They stain.

Wilson rose from his chair. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

I snorted. "And yet." Wilson opened his mouth to argue, but I raised a hand. "Can we maybe not talk about this just now? All I want to do is sleep."

Wilson pursed his lips, and I could tell that he wanted nothing more than to lecture me (for my own benefit, to be fair) but he thankfully decided against it. "Okay, fine. How's your head feeling?"

I shrugged, walking past him to the staircase. "Meh. It's not pounding anymore." I halted when I reached the staircase, a thought occurring to me. I turned, looking at Wilson.

He noticed me staring. "What? Something in my teeth?"

"Do you know what House was really doing the morning I went in for my interview at Princeton?" I asked. Would Wilson tell me the truth if he did know? Not even remotely likely. But at least it would tell me if he knew or not. It would be written all over his face.

Wilson held up his hands. "Look, what House does when he's on his own is anyone's guess–"

"Gotcha. So you do know."

"I didn't say that–"

With a bemused smile, I said, "You didn't have to."

I went up the stairs. I needed to find out what Vogler had over House, and I needed to find out all of it.

I woke to the sound of a roaring engine and horn combo out on the street. I groaned, rolling over so I was flat on my stomach. Grabbing for the nearest pillow, I pulled it over my head and tried to block out the noise from the street below, but the horn didn't cease.

It didn't occur to me until several minutes of the incessant beeping that the person on the street may have been trying to get the attention of someone inside the house. Throwing my blankets aside, I rolled out of the Wilsons' too comfortable guest bed and went to the window.

A 1965 cherry red Corvette convertible sat idling at the curb. In the driver's seat, illuminated by the street lights, sat House, clad in leather jacket and (for some fucking reason) sunglasses.

I pushed the window up. I said nothing, just squinted at him angrily through mostly-asleep eyes.

"You coming?" he called.

I sighed.

"Give me three minutes."

On went a shirt and jeans I fumbled for in the dark, and I was out in the hallway raking a brush through my hair barely sixty seconds later. In the hallway I met a bedraggled Julie.

"What the hell is going on outside?" she asked, rubbing a hand against her forehead.

"House," I said simply on my way to the stairs.

I could practically hear the eye roll in her voice when she said, "Of course."

Downstairs, Wilson somehow still slept soundly on the couch. Yikes. The number one trouble in paradise trope, but I guess that was no surprise. Wilson and Julie were kind of the living definition of trouble in paradise.

Shoes on, out the door.

"Seriously, House? It's three in the morning."

"It's only nine in California."

"Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?"

"Because I can. You getting in or not?"

"If you tell me where the car came from," I said, crossing my arms. I didn't know how House managed to get a hold of the same exact Corvette that Bill Arnello had given him in Mob Rules as a thank you for omitting Joey's Hepatitis test results from his chart.

"Let's call it a gift from an old friend," House answered. He reached over and opened up the passenger side door. I shook my head in exasperation, but climbed in anyway.

Because I missed House. Because we needed to talk. And plus, this car was pretty fucking sweet.

"This is going to be cold."

"Don't be a baby." House revved the engine, and we were speeding off barely a second later. Damn, the Corvette accelerated fast. Wind rushed through my hair, tangling it in a wave behind me. Wind burned my cheeks, but I couldn't really bring myself to care. This was awesome.

"So, a gift from an old friend. And by old friend, I assume you mean the old friend whose brother we killed?"

"Using the royal we now, are we?" House snorted. "Short answer: yes."

"You can't keep it. I hate to be a killjoy, but this has graft written all over it. Vogler's already onto you. He sees this, you're screwed. We're screwed."

"Which is exactly why we're going to register the car in your name. A gift from a proud father to his darling daughter who just got a full-ride to Princeton. That sounds totally not-fake, right?"

I would've paid good money to see my face when he told me that. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Unfortunately, no. It's the only way I can keep the car without alerting the Commandant." He waggled his eyebrows. "So, happy...I don't remember when your birthday is, but happy early-slash-late birthday. Or something."

I just stared at him open-mouthed. "House," I said slowly. "I have never loved you as much as I love you in this moment, and that is saying a lot, coming from me."

"Can you stop? I don't want to puke on the interior."

"Sorry." I rested my hand on the dashboard, a fond smile creeping onto my face. No more taxis, no more bumming rides, or driving House's shit car.

"So, you're not mad at me anymore? Even Saint Anya the Self-Righteous can be bought."

"I was finished being mad at you before the car," I told him. "Well. For the most part. I'm always a little mad at you."I took a deep breath. "I am, a little mad, for instance, that you lied to me about where you were, the day that I had my interview at Princeton."

House didn't say a word.

"But I think I figured out what you were really doing. Put together some stuff Vogler said..."

"How many times do I have to tell you–"

"You bribed someone on the admissions board, didn't you?"