Chapter 54 — A Price to Be Paid

"God, I haven't put a dress on in..." Since Patrick's service. Yeah, wasn't gonna say that aloud.

"Been awhile?" Cameron smiled at me reassuringly. "Come on, it'll be fun. Like a girl's day."

I stared up at the semi high-end dress shop in the Trenton Mall with a mixture of trepidation and revulsion. Trepidation at trying to find something I actually looked good in, and revulsion at how much it would cost. I had plenty of money, mainly because I rarely spent any other than to help buy groceries for the apartment, but I'd socked away almost all of it as a mixture of an emergency fund, and a method by which to pay for my textbooks for Princeton, which were frightfully expensive. I wasn't used to spending big sums of cash.

But, the National Cardiology Conference was for the upper-crust of the medical world, and doctors from all over the States had already started pouring into both Princeton and PPTH. So, I would have to look the part if I was to go. Vogler, ever-so-fucking-kindly, had extended an invitation to me, as my ever-so-loving father was going to be a keynote speaker for night one.

The whole situation made my blood boil, but the fact that House had agreed to continue paying the price to keep me in med school tempered my anger somewhat. After watching me freak out for a bit over his ominous phrasing when I'd cornered him about the ACE inhibitor speech, he assured me that he'd read the lines and do as he was told.

"I'm not gonna let that much money go to waste," he'd told me, as comforting as ever.

Cameron dragged me into Henri's Bridal and we were promptly accosted by a tall, thin, and excellently manicured man who introduced himself as Terrance and rushed us off to a far corner of the store as soon as I'd gotten out half of a sentence about what I was looking for.

"Formal cocktail dress? Special event? Oh, honey, do I have exactly what you're looking for. Something that'll really set off the green in your eyes. Here, try this...and this...and this, if you're looking for something a little more saucy." Terrance piled dresses in my arms at rapid-fire speed, two deep crimson dresses and one teal and black dress. "Changing rooms are over there! Me and your friend here will wait for you outside! If you need any help zipping just let us know!"

Terrance apparently did not have exactly what I needed, as I kept rejecting dress after dress, in spite of Cameron encouraging me to get a few of them that she particularly liked on me. I wanted the whole affair over as soon as possible, so I would have loved to just have picked one and ran, but I felt incredibly uncomfortable in most of the outfits I tried on, either because they were clearly designed for someone who had a more...let's say womanly...shape than me, or, well...I'd been looking at the price tags. And yes, it was excruciating.

Time burned away. Terrance's enthusiasm never flagged (I suspected he was paid hourly, not on a commission basis) and he continually tried to get me into all sorts of different fabrics, cuts, and colors. I disassociated pretty hard once we reached hour two, and I started silently begging God to let this ordeal end and just have Terrance hand me something that I could put on without wanting to burst into flames.

"You look like you're at a funeral procession," Cameron commented at one point, faintly amused. "I've never seen someone so miserable at a dress store."

"I wish I could just wear a suit," I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"Honey!" Terrance said, clearly having overheard Cameron and I. "I wish you would've said that earlier, you just gave me an epiphany. I'll be right back." He rushed off, and I doubted I would be lucky enough for him to actually bring a suit back.

I felt Cameron watching me. I looked up at her. "What?" I didn't mean to come off snippy, but I just wanted to go.

"You...haven't had a whole lot of women in your life, have you?" Cameron asked tentatively. A fair question, given how I'd turned into little more than a recalcitrant child the second we'd stepped through the shop doors.

"Other than my mom, no. I mean, I had my friend Maura, but...Maura wasn't really girly. She was pretty proud to say that she was as stereotypical dyke as stereotypical dyke got. Her words, not mine," I shrugged.

Cameron nodded. I hadn't surprised her.

"Everyone else I was around was a guy. Mom tried to get me to be more, uh, gender-adhering, but it just never really sank in. Case in point," I gestured around the dress store.

"It's okay. Everyone defines being a woman differently. You're probably too young to know who Diane Keaton is—"

"I know who Diane Keaton is. And you're not that much older than me."

Cameron didn't seem hurt by my rebuff, chuckling instead. "There's a world of difference between eighteen and twenty-six. Believe me."

Terrance returned at that moment with a new dress (of course) and flourished it proudly. "Try this. I think we've found the one." I didn't have any feelings about it one way or another on the hanger, but at least it was black and white, and not some outrageous color. No sequins or sparkles, either. Not a terrible start. I took the dress from Terrance with a sigh and retreated into the changing room.

I was more satisfied than I thought I would be when I slipped back out to do the obligatory fashion show for Cameron and Terrance. The dress had a high neck, ended just above the knee, and its design was an hour glass of white, and black besides. Slimming and about as close to a suit as a dress could get. I spun around with a flicker of a smile on my face. "I think this'll work."

Terrance tittered in excitement and Cameron beamed. I got back into my street clothes and followed Terrance to the checkout counter. The price was painful, without a doubt, but not as outrageous as most of the ones I had been looking at that day, so I could walk away without my pocketbook hurting too badly. Terrance told us both to have a wonderful day and make sure to come back if we ever needed any more formal wear. "I always like a challenge!" he said with sincere glee.

Cameron and I left the store, and I felt a wave of relief. "Okay. Thank God that's over." I turned to Cameron. "Hey, I'm really sorry if I've been a bitch today. This just..."

"Isn't your element?" Cameron finished for me.

"Yeah."

"It's okay." We walked side by side to Lola. Cameron had offered to go dress shopping with me and pick me up, but I insisted we go in the Corvette. She had raised an eyebrow when she saw it—clearly seeing it for the obvious mob graft it was—but she let it pass without comment. At least to me. She would definitely say something about it to House later.

I hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine. When Cameron climbed into the passenger seat, I cleared my throat. "Thank you, though. I wanted to say that. I'm glad that I have a girl in my life to do this kind of stuff with. It means a lot." I felt awkward coming right out and saying it like that, but Cameron deserved my gratitude, and I knew it would warm her heart to hear, since Cameron, like...actually had a soul.

Cameron predictably awarded me with a radiant smile. "You know I'm here anytime you need me. I had my older brother growing up, but I didn't really—"

It was my turn to fill in the end of her sentence. "Have a sister?"

"Exactly."

I pulled out of our parking spot and headed back out on the highway. "Well, I guess we're both lucky, then. I hope you realize this means you're never allowed to stop working for House."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere until he makes me," Cameron said with faint amusement.

"Then you really are stuck here forever. Once House gets attached to someone, he never lets them go. Wilson's living proof."

"It's hard to picture your dad being attached to anyone but Wilson. Or you."

"You'd be surprised." Surprised that House would soon come to care enough about the ducklings that the idea of having any other team wouldn't sit right with him, and surprised that House probably would recover faster from me leaving than any of the team. He craved their very specific dynamic and did all he could to cultivate that—albeit sometimes at the cost of his employees' sanity.

"I'll take your word for it."

We remained silent for a few minutes as I roared around at a perhaps inadvisable speed in Lola. I eventually broke in with, "Just to clarify one more time, for my sake...you're definitely not sleeping with House, right?"

Cameron didn't respond immediately, setting off every warning bell in my head.

"Cameron?"

"You know, you can call me Allison, if you want."

"I want to know if I'm going to have to start calling you my step-mom," I pressed, tone grave. I hadn't seen any further evidence to suggest that the two of them were sleeping together, and House had merely been using her for a cover to hide the fact that he'd bribed Taub to give me the Smitty Scholarship, but it didn't change the fact that House hadn't said a word about Cameron staying with him while I was staying with Wilson and Julie, and that alone was enough to get me wondering. When a dog doesn't eat, it's sick. When House doesn't run his mouth, there's a problem.

"No, nothing like that, Anya. We're friends. I'll make sure you're the first to know if something more happens," Cameron swore, and simply because it was Cameron, I believed her. She was a bad enough liar in season one that I probably could have caught her in a bald-faced lie.

"Fine, fine. Just, if you do tell me—give me the sanitized version, please."

Cameron just laughed. "Okay, okay, I promise."

"Look, House, I'm just saying—you can tell me if you're gonna go, you know. Not give the speech. Or give a bad speech. Or make an attempt on Vogler's life. I won't be mad."

House ignored me, more intent on getting his tie knot right. I fluttered around behind him, trying and failing to shove my anxiety down where it wouldn't totally dominate my every thought. I was also practicing walking in heels, something I quickly discovered I was fucking terrible at. Luckily I hadn't jostled my head injury any of the times I'd eaten shit. The last thing I wanted was to have to keep these stitches in any longer. Or God forbid, get more.

"That would ruin the surprise."

"HOUSE!"

"HOUSE!" he mimicked in an irritatingly close approximation to my voice. "I told you, you're getting your speech. Though I'd love to hear about whatever stunning performance I gave in the original timeline, if you're losing your shit over whatever I may or may not do up there."

"Well, let's not downplay it, I'm kind of always losing my shit about what you might do next," I said, exasperated with his tie attempts. I batted his hands away and took over for him.

"How the hell do you know how to tie a tie?" House inquired, looking down at me as I did up his tie in a neat Windsor knot.

"Patrick never really figured out how, so I always tied his tie for him," I admitted, not absent of melancholy. "Don't worry. I'm used to inept men."

House scoffed loudly at that. "Says the girl who didn't know you had to change the lint trap in a dryer."

I scowled as I stepped away from House. "Look, we put the fire out, House! I don't know why we have to keep bringing it up!"

A knock cut across our bickering. "Door's open," House shouted, knowing full-well it was Wilson. The oncologist pushed in, looking smart in his suit.

"Looking good, Uncle Jimmy," I complimented.

"Not so bad yourself, kiddo," Wilson said, nodding at my dress. "You look..."

"Like an adult?" House interrupted before I could respond. "Almost looks like she shouldn't be eating off the Kids Menu. Almost."

"Glowing praise." I rolled my eyes. "Are we good to go?"

"Let's get this over with," House said, brushing past me and heading for the door. Wilson and I fell into step behind him, and I snatched my keys off of the kitchen counter. The conference had an open bar, so I'd graciously agreed to be the designated driver so House and Wilson could get trashed if they so desired. I had a feeling I'd be hauling two half-unconscious doctors to the Corvette by the time the night was over. At least, I hoped that would be the biggest problem I would have to deal with tonight.

Please follow through, House. Please.

The ducklings and Cuddy awaited us in Princeton's largest lecture hall, all in formal wear and as aesthetically pleasing as you would expect a prime-time TV show cast to look. I felt like a hag in comparison, but I tried to stand tall as we all moved as one group towards our assigned table. I trailed towards the back, keeping in step with House, who seemed in no rush. The dread radiating off of him didn't go unnoticed.

Much to my dismay, Vogler waylaid us before we could take our seats. Well, I say us, but I mean me. House limped off without a word to the billionaire when he greeted us, so Vogler honed in on me. Joy oh joy.

"So glad you helped convince your father to give his little speech tonight. I'm excited to hear it," Vogler said, giving me that fake grin of his that I hated so much.

I just stared at him. I was sick of playing along with this already, and Vogler hadn't even been around for two months yet. How long would we have to participate in this game with him? Allowing him to play puppeteer, and should we ever tug the wrong way on our strings, we'd have them cut. I knew I had no choice but to play my part, and to pray that House played his—but that didn't mean I had to like it.

"Eat shit, Vogler." I strode past him without another word, not bothering to check his expression. He was getting what he wanted. I wasn't going to waste my time or his with forced niceties.

I sat down between Chase and House. House didn't acknowledge my presence, but Chase gaped at me. "Why the hell did you say that to him?" he asked uncomprehendingly.

I wished I could explain the full-story to Chase, but the list of people I didn't have to lie to about something had shrunk to one name: House. I just shook my head. "I'm just...not a fan. And I don't like to pretend to be something I'm not, or like someone when I don't. The only good thing about him is what his money could do for the hospital."

"There's not liking someone and then there's that," Chase replied. "C'mon, he must've done something for you to hate him that much. You love everybody."

Luckily, the first presenter entering stage right and starting off the night saved me from having to answer Chase's probing questions. Falling into a haze of quiet anxiety, I zoned out for the next hour. The first three hours were all presentations and drug plugs, by and large—interspersed with the occasional lecture from a notable doctor. I recognized a decent amount of the names on the bill from all the reading I'd done over the past year, and under normal circumstances I would've been excited to be a part of it all, but normal circumstances these were not.

House was on about halfway into the second hour. The minutes were dragging by at an excruciating pace. I couldn't speak for the other tables, but ours was waiting for the catered dinner and open bar, and I—well, I was waiting to see just how canon divergent we were going to get tonight.

When House was finally summoned to the stage, my stomach did a somersault. He didn't say anything to me before he went up, but I had to have faith that he would pull through. Vogler did his faux-genuine introduction, then departed to the side of the stage and left the podium for House to occupy.

"This should be interesting," Wilson said under his breath.

"That's one way to put it," I mumbled back as House stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. I expected him to pull out a crumpled note from his pocket as he had in the show, read off two lines, and attempt to leave the stage before being stopped by Vogler and sent back. Either that, or worse.

House instead spoke concisely and clearly into the mic, though he was devoid entirely of inflection: "Eastbrook Pharmaceuticals' extraordinary commitment to research excellence is exemplified by their new ACE inhibitor, a breakthrough medical approach that will protect millions from heart disease."

I sucked in a sharp breath. Waited. Chase's eyes flicked to me, brow furrowing in confusion.

Come on, House. Please.

I watched, in amazement, as House soldiered on with the ten minute presentation, the PowerPoint slideshow projected on the wall behind him matching up with each of his key points. My mouth fell open ungraciously, and I didn't bother to close it. I'd had so much difficulty picturing House kowtowing to anyone, much less Vogler, much less to plug a drug that he thought was entirely bullshit. I hadn't, for one second, thought he would actually do it.

And he's doing it for me.

Well, self-preservation certainly factored in, especially if Vogler had turned up concrete evidence about House and Foreman's antics during Mob Rules. And House had to understand on some level that Vogler's complaints about the financial abyss that was diagnostics would inevitably lead to either the department being shut down, or him having to cut one of the ducklings.

Okay. Not just me. That makes me feel a bit better.

I expected a wave of relief to hit me after the initial shock faded, but it never came, rather it was replaced by growing discomfort. This wasn't House. This was, in essence, the antithesis of House. He had drawn the line in the show here, and now I couldn't help but wonder where that line would be drawn in this timeline. How long would Vogler milk this, and to what degree?

"This isn't House," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else, but Chase nodded.

"So why's he doing it? Just to keep Vogler off his back?"

And once again, I was back to my original assumption: he's doing this for me. Getting Vogler off his back hadn't been enough to get House to give up his pride in canon, so it wouldn't be now.

This was my fault. I knew that going in, but I'd thought for sure House would make a spectacle out of the speech. But now as he was winding down, shuffling his notes and bidding his good evening to the crowd of doctors, guilt welled in the pit of my stomach, and the smell of the catered dinner that was slowly being brought out was making me nauseated. When the polite golf-clapping broke out and House limped off stage, I got up in a rush, banging my knee of the table.

"You okay?" Chase asked quickly. Wilson's eyes turned to me as well.

"Uh, gotta pee," I said, and I rushed off, click-clacking along as fast as I could in my heels. Once in the bathroom, I braced myself on either side of one of the sinks, taking deep breaths in an attempt to curb my rising anxiety. This is what you wanted, isn't?

Yeah. But at what cost?

I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, no great surprise. My eyes—wide, green, and obviously panicked. I did have to agree with House, however: I did look like an adult. More so than ever before. Any baby fat I'd had in my face back in November had vanished along with the stagnancy of my high school years in my own universe. The dress cut made me seem like I had a shape rather than a noticeable lack thereof as usual, and I'd even bothered to blow my hair and tame it into some kind of style, rather than its typical brown mess.

Somewhere along the lines, I'd grown up, or was growing up—I doubted very much that particularly journey would be over anytime soon. So here I was, a legal and physical adult, someone who needed to be responsible for themselves, and I was letting House be my bullet shield. Pay my way to my future for me, pay the price for me.

This wasn't right. This wasn't House—and it sure as hell wasn't me.

I tightened my grip on the sink a little harder. "I've got to fix this."