Chapter 55 — Writing on the Wall

My prediction about the open bar going south was not far off. Whoever had organized the event had wisely banned shots, but House could clear Dewar's on the rocks at the speed that most people could clear a shot anyway, so there really was no stopping him. Cameron seemed to have taken it upon herself to mind him, releasing me from babysitting duty—at least in part. Wilson was taking his free drinks in moderation at first, but after House was ten shots deep, Wilson gave up with a shrug and joined House in utter debauchery. So, I was on Wilson duty. Watching the two of them would be too much of a task for one person, even an intrinsic cat-herder like Cameron.

"To selling my soul!" House cheered, raising a wine glass he'd liberated out of Cameron's hand. She shot him an annoyed glare, but Wilson clunked his rum and Coke against the wine glass with a broad grin.

"At least you're getting something for it," Chase pointed out, who passed his glass of Riesling along to Cameron without a word. She rolled her eyes and drained it in one fell swoop. Foreman had left almost immediately after the lectures, citing plans for later in the evening, and Chase had told us he was planning on leaving soon as well. Meaning my non-wasted company was decreasing by the second.

"That's why I said selling, not giving it away," House said with a loud burp.

"It's more like a piece than the whole thing," Wilson laughed, swaying.

"You say that like I've got a lot to spare," House replied before downing Cameron's wine glass.

I hovered nearby, but not too close, and I kept my eyes pointed at my feet, feeling like lower than scum. When the drunk wore off and the hangover kicked in tomorrow morning, House would only be blaming one person for all of this—and hell, he'd be in the right. I would have given anything to go back in time to the night House admitted he'd bribed Taub and tell him that no, that wasn't who I was, and I wasn't doing it. I was going to med school on my own terms or not at all.

"All that matters is right here, right now, and what you want. You want to be a doctor, then do it."

House had made it seem so clear cut and simple. It was a shame I didn't feel like that now.

I jumped in surprise when I felt a hand on my shoulder, even more surprised when I found that it was Cuddy who had spooked me. "Here." She swapped my ginger-ale out for her champagne. "Don't tell anyone. You look like you need it."

Blinking, I stammered out a response, "Uh—th-thank you, Dr. Cuddy."

"I know your father didn't want to give that speech," she told me in a low tone. "Seeing him have to swallow his pride, well," she frowned, measuring her words, "it's not fun for anyone. Especially for you, you're going to have to deal with this when you get home." She gestured in House's general direction. "We all have to do things for the greater good sometimes. To be frank, it sucks, but it's good for you to see this. Politics play into being a doctor. You might be in your father's footsteps in more ways than one in ten years time."

I nodded dimly. Cuddy was right, but it didn't do anything to lift my spirits. I took a sip of the champagne. Hmm. Not bad. Better than scotch or beer by miles. "It's..." I tried to put how I was feeling into words. "I really wish that it was simpler."

"Me too, Anya," Cuddy said, and I could tell she was sincere. In spite of how I felt about Cuddy sometimes, I knew she had a good heart, and I knew she was trying her best to reach out to me. That meant something, not that I could find a non-awkward way to tell her that. So, I just smiled, and she returned it before leaving my side.

She stopped next to House and said something I couldn't hear, and House replied at a similarly low volume, then pointedly stared at her ass. She glared at him, mouthed something that looked distinctly like pig, and went on her way.

I drank the rest of my champagne quickly. Before long I quietly told Wilson I'd be in the car when they were ready to go. He narrowed his eyes at me. "There's still two hours left. It's freezing out there."

"I'm just not feeling social," I said with an evasive shrug.

Even drunk, Wilson was perceptive, and I could tell by the softening in his eyes that he knew there was far more to it than that. He took off his jacket and put it over my shoulders. "I'll try to get him out of here sooner rather than later," he told me, a faint slur in his speech.

"Thanks, Wilson." I doubted he would be getting House out of here one second before that open bar closed (or the bartender cut him off) but if he was up for the challenge, so be it. "Good luck," I told Cameron seriously, then headed out of the lecture hall. Cameron didn't seem happy to be left alone with the dynamic drunk duo of House and Wilson, but even my sympathy for her couldn't keep me around.

Once outside in the crisp spring air, I took a deep breath. Better. Less noise, almost nothing sans the distance traffic sounds. I chose to go the long way around to the parking garage, rather than go through the hospital. Crickets chirped, and stumbling along through the university grounds in my heels, I noted the blossoming flowers. It had been an achingly long New Jersey winter. I was grateful that spring was finally creeping in.

My cheeks felt unusually warm in spite of the chilly weather—was I tipsy? I didn't know. My balance did feel slightly off. Leaning against a tree, I took out my phone on impulse and stared at it. Went through my contacts.

Before I knew it, I'd dialed Zach. He picked up groggily on the other end. "Hmm? What's up, Anya?"

"You sound like you just woke up."

"Nah, I'm just really high. Lung rips are a motherfucker. Are you okay? You sound...I don't know. Off."

I was already going to hang up. "I can call back when you're sober—"

"I don't know if you've picked this up yet, but I'm not sober very often. Come on, just talk to me. What's up?" he pressed, brushing off my concerns about his state of mind.

I sighed, sinking further back against the tree. "I..."

"Is it about the bribe thing?"

Perceptive for a stoner. "Yeah."

"Did your dad give that speech?"

"He did."

"So what's the issue?"

I was silent for a few moments before saying, "It's an issue because this is all wrong. This isn't me. The lying, the cheating, the—the letting House be blackmailed for my sake and not doing anything about it. This isn't who House is, it's not who I am. He's not supposed to be looking out for me. I'm supposed to be looking out for him."

"How do you figure?" Zach asked.

Shit, I probably should have left out that last part. "Uh, never mind. What I mean is, I should be looking after myself. I've been letting House do everything for me, including taking hits I should be taking. It's fucked up. It's not who I am," I repeated for the umpteenth time. "And House says this is part of getting older but that's bullshit. I wanted to believe him but it's bullshit. I know all of this is wrong and I'm choosing to do it anyway because I want to be a doctor. But if I apply that logic to the rest of my life, what kind of person am I gonna turn out to be?"

"Probably a lot like House," Zach replied slowly. "You did say you looked up to him."

"Not like this. This...me and House, it doesn't work if I just turn into him. We need to be different." I looked up at the sky, the sparse twinkling stars I could see through the dark red of the light pollution. "If we don't fill in each other's cracks, no one else will."

"Well, we did talk about this already."

"Yeah."

"There's only one thing to do if it ain't what you're already doing."

I closed my eyes. "I know."

"There's other ways to help people. To save people. To work in a hospital," Zach pointed out in a soothing tone, as if he wasn't helping me come to the most gut-wrenching decision of my life.

"It won't be the same."

"No. It won't." A pause. "It's all about what you can and can't live with, Anya."

We were quiet for a time. I wasn't sure what to say. "I like you a lot," I whispered, surprising both me and him if the little grunt from Zach's end was any indication. "I don't know a lot right now, but I do know that. I'm happy you're in my life."

"That makes two of us...look. Whatever you do, I got your back. Do you need to come over?"

I grimaced. "I wish I could. I'm DD for the first night of this cardio conference and there's still a few hours left on the open bar."

"You at Princeton?"

"Yup."

"Cool. See you in like, twenty minutes."

"Are you serious? A cab that far's expensive, you don't have to—"

"Sorry, already putting my coat on. Can't stop me now. Where do you want me to meet you?"

I answered without thinking: "The fountain. The university fountain."

"See you soon." Click. I stared at the phone in my hand and found myself eternally grateful that I had someone who wasn't part of the House MD cast in my life. Someone on the same level as me, close to my age...a friend. I wasn't necessarily lonely, but I did at times feel isolated, spending my waking hours almost exclusively with people much, much older than myself. Zach helped relieve that.

I really didn't know what I would do without him.

Before long, I was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the university fountain, my fingertips in the ice-cold water, staring at the campus store I'd stumbled into half-naked and soaking wet...how long ago? It was April 18th...over five months ago. It felt like so much longer.

Grazing my fingertips through the water, I felt a deep yearning for my parents. For the simplicity of my life before...everything. I took what I was given with a smile on my face for the most part, and I did relish in the overriding sense of purpose I had here—never mind the constant excitement—but the ache for home would never truly go away.

I wondered if, when everything was said and done, for better or for worse, if this fountain would lead back home. Drop me in my pool. Would I ever see my parents again?

I reached down further into the fountain. Further...and then my fingers grazed the change on the bottom.

Maybe someday. But definitely not yet.

"You need spare change that badly?"

I looked up. Zach stood over me, puffing on a cigarette. "Uh. Sorry. Got lost in thought."

"You tend to do that." He tilted his head. "You look good."

"I—thanks." My cheeks were wind-burnt, thankfully hiding my blush. "You really didn't have to come, you know."

"Shut up." He sat next to me. "You're my friend. Sounded like things were going shitty. Things will, theoretically, be less shitty if I'm here."

"That's a bit more than theoretical. I already feel better, if only because I can leach off your warmth." I scooted closer to him. "Obviously I could go inside, or go sit in the heated parking garage in my car, but...I don't know. I feel weird. I wanted to be here." I couldn't explain the significance of the fountain, but Zach seemed to get it anyway.

"It's nice out. Cold, but nice. Summer's right around the corner." He drew heavy on his cigarette. "But we are not gonna talk about the fucking weather."

So we didn't. We talked about a million things—about House's speech, about my guilt, about the hospital, about Princeton, what I was going to do—everything. Everything I'd needed to get off my chest. Zach listened attentively, gave input when he felt I was looking for it, and by the time I got the call from Wilson that the bartender had officially cut House off and he'd been asked to leave by the event organizer, I felt infinitely lighter.

I rose from the fountain. "Alright, well, do you want a ride home at the price of helping me drag House and Wilson out of there?"

Zach nodded quickly. "About time I meet them. Especially House. The man, the myth, the legend."

"The drunk asshole. This should be interesting."

"Is this the boyfriend!?"

I groaned loudly, throwing House's arm over my shoulder while Zach took up the other side. Wilson stumbled behind us, holding House's cane. "He's not my boyfriend, House. He's a male friend. Who you've already met, by the way, albeit he wasn't conscious at the time."

"Oh yeah! You were uhhhhhh, mob boy. How's the concussion? When do the stitches come out?" House chattered drunkenly, infinitely more friendly than he would have been sober.

"Monday after next. Anya and I go the same day," Zach provided easily. "You had a lot to drink, bud?"

"Bud. Ha. Bud. He called me bud. He's so laid back." House sniffed the air. "Oh, you're stoned. You got any on you? I haven't pinched any of Wilson's medical for his patients in forever."

"House!" I snapped. "They drug-test at PPTH!"

"Only if you give 'em a reason to. If I'm not railing cocaine off of the check-in desk, no one cares," House waved me off. "Seriously, you got any?"

"I always keep a joint in my wallet. For emergencies."

"You are not smoking with him!" I insisted, glaring at Zach. "He's fucked up enough. Come on."

"Just trying to help," Zach said, shooting me a pleasant smile. "I always get the spins if I'm drunk and high at the same time. Probably for the best."

"I've been drinking since you two were—buuuuurp—an itch in your parents' pants. I could out-drink both of you," House burst out, pushing Zach and I away. "There's a bar not too far from here that will serve underage. Come on. We're going."

Wilson placed hands on both of House's shoulders. "House, no one's contesting your functional alcoholism. I promise. Let's just get home." Smashed or not, Wilson's judgement skills were still better, and he certainly hadn't had as much to drink as House.

"I've got bourbon there."

"You sure do."

Zach and I resumed our positions as House's temporary crutches. We were almost to the parking garage. "You need to take it easy," I told House under my breath. "You're getting older. You're gonna feel like shit in the morning."

"I feel like shit all the time," House responded without inflection, and my heart clenched in my chest. I didn't offer a response, because I didn't have one.

I got House and Wilson into the back of the Dynasty, and I took the wheel with Zach in the passenger seat. I practically roared out of the parking garage, eager to get out of the university before the mass exodus from the rest of the party. Thanks to the bartender putting an end to House's fun, we were leaving a little early.

"It is a pleasure to meet you Zach," Wilson called from the backseat. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Same. Good things," Zach told him.

"That has to be a lie," Wilson laughed aloud.

"Good things about you," House clarified as Zach handed him back his cane. "She has to have someone to complain to about me."

"I don't complain about you, House."

"Then you're an idiot. I do plenty of complaint worthy things."

"Well...so do I," I said with a shrug. "Can you pass out already? I hate talking to you when you're wasted."

"See, look at that. A complaint. That's the spirit."

"The man who will live and die by the quote 'everybody lies' rebuffs me for not being brutally honest one hundred percent of the time," I muttered exasperatedly.

"Will I literally live and die by that? You're the only one who would know," House responded, sagging against Wilson.

I shot him a look in the rear-view mirror that screamed shut the fuck up! loud and clear. He seemed to get it, because he didn't say anything after that. For a worryingly long amount of time, actually.

I listened closely. Snoring. A check over my shoulder confirmed Wilson had fallen asleep. House was sitting up ramrod straight again, taking deep, measured breaths, staring at his hands. His face was ashen.

"HOUSE."

He made a half-whimper/half-grunt in response.

"HOUSE. YOU ARE NOT THROWING UP IN THIS CAR." Granted it wasn't the Corvette, but the Dynasty's interior was cloth—and getting vomit out would be an absolute bitch.

His expression gave me no comfort. I pulled over into a car dealership in a rush and ordered him out of the car. House grabbed his cane, stumbled up, and promptly threw up every ounce of Chicken Florentine and buttered asparagus that he'd had for dinner, while turning in a semi-circle and forming a nice crescent moon of puke.

When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and climbed back in the Dynasty. "Thanks. I feel much better. Ready to go for round two. Wilson, wake up, the night is still young," House said, poking the other doctor with his cane.

"Oh my God." I floored it the rest of the way back to Baker Street. House and Wilson went up into the apartment without much of a struggle. I ordered House to the bathroom to shower even though he complained incessantly about not having gotten any throw-up on himself, and then sat Wilson down on the couch with a blanket, a large glass of water, and some toast, as he was starting to look like he'd be the next to empty his guts.

"House won't tell you this, but thank you," Wilson said, bloodshot eyes almost pinched shut as he lifted the glass of water to his lips. "For being, you know. Mom."

My irritation faded momentarily, and I scruffed Wilson's hair. "Go to bed, Uncle Jimmy."

Wilson looked up at me with a weary smile. "If you keep saying that it's going to stop being ironic."

"Who said it was ironic?" I asked with a faint smirk. I retreated into the kitchen and grabbed House's bourbon and scotch from the alcohol cabinet. I tucked the bourbon under my arm and gave the other one to Zach. "I'm confiscating these so House doesn't get any hair of the dog ideas."

"Understandable," Wilson conceded blearily.

"I'm gonna drive Zach home. I'll be home soon."

"Drive safe. It was nice meeting you, Zach. Maybe next time it will be under more sober circumstances for both of us."

"You too, Doc," Zach said from the door, lifting a hand.

We were on the road once more, minus two doctors and plus two bottles, just a few minutes later. We'd taken Lola this time, since we no longer had the need for a backseat. I turned on the radio, and we drove with only music. We'd exhausted all conversation after the events of the evening. I felt like I'd said all I needed to say, and all that was left was action. We both knew that. So, when I dropped Zach off at his apartment, he looked over at me knowingly.

"So. Tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"You're gonna do it."

I gulped. "Yeah."

He swiftly kissed my cheek. He pulled back before I could react, took a sip of the scotch directly from the bottle, winked, and hopped out of the Corvette. "I'm proud of you," he hollered over his shoulder. "I'll see you for our stitch date."

"Bye, Zach," I called after him, feeling a substantial loss as he went up the stairs to his apartment. Now all that was standing between me and what I would have to do tomorrow was one night's sleep.

Tomorrow changes everything.