Chapter 64 — The Good Samaritan
A/N: Thank you to HeatherSS1, BrySt1, SoleFaith, Rubyia, Visitkarte, Musikrulesok, Meme, Robin, and wsmith for their reviews on the last chapter!
"Wake up!" I chucked an empty, balled-up bag of chips at House's head. He'd been snoozing away in his chair in the corner. He jerked awake with an irritated growl in the back of his throat.
"What?" he snapped.
"Need you to proofread this for me." I gestured at his computer. "I finished that article about Lucy Palmero's case. Just doctor it up—ha ha—and then you can publish it and we can start really working on that 'save the department' thing. I sent a copy to Wilson, too."
House snorted. "You don't get paid for writing an academic paper."
My face blanked completely. "You...you don't? Then why the hell did you let me write this? I asked for your dictations on Lucy over a month ago!"
"I just wanted to see if you would do it or not," House replied with a shrug. Slowly, and with a hand minding his thigh, he rose to his feet and hobbled over to me. He kicked me out of his office chair and sank down to read the paper.
I sat by his feet, steaming that I'd put in so much work for something that ultimately would do nothing but get House a spot in some medical journal he didn't care about, and a few curious letters from doctors around the world that House would inevitably ignore. Went to show what I knew. At least the team had been churning out grant proposal after grant proposal, and a few scattered philanthropists had even been so kind as to donate to the department, but no amount had been big enough yet to guarantee safety from Vogler when time came to decide whether a Department of Diagnostic Medicine was more trouble than it was worth.
"God, you write like Cameron," House said, exiting out of the document. "I have to edit the bleeding heart out. I'll still publish it, though. I've been using writing this as an excuse not to do clinic duty for the past two weeks, and Cuddy actually bought it."
I gaped up at him. "Are you fucking serious?"
"Are you fucking surprised?" House retorted, mocking my voice.
"I am, even though I really shouldn't be." I got to my feet with a shake of my head. "I need to go home and get changed."
"Why? I thought you didn't work tonight."
"I don't. Zach and I are going out for a birthday thing," I said vaguely, grabbing my backpack from where it sat next to House's.
"Tell him if he doesn't end up in the ER getting his stomach pumped, he's not really twenty-one," House said, already heading to PornHub now that he'd finished reading the fruits of my hard work.
"It's my birthday, not Zach's," I reminded him with a yawn, pulling on my coat.
"Oh, that's right. You're finally fifteen."
"Wow, you're employing internal consistency in your own jokes. That's impressive." I went for the door. "I'll see you later."
An hour later, I pulled up outside of Zach's apartment and laid on the horn. The living room window opened, and his head popped out. He gestured for me to come inside. I shrugged and killed Lola's engine, heading up the narrow stairs. Zach opened the door, mouth falling open when he took in my appearance. "You, uh," he seemed at a loss. "You look amazing."
I'd gone with the same outfit I'd worn to the National Cardiology Conference, but this time I let my hair down and actually made an attempt with my makeup—all of which I'd borrowed from Cameron, because I wouldn't even know where to start shopping for shit like that. Lucky us we had relatively the same skin tone.
"You said dress fancy," I told him with a nervous grin. "You don't clean up so bad yourself."
Zach wore a crimson button down and black Dickies, and he'd taken the time to brush his hair, something he rarely did.
"Thanks," he said, leaning forward and giving me a light kiss. "Wanna come in?"
"I thought we were going out?" I asked, confused.
"I mean, yeah, that's what I was originally planning to do, but I thought..." he hesitated, then just waved me inside. "Just, come on."
I followed Zach inside, and was surprised by what I saw. First and foremost, the apartment was spotless. Zach, Jeremy, and Tracy weren't disgusting by any means, but the place was usually at least cluttered with weed paraphernilia, empty soda bottles and snack bags, and various articles of clothing. And it always smelled very poignantly of the green stuff. Not tonight. Everything was in its place, he'd vacuumed the metric ton of keef out of the carpet, and seemingly had zip-tied the depressor on a can of Febreeze and tossed it into the living room, as it smelled pleasantly of peaches.
In the center of the room was a card table with a white sheet draped over it. Candles were scattered over the surface, and on two glass plates—which I didn't even know that Zach owned hard plates—sat a serving each of grilled shrimp, a small steak, and roasted asparagus. Complete with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two wine glasses.
"Holy shit, Zach," I said numbly, taking in the scene in front of me. "You...this is beautiful. This must've taken you hours. I didn't even know you could cook like this."
"My mom never learned, so I kinda had to if I wanted anything other than PB&J for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," Zach explained. "Go on, sit down." He pulled my chair out for me.
I sat in a daze. I ran my finger along the wine glass, and Zach joined me on the other side. He hit a remote in his hand, and gentle acoustic music streamed over his stereo in the corner. Michael Penn. He'd even been paying attention to what music I listened to. I grinned wide. "I can't get over this. This is...thank you. Thank you so much."
"Save the thanks till after we eat. This could totally suck," Zach replied with a faint smile. "Also, I know you kinda hate alcohol, and I don't know the first thing about wine, but...I dunno, it seemed appropriate for the occasion."
"It's just like grape juice, right?" I asked as he poured me half a glass, and did the same for himself. I watched him, the way the firelight turned his blond hair gold, how methodically he went about everything he did. "Hey."
He looked up at me. "Hmm?"
"I'm really lucky to have you," I said softly, not knowing how else to express how I was feeling. I couldn't remember the last time someone had gone out of their way like this for me. It touched something in my chest, made me feel...it made me feel at home. In a way I hadn't since I'd come to his universe.
"We're lucky we have each other," Zach amended. "Now let's eat this shit before it gets cold."
The shrimp and steak were cooked perfectly, and Zach had basted the asparagus in something that made it taste less vegetable-y. Probably bacon fat or something. Either way, the whole meal tasted amazing, and I told Zach as much, repeatedly.
"You haven't tried the wine," Zach pointed out as we were finishing up our crumbs.
"Neither have you," I retorted with a smirk.
We both picked up our glasses at the same time. "Cheers?" Zach asked, lifting his.
I touched the brim of my glass to his. "What are we cheering?"
"You, duh," Zach replied simply. "Happy 19th, Anya."
Another clink, and we each took a gulp of our wine. I watched Zach's face as he grimaced profoundly, like he'd just drank urine, a thought that struck me as so funny that I spat my wine out all over the 'tablecloth', and Zach's nicest shirt, which made him burst out laughing, and then there we were, doubled over a folding table with a wine-soaked sheet Zach had definitely stolen off of Jeremy and Tracy's bed, faces red and tears in our eyes, laughing at the top of our lungs.
I drew up my arm to wipe away some of the moisture, and in the process, knocked over one of the candles.
Which caught the sheet on fire.
"Shit, shit! Oh shit!" I panicked, and Zach whipped the cloth off of the table without thinking, knocking our dishes, wine, and all the other candles to the ground. Luckily, most of them landed sideways and went out, but at least one's flame grazed the cloth on the way down, and now it was smoldering at both ends. When it hit the wine I'd spewed out, the smolders grew to flames.
"SHIT!" Zach cursed loudly. I grabbed the water bong from where it sat on the shelf nearby and emptied it out onto the flames, and then Zach raced to my side to stamp it out. Between the two of us, we managed to squelch the budding fire, with only a few scattered burn marks on the sheet and carpet left behind.
We stood next to each other, staring at the catastrophic mess we'd managed to make of the living room in under forty seconds. I turned to Zach, looking at his wine-soaked shirt, holding the water bong loosely in my hand. His eyes met mine, and—
And we started laughing again.
"Fuck," Zach said, wiping his hands down his face and trying to stop giggling. "Oh my God, fuck. I love you."
"I love you too," I said back, natural as breathing. It was only after a few seconds that the impact of what we'd just said settled in on us. We looked at each other again.
"Did we just, uh...?"
"We did," I confirmed with a nod.
Zach frowned. We weren't laughing now. "Sorry. It kind of slipped out."
"Only say sorry if you didn't mean it," I told him, heart clenching a bit as I set the bong back down.
"I meant it," he said in a rush, grabbing both my hands and turning me so were fully face-to-face. We were both sticky with wine and smelled like fire. "I did. I just, wanted to make a big deal out of it when I did say it. Have roses or something."
"Tonight was a pretty big deal. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me," I told him honestly, squeezing his hands.
He smiled down at me, and he rested his forehead against mine. "So you meant it, too?"
I had. I'd never said I love you in a romantic way before. I'd never felt it before. But with Zach...the butterflies in my stomach when we were together, the comfort I felt when he was near, that overwhelming sense of home he brought with him... "I meant it."
Zach kissed me then, slow and deep. When he pulled back, he said, "I love you."
"I love you," I replied thickly.
He squeezed my hands once more. "Hey," he said gently, "You're not shaking anymore."
"No. No I'm not."
I leaned into him, and he held me.
This was one of the best birthdays I'd ever had.
I didn't leave Zach's until well after midnight. Which I would regret in the future, given that I had school in the morning, but I hadn't wanted to leave him. I had already started planning out in my head what to do for Zach's birthday, which was fast approaching. There was no way I could really top the effort he'd gone to for me, but I'd figure out something.
I stopped at the hospital on the way home. I'd been texting House to see if he needed a ride, but his phone was either dead, or he'd been ignoring my texts, so I decided I'd just drop by and see for myself. Still clad in my dress, I headed up to Diagnostics. When I arrived, the team was cluttered in House's office around his desk, Cameron sitting in the solitary chair facing the desk, with Foreman and Chase flanking her.
"What do you mean, he's refusing treatment?" House demanded just as I stepped into the room, pacing angrily behind his desk.
"He figures that the pharmaceutical companies need something big to force them into action. This is gonna get a lot more media play than a thousand African villagers dying," Cameron replied. I noted that House's desk phone was ringing off the hook.
The ducklings turned to look at me. Chase seemed taken aback by my appearance. "Where've you been? You look great."
"Birthday thing. Where's your phone?" I directed the question at House.
"It's your birthday?" Chase questioned with a tilt of his head. "How come you didn't say anything?"
"I knew," Cameron said with a shrug of one shoulder.
"Mainly because I borrowed her makeup. And I didn't say anything because nineteen is a fake birthday," I told Chase.
"Happy Birthday," Foreman said grimly, clearly still focused on the problem at hand with their patient—it sounded like they were well into TB Or Not TB at this point, so I understood that.
"Thanks," I said distractedly, still focused on House. "Do you need a ride home or not?"
"So he's not gonna take the pills, and he won't agree to anymore tests," House said, ignoring me.
"He has his diagnosis," Cameron said, lifting up her hands in defeat.
I pointed at the phone. "Newsweek is calling you. Is this why you have your phone turned off? Avoiding the press?"
"No, I'm doing it because I want to sleep here tonight," House snarked, "Yes, I'm avoiding the press!" House picked up the phone with a huff. "In my opinion, Dr. Sebastian Charles is an idiot. Yeah, you can quote me. C-U-D-D-Y." He slammed the phone down and turned back to the team, specifically Cameron. "See what happens when you don't listen to me?"
"Maybe millions of lives get saved," Cameron said, running a hand through her bedraggled hair. The ducklings all looked exhausted.
"Yeah, that's my point," House shot back. He resumed pacing. "Increased heart rate. Night sweats. Loss of consciousness. Besides rough sex, what do they all have in common?"
"I guess I'll just hang out here then," I said with a sigh, sitting on House's desk and crossing my legs. He wasn't going anywhere until he was through with this differential. "TB fits—"
"IT'S NOT TB," House said loudly.
"His autonomic nervous system?" Chase suggested halfheartedly.
"We know that it's not a brain tumor," Cameron insisted.
"So what else could be eating his nerves?" House challenged.
"Anderson-Fabry?" I offered, deciding I might as well play along if I was here. Never mind the fact that I didn't actually remember what Dr. Charles' diagnosis was, only that it wasn't TB.
"No family history, and his kidneys are fine," House dismissed my idea immediately.
"Autonomic disregulation syndrome, Shy-Drager syndrome, it doesn't matter," Foreman said. "He won't let us test him."
House thumped his fist against the wall, shaking his head. "I have to get Cuddy to lawyer up. Convince her he's not in his right mind."
"He is in his right mind. He's taking a stand for what he believes in," I pointed out. "Shouldn't you admire that kind of insane, self-destructive integrity?"
"I admire what's real," House snapped. "This is all performative bullshit."
"Bullshit or not, we're not getting anywhere until you talk to Cuddy, and she's gone for the night. So either go to her house and wake her up, or we deal with this in the morning," Chase said, crossing his arms. "We can't hold him down and force him to submit to tests, not without a court order."
"We did with Mark. Does this patient have a wife we can manipulate?" House asked, and I could tell he was only partially kidding. "Get out of here, and be back early. Cuddy gets in at six, and I'll be waiting in her office to cry to her about this."
The three doctors dispersed to get their things and head home. Chase hovered in the door before ducking into the differential room. "Anya?"
I turned to him. "Yeah?"
"Happy Birthday. Fake birthday or not."
I smiled at him. "Thanks, Chase." Chase could be kind of a dismissive, apathetic ass at times, but he always seemed to take care to be sweet to me, and that meant a lot. Probably just another side effect of Chase getting along better with kids than with adults. I didn't love the fact that he might view me as a kid, but most of the people in my life did, barring Zach, so it was just something I'd have to get used to.
He dipped out, and soon he and Foreman were headed down the hallway. Cameron slipped back in when the coast was clear. "I'll follow you guys back in my car. There's no point in me going back to my house tonight if I need to be here again in six hours."
"Shouldn't you stay here with the Doc? Afraid he might die if you're not constantly there doting on him?" House asked with obvious derision.
Cameron and I were both taken aback by his harshness. "Jeez, House," I said, shooting him a look that I hope visibly telegraphed be nice to your girlfriend.
"He wants her to go to Africa with him," House said by way of explanation.
"Okay, one, I said no, and two, I admire what he does. That doesn't mean I want to sleep with him," Cameron responded, and I could read the frustration in her eyes.
"You admired me, and now you're sleeping with me, so forgive me if I don't really buy that logic." House limped past Cameron. "I'll see you in the morning."
"House—" House had already grabbed his bag and was pushing out the office door.
She just shook her head, jaw tight.
"He's just mad he can't test Dr. Charles," I told Cameron, hopping off of House's desk. "Don't take it personally, Cameron. House is an ass, but...his actions say a lot more than his words."
"His actions? Like not letting me spend the night with him?" she asked shortly, but then made a face of contrition almost as soon as it was out of her mouth. "I'm sorry, Anya, this is inappropriate. You don't need to hear about my relationship with your dad."
"House certainly isn't shy about it," I replied dryly. "You know I'm here if you need to talk. You're my friend."
That actually wrangled a smile out of Cameron. "I appreciate that."
"You should. I don't have a lot of friends." I went for the door. "I gotta catch up with him. I'll see you soon."
Cameron bid me goodnight, and I was off after House.
"Being a dick to Cameron isn't going to prove you're right about Dr. Charles," I told House once we were in Lola and heading back to the apartment.
"I wasn't a dick to her."
"You kinda were. She's allowed to like a patient. Doesn't mean she like likes him." Granted, she definitely seemed to have a bit of a crush on him in canon, but that still ultimately led nowhere. As Chase had pointed out in the episode proper, "He's not House."
"Remind me to stop interacting with Cameron in front of you and Wilson. I'm getting sick of the lectures," House griped, looking at the passing scenery and barely seeming to hear me.
"Or are you getting sick of Cameron?"
That got him to look at me. "You extrapolated that from me not wanting to see her one night?"
"I got that from the fact that you pick fights with her."
"She went behind my back and gave him the PPD!" House burst out. "We wouldn't even be in this situation if she hadn't given him the damn test. Now he's gonna die on principal and she's gonna sit all dewy-eyed at his bedside until he does."
"Don't you want your fellows to trust their own judgement? They'll never be able to step out from under your shadow if they can't."
"She didn't trust her own judgment, she trusted his judgment—oh, the pulmonologist who has spent the past twenty years in and out of the DRC thinks he has TB? No way!" House shook his head. "The whole point of being a diagnostician is to not see what specialists see, which is whatever they want to see. Three doctors see a patient. We'll call them Buddy, Dilson, and Louse. Buddy is an endocrinologist, and Buddy thinks the patient has Autoimmune Polyendocrine Syndrome Type 2. Dilson is an oncologist, and he thinks the patient has breast cancer. Louse is an infectious disease specialist, and he thinks the patient has Epstein-Barr. Do you see the problem here?"
"When you only focus on one area you stop considering other possibilities, I get it. You want Cameron, Chase, and Foreman to look at things objectively without letting their specialties blind them."
"And Cameron didn't even let her own specialty blind her! She let someone else's! Now that's impressive," House scowled. "I want them all to grow a pair, but defying me to listen to somebody else is not what I meant."
"They'll get there, House. Just give it time."
"Will they?" House asked. "Because according to you, they were already telling me to go fuck myself at this point in the show. So what's wrong this time?"
"The telling you to go fuck yourself doesn't really start until next season. But yeah, they did seem to have more backbone in the show, but I'm hoping that just because a few dominoes are out of place doesn't mean the whole Jenga tower is coming down."
"You're mixing metaphors."
I yawned. "I know. Just...I don't know, House. Tell Cameron what you just told me, because now she thinks you're being petty and jealous."
"I'm petty and jealous by nature, better for her to find out now then later."
I glanced at him as I parked Lola in front of the apartment. "How the hell did Stacy put up with you for as long as she did?"
House seemed to grow morose at the mention of Stacy. "She tried to convince herself she was having fun," he said in a monotone. He tapped his cane handle on the dashboard. "Can we go in? I need sleep."
"House, I didn't mean..."
He was already getting out of the car. I pursed my lips. I was worried about him—I wanted House to be with someone. I wanted him to be happy. But it seemed like he was constantly self-sabotaging to make that eventual goal even harder. Or was there more to it? I didn't know, and I knew pressing further tonight wasn't going to accomplish anything.
So I followed House inside, and I did what I'd been doing since he and Cameron got together: I hoped for the fucking best.