Chapter 66 — Scar Tissue
A/N: Thank you to Illand Girl, BrySt1, Visitkarte, Tam Lin's rose, Robin, OldSFfan, HeatherSS1, SoleFaith, Musikrulesok, hilsonforlife, and meme for their reviews on the last chapter!
And we've hit a milestone! Over 1000 reviews! I never once imagined that this story would gain the kind of following it has. I can only say thank you so many ways, but just once more with feeling: thank you to everyone who has read this story, whether you've been with me from the start or just hopped on board. Next milestone is beating my one Supernatural fic out for my most popular story, and that's right around the corner ;)
I knew the episode as soon as I arrived at the hospital next; mainly because Cameron, Chase, and Foreman immediately backed me into a corner of the differential room with hordes of questions.
"Did you know House's parents are coming to town?"
"What are they like? Have you met them?"
"Why is he avoiding them?"
"Did they lock him in a closet for seventeen years?"
"Guys," I held up my hands. "No, I haven't met them. No, I don't know anything about them. Why the sudden interest?"
Especially considering that in the original episode Foreman and Chase had shown next to no fascination with what might have gone on behind the closed doors of the House household. Cameron cared, because any insight into House's deep, brooding melancholy was a huge turn-on for her, but the boys couldn't seem to care less. Maybe this was just a side effect of everyone being on better terms? I didn't know, but it made my life a hell of a lot more inconvenient. I'd been under the impression I would only have to ward off Cameron during Daddy's Boy, not the entire team.
"Because...your father..." Cameron began, but I cut her off.
"Is a bastard. And you want to know what made him that way." I dropped my book-bag on the glass table with a thonk. "Isn't it more fun to let it stay a mystery?"
"If House had the chance to rifle through our childhoods, he'd do it in a second," Chase said. "He already did with Foreman."
"Do they even know about you?" Foreman asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.
"Of course they know about her," Cameron said, exasperated. "There's no way he kept something like that—"
"They have no idea about me," I interrupted again, and Cameron gaped. "Unless House told them without telling me, but that's unlikely." I hadn't heard House so much as mention his Mom in the past year I'd been living with him. He certainly hadn't gotten any calls from Blythe or John, and if he had, he had ignored and erased them before I could notice them on the answering machine.
"How could he not tell his own parents that they have a granddaughter?" Chase tilted his head, completely floored.
"It's House," Foreman said, as if that explained everything. And yeah, I guess it kind of did.
"I don't know, but I bet they're not gonna be happy when they find out he's failed to mention it over the past year," I sighed.
I had no earthly idea how House's parents were going to react to me. More importantly, would House even be able to sell the lie that I was his daughter? He'd repeatedly said his mother was a human polygraph, able to see straight through him. Coupled with the fact that House and I couldn't look less alike if we tried, the risk of Blythe calling him out seemed high. But there was no way that he could hide me from them.
Even with his limited contact with his parents, signs of me were littered everywhere in House's apartment, his car, his office. Everyone in House's life with the exception of Wilson knew me as his daughter. There really was no skirting past it: we would have to tell Blythe and John, and suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. More so even than the potential of Blythe seeing through our lies, the potential reaction of House's 'father'—well, I had even less of a clue how that would go.
I wasn't looking forward to meeting John House, primarily because I didn't trust myself to keep my mouth shut if he started in on House. It went without saying that I felt a massive protectiveness over House, especially from John, who had singlehandedly managed to do more lasting damage in House's life than his leg, vicodin dependency, and losing Stacy combined.
"Anya?" Chase was snapping his fingers in front of my face. "You still with us?"
I came back to reality with a jolt. "Uh, sorry. Lost in thought. Meeting the grandparents and all that."
"Maybe they'll be so overwhelmed with joy that House has a kid that they'll forget how pissed they are that he didn't tell them he had a kid," Chase reasoned. "Either way, can we go run that immunoglobulin level now before House comes back and finds us gossiping?" He glanced between Foreman and Cameron.
Foreman and Chase headed off, Cameron waved them ahead with a promise that she would do the electrophoresis. As soon as the boys were gone, Cameron turned to me. "He told his mom he has a business dinner Thursday with Wilson."
"He doesn't," I said, but she already knew that.
"Exactly. Look. I get that House wants to avoid his parents, a lot of people are like that. And I don't know the full story with them—or, even part of the story, admittedly. But they need to meet you, and—and I'd like them to meet me," Cameron told me, seeming far more unsure of herself than usual. "We've been together for six months now. That's usually meet the parents time, right?"
"He hasn't met yours," I pointed out, more playing devil's advocate than anything else.
"My family is all in Chicago, his parents live in Lexington. Hardly the same thing," Cameron responded, crossing her arms and looking for all the world like she was...panicking. "Honestly, I'm just afraid of overstepping."
I decided not to point out that Chicago was only about two hours further from Princeton than Lexington was. This was a hell of a difference from the original episode too, where Cameron was all too happy to insert herself into House's life. It was telling that as his girlfriend she was much more reluctant to dive headfirst into his family issues.
I scratched the back of my neck. My opinion didn't really matter; it all came down to House. "I don't know, Cameron. I can pick his brain a little, but...it's House. He's..."
"Complicated," she filled in.
Yes. And you seem to love that about him. "Yeah." I didn't know what else to say on the subject. "Maybe we can convince him it'll be less painful if we're with him."
"Here's hoping."
I caught up with Wilson and House at lunch, seating myself beside House, egg salad sandwich in hand. "Boys," I acknowledged.
"Tell House he needs to see his parents," Wilson said immediately. Oh good, I'd stepped in mid-argument. "And to stop using me to avoid them."
"You should stop using Wilson to avoid them," I told House, taking a bite of my sandwich. "But, seeing them or not seeing them is completely up to you."
"Ha!" House said, pointing his fork in Wilson's direction, then jabbing it towards me, "This is why you're my favorite fake-kid."
"The competition is fierce," I muttered.
"Wait, what? Of all the times you choose not to be the voice of reason, it's now? House hasn't even told his parents about you!"
"His relationship with his parents is none of my business," I said with an air of what I hoped was finality.
Wilson showed no sign of ceasing his pressing, however: "What—you were sent from a future alternate dimension to make his life better, everything about him is your business!" Wilson whisper-shouted. He paused, leaning back, a realization seeming to hit him. "The day we first met. I asked you about House's childhood, and you wouldn't tell me. Is this why?" He looked between House and I, neither of us offering up anything in response. "What am I missing here, A Child Called It?"
House let out a loud, bitter laugh. "Yeah, let's talk about it over lunch."
"You owe your mother more than this, House. She'd be over the moon to have a grandchild," Wilson insisted.
"More like she'd be heartbroken that she missed the phase where she could buy her onesies and put her hair in ponytails. Every conversation I've had with her since I turned twenty-five has somehow led to her desperately wanting me to produce crotch goblins for her to fawn over," House said, keeping his eyes down to the steak he'd hidden under the salad he'd gotten for lunch, seeming to have lost his appetite. "And I know exactly what Dad would say."
"What?" Wilson asked.
House seemed to come back to himself, raising his head. "Doesn't matter. I've got a twenty-two year old in Depends to go deal with." He shoved his plate towards Wilson. "There. The beginning of me repaying my debt."
He gave me a gentle push until I scooted out of the booth, and then he was off. I sat back down with Wilson, watching House's retreating form as he limped out of the cafeteria.
"What the hell did his dad do to him?" Wilson asked, staring after House with nothing but confusion in his eyes.
"Even I don't really know the intimate details, but I can make some guesses. Suffice it to say I think House is justified it not wanting to see him. His mom just complicates things—he loves his mother."
"It's hard not to love Blythe. What's hard to believe is that she produced House."
"How many times have you met House's parents?" I asked Wilson. The show had never been clear, I knew only that he had met them, not how well they knew him.
"Three times," Wilson replied. "The first time was just a few months after I met House. His mom actually managed to guilt him into coming for Christmas. He dragged me along. And a flask." He thought for a moment. "A few flasks."
"The other times?"
"One time was a surprise visit about seven years ago when they had a layover, a lot like this. The other was when he had the infarction. He wouldn't call his parents, told Stacy he had. She believed him for some reason, I didn't—so I called, and they came." Just the memory seemed to make Wilson's shoulders sag, the way they always did when he talked about the year following House's infarction
"I bet that was...unpleasant for everyone," I said slowly, waiting for Wilson to elaborate.
"His mom doted on him. With tears in her eyes. John stood there with his arms crossed and probably said less than twenty words the entire time." Wilson gave a little shake of his head. "I know there's no love lost between House and John, but they're always cordial. I always figured it was the typical story, rebellious son, military father. Nothing complicated."
My conversation with Cameron earlier rang between my ears. "Everything with House is complicated."
Wilson rubbed his hands over his eyes. "You're not wrong. But he can't keep hiding you from them. Or Cameron, for that matter."
"It's up to him," I repeated. "So let's just...let him decide for himself, okay? I know that goes against your instincts, and it goes against mine too, but he's a big boy, and contrary to popular belief, we don't owe our families anything—not if they're toxic." Or in the case of Blythe, supported someone who was.
"So this doesn't bother you at all? The fact that he's lucky enough to have two parents who are both living and healthy when he's in his mid-forties, and he chooses not to see them? If you had the chance to see your parents again—"
"I don't want to think about that," I broke in. "Wilson, I really don't. I go out of my way not to think about my parents. It's too hard."
Every day, I woke up with an ache in my chest. It had grown familiar by now, that hole where my parents belonged. But familiar didn't mean that the pain had lessened, only become a constant that managed to fade to white noise in the background, when I was lucky. Perhaps that's why I went out of my way to stay so busy; any possible distraction from what I'd lost. I loved Wilson, but I didn't appreciate him bringing my parents into things.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up," Wilson apologized, and I appreciated that much. "I'm just trying to look out for him. I wish I could see my parents more, it kills me that I don't."
My brow furrowed. "Where do your parents live?"
"They retired in Occidental. They've been in California sipping wine for the past three years," Wilson answered, a forlorn distance in his eyes. "I've only seen them twice since they left. Makes it harder for me to wrap my head around a son living a day's drive from his parents and not going to see them."
"A day in a car can suck when you've got a bum leg."
"We both know that's not why he avoids them," Wilson sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow. "I guess you're right, though. It's up to him."
"That's all I'm asking." I was hoping if I instilled in Wilson early that going behind House's back to make decisions for him—and ignoring his wishes in the process—was maybe not the best thing in the world, I could break him of the behavior early. Wilson always meant well, but he also tended to bury himself in House's problems so he wouldn't have to face his own.
It was a big part of their friendship, House's desperate need for a nagging Jiminy Cricket that could put up with infinite abuse, and Wilson's need for neediness, someone who without hesitation enveloped every aspect of his life and had a never-ending depth of issues to occupy a natural problem-solver like Wilson forever.
They loved each other. They needed each other. But it wasn't healthy.
"I don't like that look," Wilson said, grabbing his tray and standing up. "That's your thinking look."
"It's nothing," I lied, finishing off the last bite of my sandwich.
"I...don't believe you," Wilson said, tossing his tray. "But then again, I'm not sure I really want to know. I'll see you later."
"Later, Wilson."
I headed out of the cafeteria, mind spinning.
On my way back from work that night, I heard a loud revving next to me. I'd been staring at the red light, willing it to change. I looked to the left of me and grinned.
"Wanna race?" House called, throwing up the visor on his helmet.
"Jail is a place," I called back. "Also, we're literally a block from home."
"You're just saying no because you know you'll lose," House taunted.
"Yeah, sure, that's it."
We drove side-by-side to the apartment. House dismounted his bike as I closed the driver's side door on Lola. We walked up to the door together.
"So. Are you part of this Meet the Parents plot? Have you switched sides since lunch?" House asked as we stepped into the apartment. He shed his leather jacket and threw it on the back of the couch.
"Nope."
"Why? Meddling is kind of your thing, isn't it?"
"Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to John."
House gave me a sharp, appraising look, stopping barely a foot from me. A few beats of silence passed between us, House's eyes locked on mine. "How much do you know?" he asked at length, his voice surprisingly quiet.
"Enough to understand why you wouldn't want anything to do with him. Enough to not want anything to do with him myself."
"Did you tell Cameron and Wilson that?"
"It's not my place to tell Wilson and Cameron anything about your parents."
House finally released my eyes, heading to the couch and sinking down. "Great. It's settled. My patient is far too sick for me to see my parents, I'll have to raincheck."
"I didn't say that," I said, sinking down next to him, but still leaving a bit of space. "You want to see your mom."
House pulled his vicodin out of his pocket. "Not enough to see him."
"They're gonna figure out about me eventually. If you don't tell them, Wilson will probably crack and say something," I continued.
"I'm confused, which side are you on?"
"Just consider this: you are going to have to see your parents again at some point in your life. Wouldn't you rather it be with me, Cameron, and Wilson, than alone?"
"Why the hell would I want that?" he snapped.
"Maybe because I think your dad's a real son of a bitch, and I'd like you to face him surrounded by people who think you're great. Hell, bring Cuddy and the boys too. Bring everyone. It'll show your dad that you're not a miserable, lonely bastard with nothing in his life, and it'll help your mom sleep better at night knowing that you're happy."
"And what if I'm not happy?" House asked, and I felt a tightening in my chest. I wish to God that you were.
"Wouldn't you rather your mom think that you are?" I asked gently.
That seemed to give him pause.
"It's up to you, House. I'm with you either way."
He popped his vicodin into his mouth. "I call first shower." Okay, I guess the conversation was over.
"You're not taking a shower, you're taking a bath. I'm not gonna have any hot water left to shower with."
House wiggled his cane. "Cripple before youth. Deal with it." He rose with some difficulty. "Go stay with Zach, Cameron's coming over."
"Fine. And by the way, Carnell's dad lied about what he does for a living. He runs a salvage yard." I hated to interfere, but it was never clear in the show whether Carnell survived or not. If I could give House the clue he needed earlier, his chances would increase dramatically. Also, it meant he couldn't use Carnell as an excuse not to see his parents.
House's eyes widened. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, no doubt already dialing the team. He headed for the door again. "Shower's yours."
"Yeah, I thought as much." House disappeared out the door, slamming it behind him. I hoped that something I'd said had sank in, but I wouldn't know until tomorrow night.