Chapter 68 — Out of the Woods

A/N: Thank you to Rubyia, BrySt1, HeatherSS1, Meme, Robin, OldSFfan, QuirkyKim, kqzw, and wsmith for their reviews on the last chapter!

We all parted ways around eight o'clock, handshakes and hugs and goodbyes, the usual. Blythe shot me a secretive smile after she hugged me, saying a quiet, "I'll talk to you soon," before bidding a final farewell and heading back to she and John's rental car.

John hovered by House for one more moment, clapping his son on the back. "Don't let this one leave," he said, gesturing at Cameron. "You're usually not so great at that."

House just looked away. "Right."

"And come down and visit the family sometime, will ya? Your aunts miss you."

"Okay, Dad."

"I mean it."

"Okay," House repeated, voice just as one-note as before.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Greg," John said sharply, and House's head immediately perked up. His shoulders drew back, I watched his entire posture tense.

"Hey," I cut in, scooting closer to House, "He's a grown man. Don't talk to him like he's a child."

"Anya—" House said, but I cut him off.

"I'm just saying," I said. Wilson and Cameron's eyes both widened, surprised that I'd spoken up.

John seemed taken aback, but he took it in stride, "Someday you'll have kids of your own, and you'll get that they never really stop being your kids."

House was never your kid in the first place. I didn't say that, though. I didn't think anyone there wanted me to go on a roll. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. House," I said coolly.

A slight narrowing of his eyes, but John clapped House on the back one more time before saying, "I hope we'll see you at Christmas," and following after his wife.

When their taillights receded into the distance, I could see House's entire body relax. "Can I go home and drink myself to sleep now, please?" he asked, heading to the Dynasty, the limp in his leg more pronounced than usual.

"I can't believe you didn't tell them about Anya," Wilson said with a shake of his head. "What was the point of this, then?"

"To get all of you off my back!" House snapped, some of his usual self starting to shine through again, now that he was away from his parents. "I saw Mommy and Daddy, I introduced them to Cameron. Two out of three sounds good enough to me. Now, can we skip the lecture? From all three of you?"

"I wasn't going to lecture you," I said with a shrug. "I get why you didn't tell them. I just wish you would've given me some heads up."

"Call it whimsy," House said, sliding into the driver's seat.

Cameron got into the passenger seat, kicking off her heels. "They seem nice, House. I don't know why you avoid them like you do." Wilson and I climbed in back, and I could read the frustration in Wilson's face.

"They're perfectly nice. They're exactly what you'd expect," House said, pulling out of the parking lot.

"And House hates them anyway," Wilson put in.

"I don't hate them, I hate him," House stated with some amount of finality.

"House—" both Cameron and Wilson began at the same time.

"Guys," I interrupted. "Leave him alone."

House glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. I thought I saw something like a flash of gratitude in his eyes, but I probably just imagined it.

"Let's just go home," I said quietly. "It's been a long day."

We dropped Wilson off, and Cameron came to stay with us. After a long shower and a glass of wine, she was in bed by ten, citing work in the morning. House was in his bedroom with her for about twenty, thirty minutes, presumably trying to sleep too, but it wasn't long before he emerged, turning the light back on in the living room.

I'd been almost asleep, but not quite. I blinked the bleariness out of my eyes as he joined me on the couch, scooching my blanketed feet over so he could sit down.

"Hey."

"Hey," he echoed, demeanor distant and distracted.

"You gonna go back to normal, now?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Depends on what your baseline for normal is."

"You were a completely different person in front of your parents. I didn't like that you," I told him honestly. "It jeeved me out. Timid and polite is not your thing. That is the very opposite of your thing."

"Most people would consider that an improvement over how I usually act," House observed, but he didn't seem put out by what I'd said.

"I'm not most people."

"No, you're not."

Silence, for a time, and then I finally mustered up the courage to ask what I'd been meaning to ask for days: "He hit you, didn't he? I know about the ice baths, sleeping in the yard, going to bed hungry, the months of being ignored like you weren't there...but he hit you, too. It's written all over your face, in the way you hold yourself when he's around."

I could practically feel House's walls rear up; I'd pushed too far. "It was thirty years ago. It doesn't matter now."

"How we're raised matters until we die," I told him. "I'm not sure anything matters more. Trust me, after the eight year case study on your fragile psyche, I can see John House in nearly everything about you. You go out of your way to be anything but him. The habitual lateness, the hatred of rules, bucking of expectations and regulations at every corner, blatant disrespect to anybody in a position of power over you—that undying desire you have to push and push and push people until they break—"

"So when you told Cameron and Wilson to leave me alone, that didn't apply to you?" House said, and he grabbed for his cane.

I sat up quickly and put a light hand on his wrist. "Okay, you're right, I'm sorry. I just..." I let out a weak laugh. "I really hate your dad, House."

"I know. I could tell you were waiting to start a fight with him the entire night," House said. He still held his cane, but he didn't move to get up. "Disappointed you couldn't go ten rounds with him?"

"Kinda. He sucks."

"Please. He was on his best behavior tonight."

"Well, I've got insider info. He sucks."

House almost smirked. "Yeah. He does."

"Are you gonna go and visit them?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

House just shook his head. "I'll make something up for Christmas. Say we're going to Chicago to see Cameron's family, or something."

"You could just actually do that, and then it wouldn't be a lie," I suggested.

He snorted, staring at the floor. "Cameron and I aren't getting to the meet the family phase."

I shot a paranoid glance over my shoulder at the bedroom door. Lowering my voice, I said, "Uh...you may want to let her know you think that, because I think she's under a different impression."

"What do you think her family is gonna say when they find out she's dating a middle-aged cripple with a drug problem?"

"What do you think her family is gonna say when they find out she's dating a ruggedly handsome world renowned doctor with...okay yeah can't really deny the drug problem part, but you could play it off for a few days," I countered. "Also, she's probably already told them. Most people that aren't you keep in contact with their family."

"There's no happy ending to this," House insisted.

"You're being a defeatist. And nothing has a happy ending."

That seemed to catch his interest. "That's unusually nihilistic for you. Am I finally rubbing off on you?"

"What I mean is, nothing lasts. And if it does, the 'happy ending' is dying. There is no happy ending. It's not about the ending, House—it's about everything that happens between now and the end."

House rolled his eyes. "If you're getting philosophical, I'm gonna need a drink."

"You were gonna drink anyway," I pointed out.

"Shut up."

He got up and returned with two glasses of bourbon. "Ew, House, no."

"Come on. Late birthday drink."

"No way. That shit is awful," I insisted.

House started making chicken noises at me before downing his shot in one fell swoop. He then burped, and continued the chicken noises.

I snatched the other glass out of his hand. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't, but you are a five year old." I pinched my nose and downed the shot. As soon as it hit my throat I spluttered, nearly shattering the glass when I slammed it down on the coffee table. "God, it's SO FUCKING BAD."

"That's some of that Wild Turkey you got for me and Death Row Guy, what goes around comes around. I told you it was shitty."

I curled tighter into myself on the couch. "I can feel the heartburn already."

"Boo-hoo." House poured himself another glass. "Come on, round two."

"Go to hell."

House actually chuckled at that. It was nice to see him coming back to himself, I couldn't help but smile, in spite of the foul taste in my mouth. He took his second shot, then flicked his attention to me. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For not doing what you usually do. Nagging me for the greater good," he elaborated, cheeks gaining some color from the liquor.

"I'm not here just to get on your ass about everything. I'm here to look out for you. And sometimes, that means actually listening to what you want."

"You're not pissed I didn't tell them about you?"

"It would've just been another lie," I said with a shrug—much like the lie I was perpetuating by not telling House that his mother had seen through him. I felt the urge to tell him, but it didn't feel right, for some reason. This was something I needed to keep between me and Blythe. House would never be able to keep up a string of dishonesty with his mother, it was foolish to even ask him to try.

"We do that a lot," House mused, and then came shot number three.

"Might want to chill on that, cowboy, you have work in the morning, and you were drinking at dinner, too." I sat up straighter on the couch, drawing the blankets around me. "Are you really thinking of dumping Cameron?"

"I'm not thinking of dumping her, I'm just stating a fact: it's not going to work."

"Then why bother?"

"I thought the ending didn't matter?" House shot back. He went to pour another shot, but I snatched the bottle from him and returned it to the liquor cabinet, even though it only had barely three fingers left.

"Does she make you happy?" I asked, heading back to the couch.

"Does anything?" He met my eyes, and I noted his were bloodshot; he'd hit the vicodin harder than usual today, it was plain to see.

"Only you can answer that. But I hope that something does. Anything."

House rubbed a hand over his face, and just like he had looked so much the little boy earlier in the day, now he looked ten years beyond his actual age. His hair was a wreck and his gray was starting to show more and more by the day, his shoulders sagged, and his wrinkles were more pronounced on his forehead than ever.

"House..."

"You're right, I gotta get to bed." He massaged his thigh, bracing himself, and stood. He was leaning more heavily on his cane than he typically did.

"The pain's worse today, isn't it?" I asked gently. "And don't say you're fine."

House snorted derisively, limping past me to his bedroom. "I'm never fine."

The next few weeks flew by in a rush. Between school picking up for midterms and celebrations for Zach's twenty-first birthday—which seemed to last an entire week by itself, with all of the things that Tracy, Jeremy and I had planned for him—I didn't even manage to make it to the hospital during Spin, and I was seeing House and the gang far more sparingly. Never mind the fact that rather than the less hours I had requested at Ryan's, I seemed to be getting more and more. Thems the brakes with the food service circle of life; when people leave, they leave en masse, and the few people who stay are left to pick up the pieces.

"I HATE MORNINGS," I whined loudly to Zach, who had also been put on a 4am baking shift, as one of the bakers had quit two days ago, and the other had called off. "Actually, this isn't even morning. This is some ungodly purgatory hour that is neither morning, nor night. There is no sense of time, only pain."

"Is she always like this?" asked Beth, the morning manager, who I had only met a few times.

"Pretty much," Zach provided, pulling out another rack of bagels from the convection oven.

Beth wandered away to go finish some of the early morning prep, and I shuffled closer to Zach. "Is it bad that I'm thinking of quitting solely because of this?"

"I would never discourage you from broadening your horizons, but don't be a baby," he told me honestly. "If you're gonna be a nurse, you're gonna have way worse shifts than this. They work twelves usually, don't they?"

"More often than not," I admitted. "That's different though."

"Yeah, it's harder."

I struggled to come up with a decent argument, and subsequently failed. "I should probably shut up now, shouldn't I?"

"Wouldn't be the worst idea," he conceded. "At least it's only a four to ten. Six hours is nothing."

"And yet, time is going by so, so slowly."

Zach sighed, washing his hands. "If you're finally starting to get sick of this, why don't you apply for something at the hospital? They'd probably hire a nursing student in a second for an odd job."

"You mean like...cleaning, or something?"

"Maybe. Or clerical. I don't know—check out some postings. You've been saying how much you miss hanging out at the hospital lately. You'd be able to see House, Wilson, and the team way more," Zach reasoned.

He made fine points, but the idea of getting a job at the hospital meant that someone would have to look past the fact that House was my 'father' to hire me...and he wasn't exactly the most well-liked guy in PPTH. "Couldn't hurt to look."

My shift crawled by. When all was said and done, I dropped Zach off at his apartment, and zipped home to shower and possibly catch a decent nap before my afternoon classes started. House's car and motorcycle both sat out front, along with Wilson's car. So both doctors were late to work today.

I stepped in mid-argument, to no surprise.

"One, I'm never offering to drive you to work again—I've missed two appointments with patients waiting for you. Two, you need to stay away from Stacy," Wilson lectured from the threshold of the kitchen while House ate some near-burned toast.

"You're right, by eating lunch with her, who knows what could happen? I could slip and accidentally stick my penis inside of her. I'm really taking a gamble here even being in the same room with her. Or anyone, really. Did you remember to wear your chastity belt today?" House countered, mouth full of toast.

"You ate lunch with Stacy?" I asked, stripping off my apron. That couldn't mean anything good.

"Oh God," House groaned. "Can't you remain pleasantly neutral with this like you did with my parents? I don't need angels on both shoulders."

"You can't be friends with Stacy, House," Wilson warned, raising a finger. "You can't."

"Shouldn't you be encouraging me to have platonic female friends? Something about treating women like people, instead of objects?" House sassed, pulling on his sports coat.

I rushed into the bathroom to change, deciding I'd rather hang out with House for a few hours than sleep, while the boys bickered back and forth about House's supposedly innocent lunch with Stacy.

I had to agree with Wilson: when it came to Stacy, there was no platonic, because that would imply that House had been capable of some great emotional catharsis and gotten over her—which he definitely hadn't, since all House had done in regards to his breakup with Stacy had been to double down on his drug abuse and bottle, bottle, bottle. Of course, anytime I brought that up to him, he shut me down, and hard. Wilson didn't seem to be having any better luck.

"If I didn't want to be with Cameron, I wouldn't. When, ever, in the entire time that you have been graced with my presence, have I done something I didn't want to do out of obligation," House said, finally snaking the rest of his things off the counter and heading for the door. I followed behind him, slipping my shoes back on. "What, you're tagging along so once he goes and meets with the sad cancer people, you can continue harassing me?"

"Duh."

"I'm not dropping this. You know there's a lot of unresolved...tension...between you and Stacy," Wilson accused, tailing House out the door.

"Has it occurred to you I'm trying to resolve it? Maybe do the healthy adult thing and work through my emotions?" House said, shouldering his backpack and slowly making his way down the front stairs.

"Yeah, that sounds like you," I agreed ironically.

House shuffled away from Wilson and I once we hit pavement, looking around the stairs.

"Are you ignoring us, now?" Wilson asked, hand on his hip.

"And looking for my paper. Efficient, huh?" House glanced at me. "Did you take it inside with you?"

"House, I'm nineteen years old. What part of you thinks I read the newspaper?" I asked with a yawn.

"Over here," a voice chimed. The three of us turned as one. A man with voluminous brown hair, cleft chin, and a wasting figure leaned against Wilson's car, making a show of opening the newspaper.

House sighed dramatically, limping past Wilson. "Wilson, Anya, I want you to meet my stalker."

Hunting, I realized. Shit, Spin ended, what, yesterday? I didn't realize it would start so soon.

"Your waiting room sucks," Kalvin told House matter-of-factly.

"I am not treating you!" House insisted, stopping about a foot away from his wannabe patient.

Kalvin leaned to look past House, running his eyes up and down Wilson. "Because you're a closet case?"

I tried not to smile, but failed.

"We're not, uh—" Wilson began, but I burst in.

"Hey, don't make fun of my dads," I said. "Just because they're not comfortable telling the world yet doesn't mean they're not proud on the inside."

Wilson glared at me, but House went right along with it. "This one just can't help the self-loathing," he nodded in Wilson's direction. He then snatched the paper back from Kalvin. "Well, we've gotta go now. So, maybe see you after work."

"No, no, no—" Kalvin jumped in front of the three of us when House made to leave, bravado dropping instantly. He offered the binder tucked under his arm to House, half-desperate. "Nobody can figure out what's wrong with me." I noticed his breathing had gotten heavier. Didn't he have some kind of attack right here on the sidewalk? I couldn't quite remember. Hunting had a lot of...interesting things...happen in it, which swallowed up the more minor details.

"Well, your shirt is gaping at the collar, means you've lost weight. You're flushed, that's fever, and you're short of breath—and finally, there's the KS lesion on your face. Means you're HIV positive, and it's progressed to full-blown AIDS. So, you're sick because your immune system is shot and someone sneezed on you."

House moved again to sneak past, but Kalvin wouldn't have it. He grabbed his cane, stopping him in his tracks. "Brilliant, but my immune system is fine."

"Your concentration camp physique begs to differ. Get your t-cell count rechecked," House tried and failed to yank his cane away.

"I've already done that."

"Did they test for t-cell lymphoma?" Wilson questioned.

"It was negative," Kalvin said emphatically.

"All of this would be fascinating to an HIV specialist. Now let go of my cane before it becomes your new boyfriend."

"Honey, I will marry it if you will look at my file."

"Congress says you can't, so—"

This was one episode I really didn't want to try to take control of—because I had no idea how the timeline would play out, and how I could keep Cameron from getting exposed to HIV. Or from getting rocked on crystal meth and sleeping with Chase. Well, this time around, she'd probably just go jump House, but still, that didn't exclude meth from the scenario. I decided on impulse that the whole thing would be best avoided.

I stepped between Kalvin and House. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Let's not turn this into Monday Night Raw." I put a light hand on House's chest and pushed him back, doing the same to Kalvin. I then turned to Kalvin. "Gimme." I nodded at his file.

"What are you, twelve?" he asked. "I appreciate the thought, sweetie, but I'm trying to harass your dad into helping me, not you."

"Betcha I can diagnose you in under five minutes," I told him, hand still extended.

Kalvin's eyes flicked between House and Wilson, waiting for the joke. He slowly handed his binder to me, expression openly suspicious. I sat Indian-style on the curb with the binder in my lap and began flipping through.

House groaned loudly. "Do we seriously have to stand here while—"

"Your liver function isn't great," I noted. "Not in the pits, but not great. But I think it's gonna get worse, with the way your ALT and AST are diving on your last liver panel, compared to the one you had in June."

Kalvin blinked in surprise. "Wait, I'm confused, are you a teenager or a doctor?"

"Ever seen Doogie Howser?" Wilson joked.

I continued flipping through. I glanced up at Kalvin. "You're sweating like a pig."

"It's warm," he said dismissively.

"It's not even sixty." Obviously I was playing all of this up—I remembered the diagnosis from the episode—but I needed Kalvin to believe that I had extrapolated it on my own. "Says you grew up in Montana."

"What, you couldn't tell?" he asked sarcastically, crossing his arms and staring down at me.

"Did you hunt growing up?"

Kalvin frowned. "When I was really young. With my dad. Before he kicked me out."

Ignoring Kalvin's blatant lie, I nodded. "You hunt foxes?"

"...yes? It's Montana."

"Cool." I handed his binder back to him. "You have echinococcosis. You touch a dead fox, parasites jump you, they can hide in you for decades."

"I've been tested for parasites already," Kalvin argued.

"The cysts isolate the parasites," I elaborated. "It keeps them from showing up in your stool. Hard to see in blood tests, too. Have your liver tested for cysts and tell your GP about the foxes. They'll take it from there with a course of medication. You should be fine. Except for the HIV, but I can't help you with that."

"Forgive me if I'm having a hard time believing you," he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

"I could hit you in the liver with House's cane and rupture some of the parasitic cysts," I offered happily. "It'll hurt and you won't be able to breathe, and we'll have to rush you to the hospital—but it'll prove I'm right."

Kalvin seemed to pale even more so at that. "Fine, I'll talk to my GP. But if this doesn't pan out, I will be back."

House lifted his cane as if it was a baseball bat. "I wouldn't if I were you."

Kalvin just shook his head, tucking his binder back under his arm. "I don't understand how you know so much."

"Because I can see the future," I deadpanned. "Have a nice day, Kalvin. And tell your dad about the liver thing, huh? You'll save his life."

Kalvin didn't seem to have a response to that. He grimaced and turned away, heading off in the opposite direction.

"Wait, so was he a case, or was he not a case?" House asked, lowering his cane.

"I think he was a case," Wilson theorized, finally heading to the car.

"Then why take my fun away?" House whined.

"You didn't want his case in the first place," I shot back.

"Well if I'd known there was a case I would have wanted it," he said petulantly, climbing into the passenger seat.

I scooted into the backseat. "Too bad. This episode was too wacky for me to really take the risk."

"Wacky? What does that even mean?" House demanded. "I love wacky."

"Well, not the fun kind of wacky. At least not for Cameron."

"Why didn't you just tell me the diagnosis?" he asked, looking at me over his shoulder as we pulled away from the curb.

I smiled brightly at House. "Because I wanted to have fun."