Chapter 73 — Bait and Switch

A/N: Thank you to gabby42, Iland Girl, Musikrulesok, saashi samy, Angelstraightfromhell, MiaEther, honeybeemotorcycles32, EmeraldGhost11, GahMarques, Thank you, and all the guests who reviewed the last chapter!

"You look like you're gonna pass out," Zach observed.

"I will when I inevitably crash from all these energy drinks."

It was the end of my shift at Ryan's. I'd come in immediately after finishing clinicals, clocking in with barely a second to spare. It had been my third day in IPMH, which had been even more mentally, emotionally, and physically draining than the last two. Our census was particularly high, and we were devastatingly understaffed in terms of people who weren't nursing students. There were twenty people in my group, but we were split between three shifts, then further split between Pathways and IPMH, so that meant Tali and I were the only prospective nurses on hand at any given time, and because of our almost total lack of practical experience, we could only be so helpful.

I rested my head on his shoulder. "I think I have to quit."

He leaned his cheek against the top of my head, enjoying the small display of affection we could get away with before Carol yelled at us to get back to work. "I know. I figured you'd have to."

"I'll get to see you less."

"I'm okay with seeing you less if it means you get to sleep occasionally, and when I do get to see you, we're not coffee slaves," he told me, kissing my temple before withdrawing. "You gonna put in your two weeks?"

"Yeah. Waiting for the right time to tell Carol."

Given Carol's...temper...I wasn't sure there would be a right time.

"Tell me what?"

Shit. I turned, and Carol stood there with her arms crossed. "Uh. Um. I."

"Spit it out, Carhart," Carol ordered. She was a hard-ass, but I had a feeling she wouldn't come down on me too badly for this. I had pretty valid reasons for quitting.

"I can't balance this with clinicals," I told her honestly, steeling myself for her reaction. "I have to focus on my career. So...I have to leave." I swallowed with difficulty. "Consider this my two weeks."

To my surprise, Carol smiled at me.

"Good for you," she said, with more warmth than I'd ever seen from her. "I'll let the big boss know to adjust this month's schedule."

"You—really? I was expecting a brow-beating."

Carol snorted. "Oh, how dare you try to be a nurse instead of a barista for the rest of your life! You monster." She rolled her eyes and made for the backroom. "You're doing what's right for you. I never hold that against anyone."

I smiled, relieved. "Thanks Carol," I called after her.

"Thank me by finishing counting that drawer so we can all go the fuck home."

"You got it!"

Zach and I left shortly thereafter, hitting the lights behind us. Lola waited for us in the parking lot across the street.

"Ride home?" I offered amicably.

"Sure. Stay the night? You could sleep in a real bed."

I tried to ignore the thrill of anxiety that I felt at the offer. "Uh." Jesus, I did need a good night's sleep, though. Especially if I wanted to be conscious for the viewing tomorrow. "Yeah. Sure. That sounds good."

"You kinda said it like you just agreed to a lobotomy," he observed, lips downturning as he hopped into Lola's passenger seat.

I took the front seat and stuck the keys in the ignition. Lola came to life with a purr. "Sorry. I'm bad at sounding enthusiastic about anything right now."

"So it's not that you totally dread staying the night me, so you avoid doing it like the plague?"

Oh. Okay. So we were talking about this now. "It is...way more complicated than that," I said, easing out of the parking lot and onto the street. I would take the long way to his apartment; anything to avoid that goddamn tunnel. Still too many bad associations for both of us from our run-in with the mob.

"You know," he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. "It's not a requirement for you to sleep with me. I don't invite you over expecting that."

Something I both loved and hated about Zach; he cut straight to the core of things, ignoring any possible hemming and hawing on the way. "Ooookay. Well. That's...good." I sighed, eyes fixed firmly on the road, choosing my next words carefully. "It's not for lack of wanting. I need you to understand that. I just...I don't know. You only—I mean, it'd be my first time. You only get one of those."

"And you don't think I'm a good choice?"

"I did NOT say that," I snapped. "Don't put words in my mouth."

He lit his cigarrette, not granting me a response. He wanted me to elaborate, and he would wait until I did.

"I guess," I said slowly, "it's...a vulnerability thing. And if I make myself vulnerable like that, to you, and you...decide I'm not that great after all, then it's gonna fuck me up pretty badly. It'd be hard to come back from. I've never...I've never been in love before. This is all new to me."

"In love," Zach observed, taking a puff of his cigarette. "Now, you've said you love me plenty of times. You've never said you're in love with me."

No, I guess I hadn't. "Well. I am. I thought that was pretty clear."

"It was. Still nice to hear, though."

I smiled a little. "And you're in love with me too?"

"Big fuckin' duh, babe." He shrugged. "And that's all that really matters. Everything else will come with time. I just didn't know if it was a Christian thing, or if it was something I was doing wrong. But if you've got personal shit to work out to get you there, that's fine. I'm pretty patient."

"No. You haven't done anything wrong. At all." I emphasized. "And it's definitely not a Christian thing. Faith or not, I'm aware that the Bible was written when women were property, not people. Pretty sure premarital sex isn't of the devil, or whatever. My...hangups...they're purely a me problem. And I will get past it. I just..."

"Need time. You've got it."

I relaxed somewhat at that. "That means a lot to me."

"It should. Now come on." We pulled up in front of his apartment. "Let's go the hell to bed."

"Ms Gracie, you need to put your gown back on," I called, following the tiny, doddering old woman down the hall. "We can't have you walking around in your undies."

"I'm an American," Ms Gracie told me primly. "I can do whatever I please."

"I mean, technically yes, but this isn't the most dignified way to enjoy your liberties," I said, toddling behind her with a robe. Today had been far calmer than those that had proceeded it—we'd discharged three patients home, two to a halfway house, and one to Mayfield, as they needed more in-depth care than we could provide at PPTH. "Come on, Ms Gracie. Aren't you cold?"

"No! I'm hot. It's always too hot up here."

It registered somewhere in the back of my brain that talking to an eighty-five year old dementia patient felt a great deal like trying to convince House to do something. Ms Gracie would only be with us for a few days before she was sent to a long-term dementia care facility upstate, but until then, we had to look after her, and she was not making it the easiest thing in the world.

She was a one-to-one currently, and I was her ever-so-lucky guardian for the remainder of my shift. And I had still failed to find any way to keep her in line.

"Come on, let's go back to your room—"

"I've never let a man tell me what to do and I'm not about to start now!"

Oh yeah, bonus: she also seemed thoroughly convinced I was a man. I didn't really care enough to correct her. "Well, what do you want to do?" I tried.

"I want to take a walk."

And walk she had, up and down the length of the hall, about twenty times. Those old legs weren't giving out on her anytime soon.

"Anything else? Maybe some tea," I suggested. "We have that lemon tea you like in the kitchen. I bet if we ask Tali she'll make some for you."

There was the ticket. Ms Gracie finally slowed, giving me a curious look. "There's tea?"

"Oh yeah. We can have some, if you'd like. And you can finish that story you were telling me earlier, about when you were a WAC."

She brightened significantly at that. "I still have my uniform, you know."

"That's awesome," I said, smiling at her.

She spotted the robe in my hand. "Hey, why'd you take that from me! Making me indecent, that's what you're doing."

I didn't argue, just offered it to her. "Sorry, Ms Gracie. Here you go."

"You have to tie it for me."

"I know."

So I got her dressed again, and called it a win. Tali did indeed brew us some tea, and we sat in the kitchen together, sipping at our cups while Ms Gracie told us some on-and-off coherent war stories.

Soon enough, it was time for me to leave, and I swapped out my watch with one of the second shift nursing students.

"She likes to not have clothes on," I warned the slim, well-manicured boy set to replace me.

"I know," he said with a grimace. "I had the old broad last night. I'll never scrub it out of my brain."

I wasn't sure how much I liked him saying 'old broad', but he at least had my sympathies. I bid him good luck and goodnight, then headed for the staff elevator. I'd been given my own key the day before, and felt very important indeed. Tali joined me in the elevator, bag over her shoulder.

"How was your day?" she asked, checking her phone.

"Not exhausting, at least. She's a handful, though."

"I'm her one-to-one tomorrow. I think you're with Alan coordinating activities."

I grinned at that. "I think we should have a karaoke day."

Tali just groaned.

I met House and Wilson in the lobby, both of them ready to go to our viewing. House was massaging his lower back. I eyed him, but didn't say anything, suspecting he'd received his fake morphine shot from Cuddy sometime during the day.

"Ready to go?" I asked the two doctors.

"We've been waiting on you," House said. "Also, thank you so much for not spoiling this episode." He looked up at the ceiling, half-smiling in awe. "The perfect woman is a man. That's the kind of poetic irony you only get on a TV show."

"She's whatever she wants to be," I said dryly. "Anatomy isn't the be all end all."

"Then what the hell is?" House asked, turning his attention back to me. "Our feelings?"

"Yes," I replied simply. "We get to decide who we are. If she wants to be a woman, she is. It's as clear cut as that."

House didn't seem impressed. "So if I decide my leg works, I'll just be able to walk again? Neat."

"Visualize the healing," Wilson reminded him.

"We can talk about how gender is a social construct later. We've got shit to do," I said, nodding towards the lobby doors.

We headed out, making for the Dynasty. The weather had turned on us once again, and the light snow we were currently receiving ruled out any adventures in Lola.

"No acid this time, I hope?" Wilson asked House as we piled into his freshly repaired beater. I still couldn't believe he'd paid to have it fixed after we destroyed it in Baltimore, but then again, House wasn't great with change.

"If only," House lamented. "Are we pretending to be Adam and Steve again?"

"If you want to come up with a different explanation for two grown men living together, by all means."

Neither he or Wilson had anything to say to that. Shocker.

We arrived a few minutes before the viewing time, but the landlord was there waiting for us. A gentleman in his sixties who I'd spoken to on the phone. His name was Jack Derby, and he had on a fedora and a bow-tie and was a bit stooped in his back.

"Hello there," he waved a hand at us. "Glad to see you. My name's Jack. I'm hoping you'll take a shine to this place. It's been sitting empty for nearly two months now."

"Probably because of how steep the rent is," House muttered.

Wilson and I both shook Mr. Derby's hand, and House gave him a tight, false smile, and said, "Sorry, bit of a germaphobe."

Mr. Derby didn't seem offended. He guided us inside. "Just recently repainted and carpeted..."

And so we went on the tour. He gave us the downlow on rent, security deposit, utilities, lawn care, all that stuff. And when he'd finished his spiel, the three of us stood in the living room, Mr. Derby half in and half out of the front door, looking at us expectantly.

"It's..." Wilson said slowly, a little bit in awe.

"It's perfect," I finished for him. "That finished basement—I call that. I could turn it into my own little apartment. House can have the ground floor bedroom, the living room for his music stuff because it's huge. Wilson, you can pretty much take the upstairs, use one bedroom for sleep and the other one for a study. And the kitchen, oh my God, the counter space—"

"Shut up," House requested. I shut my mouth with a click, terrified that he might reject the place out of hand for some minor reason. He'd agreed to moving, but it was time to test how serious he was. This place was PERFECT. I couldn't conceive of anything to complain about, other than what House had said in the beginning—the particularly high rent. But they were doctors, right? I didn't know exactly how much House and Wilson made, but, it had to be a lot.

My third of the bills would be a little more difficult to come up with, but I'd figure out something. I was planning on applying to every single opening in the hospital tomorrow with flexible hours anyway.

House strode up to Mr. Derby.

And he pulled out his checkbook. "Wilson, bitch now, or forever hold your peace."

"You're—we're doing this?" I asked, voice breaking halfway through with excitement. "House, are we really doing this!?"

"At great financial detriment, but getting you off my back? Can't put a price on that." House scribbled the proper amount, which came to nearly five thousand dollars.

"Do you even have that much in your account?" Wilson asked.

"With about six cents to spare," House said. "You both owe me 1600. With interest."

"We'll stop at the bank on the way back to the hospital," Wilson agreed readily. "I can give you half today, half when I get paid." It didn't surprise me Wilson wasn't as financially robust as House; two alimonies, and a third on the way.

"And I'll uh...I'll figure out something," I put in, smiling apologetically at House. I had about seven hundred in my savings account, all that remained after I bought my textbooks for school.

"I hear stripping is a great side hustle for nursing students." House ripped off the check and handed it to Mr. Derby. "We'll move in Saturday."

Mr. Derby smiled brightly. "I think you folks are gonna like it here. Pleasure doing business with you. Let me get the lease for you, I'll need some signatures."

Wilson insisted on reading the lease, House moaned in boredom the whole time, and I wandered out to the backyard. I could see flower beds that would sprout in the spring, and the tall wooden fence gave us some semblance of privacy. There was a little flagstone patio even, with some wrought iron sitting chairs and small table.

I watched a sparrow land in a birdbath in the far corner of the yard, sipping at the snowmelt inside.

I couldn't stop grinning. The basement was practically the size of House's entire apartment. I could get a bed. A real bed of my own. Furniture. A couch. Maybe a mini-fridge. I could string up lights—

"Anya!" Wilson yelled. "Come back, we need you to sign."

I took one last glance at the backyard, imagining having my morning coffee and watching the birds.

"Home," I whispered to myself, still smiling ear-to-ear.

"Midget!" House yelled, much louder than Wilson.

"Coming!" I hollered back, and I rushed back inside the house.

Our house.

It took me thirty minutes to pack all of my possessions. Wilson's were all still in storage for the most part, already boxed and ready to go.

House's things...were going to take more time.

I stood in the center of the Baker Street apartment, hands in my hair. "House...you have so much shit."

"Do not," he argued petulantly, sitting on the couch eating cashews while I tried desperately to get his books packed. I'd picked up empty cardboard boxes from Ryan's after clinicals, but I hadn't grabbed nearly enough.

It took me an hour just to get all of House's books off the shelves. I sorted them into piles according to how they'd been arranged, which was some kind of fucked up system only House fully understood, and now the living room was an absolute mindfield of leaning towers of books, and I didn't have nearly enough boxes for them all. Never mind we couldn't fully load any of the boxes, lest they collapse under the weight.

"You told Derby we were moving in tomorrow. You told our landlord here we were moving out tomorrow. How on God's green earth are we gonna pack all of this in twenty-four hours?"

"You mean how are you and Wilson going to pack all of this. I'm a cripple." He lifted his cane for emphasis, chewing with his mouth open as he tried to look past me to watch that show with the idiot and the power tools. "Can't strain myself."

"So you're totally fine with us rooting through all of your possessions?" Wilson chimed from the coat closet, where he was struggling to pack House's inexusably large sneaker collection.

"Laziness outweighs privacy," House said, hardly paying attention.

"So, I can just go in your bedroom and start packing then?" I asked innocently.

House stopped chewing.

I handed him a stack of folded cardboard boxes. "Get to it. I've got Zach on another box run for us. Oh, and I told Cameron to come over."

"What? Why does she need to be here?"

"Because we need all hands on deck." I hesitated to tell him the next bit. "Also, I...may have asked Chase and Foreman to come help tomorrow, because I know you won't trust movers with anything but the piano."

"And you think I trust them—!?"

"More than strangers," I cut him off. "Am I wrong?"

He glared at me, but eventually rose to his feet, tucking the boxes under his arm. "I'm not paying them. I'm bankrupt thanks to you two deadbeats."

"House, I paid you back in full today. WITH interest," Wilson reminded him from somewhere in the closet.

"Not enough interest! Though I know you're only used to hearing that from women."

"I'll buy pizza and beer for everyone tonight, champagne and...yeah, probably more pizza tomorrow," I promised him tiredly. "Just go get your shit together, please? I'm gonna chug more coffee and continue trying to deal with—" I gestured around wildly. "This."

House whined, frequently and loudly, but did do as I asked. Zach arrived soon after with many more boxes in tow, and then came Cameron not much later. She was an unimaginable help, packing the kitchen with jaw-dropping efficiency.

"You're like, really good at this," I said, looking down at the Tetris'd pots and pans in the slew of plastic storage containers she'd brought with her.

"I've had to do a couple of quick moves in my life," she said. "After I interviewed with House, he called me two days later and gave me the job. And he told me to start Monday. It was Friday."

"Where were you living before?"

"Chicago."

I stared. "How the hell did you—"

"I really wanted the job," she interjected with a small smile.

"She REALLY wanted the job," House said with an overexaggerated wink from where he was meticulously organizing and packing his record collection.

"Stop," Cameron chided, but she was still smiling. "Do you need any help?"

"Touch my records and die."

Cameron put up her hands. "Ooookay. What's left?"

"I think Zach is in the bathroom finishing up...kitchen's done...closets too, thanks to Wilson...I think House got everything in his room except for his bedding..." I rotated in a circle. It was nearly 5am, but by God, I think we had it all done.

"Does this mean we can finally go to sleep?" pleaded a very ruffled Wilson from where he sat at the kitchen table, chin resting in his hand.

"Yeah. We've got the moving truck from noon to midnight tomorrow. We should all be able to get at least six hours." I stifled a yawn. "I can't take a night on the floor after this, so I'm going with Zach. We'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Wear protection," was House's farewell, followed by tired but pleasant goodnights from Cameron and Wilson.

"So," Zach said as we drove back his apartment. "You think everything will go off without a hitch tomorrow?"

"After Baltimore, I'm never saying that ever again," I deadpanned.

"What could possibly—" Zach began, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"DON'T. SAY IT."

"Okay, okay."

"Oh my God. Oh my God. He's going to kill me."

"Yeah he is."

"Not helping, Foreman!"

I grew concerned as soon as I heard Chase and Foreman's increasingly panicked voices from inside the moving truck. It was half-past six, the sun had sunk below the hills, and we were about two-thirds of the way done with moving everything into the townhouse. So far, nothing had gone particularly sideways. With Zach, Wilson, Chase, and Foreman all being relatively strong and healthy, Cameron and I pretty much just had to dole out tasks and delegate where certain boxes should go. House was mostly watching and drinking from a flask, occasionally snapping for one of us to be more careful with something particularly valuable.

But I knew the smooth sailing could only last so long.

I trotted up the ramp into the truck, and there stood Foreman and Chase, looking like they'd just killed a man and weren't sure where to hide the body.

In between them was House's Flying V.

With the neck snapped. The two halves connected only by the strings.

"Oh my God," I echoed, horrified. "He's going to kill you!"

"I know that!" Chase whisper-screamed. "What are we going to do!?"

"We? You're the one who dropped it!" Foreman said. "I had nothing to do with this!"

"You could have caugh it!"

"You could have not been careless with it in the first place!"

Chase put his hands behind his head, trying to even out his breathing. "I could—I could just pay him? Pay to get it fixed?"

"You can't fix that," I said. "I mean, you could, but...it wouldn't be the same. And guitar restoration isn't cheap. It'd be cheaper to just buy a new one."

"So I'll buy him a new one."

"No, he won't like that either," I said with a shake of my head. "And you'll be paying for this at work in pain and suffering for a long, long time. House can be a real vindictive son of a bitch when he wants to be."

"Then what do I do!?"

I put my finger to my lips, thinking. "Foreman. Tell House and the others Chase and I went to grab food for everyone."

Foreman furrowed his brow. "What are you planning?"

"Don't worry about it. Just do it. We're omitting you from the evil plan. Plausible deniability."

Foreman looked suspicious, but he nodded, departing the truck and leaving me with Chase.

"There's a music shop in Trenton. Closes at nine. I was there looking at acoustics not long ago, and they had a Flying V. Same color, and I think it was a '67."

"So identical to this?"

"Not exactly. House is really picky about his strings, so we'll have to take the strings off of this one and put it on the new one. The tuning pegs are different too, so we'll have to change those out, but if we throw the guy at the store a little cash, he can probably do a rush job on it, and we can restring it. And..." I bent down, examing the remains of House's prized guitar. "We'll have to mimic the wear and tear. House takes really good care of this, but it's still showing its age...but, good news, we can swap the pick guards. Put a few nicks in here...sand down in between the frets to fake some age if the guitar at the store hasn't seen heavy use."

Chase stared blankly at me. "And...how quickly are we planning to do all of this?"

"Say we're getting pizza from this place in Trenton that Wilson likes. Gives us an excuse for the travel time. Say we had to wait because they screwed up our first order. Buys us maybe an hour and a half tops."

Blank turned to midly impressed. "You scheme very quickly."

"Something you should be grateful for. But if you don't want to go to the effort, you can just tell House what happened—"

"No," Chase said hurriedly, shaking his head hard. "If we're doing this, let's do it."

"Okay. You keep watch. I'll get the Flying V to the Dynasty."

Chase made sure no one came out of the townhouse, and I rushed the V over to where the Dynasty was parked in the driveway, stowing her in the trunk. I started the car and motioned for Chase to join me. He quickly did so, saying "Floor it," as he slammed the passenger side door shut. Then he laughed a little. "I've always wanted to say that."

"Your wish, my command, etcetera..."

And then we were roaring off to Trenton, our time limit already ticking away.

"You want me to swap out the tuning pegs for you right now?" the owner of Front Porch Musical Outfitter did not seem impressed by me and Chase's request, nor the half-destroyed Flying V sitting next to the one we'd just bought.

"Look, I know my way around guitars, but I've never installed tuning pegs, and we can't screw this up," I told him. "And if you want to throw on the strings from the broken one while you're at it, I'd appreciate it."

Chase dumped out all of the petty cash in his wallet, about two hundred bucks. "There. That enough motivation for you to do it and do it now? On top of the four thousand I'm already paying for the guitar?"

The guy side-eyed the two of us pretty hard, but he did eventually take the money and nod. "Fine. Give me ten minutes."

Chase sighed heavily, tousling his hair. "There goes my fun money for the foreseeable future."

"Honestly, four thousand isn't terrible for a Flying V in that kind of condition," I pointed out.

"Yeah. Cheap as chips," Chase muttered.

I drifted through the store, leaving Chase to soak in his misery. I rediscovered the guitar I'd been looking at the last time I was there, a nice 3/4ths electric-acoustic Hohner with a cherry finish and bronze strings. I took it off the rack and settled down on the floor with it, strumming. Sounded just as nice as last time. Once I'd paid House back and bought myself some furniture, I wanted to take this girl home.

Probably should get a job first.

I played a few random riffs, humming to myself, urging the owner to hurry with the peg swap.

"Play Freebird."

I started a little. Glancing around, I found Chase hovering behind me, hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off. I won't play Stairway to Heaven, either. Or Wonderwall."

"Smoke on the Water?"

"Not a chance."

Chase laughed. "I've never heard you play."

"The list of people who have is comprised of small children, and House and Wilson."

Chase leaned against one of the steel shelves stacked with drum heads. "Play me something."

"I don't even know what you like."

"I'm pretty eclectic."

"Everyone who's ever said that to me just means they like country, hip-hop, and butt-rock."

"I do like hip-hop."

"Can't do much for you there." I thumped my hand against the guitar, thinking. "Oh wait. I've got the perfect song."

I dicked around a bit, finding the right chords to play, then cleared my throat, and began to loudly sing: "DON'T YOU MISFIRE, BABY, FILL ME UP—WITH THE DESIRE TO CARRY ON—DON'T YOU KNOW HONEY, THAT LOVE'S A GAME—IT'S ALWAYS HIT OR MISS, SO TAKE YOUR AIM—"

Chase wiped a hand down his face. "Of all the Queen songs, you sing me one about premature ejaculation."

"GOTTA HOLD ON TIGHT—SHOOT ME OUT OF SIGHT—"

"Okay, okay, enough."

Grinning up at him, I added, "I know 'I'm In Love With My Car', too. Extra fitting in my case."

"You're funny. Let's go see if he's done," Chase said, nodding back towards the store's front-end. I shelved the beautiful guitar once more, albeit reluctantly.

Lo behold, when we returned, the fresh V was ready to roll. "You need a case?" the owner asked bruskly.

"Nah. Got one," Chase said, carefully and reverently accepting the new Flying V. "Thanks, mate."

"And you're taking this one?" he nodded at the remnants. "I'll give you a thousand for 'em. Still a lot of good parts."

Chase and I glanced at each other.

"Should we?" he whispered.

"Oh, this is totally on you, my friend. I'm not making any decisions when it comes to House's stuff or your wallet."

Chase mulled for a moment, then said, "Screw it. But we keep the pick guard and the strap," he said, and then took the offered thousand in cash. The owner scooped up the halves of House's guitar, bid us good day, and retreated to his back room.

Soon enough the new Flying V was safe and sound in the trunk, and we were headed back to Princeton. "Stop at the hospital, and I can put on the new pick guard. I've got the right tools in the trunk. The neck's already pretty weathered, so we can leave that as is."

"Do you think we're really going to get away with this?"

"For your sake, I hope so," I told him. "I'd hate to see you die so young."

"You're very bad at comforting people," Chase responded.

I thought of some of the other conversations Chase and I had. "Not always," I argued. "I think sometimes I'm okay."

Chase softened at that. "Yeah. Sometimes you are."

Soon enough, I was bent over the trunk, the Flying V resting on top, Chase holding a flashlight over my head to guide me in the dim light of the parking garage. I had the tiny screws pinned between my teeth, wiggling out the last one with the smallest screw driver I kept on hand. Once freed, I pried off the new pick guard, tossing it to the side. Chase handed me the one from House's old guitar.

"Don't lose any of those screws," Chase warned.

"Sure as hell gonna try not to," I mumbled around them.

"I'm dreading the answer, but what are you two doing?"

Chase and I both froze, and subsequently turned as one.

"Dr. Cuddy!" Chase greeted, oozing with false cheer. "You have champagne! That's...nice."

Cuddy stood there, all mauve pants suit and open suspicion. She did indeed have a bottle of champagne, and a nice one, too. Something gold and unpronounceable. "I was going to stop by the townhouse, congratulate House, Wilson, and Anya." She looked down at me, raising an eyebrow. "Hi Anya."

"Hi," I managed, one of the screws dropping from my mouth. I scrambled to grab it before it could roll out of sight.

"Do I want to know?" she asked dryly.

"No," Chase said. "And we would really appreciate it if you forget we were ever here. We're going to be back at the townhouse as soon as this is done."

Cuddy's eyes bounced between me, Chase, and the guitar. They repeated that circuit twice. "He'll notice it's not the same one. Good luck." She left us, heading to her car, never catching the deeply concerned look on Chase's face.

"I should've just given him the money. Now he'll be even more pissed off because we tried to trick him."

"You rolled the dice, too late to turn back now," I told him, screwing in the new pick guard. After a few minutes of fiddling, it was firmly affixed to the body. I quickly put on the strap. "Okay, okay, we're good. Let's book it."

Back in the trunk it went, and I broke the speed limit all the way to the townhouse.

Cuddy had beaten us there. The moving truck was empty. "Grab the guitar. Say we kept it in the back of Lola so it would be safe."

"You think he'll buy that?" Chase asked dubiously.

"Doubt it, but it's worth a shot." I headed for the door, but Chase stopped me, voice urgent. "Wait. Wait!"

"What!?"

"We didn't get pizza!"

My eyes widened. "Oh shit."

"Where the hell have you two been?"

"Double shit," Chase said, wincing. We both looked to the porch, where House stood.

"It doesn't take that long to get pizza," he said. "And why the hell do you have my guitar?"

"I kept it in the Dynasty's trunk. Didn't want it getting bounced around in the truck," I lied quickly. "And. Uh. It took so long, because that pizza joint in Trenton, their uh, their oven is down. So we just ordered Pizza Hut. It should be here in like twenty minutes."

"Their oven is down," House repeated. Great. He already wasn't buying our girl scout cookies.

"Yeah. Is everything in? Do we have any more trips to make?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation as far away from imaginary broken pizza ovens as possible.

House paused before answering, narrowing his eyes at me, but he eventually was disuaded from pursuing the topic. "Everything's in. Come get drunk with the rest of us. Cuddy finally did something useful."

"Aye-aye," I said, forcing a smile. House disappeared back inside. I quickly dialed the nearest Pizza Hut and put in an order, groaning when they told me it would be closer to forty-five minutes before we saw our food, not twenty.

When I flipped my phone shut, Chase leaned close to me and murmured, "Do you think he bought it?"

"He didn't call us out on the spot, so that's promising. Now, let's go have some champagne and try to act natural," I told him, making for the door.

"Hey," he said, catching up to me. "One question."

"What?"

"Why help me?"

We halted on the front step. Just the one. Surmountable even for House. I turned to Chase. "Are you surprised that I wouldn't rejoice in your suffering?"

"You are House's daughter," he pointed out mildly.

"Yeah, I am. And I'm also your friend." I smiled at him. "You've saved my ass before. Call it a returned favor."

"Saved your ass?"

"Catching me when I jumped out that window last year? When we had to run from the cops?"

"Ah, I'd almost forgotten about that."

"So, I figure if we trade ass-saving back and forth, we'll both be covered."

Still smiling, Chase said, "Fine by me."