Chapter 76 — The Blacklist

A/N: Thank you to Angelstraightfromhell, Hollow Lives, NikaJ, Coonchitaa, Lordban, DawnneAndSkipper, HeatherSS1, Yuuki no Yuki, Bry, Robin, Lauren, TheReaderOfWorlds, and Bee for their reviews on the last chapter!

I sat in House's office, feet up on the desk, staring daggers at the computer. I was alone, save for Chase, who was busy scrubbing the inside of the fridge in the DDX room. House had delegated all variety of monotonous and unpleasant tasks for Chase to do over the past few days, relentless punishment for our stunt over the weekend. Chase was muttering and swearing all the time, but had admitted that he had, "expected a lot worse," so at least he was staying optimistic in the midst of his punishment.

I had twenty minutes until I needed to clock in for my first twelve hour shift in IPMH. I had three twelves in a row, then a day off, then would move over to Pathways for the rest of my rotation.

House pushed through into his office, Cameron and Foreman following shortly behind him.

"His heart's back to sinus rhythm, but there's a lot of damage," Foreman said as they entered the room. He acknowledged me with a nod, as did Cameron.

"It's definitely brucellosis, but we got to it too late," lamented Cameron, who looked like on an emotional level, she was doing far better than she was the other day. For all I had warned House that things would not just go back to normal between the two of them, it seemed like they were both making an effort to pretend nothing had ever happened between them—a relationship, or a breakup.

I had my doubts about how long that would last, though.

"Heart muscle's half-dead. He'll be lucky to last a week," Foreman grimaced.

House seated himself on the edge of the desk, his back blocking my field of vision. "Other than that, how's he doing?" Foreman and Cameron stared at him. "Seriously. His brain, testicle, lungs, tonsils. How's all that other stuff doing?"

"Um." Cameron paused, blinking. "His brain is clear now, kidney function is good, urinary tract and genitals are back to normal."

"Great. So he just needs a heart."

Chase poked his head into House's office. "Who needs a heart?"

"Mine. It's three sizes too small. Now back to cleaning the fireplace, Cinderella," House said, brandishing his cane at Chase.

"I hate to interrupt you torturing me, but if our patient's heart is trashed, I should probably know."

"Okay, his heart's trashed. Happy?" House sighed, looking off at some fixed point beyond Foreman and Cameron. "There's nothing for the three of you to do now, anyway. I have to talk to the transplant committee. My favorite."

Foreman didn't look hopeful. "He's in his sixties."

"No way, really?" House gritted his teeth. "Guy's been in perfect health his whole life."

"That might not be enough," Cameron pointed out.

"It's got to be," said Chase.

House jerked his head in the direction of the DDX room. "Go home. Patient's diagnosed."

The ducklings all looked like they wanted to say something, but no one seemed to figure out exactly the words, so they obeyed House, departing his office and going to collect their belongings in the differential room.

"Does the transplant committee buy my Girl Scout cookies?" House asked as soon as the ducklings were out of earshot.

"I think you know the answer to that."

House didn't respond immediately, but I noted the tight draw of his shoulders. Eventually, he said, "You'd have done something by now if he was going to die."

I said nothing.

"Does it ever occur to you that the amount of faith you put me in is a tiny bit on the blasphemous side? Trusting me to do exactly what I did in the original timeline, trusting that everything will turn out perfectly everytime?"

I tapped the scar along my hairline. "Not everytime. And I've interfered with things you'll never know about. Patients you've never even had."

"You're lying."

"Believe what you want, House. But your stalker wasn't the first patient I stepped in with before their file could even cross your desk."

"Why?"

"Because they presented risks I wasn't willing to take. Or they died. And I haven't let you lose a patient yet—except the ones there was no saving to begin with. I want to keep my streak going. So, it doesn't really come down to whether I trust you or not. It's whether you trust me."

House snorted, finally glancing at me over his shoulder. "I don't trust anyone."

"Then the next six-ish years are gonna be really interesting, aren't they?"

House didn't offer me a meaningful response, instead changing gears. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

I gave him a tight, sardonic smile, and turned the computer screen so he could see. "Do you know what these are?"

Without his glasses, House had to peer close. "Rejection emails from PPTH's recruiter."

"Yep. Twelve of them. I've applied for twelve positions since I put in my two weeks at Ryan's—all stuff I was either qualified for or vastly overqualified for. Fuck, I even put in an app for dietary. And what do I get? Twelve, 'I'm sorrys, you're not what we're looking for at this time'. And I kept racking my brain, over and over, trying to figure out why I couldn't even get as far as an interview with any department in this hospital."

House rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

"Because I'm the spawn of Gregory House," I continued, "and nobody in this fucking hospital is going to give me the time of day, because they hate you. I might as well have 'unhirable' stamped on my forehead. And that means that I don't have another job lined up after I leave Ryan's. Which means I'm screwed."

"And that's all my fault, right?"

"A little bit, yeah!" I snapped, frustrated. "I don't understand it—just how bad IS your reputation here? I mean—" I glanced through the rejection emails, "what would RADIOLOGY have against you? I applied to be the clerk at the X-Ray control desk. What did you do to the poor rad-techs?"

"I didn't do anything," he insisted, shifting off his desk. He paused to grab at his thigh, face pinching in pain.

"Are you okay?" I asked quickly.

He shot me an annoyed look. "Stay consistent. You can't be pissed at me and dote on me at the same time."

"I've been doing it for awhile. I'm good at multitasking."

"Shut up. Back to the point at hand—do you know why people can't stand me here? Besides the obvious."

"The obvious is really the only thing I can think of, since you treat everyone like barely functioning morons."

"One, most people are barely functioning morons, and if you haven't learned that by now, you will soon—welcome to working in healthcare. Two, nobody wants anything to do with me here because people innately have a pathological fear of honesty, of anything that exists outside the social contract. Most people are programmed to tell everyone else exactly what they want to hear. Be nice, you'll get nice back. But it's common knowledge I'm not interested in that," House explained, limping around the side of his desk. He leaned over me and snatched his phone off the receiver, quickly dialing Cuddy's extension. "It's me. I need the transplant committee." A beat of silence. "My patient's heart is gonna crap out before the end of the week. We're not waiting until tomorrow. I'll see you in twenty minutes." He promptly hung up the phone.

"I'm just saying, I wish sins of the father didn't apply here," I told him. "How people feel about you shouldn't bleed over to me. I've never been anything but nice to the staff here."

"But they see you following me around like a lost puppy. You're House Junior to them. Always will be."

I slouched back into House's office chair, dejected. "How the hell am I supposed to get a job?"

"Keep applying. Eventually someone will be desperate enough." He snatched his patient's file off his desk. "Gotta go."

And then he did go, off to fight for his patient, even though he knew it was futile. I wish the rest of PPTH saw that side of House, the side that would go to the ends of the earth for his patients. It wasn't so long ago that House risked his job lying to the transplant committee to save Carly. But that was how House worked; do good in the dark, be a complete dick in the light—and never try to take credit for the good.

I sighed, putting my head in my hands. I had to figure something out, and fast. The new place was pricey, and I couldn't just live off of House and Wilson. My pride wouldn't allow it.

I supposed House was right. All I could do was keep applying...and hope someone could overlook that I was House's daughter.

Six o'clock the next morning found me clutching a cup of coffee to my chest, leaning against one of the walls of the nurse's station, trying not to fall asleep standing up. The first shift people were just now starting to filter in, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed. The typical overnight nurses were unfazed, used to these ungodly hours, but Tali and I looked like walking corpses at best.

I almost wished the night had been busy, but after letting everybody pick out a movie to watch (Goodwill Hunting was what was eventually agreed on, after a great deal of debate) everyone on the ward went to bed without much of a fight. The only excitement we had during the night was one of our younger patients waking up screaming from her night terrors, which took us a bit to calm her down from, and then Ms Gracie wandering out of her room several times. Besides that, crickets. I'd been struggling to keep my eyes open since 3am.

I was interrupted from fantasizing about how good it would feel to fall into bed when I got home when the sound of the charge phone ringing jarred me back to reality. Jarrod, our overnight charge, picked up the phone with a sigh. "Impatient Mental Health, this is Jarrod. Oh, hi Maryanne."

Surprised, I scooted a bit closer to hear the conversation. Maryanne was one of the nursing supervisors, usually on third shift. Best put, the nursing supervisor, so long as Cuddy was not in the building, was God. She handled everything from ER admissions and grieving families, to dealing with staffing issues, to calling the hospital's cable provider when one of the channels went out. The various nursing supervisors did plenty of micro and macromanaging of daily life at the hospital, and her word was law, only to be overruled by Cuddy or Regina.

Or Vogler. Who was the only one who ever seemed to feel the need to overule anybody. I still sometimes questioned my decision to let Vogler remain at PPTH, but watching all of the good his money had done for the hospital, I knew I'd made an okay choice. Maybe not the right choice, per se, but at least an okay one.

I suspected I wouldn't know what choices I made were good and what ones were bad until season eight closed and my part in this world was finished.

"Anya? Yeah, she's right here." Jarrod passed me the phone. "It's for you."

Uh oh. The nursing supervisor wanted to talk to me? A lowly nursing student? Why? Hesitantly, I accepted the phone and put it to my ear. "Hi Maryanne," I greeted carefully. "What's up?"

"Ran into Cuddy on her way in. She wants you to stop in her office, but she wanted to check with me to make sure you could leave IPMH early. Do you guys have your hands full up there?"

"Not really."

"Okay, good. Give report to your relief and head down to see Dr. Cuddy as soon as you can."

I stifled a gulp. "Yes ma'am." I hung up the phone, unease growing by the second. Cuddy needed to see me? First thing in the morning? I racked my brain, trying to figure out if I had done anything bad enough to get me a visit to the Dean's office. After a quick replay of the past few weeks, I decided ultimately that no, to my knowledge, I hadn't fucked up to a degree that Cuddy would need to speak to me about it.

So. It had to be about House.

As requested, I quickly gave report to the nursing student replacing me. I then bid everyone goodbye and grabbed my bag.

"What did the nursing supe want with you?" Tali asked, sidling up next to me.

"She said Cuddy wants to see me," I admitted.

Tali's bloodshot eyes widened. "Oooh. Somebody's getting sent to the principal's office. What'd you do?"

"That's the thing, I didn't do anything. At least I don't think so." I shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe it's something about House?"

"It is so weird that you call him by his last name," Tali commented, amusement in her voice. "Does anybody call the guy Greg?"

"One of his exes," I said, "and his parents. That's about it."

"Exes? There have been people dumb enough to date him?"

A little defensive, I said, "He's not that bad, you know."

Tali held up her hands. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Nothing I'm not used to hearing." I hefted my bag over my shoulder and sighed. "Alright, pray for me. I'm going down."

"I won't be praying to your god, but, I'll throw something up for you," she said with a wink.

"Appreciated." I shot her a tired smile, then made for the elevators. Altogether too soon, I found myself standing outside of Cuddy's office, nerves half-shot just from the journey down to the lobby. I tentatively knocked at her door. Through the glass, I saw her beckon for me to come in. I slipped inside, trying to look like I wasn't seconds away from collapsing on the couch in her office and sleeping for ten hours straight.

"Morning Dr. Cuddy," I said, "you wanted to see me?"

Cuddy smiled at me, seeming genuinely pleased to see me. I paused for a moment to admire how put-together Cuddy looked, even this early in the morning. Hair done just so, makeup perfect, burgundy pants suit walking the delicate line between professional and fashionable. Meanwhile, I was a walking swamp troll, no makeup in sight, hair thrown in a messy bun, and butter stains on my scrubs from making popcorn for movie night.

"Anya, hi. Have a seat." She nodded to the chair sat in front of her desk. I did as I was bid, seating myself and holding my backpack in my lap. Principal's office indeed. "Sorry to call you here so early, but I might not be at the hospital when you come in for your shift later, and I wanted to talk to you about this today without cutting into your sleep time." Her eyes gave me a quick up-and-down. "You look like you need it."

"Amen," I said blearily.

"So, I'll cut to the chase." She folded her hands over one another, leaning forward. "I see you've been applying everywhere you can around here."

I nodded. "Yeah...I need something in the hospital. The coffee shop wasn't cutting it anymore, not with the pay, not with the hours. I need something flexible that I can go to right before or right after clinicals."

"But you've been getting denied at every turn."

Frowning, I said, "I...don't think many people are willing to look past the whole House being my dad thing. Nobody wants to hire the antichrist."

Cuddy snorted. "I'd tell you you're being dramatic, but...you're not," she said dryly. "However, unlike the rest of the hospital, I know you're not a miniature version of House. But I also know that your relationship with House has its benefits."

I narrowed my eyes. "Okay..."

Cuddy pointed at the vacant secretary desk in the anteroom between her office and the lobby. "I haven't been able to keep a personal secretary for more than three months. Some of them just because they're incompetent, and some..."

"Because they couldn't deal with House," I filled in. "I'm uh. Not surprised."

"But I know you can deal with House," Cuddy said. "And, in some...baffling way...you temper his insanity."

"Debatable, but, with you so far."

"Do you know why I can't keep a secretary, Anya?" she asked, clasping her hands together.

I had a few wild theories. "Um. I...can imagine House is probably a contributing factor."

"Oh, more than that. He is, without question, the biggest factor. He has terrorized every person I've sat at that desk out of a job. But, I started thinking to myself...who wouldn't he do that to?"

Okay. Yeah. I saw where this was going. "Dr. Cuddy, with all due respect, House will burn this place down before he lets me take that job, if that's what you're implying."

Cuddy, to my surprise, smiled at me. "I understand he's your father, but...is House the boss of you?"

Oh Cuddy...I do like your style. "I think he'd really, really like to be."

"But?"

"But he's not."

Her smile grew wider. "It pays well. I'll work with the Regina to make sure that your schedule is conducive to working here during the day. I need someone fielding phone calls, setting up appointments, helping me narrow down what's earth-shatteringly important and what isn't, and, most importantly of all, someone who will not dissolve into a puddle of tears when House comes barging through the door asking if he can-" She waved a hand blindly in the air. "Beat a patient half to death with a wooden oar for...science."

I just stared at her. "I..." What the hell could I say here? No? It was either piss off House or piss off Cuddy. And only one of those two people held my future employment in their well-manicured hands. House would make both my life and Cuddy's a living hell, no doubt. But it was a job. It was money. And being bestest buddies with the Dean of Medicine could only do good things for my future.

Also, I was kinda here to watch her back, too. A lot easier to do that if I actually spent time with her. Cuddy was a mystery to me. Maybe it was time to start turning the Rubik's cube.

But oh man. House is gonna fucking hate this.

If nothing else, maybe it would at least be funny.

"I want to be ten miles away when he finds out about this," I said slowly.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed, and once again, she proposed, "But?"

"But I think you've got yourself a deal." I extended my hand like the irredeemable dork I was, and Cuddy graciously accepted it, giving me two firm shakes before releasing.

"I'm going to be honest, that was an easier sell than I thought it would be," she admitted. "I'll draw up the paperwork, it'll be waiting in IPMH for you to sign when you come in tonight. You start Monday at seven. I'll get your clinicals adjusted."

Seven seemed generous, considering how early Cuddy usually got to the hospital. I nodded, still reeling that this was happening at all. "Okay. Yeah. Sounds good." I rose, half in a daze. "Thank you?" I meant it to sound sincere and, you know, grateful, but it came out more bewildered.

Cuddy didn't seem offended. "You're welcome. And yes, I'll tell your father when you're out of the building."

"Thank you." Okay, that time, it sounded very sincere.

I scurried out shortly thereafter, bidding Cuddy goodbye. I stood in the hospital lobby, just now starting to buzz with activity. A glance at the clock confirmed it was time for me to clock out and head home. I took a deep breath. I'd just agreed to work side-by-side with Cuddy. On a daily basis. The one character I had absolutely no idea how to interact with.

Welp. That was anxiety inducing. At least I'd be getting paid for it.

I made to head for the doors, but just as I turned, I noticed Foreman and Chase strolling through the front doors.

"Hey guys," I said, giving them a little two fingered wave.

I received a tired "yo" from Chase and a "hi" from Foreman. I could sense it was one of those days where they weren't coming from home and a good night's sleep, but rather the diner across the street for breakfast and black coffee in the hopes of continuing whatever sleep-deprived marathon they were on. I wasn't sure where precisely they were at in Sex Kills, but if I had to guess, they were probably furiously searching for someone freshly dead with a decent heart that could save their patient.

Struck by the sudden need to tell someone what had just happened, I wasted no time: "So Cuddy just hired me on as her personal secretary."

That woke them up. "Are you serious?" Foreman asked.

"No, I'm kidding. Haha, funny joke. Yes I'm serious!"

"She wants a man on the inside," Chase said immediately. "Err, woman, rather. You know she's just going to use you to keep tabs on House, right?"

"I'll be down here, how the hell am I gonna know what House is doing?"

"Because you spend every single second of free time you have upstairs with us?" Foreman suggested, arching an eyebrow at me. "I hate to say it, but Chase is right. She wants a mole."

"Well, I'm not gonna be one." The two doctors looked at each other, then back at me. I glared at them. "I'm not!"

"Whatever you say." Chase held up his hands. "Does House know?"

"It's 7am, House is still in his nightly stupor. But Cuddy's gonna tell him today."

Chase grinned. "I need to be there for that. He's gonna go absolutely mad."

"Yeah, well let's hope he doesn't take it out on us," Foreman grumbled. "Come on, we need to get back to the ER." The boys lifted their hands in parting, and I watched them hurry back to the transplant slog.

So they thought Cuddy wanted me to spy, huh? Seemed a little overdramatic. It was only season two. Surely we weren't at that level of mindgames yet.

Right?