Doctor Gregory House and other canon characters featured in this work of fiction belong to NBC/Universal and David Shore. Original characters are my creation. I make no money from writing these stories, it's done for pure enjoyment. All literary passages, quotes and song lyrics are used without permission; I do not own them or make money from using them.

(A/N: The lyrics used in this fic are taken from Bob Dylan's song 'Shelter From the Storm', written and owned by Bob Dylan.)

November 6th

"You WHAT?!"

Sarah stared at Gene in absolute shock. He did his best not to flinch. There was no doubt this was in the works from the start; he'd waited all evening for the opportunity to talk about what had happened, but had decided to postpone proceedings until after supper. He was hungry and wanted a home-cooked meal after a week of chain restaurant stodge. Selfish, but he'd never made any claim to altruism. Besides, he'd known how Sarah would react. She rarely lost her temper or became truly angry, but when she did, comparisons to violent volcanic eruptions were inevitable. No wonder the Hawai'ians see as Pele as red-haired, Gene thought. With an effort he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "We gave House an ultimatum," he said again. "Either he works with you or the deal's off."

Sarah didn't reply right away. She folded her arms; her green eyes glittered. Gene recognized the signs of rising temper and prepared for battle. "So let me get this straight," she said. "You and Will had a meeting with House—a meeting which you didn't ask me to attend, even though I'm supposedly part of the team. You then tried to force him into a protocol no one told me about." Her tone was chill. "And just how did that turn out for everyone, if I am permitted to ask?"

"You make things sound a lot worse than they are," Gene said. Sarah's eyes narrowed. Here it comes, he thought, and braced himself for a full eruption.

"Things sound like exactly what they are!" she snapped. "Credit me with a little intelligence and the ability to put one and one together and get two! You can call this anything you like, but you and I both know it's nothing less than good old goddamn blackmail!"

"It's not—I didn't—it's not blackmail!" Gene knew it was pointless to protest, but he wasn't about to just meekly put up with whatever she decided to dish out, either.

"Extortion, coercion, any other fancy name you want to give it, that's what it comes down to! And it's about the worst thing you could do to someone who is already deeply resistant to therapy and struggling with his fears!" She practically shot sparks out of the top of her head now, her fury on full display. "How dare you connive behind my back like this, Gene! Dammit, you know better than this!"

"We had to do something," he said, and tried hard not to sound defensive. "Besides, he sabotaged the process—"

"Oh, we are so not going there!" There was a warning note in Sarah's voice now, along with the anger. "I do not need you to defend me! And don't give me some cheesy, convenient line about sabotage," she said when he opened his mouth to reply. "At least do me the courtesy of being honest! This bullshit is about you takin' care of your woman, isn't it? That's what it all comes down to in the end."

"Yeah, it is. What's so wrong with that?" Gene snapped. He was angry now too, despite his attempt to remain rational.

"The last thing I need is an ex-jarhead running interference for me," Sarah said. Her voice rose in volume; she was one level down from a shout. "House did what he felt he needed to do, even if it was—what it was. He is not a typical patient-"

"He got you fired!" Gene fought to keep his own voice down. "Jesus, Sarah Jane! How am I supposed to let that go?"

Her glare could have powered the entire city of Princeton for a week. "In case nobody told you, it isn't up to you to let things go! What happened is between him and me!"

"No it isn't, not when you bring your work home the way you did with him! You erased the line between professional and personal, you involved me—you can't do that and then claim I'm stepping over that line myself! And then he deliberately hurt you," Gene said. He struggled to hang onto the last shreds of his composure. "And you-you want me to stand by and let him get away with it so he can hurt you some more. Don't ask me to do that, Sarah. Just don't."

She glared at him. "Michael Eugene Goldman," she said, and her tone was quiet now, an ominous sign, "we have talked about this before. I do not need nor want you to protect me. What you and Will did was wrong."

"Fine! It was wrong!" He heard the snarl in his voice that meant his own temper had given way. At the moment he really didn't care. "I wasn't raised to let the people I love get hurt without me doing something about it! You know that! You've always known it, dammit! But you still expect me to behave as if I don't give a shit about you!"

"There is an enormous difference between dealing with personal stuff and going after a patient for acting out!" Sarah said. Her freckles showed stark against her pale face; her fingers dug deep into her arms. "I refuse to be a part of this—this edict you two handed down!"

"What do you mean?" Gene felt his chest tighten with dread.

"I'm gonna tell House the truth."

"Go right ahead, for all the good it'll do! He'll refuse to work with you," Gene said. "You know he will!"

"That's what you think. You don't know his mind and you don't have the right to make decisions for him, or for me either. It has to be his choice. Force never works. Never." Sarah turned away. "I'm ready to rip you to shreds right now, so I'm not saying anything more."

"Go right ahead and be as fuckin' angry as you want," Gene growled. "That makes two of us."

Without another word Sarah took a pillow off the bed and stalked out of the room. Gene watched her go. She would sleep on the couch tonight, it was always her habit when they'd had a bad fight. He knew why she did it; she needed time alone to cool down and think about things. Fine by me, he thought, and hated the impotent fury he felt toward both her and her patient. He resisted the urge to slam the door after her and headed for the bathroom instead, aware he was in for a long night of 'what if' sessions in the early hours. Damn you, House, he thought, and wondered how much icy silence he could endure before he apologized for doing something he knew wasn't wrong.