Rachel got her reward for good behavior the next morning, a nice long visit to the stable, though she never really thought any of them were long enough. After greeting and "talking" with Ember - Rachel had the whinny cue spot down perfectly now - and watching Thomas ride, she even got to help groom after he unsaddled the mare. House held her up so she could reach the tall horse. Also, though nobody mentioned it directly, so she would run less risk of getting stepped on. Thomas still always kept one hand on the halter, directly controlling the horse, though she knew Rachel by now.

Cuddy stood back and watched, keeping one eye on Abby, who was kneeling next to her mother and petting barn cats. The fear was getting better through stubborn effort, but Cuddy still had to work actively at pushing away worst case scenarios. "Look at your daughter's face." Patterson's voice spoke in her memory. "See the joy there. Thomas is careful. Yes, there's still risk, but life without risk is also life without joy. Let Rachel follow her passion."

Good advice but annoyingly hard to apply, as so much good advice was. Cuddy just hoped that she could keep it together after Rachel's birthday in December. The youngest the stable would start lessons for children was four, and her parents had agreed that Rachel could start riding then, provided that she listened to Marilyn, followed instructions, and acted safely. A personal pony was inevitable by this point, Cuddy knew, but that wouldn't come for at least a year or so. Marilyn heartily agreed; lessons first before horse ownership, and Rachel would be much better prepared for and matched to the eventual pony that way. But Thomas was also planning a surprise as a Christmas present for his granddaughter, and Cuddy's heart sped up at the thought ever since two weeks ago when her husband and her father-in-law had proposed it to her. No doubt they'd been plotting privately for a while before that, though House wouldn't spring something like that on her cold, not involving their children.

She shifted uneasily and forced herself to watch Rachel's face. The joy was there. Thomas' smile watching her was warming, too. Thomas was enjoying his new family so much. Even Abby was fully a fan of his by now, and he'd had Rachel won over since Lexington. As for House, the gains were slow but definite. Thomas and his son had lunch together every Thursday now, and of course, they all saw each other several times a week as well, though he was careful to leave them some space. Cuddy herself was closer to him than ever, settling contentedly into something that she'd never realized she missed. They were good for him, too. Thomas looked younger than 75, vibrantly healthy, and with an inner peace and a sparkling sense of humor that had been far removed that first evening over a year ago when he'd come forward in the court room to face his son.

His son. Cuddy looked at House. He, too, was totally healed from the explosion now, and his inner peace quotient was also higher these days, even if he would have resisted admitting it outright. But something was bothering him. He had been thinking more than usual the last week, his ever-active mind spinning on some personal differential. She was still allowing him space to come to her, though if this went on for much longer, she would prod him a little, trying to remind him that they were partners and that she was there. He'd been particularly silent last night on the drive back, and Cuddy knew that Thomas had noticed as much as she had.

Cuddy watched him watching his daughter, with that softening of his features when the age-old defenses slipped a little. It was more frequent now than formerly, though she thought he would always be shielded. At that moment, there came the briefest flicker, quickly suppressed, of something else in his eyes, something she knew well. Pain. The bite of his leg had managed to climb to the top of his thoughts, and he shifted his weight a little.

Rachel noticed. The brush stilled partway through a stroke. "Down, Daddy."

House scowled, all of his pleasant mood of a few seconds ago evaporating. He knew why she was asking. "You aren't done with this side yet, Rachel. You were going to do this one and let him brush the other."

She wiggled, unintentionally making the strain on his leg a little worse in her insistence on making it better. "But it's hell leg day. Down!"

House really dodged there. "I'm fine," he snapped. She looked a little startled at the tone, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Rachel smiled and promptly gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, too."

Thomas came around Ember to their side. "I can finish her up, Rachel," he said. She extended her arms, and he took her from his son, giving her a tight hug and whispering something in her ear that made her smile. Then he stepped back and set his granddaughter down a few feet clear of the horse. "You know, Lisa, she's pretty used to Rachel by now. Aren't you, girl?" He tapped the mare's neck, and Ember whinnied on cue. Thomas fished out a mini carrot and gave it to her.

Rachel perked up, following this conversation with interest. "So I can ride Ember? Yay!" It was a "stable-voice" yay, whispered. The rules of the barn were ingrained thoroughly by now. She looked up at her mother with an impish grin.

Cuddy captured her older daughter's hand firmly. "You are not going to ride Ember, and you know it. We've covered this before. I don't care how used to you she is."

"No, Rachel," Thomas said, backing up Cuddy. "Ember is too big for you and isn't a kid's horse. You can't ride her. But what I was thinking of, Lisa, is just with brushing her a little, I could hold Rachel. There's really no need to have me keep a hold of the halter at this point. If Ember did jump, she'd still knock into me first, not Rachel."

Cuddy tensed up. This was moving into new territory, and she wasn't sure she was ready. It was so comforting to know that Thomas always had hold of the horse whenever Rachel was close. But . . . she glanced at her husband, trying to make it subtle, and met his eyes on her in full glare.

"Just go ahead and say it," he growled. "Everybody knows you're thinking it. Even she's thinking it." Without waiting for confirmation of what they all were thinking, he turned and stalk-limped up the barn aisle. Abby scampered after him, and Cuddy let her go, though watched closely. Her younger daughter caught her father easily and wasn't two feet behind him most of the aisle, and there weren't any horses in the walkway at the moment.

Rachel looked after her father with concern. "Is Daddy all right?"

Cuddy picked her up. Rachel was just a few months away from four, and even her mother was aware of the growing difficulty of the action, of the vast difference between her energetic, growing daughter and that little baby it seemed she had only held yesterday. And she had two good legs. She knew picking them up had been getting progressively harder for her husband, but the girls themselves were starting to notice now. Abby, too, had asked before to get down when his leg was hurting worse. "He's just hurting, Rachel. I'm glad you noticed that and stopped the grooming. That was very nice of you, and I'm proud of you."

Rachel settled into her mother's arms. "Daddy needs to take the med'cine. That stops hell leg day. And pizza," she added as an afterthought.

Cuddy's and Thomas' eyes met over her head, and their look was serious in spite of her final two words. "I'd better finish getting Ember put away," Thomas said. "We have been here a long time this morning."

Outside the barn, House stopped and turned around to face his almost 3-year-old shadow. "You okay, Daddy?" Abby asked.

"I'm fine," he repeated. She wasn't buying it. Rachel wasn't as often these days, either. Damn it. "I'll be okay."

"Take med'cine," Abby told him.

"I will, soon as it's time to." He looked at Timothy Thornton's old watch and was startled to see how late it really was. It was almost lunch time. No wonder his leg thought he'd been on it too long, though it was picking up Rachel and holding her for a few minutes while standing there that had been the final insult.

And even Abby, the younger and smaller one, was now growing. He picked her up abruptly, just to prove to himself that he could, feeling out the approaching limit, testing.

Abby returned his hug, then pushed away. "Down, Daddy." He reluctantly set her back down. "Daddy?"

"What is it, Abby?"

"Why are you mad?"

He sighed. "I'm not mad at you girls."

She tossed her head impatiently. "I know that," she said, sounding so much like a miniature version of him at that moment that he had to grin, and the edges of the mental pain, if not the ache in his leg, lessened. "Why?"

Abby on a "why" question was like a bloodhound on a trail. He sometimes tried to dodge, sometimes even deliberately would string her along just to tease her, but she usually wound up with some version of an answer, just by persistence. "I wish . . ." he started, then stopped, weighing phrases. "Sometimes, I want to be like I used to be. And I'm not. And that makes me mad."

"Like Rachel's movie?" The old converted film of his lacrosse game had been watched so often by now, usually at Rachel's request, that Abby called it Rachel's movie. Rachel never tired of seeing her young father on the screen and then demonstrating later in the back yard how she could "run like you."

"Yes."

Abby shook her head and gave his good leg a hug. "Don't be mad," she said. "Me and Rachel love you now."

House blinked back tears. "I love you girls, too," he said.

Still, what would they think of detox? As he had told Jensen, there wasn't any way to conceal it, not at their present ages. Inpatient, he would be gone for several days, and they would insist on visiting to be reassured that he hadn't died - and they would see it. Outpatient, they would see it anyway.

But it was for them, for all of them, that he knew he needed to get off the Vicodin.

Abby tugged at his hand, pulling him toward Cuddy's car. "Sit down, Daddy. You help hell leg day."

"Probably a good idea," he admitted. "We'll wait for the others out here. Then we'll all go to lunch." He opened the door, lifted her in, and then climbed in himself, and Abby sat down in the passenger's front to face him with a little defiant tilt of her head that told him that she was appreciating the freedom from her car seat, even though the car wasn't moving. When the others joined them ten minutes later, they were talking about last night's concert.

(H/C)

When Cuddy finished her final check on the girls that night and came into the bedroom, her husband was already in sleep clothes and in bed but was sitting up against the headboard, obviously waiting. She studied him for a moment, then walked over and climbed in next to him. "Go ahead and get ready," he insisted.

Cuddy fought back a sigh and got out again, changing to her nightgown. She knew he was finally going to talk to her, but he was also enjoying stalling a little now that she knew he was going to talk to her. Of course, he also was enjoying the show as she changed clothes. He always had been great at multitasking.

Finally ready, she got back in bed next to him. Belle jumped up onto the foot and sat at attention, ears alert, like a third member of the discussion. "I've been thinking," House started, then stalled.

"I'd figured that much out several days ago, Greg. What are you thinking about?"

He looked at her, then looked away, testing out which way was easier to take the jump. Somewhat to his surprise, facing her fully seemed a little less exposed. "I've maxed out the PT. He agrees on that. We've gone as far as we can go that route."

Cuddy longed to embrace him, to comfort him on that difficult realization, but she held back, sensing more. "I . . . wish it had worked better, Greg, but I know you tried."

His lips quirked. "You deliberately didn't say sorry. Don't want to distract me; is that it? Well, I just said it." He reached out to claim her for a long, satisfying kiss. After they finally parted, he looked at her again, then visibly pushed himself on. "There's a new pain doc who set up in Philly this summer."

Cuddy stared. "You're thinking of making an appointment." She was afraid to hope, but there was a new determination in his eyes tonight, and for the first time ever between them, he was the one suggesting it, not her.

"Yeah. He's not a new one, of course. Really well thought of. He's just new to this country. Maybe there's something better out there that he knows of than the Vicodin."

Cuddy moved closer again, putting her arm around him. She didn't want to break the conversation, but she needed to let him feel her approval, warm and physical and real. "I'm proud of you, Greg. And I know you're doing this for us, even though you ought to be doing it for you." He ought to have done it for himself years ago, but she didn't point that out. "The Vicodin isn't working as well anymore, is it?"

He looked away then, down at the bed, and met Belle's intent golden eyes, nearly as interested as Cuddy's. Turning away from both of them, he studied the far wall. "I've . . . tried to cut it down some lately. Not taking as much. I can't take it any lower than now. Don't blame Wilson for not telling you; he doesn't know, either. I didn't change the refills, just took less. Flushed the extras. I didn't want him caring and asking questions all over the place. But even taking less now, LFTs aren't any better than last year. I need to get off this."

Cuddy closed her eyes for a moment. "I wish you'd told me, Greg. I could have supported you. But you need pain relief, too. I've even thought before you needed something stronger than Vicodin. Or along with it. Or something."

"You used to think I was just an addict," he pointed out. "You and Wilson both."

She shook her head. "Greg, I have never thought you were just an addict. Dependence isn't addiction. I didn't realize how bad the pain really was; I'll admit that. But I could never forget what happened to you physically with the infarction. I always knew the problem was real. I was there." She shuddered, and it was his turn to reach out to her.

"Don't start in the guilt complex. Stacy signed that consent."

"I know. I don't even blame her anymore."

That caught his attention. "You'd go against my wishes if it happened now again?"

She gave him the honor of a thought-out response. "I don't think so, but it's hypothetical. It being my decision, I mean. I do think that she did wrong, and I hope I'd do better. I'd try to respect what you wanted. But I understand the fear of losing you a lot better than I used to. She has more of my sympathy now than she did back then."

He weighed that, then went on. "I was thinking last night with the music. Once I stopped just watching Abby. You remember our first date, and me telling you about my first concert?"

"I'll never forget that. A world of possibility, you said." She was afraid to draw the extension and push too far, but he took it on himself.

"I was feeling that some last night. Maybe this doc can help."

"I hope so. When are you going to call?"

"Tomorrow, probably."

She wasn't surprised. "I am proud of you for this. Greg?"

"What?"

"About this morning." He tensed up, but she continued. As long as they were actually talking about his leg, which was rare, she might as well bring this up. "It's getting harder for both of us to pick the girls up and hold them for a while. I'm feeling it, too."

"You at least aren't a cripple." At that moment, Belle annoyingly walked up the bed and settled down on his leg, still listening but changing from Egyptian statue to portable feline heating pad.

"You aren't, either. Not to them. And you aren't to me or to Thomas. I just wish you'd talk about it a little more. Be honest about how you're feeling with us. They aren't judging you, Greg."

"I didn't mean to snap at Rachel," he said.

"She forgot that almost immediately. She was just worried. Greg, if you come off the Vicodin, unless we replace it at the same time with another narcotic, you're going to go through detox, and they're going to notice that."

"I know," he snarled. She didn't respond, just took the tone, absorbing it but not taking it personally, and waited. He sighed. "Sorry." After their kiss, he said, "Abby's birthday is in October. And the old man's, too. September's not a bad month to do something and get it over with. Maybe things would be better by then."

She jumped on the agenda bandwagon immediately, knowing that his offering that angle to her was an unspoken olive branch. "November's not as bad, just Thanksgiving, but December will be nuts. Rachel's birthday, then my parents coming for Hanukkah, then we're having Christmas, too. September really is the most convenient month. But if we have to delay other things, we will. Your health is more important."

"No," he replied firmly. "I am not going to be going through detox on my daughters' birthdays. Unless this guy is a total idiot, which he doesn't seem to be from reputation, surely he can come up with something instead in a month."

She heard the hope behind the thought. He really was considering the possibility of something more effective, not just less harmful. The music last night had done that, and she was overwhelmed again with gratitude that he had had music in his life, one oasis of beauty and wholeness, even in childhood. "I am proud of you," she repeated. "But please, Greg, talk to us. Not just the girls but me, too. Let me in. I know you hate talking about your leg, but I'd like to share it with you. As much as I can," she added hurriedly. "I know I'll never really feel it like you do, but I wish you'd be more open, at least with the family."

"Doesn't change anything," he grumbled. He was hitting the limits on this discussion, she could tell. His endurance on this topic wasn't long.

"It might make you feel a little less alone in it. You aren't alone, Greg."

He moved the cat aside, to Belle's lashing disgust, and reached for his wife. "There are a lot better ways to spend our time in bed than talking about this."

Cuddy yielded to him gladly, but she couldn't quite stop one of her final coherent thoughts from spilling over into words. "Does making love make your leg hurt more, or does it help, Greg? Is there any way that's better than another?" She'd asked the question twice before through the years, and he hadn't answered then.

Sure enough, he locked up on her again. "You're thinking too much." He seized her, and Belle jumped off the bed, yielding the territory to them with her ears flattened and not returning until all was quiet and still much later.