Even though she was in his apartment at his request, Cuddy couldn't help but feel she trespassing when she stepped into his bedroom. This was his place, the place where he hid from the world when it got to be too much. Who was she to just waltz in the door and stomp all over that? Not so fast…she was an invited guest and House didn't so much as bat an eyelash when she walked through the bedroom door.

His bed was enormous compared to her old queen-sized mattress at home and it took seemingly forever to get close enough to rest her head on his chest. A smile crept across her face when she felt his arm around her back. He wanted her there. She wasn't intruding on anything.

"Of all the big beds you had to get this one." she said, noting that he didn't seem to be in a hurry to turn out the light.

"Lots of room to stretch my leg out," House muttered in response. Indeed, his right leg was stretched out as far as possible, his foot hanging off the edge of the bed. "I'd still need lots of room even if my leg wasn't hacked to shit. I'm six-foot-three; I need more sleeping space than you shorter people."

She was on his left side and had very little chance of accidentally hurting him, yet she found herself telling him, "Let me know if you need me to move."

"If I shove you off the bed, it's because you're taking up too much room. Until then, you're just fine where you are."

"Good." She inched a bit closer. "You're quite comfy and I don't feel like moving."

"Comfy, am I?" House sounded rather amused by the thought. "I've never heard that one before. I guess I'll take it as a compliment."

"It is one."

"I didn't scare you off by digging up my past, I guess I should compliment you for having a high tolerance for that sort of thing."

"Why should I be scared off?" Cuddy was a bit surprised by his statement. "They're just memories now, House. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"They're my memories, Cuddy," he replied. "Of course you shouldn't be afraid of them."

"I'm not."

"I can see that. But are you afraid of yours?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think it's time to have a little chat about your memories."

"My memories?" Cuddy puzzled. "Now?"

"Nobody makes it through childhood unscathed," House declared stoically. "I opened myself up to you about the son of a bitch who was my father. Now it's your turn to open up to me."

"About what?"

"Something that still stings many years later."

"House," Cuddy began, wondering just what the hell he wanted, "my father didn't abuse me."

Turning over to face her, he said, "I know he didn't. But like I said, nobody makes it through their childhood unscathed, not without at least a few emotional scars. They may have faded over time, but they're still there. Honesty is a two-way street, Cuddy. I've been very honest with you tonight, told you things I've never told anyone before. I think I've earned a little honesty from you in return."

He had earned it, but why did he want to compare emotional scars? To see whose ran deeper? He had her beat by a mile.

As if sensing her reluctance, House spoke up with, "One story. Someone out there cut you off at the knees at least once in your life. It's time to get it off your chest. It's just a memory now."

She didn't how House triggered the memory, but it came flooding back in all its humiliating glory. Strangely it had happened more or less thirty years earlier, not all that long after the birthday blowup with the House family. Seeing the harsh fluorescent lights, the puke green carpet, and battered school desks, Cuddy said, "Fifth grade. I was standing at the blackboard in front of the class."

"What for? Were you in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. We were doing our 'math drills'. Two of us were called up and we would see who could shout out the answer first. The winner stayed up there while the loser sat down and a new person was called up. The trick was to see who could stay up there the longest. The winner got a new pencil."

"Sounds like tons of fun," House snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Exactly," Cuddy drolled. "Then the teacher called on a boy to come up and stand beside me for next drill."

"Let me guess--he was the one who cut you off at the knees."

After a few beats, Cuddy answered, "Yes."

"What was his name?"

"Charlie Walsh, and I'll never forget or forgive him."

"Why's that?"

She continued with, "Because when he was called to come up to the blackboard with me, he plastered this look of mock horror across his face and yelled out, 'I don't want stand up there with the dog!' I swear he was loud enough to hear out on the playground."

"Ouch," House muttered.

"Damn straight." With a resigned sigh, she flopped on her back and stared past the eggshell-white ceiling. "It wasn't what he said that really bothered me, it was the way he said it. There was such a condescending sneer in his voice…Christ, the little shit got a kick out of humiliating me in front of the entire class. He laughed about it with his friends for weeks afterward. He knew exactly what he was doing and didn't care in the least."

"What did the teacher do?"

"Nothing. Just told him to shut his trap and get up there. He wouldn't stand next me, he stood as far away as possible from the dog and didn't even try to answer the question so he could go back to his desk and snicker away like an idiot." She sighed again. "To this day I don't know why he singled me out like that."

"He struck at random, like a tornado. You just happened to be the right trailer park at the wrong time. What happened after that?"

"I was called a dog and barked at for a while until the kids got bored with it and moved on to something else. It was the first time something like that had happened to me, and boy, did it ever hurt. I buried myself in my school work so I wouldn't dwell on it too much and tried to avoid Charlie and his troglodyte friends for the rest of the year. Thank God he moved away that summer. Sixth grade was a hell of a lot quieter, I can tell you that."

From the corner of her eye she could see House reach over, then felt his fingers trace lightly down her cheek.

"Thanks for your honesty," he said.

"House?"

"Hmm?"

Reaching up to take his hand, she asked, "How do you know I'm being honest?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "When you were telling that story you weren't here with me, you were that fifth grader standing up at the chalkboard again. Lies just don't bring out the sting of being humiliated, do they?"

"No, they don't," Cuddy agreed.

A faint smile ghosted across House's face. "Did you win the pencil?"

"Yes, I did," she remembered, and felt herself grinning. "I won more than a few of them that year."

"Always too damn smart for your own good. Did Charlie Walsh ever win one?"

"I don't think he did."

"Because you were too busy winning them all."

"That's right," Cuddy said, then laughed.