A/N: More spoilers for S4 "You Don't Want to Know"

Chapter 26

Over dinner the next night, House told Issy what had happened that day.

"First off, I went to see the patient and toss the key in his face. You know what he said to me? 'Oh, I forgot about that'. Idiot! I was about to discharge him, but then he started bleeding profusely from his nose, so I had to round up the kids again. And who shows up with Cuddy's panties? Big Love, of all people!"

"Really? That's surprising. Honestly, he's the one that I thought was the least devious of them all."

"Agreed. I guess there's more to him than I thought. They were really hers, though. I ran into her in the clinic and tricked her into picking up something for me. She had on this really tight skirt and when she bent over, there was no doubt that she was sans panties."

Issy smirked: "What did you say to her?"

House chuckled: "I screeched like a girl, loud enough for the whole clinic to hear. 'Oh My God, you're not wearing panties!' She blushed pinker than her skirt and took off running."

Issy giggled and then said: "So why was the patient's nose bleeding?"

"I sent Kutner and Taub to his lair. They found white fluffy bunnies, so I stuck him on antibiotics for tularemia. He should be fine in a couple of days."

"And now Big Love gets to nominate two people, one of whom you'll fire? Who do you think he'll pick?"

"Definitely not Kutner cuz he's his BFF. Cutthroat Bitch for sure, and then it's a toss-up between Taub and Thirteen, but I think he'd pick Taub."

Issy smirked: "And which one will you fire?"

He scrunched up the left side of his face in thought. "We'll see. Depends on my mood. Tell ya tomorrow night."

House pushed away his plate and asked: "So, do I get another three questions tonight?"

"Depends."

He eyes her suspiciously: "On what?"

Issy shrugged in a nonchalant manner: "Turn about is fair game. Wanna tell me what happened to your leg? Seems like if I'm your girlfriend, I ought to know about it."

House thought for a moment; he didn't really want to talk about his leg but she did have a point. As his girlfriend, she should know about it. It would seem weird if anyone asked her and she didn't know.

"OK. I'll tell you what happened, but I get unlimited questions tonight."

Issy's eyes widened: "Unlimited? Doc, it's a work night. I can't stay up until 3AM telling you my stupid saga."

"Will it take that long?"

"How the hell do I know what you're going to ask me? Plus you have to tell me yours."

He groused: "All right, all right. You answer my questions until I'm satisfied or until 10:30, whichever comes first. Then I'll tell you about my leg."

"OK, fine. But I need alcohol tonight."

"Pour me a double, babe."

Issy poured him a double of Maker's Mark while she got a double shot of scotch. She handed him his glass, sat down on the far end of the couch, took a sip and said: "Shoot."

This was the question he was about to ask last night when he hit his limit. "Did you ever, you know, turn tricks while you were on the streets?"

"No, believe it or not, I managed to get by without doing that. Like I told you last night, I'd go to a restaurant and more times than not, they'd give me some food for doing some unpleasant chore. Sometimes, I'd get some cash too. I'd make repeat trips to the more generous ones, but not too often as I didn't want to wear out my welcome. I'd go to the little Mom and Pop grocery stores and ask if they had any spoiled food that they were going to throw out and sometimes I'd get some bruised fruit or day-old pastries. I panhandled. I collected bottles and cans for the deposit. And the dry-cleaner guy helped me out."

House frowned: "Who was he? And how exactly did he help you out?"

"It was raining one night, and I parked myself under this awning to stay dry. I ended up falling asleep right out there in the open, which was something that I never did. I woke up from someone shaking my shoulder. It really startled me and I cried out and then the guy said: 'I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. I just need to open up and you were right in front of my door.' I apologized for bothering him and started to walk away, but it was still pouring and I hesitated for a moment to leave the dry bit of sidewalk under his awning. He invited me to come inside his shop until it stopped raining and then he gave me half of his bagel. He was very nice to me and treated me like a regular person even though it was obvious that I was homeless. I helped him push up the metal grates over the windows and I swept the floor for him and he gave me five bucks. So I started dropping by once a week or so. We'd talk for a while and then he'd ask me to help him with something. He'd send me to the pizza place on the corner to get his lunch so that he wouldn't have to lock up to go himself and he'd buy me lunch too. Or he'd ask me to sweep up or take out the trash and he'd give me some money for doing that. His name was Richard and he was very nice to me. I mean, it was obvious that he didn't really need me to do those things for him; he was just being nice to help me out."

"And he never wanted sex or something from you?"

"Nope, believe it or not, he was just a genuinely nice guy. If I ever go back to New York, I'd like to look him up, you know, to say thank you. So getting back to your original question: I never hooked on the streets. I didn't start screwing for money until I started working in the strip clubs."

"Besides scrounging for money and food, how did you spend your time?"

"I walked a lot. I'd go to the library or the bookstore and read for hours, or catch a nap. I'd search out public restrooms and try to clean up as best I could. I'd go to the museums and the zoo on the free days."

House said softly: "The Met?"

Issy nodded: "Yeah, the Met was free on Thursday nights from 6 to 8PM. I loved the Egyptian gallery, but one of the guards there used to give me a hard time, so I'd go find a less frequented gallery where my presence wouldn't be so disturbing to the other patrons."

She shrugged: "You live on the streets, you smell pretty bad."

"Were you by yourself all the time? Did you meet any other homeless people and hang out with them?"

Issy sighed. Her expression grew sadder, but then she briskly rubbed her face with her hands and seemed to pull herself together. "I was alone most of the time."

House tilted his head and stared at her intently. "But?"

Issy looked down and whispered: "There was one guy. We met behind Famous Famiglia on 97th Street, waiting for the guys to throw out the end-of-the-night pizza. They only threw out one box that night; we both grabbed for it and wouldn't let go. So we decided to share. We took the pizza into the park and shared it al fresco while sitting on a bench. It was nice to have someone to eat with, have a conversation with. Besides Richard, I never really talked to anyone. Asking for spare change isn't exactly a conversation, you know? Bobby and I just kinda connected. We talked for a long time about all kinds of stuff. Even though it was early June, it was cool that night and he offered to share his sleeping bag with me."

House nodded knowingly. "He wanted to bang you."

Issy shook her head. "Not that night. We just cuddled up in the sleeping bag together to keep warm. He wrapped his arms around me and it was nice."

She paused and then went on: "I felt safe with him. We started hanging out together and after a few nights, we did start having sex."

In a gentle tone, House asked: "What was it like for you, after, you know? Your other experiences?"

Her eyes took on a faraway look. "It was nice. We took it slow and well, I came to the realization that sex can feel good too."

"So what happened to him?"

"He, hum, he turned tricks. He'd do blowjobs for the chicken hawks down on Ninth Avenue. I tried to convince him that we could survive without him doing that and he stopped for a couple of weeks. But then things got tight and he started going back down there again. One night, there was a big bust and he got caught up in it. I never saw him again. He was only seventeen like me, so I guess he was either sent to juvie or they sent him back home."

"Where was home for him?"

"Somewhere in Indiana. His father used to beat the crap out of him and his mother all the time. When he got big enough to fight back, his old man pulled a knife on him, slashed his upper arm and told him to get out and never come back. So he left home at fifteen and ended up hooking in New York."

"So he was your boyfriend?"

She nodded and said softly: "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, we'd only been together two or three months, but I'd gotten used to his company and it was lonely without him. I looked for him for a long time after the bust. I kept hoping he'd get released and come looking for me. So I kept going to our usual haunts and I even checked a few times down on Ninth Avenue, but I never saw him again."

Jesus, could her story get any more pathetic? She finally meets a guy that she feels safe with; he turns out to be a boy whore, gets picked up by the cops and she never sees him again. No wonder she walls herself off from people. The only two people she seemed to really care about disappeared without even a good-bye.

"So, how did you end up in New Jersey?"

She spoke listlessly, as if her tale was taking all of the strength out of her. "After I turned 18 and I wasn't worried about getting sent back to Ohio, I tried to get a job. Surprise, no one wanted to hire a homeless high school dropout. I met a girl who said she was heading to Newark to work in a new restaurant. She seemed on the up-and-up, so stupid me, I tagged along. That turned out to be a prostitution ring, so I high-tailed it out of there. I found a homeless shelter and got cleaned up. They helped me get a job with a maid service. That really paid crap, but at least I had a little cash flow. Then I found a waitress job at a diner and that was better, cuz I got tips, but I still didn't make enough money to get my own place. I didn't like living in the shelter but it was better than the streets. There was no privacy, but at least I had a cot and there were showers. I left the diner when I got a job at Applebee's and I made better tips there. I also found a couple of cleaning clients on my own and they paid me cash. And I kept looking for better jobs."

"How did you end up dancing?"

"I applied for a waitress job at a club in Newark. I was only nineteen, so I was too young to serve alcohol, but old enough to dance. Go figure. I wasn't sure that I wanted to do that, but the money was good and I really wanted to get out of the shelter. The girls wore tiny bikinis and did go-go dancing on top of the tables. It wasn't so bad except for the guys pawing at you. I made friends with this one girl, Marcy and we ended up getting an apartment together. It had one bedroom and an alcove and I mostly slept in the alcove cuz she usually had a guy over. We changed clubs a couple of times mostly because Marcy wanted to find a richer clientele."

"I kept looking for some other kind of work, but since I had no high school diploma, the only thing I could find was waitressing and maid service. Then one day, I saw a bus bench advertisement: 'Didn't finish high school? No problem! Get your GED with us'. So I called them. I studied and passed my GED exam. And guess what kind of job I was qualified for then? I could work at McDonalds!"

She made a sour face. "Yeah, that was a big step up. So I kept dancing and trying to figure out what else I could do."

"When did you start providing those extra services that make a man so happy?"

She blushed: "It was a few clubs back. Marcy really wanted to work at this one club called King of Diamonds because she heard that it was mostly white-collar guys that were bigger tippers. So we went there for an interview and the managers told us that some of their clients liked extras and were we willing to provide them. Of course, Marcy said yes. Well, they wanted a demonstration, so we had to give them a blowjob to get the job. That was the first time I had to blow someone to get a job, but not the last. At Body Shots, not only did I have to blow the manager to get the job, but all the girls were expected to keep him and his cronies happy upon request."

"So if he walked up to you with a 'business associate', you were expected to make him happy? Did you get paid extra for that?"

She snorted. "I got to keep my job and not get the crap beat out of me. If I was lucky, the guy would give me a tip."

Damn, with that kind of situation, any other job would look better.

"What made you decide to be a nurse?"

She bit her lip: "You'll think this is so stupid, but I saw another bus bench advertisement. It claimed you could become a nurse in just two years. I thought: 'oh, that's great! A real job.' What they didn't say; was that since I didn't have any college at all, I would need to get an AA degree first and then do the two years of nursing school. But I got fixated on the idea of being a nurse and that being my way out, so I decided to go for it. I kept dancing cuz it was good money and it had a flexible schedule so I could go to school around work. Figured I'd been a whore for so long already, what was a little while longer? I changed clubs a couple of times, working around my school schedule, and finally ended up at Body Shots where I met you. Marcy found a sugar daddy and moved to Boston about a year ago and that's when I got my studio apartment."

She looked him right in the eyes and said: "So that's my life story, Doc. You got any other questions?"

He pondered for a moment and then shook his head.

She tilted her head at him and said softly: "Your turn."

Slowly he said: "So what do you want to know?"

"What happened to your leg? You alluded to the fact that your ex-girlfriend did that to you. What the hell did she do?"

House knocked back the rest of his bourbon before continuing. "I developed pain in my right thigh. It was diagnosed as just muscle strain, but rest and muscle relaxants did nothing for it. The pain kept getting worse. After four days, it was finally diagnosed as an infarction. By then, muscle death had already occurred. The doctors wanted to amputate my leg but I wouldn't let them. I figured if I could just ride out the pain, the electrolyte imbalance caused by the muscle death would resolve. I'd be OK and I'd still have my leg. So I asked them to put me in a drug-induced coma for 48 hours to sleep through the worst of the pain. While I was out, my girlfriend, Stacy, who was also my health-care proxy, agreed to a different type of surgery. She let them cut out all the dead muscle. No one realized just how much muscle would have to be cut off and I woke up with half a thigh."

Issy's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. I can't believe she did that to you while you were unconscious. How could she do that?"

He shook his head slowly and looked away. "She thought she was saving my life. She didn't trust me enough to believe me when I told her that I'd be OK after I woke up from the coma. Seven years later, and I'm still in pain. I've got a big hole in my thigh, a permanent limp, and she's married to another man."

Issy gasped: "She left you after doing that to you? The bitch!"

He chuckled softly at her vehemence and then closed his eyes, remembering those painful months right after the surgery. "I drove her away. I was so angry and in so much pain. The pain right after the surgery was ten times worse than it is now and I had to learn to walk all over again. And there she was, the person who professed to love me, the one who did this to me, able to walk without pain. I hated her so much and I let her know it, every minute of every day. She lasted for six months before finally throwing in the towel and walking out the door."

"And she married some other guy?"

He nodded. "Yeah, he got sick a couple of years back. No one could figure out what was wrong with him and she wanted me to take him on as a patient. I ended up doing it and doing her."

Issy jaw dropped. "You did her, after everything that had happened?"

"Yeah. She said she missed me and there was a part of me that missed her too. We had lived together for five years before the infarction happened. While her husband was in the hospital, we slept together just the one time and it was comfortable, you know, like putting on an favorite pair of old shoes. I wanted her to leave him for me and when she finally decided to do so, I changed my mind. It just wasn't right. I knew we'd be at each other's throats in no time. All it would take would be a bad pain day for me and I'd be calling her every name in the book. It wasn't worth going through all that again."

He shot her a look. "So that's the story of my leg. Any other questions?"

Issy shook her head. "Not about your leg or your ex-girlfriend."

"What, then?"

Hesitantly she said: "I was wondering about your dad. He's so mean to you. I don't get it. You're a doctor; he should be so proud of you."

House snorted: "I'm not the son he wanted me to be. He wanted a little miniature Marine; what he got was a disobedient smart-mouth kid who wanted to be anything but that. He tried to beat me into shape."

Issy gasped: "He beat you?"

Shit! He hadn't meant to say that. He looked at her, and while he remembered how much his own childhood had sucked, hers had been considerably worse. "Yeah, he used to beat me with his belt. That lasted until I was sixteen and got big enough to fight back. When I was small, he'd make me take ice baths when I misbehaved. When I got too big to wrestle into the tub, he started locking me out of the house so that I'd have to sleep in the yard all night. Didn't matter if it was raining or freezing cold, I still couldn't come in."

House didn't know why he had told her all of that. There was no point in rehashing past history. You couldn't change it. He did notice that she had inched closer to him while he was talking. He hoped it wasn't from pity. She couldn't possibly pity him with the kind of life she'd had. Suddenly he didn't want to talk about this any more.

"Look, I've never told anyone about my father. Wilson's had hints but that's it. I never even told Stacy."

Issy let out a deep sigh. "It's hard to talk about. I think that if the other person hasn't had similar experiences themselves, they just don't get it. When Bobby told me about his dad beating him up, I told him that I had gotten beat too, but I didn't tell him about the other stuff."

"You don't think he would have understood?"

She shrugged: "He might have, but I didn't want to take the chance of losing him."

"No one worthwhile is going to judge you for what happened to you when you were a child."

She looked at him and asked plaintively: "How do you know?"

He had no answer. They sat in silence for a few minutes. House watched Issy pick at the hem of her tee shirt. It was starting to unravel and she was making it worse. He reached out and took her hand.

"Issy. No one knows this stuff about my father."

She looked into his eyes. "I won't tell anyone, Doc. You won't tell anyone about my stuff, right?"

"My lips are sealed, babe."

She whispered: "Thank you."

She lifted his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. Her eyes closed and her expression was serene as if she was really enjoying that small contact.

'Good touch, bad touch'. That's what they taught the kids these days. Issy had had enough 'bad touch' to last her several lifetimes. Was that Bobby guy the only boyfriend she'd ever had? Had there been anyone else that she'd had good sex with? He wasn't sure why he worried about this, but he hoped that she considered most of the times with him to be good ones, even if she was getting paid for it.

"C'mere."

Issy opened her eyes and looked at him.

He patted his good leg. "C'mere."

She scooted closer and he pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she snuggled closely, with her head resting on his shoulder. House kissed the top of her head and then rested his cheek against her hair. They sat like that for a long while, each relishing the physical contact. When House's leg finally fell asleep, he nudged her up and silently they headed off to bed together.