A/N: Those who have commented that they miss Jensen at the moment, I do, too. But there are several high-power Jensen/House episodes a little later. Patience. By the end of the story, I don't think he'll feel short changed.

Thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

Once they got back to their hotel room, Jensen and Wilson both made calls home, and then Jensen retreated to the bathroom to call his own therapist for the post-funeral session. Wilson did offer to take a book down to the lobby or something, but Jensen refused, saying he didn't mind the porcelain office. Once the door was shut, the psychiatrist wasted a few minutes of the privacy he'd gained just postponing the inevitable. Finally, giving himself a firm pep talk, he dialed.

"Hello, Michael." Paul sounded bright and fresh, even though it was getting late by now.

"How was the fishing today?"

"Marvelous. This is the life, fishing in January, taking my boat out on the calm waters, going down to the beach in all seasons. Every retiree's dream." His voice was just a little flat, and Jensen grinned.

"You miss the grind, don't you?"

Paul sighed. "Old habits are hard to break, I must admit. I'm sorry for the circumstances, but I am glad you called last week. Do you have any idea how tiring it can be at times to do nothing?"

"That's a lesson I'm not in much danger of learning so far."

"No, you're definitely not. But your time will come in twenty or thirty years, and you'll really sympathize then." He paused, audibly changing gears, and Jensen vividly could picture his friend: Tall, though not as tall as Thornton or House, with an easy smile right up until he pinned an evasive patient ruthlessly to the chair. "I don't mean to complain. It is fun, and I was getting tired, but this is a big change all at once. So, how did things go today?"

"Could have been worse. You know," Jensen said, "there's no reason it has to be all at once. Why don't you go volunteer at a counseling center or something? You'd keep at least the toes of one foot in the water professionally, and the fish would still bite if they were only scheduled part time."

There was silence for a moment. "That's not a bad idea, Michael. Don't know why that one didn't occur to me."

"Maybe it's too much like admitting defeat. You've only been retired a few months, and it is what you wanted. What you said you wanted, anyway."

"You're probably right. Now then, answer the question before I unretire and fly up there in person to nail you down properly. Do you really think I'll let you get away with that summary?"

"No. Just postponing things. I knew it wouldn't work." Jensen relaxed a little into the familiarity. He could trust Paul, both as friend and therapist, even when and perhaps especially when the other man pushed him. The certainty of that was reassuring. "It was an interesting day." He proceeded into a much more thorough description of the funeral clear on into Thornton's visit that evening. Paul listened quietly.

"Do you want to tell me what you said to her?" he asked at the end. He had encouraged Jensen to say something privately to Blythe, some final words, but hadn't suggested anything specifically.

"I told her I was sorry."

"Just in general or narrowing it down?"

"For whatever I had done toward this, if anything. And yes, I put it exactly like that to her. And then I asked her why the hell she hadn't talked to us."

He could hear the approval clear through the phone. "Excellent. Really, Michael, if you are going to start assigning blame, which is almost always pointless if not impossible, you can't assign it only to yourself in this situation. You had a lot of company in that, and she takes the largest share of all. She alone was deliberately misleading you and her son in those sessions. She knew her doctor's warning and advice, which he apparently laid out clearly."

"According to the office manager, it was very clear. We'll see him on Wednesday and get more details in person, but she definitely knew something was wrong and that he thought it could even be life threatening."

Paul's voice sharpened up a little, and Jensen could picture the eyes zeroing in, preventing escape. He had seen it several times in person. "You hesitated there, Michael. Right before saying 'we'll see him.'"

Jensen sighed. "You really do need to go volunteer somewhere. You're too good to fall out of the field entirely. Besides, you have to save some fish for somebody else. House hasn't said that he isn't taking me along still. He probably is. I just . . ." He paused to crystallize the thought, not that it needed crystallizing. But stating it outright was frightening, which was ridiculous. He knew and had advised others hundreds of times that stating worries outright, at least in a confidential conversation like this, was always a definite improvement over brooding on them in silence. "I'm afraid I might have lost my nerve with the work," he admitted. "Particularly with House. I'm afraid it's never going to be the same again."

"Tonight strengthened that fear somehow, didn't it? You spent easily as much time describing his father's visit as you did the funeral."

"It did. Thornton took a risk tonight, a big risk. And he gained some ground for it. But I was only worrying the whole time about him pushing House too hard, and even when I did decide it was time to stop, I said it wrong. That was a mandate, not just an opinion. All of them thought the tone was too much. If I'm afraid to take risks anymore with him, this is never going to work. We wouldn't be able to go on in sessions. House is such a tightrope to walk at the best of times, balancing between pushing him and giving him space, and he's so good at sensing any shakiness in that. He picks up on anybody's weak points like your high-tech fish finder on your boat shows you fish. He might be a friend, too, but as a patient, he'd take advantage if I was tentative with him. He couldn't help it. But he's not ready to quit therapy yet, and I'm not sure I could get him to switch to anybody else, especially right now. We were dealing with some very tough issues involving his father and also John even before his mother's death came in, and that's rocked things even further. It would be hard for anybody else to pick it up cold right now and earn his trust." He stopped. Stating it didn't make the problem look any smaller, but he was looking forward to Paul's advice.

The older man took a minute, thinking it over, studying things from all sides. "Do you think it was wrong to stop tonight when you did?"

"No. He was hitting the limit. He'd had a hell of a day anyway."

"But you hadn't spoken up until then and were just tense?"

"Right, especially the tense part. I know it's not the same as his mother, but it . . . I wasn't sure tonight was the right time to push him like that."

"Has it occurred to you, Michael, that Thornton wondered the same thing?"

Jensen considered it. "No, actually, it hadn't. I was busy admiring his guts more than his technique. But you're right, he didn't just plunge in. He did take a moment to weigh him up first, and even then, he kept it on John. Only on John, never on House breaking down at the grave, and he was even almost making it a game. It was when things went serious that House hit the limit. Thornton actually got him to laugh about John tonight. Given the history among those three, that's really a tightrope."

"Thornton also deliberately set that conversation up to occur in front of you. I think he was trusting your reading of the situation more than you realize. You used the word nervous, which is perfectly understandable given this last week. That's only human of you. But you didn't let the nervousness control you. You didn't speak up at the beginning. You had the chance to take control of that gathering well before you did, and you didn't use that chance."

"I didn't know what he was about to do, though."

"You said he took a long moment, weighing his son up. You knew he was about to do something significant and even touchy then, didn't you? Even without specifics, he gave you a chance there to change the subject."

Jensen hadn't thought of it that way. He replayed that moment, realizing for the first time just how long it had been. Thornton hadn't been looking at him, had only had eyes for his son, but he had been intensely and visibly aware of the whole room. And Jensen knew already how much Thornton could fade into a background. He would only be that obvious in hesitation if he wanted the others to see it. Yes, there had been an opportunity, an invitation, even, to change the subject. Jensen realized now that if he had simply stepped in with the suggestion of a movie then, Thornton would have respected his judgment. "I think you're right on that," he admitted.

"He trusted you, Michael. The others, too, but I think right then, he was especially attentive to you. You could have stopped tonight up front, but you didn't. And when you needed to stop it, you did. There weren't any errors in your actions. Maybe you were feeling nervous, the tone a little too sharp later, like you said, but cut yourself some slack. You can't know yet what a session with him is going to be like, because you haven't even had one with him since his mother's death. Nor should you have; you've both had plenty of things you needed to deal with first. But don't predict the entire future based on these few days."

Jensen smiled. The reassurance helped, even if he still couldn't help wondering. "So you think I need to forget about sessions for the moment?"

"Yes. For you as psychiatrist, anyway. Thornton is on a much tighter time table in opportunity for contact than you are, and even he was very careful. You'll know when to start again. So will House. There are two sides to a session, after all; he's probably as nervous and worried as you are. Once you get back east, I think you need to get back to work - in general with everyone, I mean. That will steady you a lot. I don't think for a minute you've lost your touch. But with House, let the timing happen, and I doubt it will be too long. When you both know it's time, then it truly will be time to start again." Paul paused for emphasis. "Michael, becoming true friends with a patient is a tightrope itself. Of course, it shouldn't happen often. Unless it's rare, you're getting too involved in your job."

"Like I did before."

"No. That was never your problem. You weren't trying to make your patients into friends, you saw them as a crusade. You were out to vanquish all mental illness, save the world, and never, ever, ever again have any therapeutic failure. Forget worrying about repeating the past; this situation is nothing like your past. But where I was going with that is that when you do form a friendship with a patient, it makes things even harder professionally. That's one reason this has hit you so. You feel like you let down your friend as well as your patient. But when you wonder if the trust is lost, just remember that he asked you along on this trip. He still trusts you. Give yourself and him time - as friends and as therapist and patient. You have time. Thornton doesn't, not face-to-face time. He's dealing with these precious couple of days, hoping for more ultimately, but all he's certain of is the opportunity right now. He works to a different set of limits than you do, so don't try to tell yourself you should have acted like he did tonight, or that you're a coward for not doing so." Jensen heard Paul smile as he backed away from the point he'd made. "I must say, though, from your description, the man does have some serious testicular fortitude."

"That he does. Okay, the whole future isn't based on how I feel today; I'll try to make myself a mental note. And you need to make yourself one to go enlist your services somewhere, Paul."

"I'll make a bargain with you. I'll accept that assignment if you take one from me now."

Jensen sat up straighter, curious. "What's that?"

"Go to bed."

He was caught off guard by the simplicity of it. "That's it?"

"Yes. Go to bed. That is what you need to be doing with the rest of today."

"All right, it's a deal. But next time I call, I want the name of the organization you talked to."

"What kind of time limit is there on that?"

Jensen laughed. "Go to bed yourself, Paul. Thanks again."

"Thank you, Michael. You're a good friend - and a good psychiatrist."

Back in the main room, Wilson was already in bed, though working on his laptop, checking professional emails. He looked up as Jensen reentered. "Did that help?" he asked.

"Yes, it did. Paul is good." Too good to be analyzing fish full time in south Florida.

"You know, it's odd to think of you with a therapist."

Jensen turned down his own bed and climbed in. "Why? We've all got our points we need to work on, and outside perspective and input help."

"I know." Wilson changed the subject. "So Thornton can draw, too. He's really good."

"Yes, he is. Those drawings of the family are wonderful, and the one of the first tombstone is priceless."

"Yeah, House is going to get a lot of mileage out of that. He'll probably carry it around with him and pull it out when nobody is looking. I just wish I could follow it when they start changing languages. Did you catch any of that when Thornton was leaving?"

"Actually, I did. I don't speak that language, but I got two words toward the end."

Wilson looked over at the other bed quickly. "Really?" Jensen nodded. "What did he say to House?"

"Good night."

"You can't just go on to sleep and leave that hanging all . . ." Wilson trailed off. "You mean that's what he said?"

"Yes. He told him good night."

As a secret communication, that one was disappointing. Wilson sighed. Jensen turned off his own bedside lamp. "Good night, James."

Wilson closed his laptop. "By the way, Cuddy texted me a little while ago. Said she'd let us know when they were heading for breakfast, which means they'll probably be later than today, which means House went for the big guns tonight."

"He needed to. He'd missed several of the pain meds today."

"Yeah. I think he was drugged on something at the funeral, though." Silence. "Most likely the Ativan." Wilson waited a few more seconds. "Since you prescribe that for him, you need to know about it if he's misusing it. You really ought to talk to him about that." Jensen was an unresponsive lump of covers on the other side of the room. "Okay, you don't have to spell it out for me." Wilson set the laptop well to the side and turned out his own lamp. "Good night."

"Good night, James," Jensen repeated, perfectly pleasantly. Each occupied with their own thoughts, they lay there in the darkness. Sleep was slow in coming.