Patterson looked briefly at House, then back at Cuddy. "When you read the pain diary, you knew it was wrong, didn't you?"

"Yes." Cuddy's voice took on a little more emphasis. "I felt awful about it. I didn't even read all of it; I put it back on his desk and left."

House reached for the pen, and Patterson second-guessed him. "How much did you read?"

"At first, I looked for specific evenings when we'd had sex. There was nothing there about that. Then I noticed the pain levels. Then I flipped through it reading the pain levels, not the entries along with them."

"Were you surprised at the pain levels?"

"No. Not really. It was better than wondering if he was constantly at an 8. But seeing it in black and white written down was hard."

"You mentioned wondering if he was constantly at an 8. You worry about things when you're in the dark, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And the worry can even be larger than the reality?"

"Yes."

"What did you do after reading the pain levels?"

"I went back to the beginning and started reading the entries in full. The very first one mentioned his car."

"How far did you read complete entries straight through before you stopped?"

"Three full pages. I stopped at Sunday evening."

"Why did you stop?"

"I heard somebody outside, and I was afraid I'd get caught. But then once I stopped reading, I could see what I was doing. It was like watching myself in a room. I knew it was wrong, and I put it down then."

"How did reading the diary make you feel, aside from guilty? How did it make you feel about your husband?"

"Sad," Cuddy said. "I wished that he weren't in pain, and I wished that he would talk about things more, share the burden. I wished he'd let me give him a massage when it wasn't in a spasm, just regularly. It might help. I wished he could see that I don't mind having my hands on him."

House shifted, then stilled. "Have you ever felt disgusted by his scar, Dr. Cuddy?"

"No. It's just a scar."

"Even when you are touching it?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell anybody about reading the diary?"

"No. I wanted to tell Greg, but right after I decided to, he burst into my office all upset about the pain contract. I was afraid that finding out I'd betrayed his trust right then while he was mad would tip the balance over and make him give up seeing MacDonald."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No."

"Did anyone ask you what was bothering you?"

"Yes. You did a few times. Thomas did, too. But Greg needed to know first."

"Why didn't you tell him right away once he'd decided to sign the pain contract after all?"

"I was afraid he would shut me out for a while and get mad, and I was worried about side-effects on the methadone. I wanted to watch him the first few days especially closely. I couldn't stand the idea of having him even more closed off than usual to me while he was changing meds."

House was looking thoughtful at that answer. Patterson gave it a moment, then pushed on. "Did you tell anybody anything that was in the diary, without mentioning that you had read the diary?"

"No."

"Did you tell Thomas about the car's problems?"

"No."

That was decisive enough, Patterson thought. "Did you have any conversation regarding his car after you read the diary?"

"Thomas asked me how I thought Greg would react to a car for Christmas. I told him he should ask Greg's input up front and not try to surprise him."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"That night that Abby got sick, why did you take his car instead of yours?"

"I needed information."

"Why did you especially need information that night?"

"I was worried about Abby. She's had such a rough medical course; I was imagining all sorts of things beyond a bug. I felt like a bad mother because we didn't have Pedialyte. I couldn't tell what was wrong with Abby, and I just needed some information on something."

"So information calms you down?"

"It stops the scenarios. It lets me know what I'm up against."

"Is that usually not as bad as you expected?"

"Yes."

House came to life and scrawled out a question quickly. Patterson took the offered paper, read it without reaction, to his relief, and handed it back. "You said you fantasized about a relationship with your husband after his infarction?"

"Yes."

"Did you fantasize about that already before his infarction?"

"Yes."

"How long had you been fantasizing about him?"

"Since Michigan intermittently. Pretty constantly once I was back in regular contact with him at the hospital."

Patterson added another aspect that hadn't been written down, but she was sure that he had wondered it. "Did your fantasies change because of his infarction?"

"No."

"But you wondered if his leg was hurting him during sex."

"Yes, but that had nothing to do with the overall picture. I just hoped his leg wouldn't bother him much, for his sake."

"But you were perfectly happy yourself with these fantasies?"

"No." House sat straight up at that.

Patterson hadn't expected that answer, either, but she held steady. "Why were you not happy?"

"They were just fantasies. Even with daydreams, you always wake up eventually. I didn't have him, and imagining things never changed that."

"So your marriage now is more satisfying than your fantasies were?"

"Yes. A lot more satisfying."

"What would you change about your marriage if you could, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Start it sooner." All three of the others in the room smiled at that. "I wish we could talk openly more about things."

"Not just about his leg?"

"No. Both of us get all shielded. We're afraid to say what we really mean, afraid of the reaction. I wish we had another child besides Rachel and Abby. I wish he weren't in pain."

"Do you blame your husband for your hysterectomy?"

"No. It was that drunk driver's fault."

"What is the one thing you most wish that your husband would understand?"

"What a beautiful, special person he is."

House was stunned at that one. Patterson gave it another moment to gel and let him recover a little, and then she said, "Let's get one thing clear, Dr. Cuddy. Have we practiced this session?"

"No."

"When the possibility of hypnosis came up, did I tell you what I was going to ask?"

"No."

"Did anybody tell you in advance what the questions would be?"

"No."

Patterson looked over at House. He still seemed a little shellshocked, but he scribbled down one further question and handed her the paper. Patterson frowned at that one, and his eyes challenged her. Resigned, she turned back to Cuddy. "What are you trying not to say under hypnosis?"

Cuddy tensed up a little. "I don't want to answer that question."

"Is it anything to do with what you think of your husband's leg at all?"

"No."

"Does it involve your feelings for him?"

"No."

House frowned. "She didn't answer the question," he protested softly.

"She doesn't have to answer anything she doesn't want to. All right, Dr. Cuddy, when I count to three, you are going to wake up. You will remember everything that happened, all of the questions, and you will remember how relaxed and in control of your thoughts you felt. One, two, three."

Cuddy blinked, opening her eyes, and the anxiety level immediately kicked up. "Greg, that last question. It's nothing about how I feel about you. Honest."

"Then why hide it?" he demanded. "It is about me?" Her expression gave her away before she could frame an answer. "So it is my business."

Jensen stepped in. "She has a right to privacy of her thoughts, Dr. House. If you want that for yourself, you have to extend the same courtesy to others."

"Concentrate on what was accomplished," Patterson recommended. "I think that was a very profitable session. What do you think, Dr. Cuddy?"

"It wasn't what I was expecting, but I hope he heard everything."

"Except what you don't want to tell me," House countered.

She sighed. "I will tell you, Greg. Someday. It's nothing to do with your leg or with me feeling unsatisfied. I don't feel unsatisfied. I wouldn't trade you if I could."

"If it's so innocent, then why not tell me now?" he asked.

She looked to Patterson, and the psychiatrist abruptly put together the issue under discussion. "Sometimes we aren't ready to hear something, Dr. House. Timing is everything."

"I want to know," he insisted. "So it's something that you told her not to tell me?"

"It's something I'm not even sure is true, just a theory. We do talk about you in sessions, Dr. House, just as you talk about her with Michael."

"Let it go," Jensen advised.

Cuddy sighed again, frustrated that one final question had roadblocked all the hopeful progress before. "I will tell you, Greg, when you're ready."

"Who decides when I'm ready?" he persisted.

"You do, damn it. Do you trust me?"

"That's not the point."

"That is exactly the point. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," he admitted after a moment.

"Then believe me on this. Like the rest of it. Did you believe the rest of it?"

What a beautiful, special person he is. The words repeated in his head. Totally sincere words; try as he might, he couldn't doubt that she believed that herself.

"Did you believe me, Greg?" she repeated.

"Yes," he said softly.

She stood and moved over to his chair, embracing him fiercely. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you. Every inch of you. Always."

And for once, even if baffled, he listened.