Loss…

"Today I want to take things in a different direction," said Jacey Liu, who had been building up to this moment for a couple of sessions, unbeknownst to her patients. "Instead of having you describe what happened, I want you to focus on the idea of loss—what your experiences have caused you to lose."

The room settled into a tense silence as her two patients retreated into their own minds.

House stared thoughtfully a blank spot on the opposite wall. What exactly had he lost? Certainly he'd lost the use of his once-active body. But he'd faced that loss before, when his leg was injured. Hadn't dealt with it terribly well, but he'd at least been there before. And he'd lost the ability to live without pain, but again, that wasn't unfamiliar. The degree of pain and the location of it had changed, but the basic concept remained the same.

What else? Well, he'd lost time, a lot of it. Years, in fact. Not only the time spent in prison and recuperating, but also the number of years remaining to him. Thompson had stolen time from him, time in which he might have… well, what might he have done with that time? Played the piano and guitar—another loss—manipulated his friends and staff, hung out with Wilson, traveled perhaps, and tried to solve some medical mysteries and save some lives. He'd never thought of it quite this way before, but in his attempt to destroy House, Thompson had also created collateral damage, other than Allison Cameron and Rainie's family, by indirectly killing patients who might be alive if House had been there to diagnose them.

Because he hadn't considered that loss until now, he also hadn't grieved over the unseen and unknown patients. Now that he thought about it, he felt an acute sense of inadequacy. If, somehow, he'd been able to save Thompson's daughter, he might also have saved those others. As he felt the inevitable emotional reaction to the losses, he made a conscious decision to force that notion out of his mind.

Back to loss. Perhaps the biggest one was the loss of himself. As miserable as he'd been before—and certainly everyone around him kept telling him he was miserable—he at least knew who he was. He knew what to expect from the universe—which was not much—and he had a pretty good idea how he'd react to that intractable universe. He would fight it, rage at it, toy with it, bargain with it.

Now, what would he do? He was startled to realize that he seemed much more likely to simply accept that the universe was his enemy and could easily destroy him. He no longer fought back; he merely accepted that he had little or no control.

His sense of self was shaken in other ways, too, because he'd also lost his privacy. And with that loss came unexpected changes.

Because everyone knew what he'd suffered, he found himself in the perplexing position of having people admire him, not just for his medical skills but for his strength of character, for what he was willing to do to protect the people he cared about. This threw his lack of self-worth and all his manipulative games into a cocked hat. He was uncomfortable with the idea that people now perceived him as somehow admirable. And their reactions to him forced him to change how he behaved, and that, he was startled to note, made some of that same universe a little less threatening.

All in all, it was very confusing.

He said none of this. Instead, he sat on the couch, wrapped up in his own thoughts until Jacey Liu slowly began to pry it all out of him. Her insistent questions eventually compelled him to own up to what Thompson had cost him and how his experiences had changed him—and he was even willing to admit that a few of those changes had not necessarily been for the worse.

For once, the act of revealing himself before Jacey Liu and Rainie turned out not to be an exhausting emotional experience. He was surprised to discover that some of his losses now left him unencumbered by old emotional baggage and that he felt vaguely… well, vaguely what? It certainly wasn't happiness, but it contained something positive. Relieved, perhaps, or maybe just a little lighter in his spirit. And that, in itself, was odd.

Rainie was having a much different experience. She could barely bring herself to consider her losses, instead listening as Jacey teased sentences and feelings out of Greg.

When it was her turn, she was dreading it.

"Rainie?"

She didn't want to, really didn't want to.

"Come on, Rainie. Talk to us."

"No. I can't do this."

She looked away from the other two.

Well, this was a switch, thought House. Usually, she was the one who confronted the issues head on, forcing him to open up.

He looked at Jacey, who seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Maybe she was waiting for him to do something.

After a long silence, he decided to pick up the gauntlet.

"It's hard, isn't it?" he asked. "Like chasing a phantom. Examining what isn't here anymore—dealing with what's gone."

She exhaled, and slowly nodded.

He'd gotten pretty good at this emotional honesty thing, so he decided to go for it.

"It's not just the loss of physical health and your career. It's the loss of the life you led, and especially the loss of your husband and little girl."

She tried to stay in control, to tamp down the feelings of desolation and anguish that simmered so very close to the surface.

For the first time, she allowed herself to remember. Jeff had been a gentle man, tall and slim with sparkly blue eyes and blond, curly, unruly hair. In some ways, he'd been her buffer against the aggressive, fast-paced life of the city and the often cutthroat world of big-city journalism. Still imbued with a Southern charisma bred from his childhood in Savannah, he had a slow laugh and an affectionate nature. It had torn her to shreds to let people think he might have abused her.

Whenever they were apart, which was often because of his job and hers, they talked daily, sharing little jokes and stories about the adventures of the day. She missed his voice, which she realized with despair she could no longer quite remember, and the feel of his arms around her, the clean, fresh scent of him and sound of his laugh. He was dead, gone forever because she just had to solve the mystery of Greg House. If not for her stubborn curiosity, that dear man would still be alive, holding her close.

It was her fault he was dead, her fault he had suffered, her fault he was gone.

Her tears began slowly as she hesitantly, painfully, told Greg about Jeff, who he was and why she'd loved him so much. And mostly, how desperately she missed him, and how guilty she felt.

And now… what?

How could she have she fallen in love with that same Greg House whose mystery had led to Jeff's death? But somehow she had fallen in love with him, even though the two men couldn't have been more different. In some weird manner, the death of Jeff—a death that had happened indirectly because of Greg—had actually brought her to Greg.

None of that changed the fact that she was finally allowing herself to miss Jeff, and miss him dreadfully. Loving Jeff Adler had been easy because he was easy and relaxed. Loving Greg House was never going to be easy. And probably wouldn't lead to anything anyway. It shouldn't lead to anything. It couldn't lead to anything.

Without saying any of this aloud, the emotions bubbled up in her like water in a fountain, turning the gentle trickle of tears into wracking sobs that left her gasping for air.

House hadn't seen her like this since the day he'd had to tell her about Evie, and he didn't know what to do. So he simply handed her a tissue, and watched as she blew her nose. Then he handed her another.

Despite her intensely felt emotions, she was still skirting the greatest loss, the loss of her daughter. She knew it, Jacey knew it and House knew it. Other than her reaction when House had broken the news, she had not mourned, choosing instead to pretend to herself that Evie had never existed. If Rainie had never given birth to a little girl, she couldn't be hurt by the loss of her daughter.

But it was apparent that Jacey Liu was going to force her into acknowledging the reality of that loss, too, and for a moment Rainie hated her for it.

"Tell us about your little girl, Rainie," asked Jacey, slowly and gently. "Let's start with what she looked like."

Do I have to do this? Can't I just go on pretending?

For years, Rainie had followed the terms of the contract in order to save Evie, sacrificing herself so her daughter could have a good life. And now that life was gone. It was all for nothing. The weight on Rainie's chest made it hard to breathe.

It hurts too much. I just can't do this. I can't…

But she could and, somehow, she did.

Through her tears she described a dark-haired, blue-eyed toddler, who had her father's charm and laugh, occasionally disrupted by her mother's stubbornness and quick temper.

House, who had a well-camouflaged affinity for children, had no trouble picturing little Evie Adler. If she'd been anything like her mother, she was a pretty, enchanting child with quick intelligence and humor lurking behind her eyes.

Although he would never admit it, House really liked being around children, enjoyed talking to them—much more than with most grownups, if truth be told—and found observing their uninhibited way of interacting with the world immensely rewarding.

Even if he had never let anyone know this about himself, the cases that had most inspired him were the ones involving children, and the ones that spurred him to true rage were the ones involving abused children. As Rainie described her daughter, he felt himself getting emotionally involved with this child he had never seen… and never would.

Evie was nearly two the last time Rainie had seen her. Evan Schuster had tried to get custody, but a single gay parent was a little too much for the local courts in Hoboken, so Rainie Adler's little girl had been sent to the foster home where she would eventually die.

"The last time…" Rainie choked up. "Oh, God…! …The last time I saw my baby was the day I was sentenced. She was crying and reaching out for me, calling out… Mama! Mama!... I could barely stand it… I still can't stand it… All I wanted was to hold her in my arms one more time… But they wouldn't let me… I kept watching her face as they took me away… She was still crying, calling out, crying Mama! Mama! … Mama! Mama! ..."

Her voice trailed away as the emotions took over. She began to shudder violently, howling with pain as she finally began to come to terms with her loss.

House, deeply moved and close to tears himself, reached out toward her. Slowly, she shook her head and pulled away. He nodded to let her know he understood. This was too personal and private to be shared. She had to go through this pain alone.

Loss.

For one, it had the potential to be freeing.

For the other, it was an unbearable amputation from the past.

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