Author's Note: This chapter contains mentions, and a description, of child abuse. It may be triggering, you've been warned.

Season 4

Looking back, it was so unbelievably stupid. There hadn't been a case, the five doctors had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come to them. House had been in his office, doing something on his computer. Foreman left to get coffee, or to help in the clinic, or something. While Thirteen, Taub, and Kutner had simply been sitting around the conference room, quietly reading or looking at their phones.

Then, House had stood up, and had hurried into the room. He had been about to say something, but he caught his bad leg on the leg of the desk that stood to the side of the door. Kutner had accidentally moved it when digging through the drawers for his mail, and hadn't thought to readjust the crooked desk back into alignment.

Thirteen watched in horror as their boss, who had caught himself from falling before, smashed his bad thigh into the edge of the desk and fall to the carpeted floor like a bag of bricks. There had been a stunned silence before the three doctors rushed to their feet, practically tripping over themselves to see if they could help.

Taub ran to the little fridge in the office, it had been on the fritz freezing everything in it instead of simply keeping things cool. Kutner and Thirteen rushed to House's side, to make sure he hadn't hurt anything else.

House was curled up on the floor, having flopped onto his left side to make sure he didn't trap his bad leg underneath him. He had his eyes squeezed shut and jaw locked into a grimace. His hands clutched at the thigh near the knee, trying to rub the sudden increase in pain away.

"Are you alright?" Kutner asked hesitantly, knowing House would probably yell at him for asking a question that had an obvious answer.

House shook his head, breathing in shaking, hard gasps that shook his torso.

Taub got Kutner to move away from House, crouching down, holding several frozen, pre-packaged pieced of sponge cakes. Frozen, they were delicious if someone was hot, and now they served another purpose. They were small enough to hopefully pack the old wound while not putting too much pressure or weight on the abused muscle.

Without a word to House, who still had his bright blue eyes shut against the world, Taub quickly set them onto the thigh. Before he'd had a chance to blink, House lashed out with a mean right hook, catching the plastic surgeon in the jaw and knocking him back against the desk.

The frozen cakes were knocked away from the muscle with the same shaking hand.

House's piercing blue eyes could bore holes in metal, "NOT ICE! Never ice!" With a sudden, choked grunt of pain, Thirteen could practically see the abused muscle writhe under House's pants.

"Get Wilson!" She told Kutner, who was out the door and running in a second.

Moments later, the pair returned, Wilson's face pinched with worry. He knelt beside his friend, taking in the scene. He spotted the frozen cakes, and his face turned grim. He looked to Taub, "Don't worry. The first time I used ice and didn't tell him, he punched me out too. It's one of his quirks."

"Hell of a quirk," Taub groused, rubbing his jaw.

Wilson sighed, "House. What's the number?"

"Six," Came the quiet reply.

"So it's a nine. Good to know. Now, I'm going to get Kutner to help me pick you up and move you to your recliner. Thirteen is going to get your heating pad from your desk and we're going to get your leg uncramped."

House nodded minutely, breathing hard. Thirteen did as she was told, finding the pad buried underneath loads of half-finished paperwork. Kutner and Wilson got House settled, and Wilson had sent Kutner out for some morphine. Thirteen plugged the heating pad in, and handed it to Wilson, who draped it across the deepest part of the muscle loss.

House had relaxed marginally, still stiff and reluctant to move the leg at all. Kutner came back, and Wilson soon had House asleep and relaxed from the sudden dose of pain medication.

"I thought you didn't like him using Vicodin, much less using morphine," Kutner abserved.

"I don't," Wilson agreed, "But situations like this are difficult. It was this, and let him get some relief, or he'd be awake for days and denying something had happened. It's better to just get it over with and let him rest the damn leg. God knows he wouldn't do it if I hadn't."

"Why no ice?" Thirteen asked, "It was immediate. As soon as the cold touched his leg."

Wilson nodded, "I don't know. He won't tell me. I've seen him try to use ice on himself before. Right after the infarction, or when he has a really nasty bruise or sprain. Usually, he ends up so tense after a few minutes, he's causing himself more pain than if he'd left whatever was wrong alone in the first place."

Thirteen nodded, "Good to know."

"Thanks for letting me know. I know to drive him home now so he won't kill himself on the bike or spend the night here. Call me if anything changes."

Thirteen nodded, watching as the oncologist left the room.

"That was weird," Kutner observed.

"Yeah," Thirteen agreed.

"I'm going to get something to eat, maybe see if the clinic needs some help. You wanna come? I'm going to ask Taub."

Thirteen smiled, "No. Thanks, I've got some paperwork I've been putting off. I should do it now before something else pops up."

Kutner shrugged, "Alright, your loss."

Thirteen watched as the two doctors left, sinking into her chair after they had. She didn't have anything to do, but her mind was telling her that something was very wrong with House's aversion to ice. Something that was more serious than just a quirk.

(LINE BREAK)

Thirteen sat at House's desk, pouring over the man's medical history. It was huge. Multiple cases of juvenile pneumonia had almost killed House before he'd turned fifteen. House had apparently been clumsy, falling down stairs and off bikes a few times that had resulted in fractures or breaks. Nothing serious, and the injuries had healed without any complications.

The newer stuff, though. Some of that was insane. Thirteen saw pictures of his thigh, before and after. She read all about the complications, the pain regimes, everything. Suddenly, why House was so defensive about the Vicodin made a lot more sense than before. However, she hadn't found a single thing that would explain House's reaction to the cold, beyond the fact that the cold and damp made his leg ache fiercely.

Suddenly, House groaned. Thirteen stood, shutting the thick folder hurriedly. Wilson had given the man enough morphine to knock him out, but if House already had a high tolerance-

"Do you want anything?" She blurted, trying not to think about what would happen if the man found she'd been looking through his medical history.

House looked at her through glassy, blue eyes, "Water," He croaked. His usually baritone voice sounded like he had stuffed his throat with cotton.

Thirteen nodded, filling a red mug with cool water, and handing it to him carefully. She didn't want him spilling it on himself.

"Thanks," House mumbled into the cup, "I like these mugs. Better than mine at home. When I retire, I'm taking one with me."

"As if you'd ever retire," Thirteen said, taking the empty mug back when he was done, "You'd be dead for months before you stopped working."

House snorted, his mouth upturning into a smirk, "True."

Thirteen suddenly realized something: House was high. He might be more willing to talk, to tell her why he hated ice.

"Why did you punch out Taub?"

"I was aiming for the nose. For a plastic surgeon, I thought he would have gotten that fixed," Even when drugged out, House's sense of humour shone.

Thirteen smiled weakly, "C'mon House. You know what I mean. Why don't you like ice? Or frozen cakes?"

"My dad used to give me ice baths," House replied quietly, after a long moment of silence.

"When you were sick?"

"No. When I disobeyed him," House's brilliant eyes were downcast, staring at the floor, "Once when I spilled juice on the carpet."

Thirteen's legs suddenly felt weak. She wanted to say something, but she didn't know what, even if her mouth was working. She leaned against the desk, setting the mug down.

"He would hold me under until I was practically blue and couldn't breathe. I used to get so sick afterwards," House scoffed, "He did it mid-winter once, then dressed me in my thinnest clothes and locked me outside until shortly before my mom got home. I was out there for hours. I almost died."

"I-I," Thirteen stammered.

"That's why I don't like ice," House murmured, his speech slurring a little as the drugs took effect once more.

Thirteen watched as sleep took over the man, then stared at horror at his medical file. Oh God. Everything that had suddenly felt innocent before was now put into questions. The pneumonia, the broken and fractured bones. What else had House's father done to him?

"No wonder he's broken," Thirteen whispered to herself, trying to fight back tears.

(LINE BREAK)

Author's Note: A couple of episodes, Birthmarks and Daddy's Boy (I think) made me wonder if John House hadn't been abusive in some way, especially with how House tried to convince Wilson to let him go in Birthmarks.

So yeah. This one is heavy. I still love suggestions and hearing from you guys. So, let me know what you think in a PM or a review. Honestly, ask anyone.