Everyone tried not to look too shocked (or too pleased) when Cuddy and House re-entered the apartment.

"So how does this work?" House said, edgily. "Do we hold hands? Sing kumbaya? Pray together?"

"We just sit and we talk," Nolan said.

House scratched his head.

"Can I take a leak first?" he said.

"Sure," Nolan said. Then he side-eyed House. "But why don't you leave your jacket behind?"

"I'm afraid you're going to go through my pockets," House said.

"You're going to the bathroom to take vicodin," Nolan said, matter-of-factly.

"No I'm not. . ." House started. Then he set his jaw a bit. "So what if I am?"

"No reason to hide your drug use, House. We all know you're taking vicodin. That's why we're here. And no one is asking you to go cold turkey tonight."

"Fine," House said. He reached into his jacket pocket, shook four pills into his mouth, and swallowed them without water. He was about to put the pills back in his pocket when he stopped: "I'm sorry!" he said, in a fakely ingratiating voice. "How rude of me. Anyone else want some?"

"Are you finished House?" Nolan said.

"Comfortably numb," House said. "Exactly the state I need to be in for this bogus installment of Self-Help Theater."

"Let's all just sit down then," Nolan said.

Nolan gestured for House to sit on the arm chair, which he did. Everyone else assembled around him on the two couches.

"I want to start this session by asking you why you think you're back on drugs, House," Nolan said.

House looked cagily around the room.

"Well, everyone assumed I was going to relapse, and I didn't want to disappoint," he said.

"You mean after your breakup with Dr. Cuddy," Nolan said.

"No," House said. "After The L Word was cancelled." He rolled his eyes. "Yes, after my breakup with Cuddy."

"But Wilson filled me in on some recent events," Nolan countered. "Hadn't you already relapsed before she broke up with you?"

"I didn't relapse!" House said. "I took pills one time at a moment of extreme duress."

"That's a relapse," Nolan said.

"To-ma-to, To-mah-to," House muttered.

"And now?"

"No reason not to take them," House said.

Nolan nodded. He had that particular look on his face he got when he knew House wasn't being completely forthright with him, but had decided to indulge him anyway.

"Let me rephrase the question then," Nolan said. "Why did you stay clean for two years?"

"I'm pretty sure Cuddy would've kicked me out if I'd taken drugs," House said.

"So that's it?" Nolan said. "You didn't take drugs so Cuddy wouldn't break up with you?"

"Was I wrong?" House said. "I used drugs one time and she disposed of me like I was last year's hem length."

"I didn't. . .!" Cuddy started, but Nolan cut her off.

"You'll have your chance, Dr. Cuddy," he said.

"So you stayed clean so Cuddy wouldn't break up with you . . ." Nolan continued.

"Basically, yeah," House said.

"Any other reason you stayed clean?"

"Nope," House said.

"What about yourself?"

"What about me?"

"Did you stay clean for yourself?"

"You think I liked being in pain all the time?"

"You've said yourself that the vicodin dependency makes the pain worse."

"True. But the vicodin also makes the pain go away. It's a pretty simple formula actually. No vicodin, constant nagging pain." He glanced over at Cuddy. "And one huge pain in my ass, but that's a whole other story. . ." Then, pleased with himself, he continued: "With vicodin, extreme pain that disappears as soon as I take the pills. I'll take option B."

"I see," Nolan said. Then he added: "So what's it like being an addict?"

"Why don't you guys tell me? You're all addicted to worrying about me."

"What's it like being addicted to vicodin?" Nolan said, patiently.

House rubbed his chin, sighed.

"It's . . . It is what it is. Like I said, as long as I have my pills, I'm fine."

"Unless you're hallucinating," Nolan said.

"I haven't hallucinated in three years," House said, defensively.

"Fair enough. What about when you can't get your hands on the pills. Then what?"

"Then. . . it isn't pretty," House admitted. "Fortunately, I work in a hospital, so that's not exactly a problem."

"Sure, as long as he's forging 'scripts in my name," Wilson mumbled.

House looked at him.

"You'll get your chance, too, James," Nolan said. "What about your health?" he continued, turning back to House. "Do you worry about what the pills are doing to your liver?"

"We all have to die of something," House said.

"Greg!" Blythe said.

"Sorry mom."

"Do you ever worry about losing control?" Nolan asked. "Drugs addicts are known to do extreme things: They can be reckless, even violent."

"I'm always reckless in a reasonable way," House said.

"Oh yes," Wilson said not able to contain himself. "Jumping off that balcony was very reasonable."

Blythe's mouth dropped open.

"Greg!" she repeated.

House shot Wilson a deadly look.

"I'm fine, mom. It wasn't a suicide attempt. I had calculated the distance, the acceleration rate, and the depth of the pool. I knew I wasn't going to die. It was just a really awesome cannonball."

"As I watched from the ground, screaming in horror."

"Sorry 'bout that," House said.

"That's actually a good transition…" Nolan said.

"Into talking about what a pussy Wilson is?" House said, hopefully.

"I want everyone here to talk about how House's addiction has affected them personally. Wilson, let's start with you."

"Thank you," Wilson said, glad to finally have the floor. "I just want to start by saying that I really don't want my best friend to die."

"That goes without saying. We all feel that way," Nolan said.

"Not all of you," House muttered, glancing at Cuddy. She shook her head in an exasperated sort of way, but said nothing.

"Tell me how House's addiction has affected you personally?"

"You mean, besides the fact that I risk my medical license every time I write him a 'script?"

"That's valid."

"And the fact that I once had my entire savings account drained because of him?"

"Also valid."

"How about the numerous times he's blown me off because he was too high to remember we had plans? The countless times he's lied to me, berated me, humiliated me—always while on drugs or jonesing for drugs." Then Wilson sighed and gave a slightly accusatory look at House.

"And, of course, other. . .more, um, permanent things."

"Like what?" Nolan probed.

"I'd rather not say."

"He's talking about the time I killed his girlfriend," House muttered.

"I never said that!" Wilson said.

"Man up, Wilson. Say what you mean."

Wilson looked around the room, as though trapped. He exhaled.

"I love House. He's my best friend. But I will never be able to shake the feeling that Amber would still be alive if he wasn't an addict."

"And you'll never let me forget it. . ." House grumbled. He began to rub his leg. Then, when he noticed everyone looking at him, he stopped.

"Thank you, James," Nolan said. "I know that wasn't easy for you. Let's move on. Dr. Foreman?"

"As you all know, I have enormous respect for House and will always view him as a mentor," Foreman started.

"This isn't a job interview, Foreman," House grumbled. "You already have the job." Then he raised his eyebrows provocatively. "For now."

Foreman ignored him.

"But yes," he said. "House's drug use has affected me—all of us on his team."

"How so?" Nolan said.

"Basic things, of course. Having to explain to the patient why the doctor who's making life and death decisions on their behalf just popped a fistful of narcotics in his mouth."

"Why doesn't House just explain that himself?"

Foreman gave a tiny snicker. "House doesn't interact much with his patients."

"So the burden falls on you and the team to make excuses for him?"

"Yes."

"What do you say?"

"That he's on pain meds, but it in no way clouds his judgment."

"Which is true," House said.

"Not entirely," Foreman countered. "When House is on drugs, you never know what you're going to get. One day, he's cool, under control House. And the next day, he's so hopped up, he can barely focus. Plus, he's a bigger asshole when he's on drugs."

"I'm always an asshole," House said.

"True. But until this most recent. . .relapse, you were a lot nicer."

"Maybe that had something to do with the fact that I was getting my knob polished by the Dean of Medicine."

"Greg!" Blythe said, appalled.

"Just ignore him, Blythe," Cuddy said. "I always do."

And she and House exchanged sneers.

"Actually House you were less of an asshole even before you started seeing Dr. Cuddy," Foreman said. "The drugs make you a bigger jerk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," House cracked.

"Thank you, Dr. Foreman," Nolan said. "Dr. Cuddy, let's move on to you . . ."

"Oh, this ought to be good," House said, leaning back in his chair.

"Ummm," Cuddy said, looking down at her hands.

"Excellent start!" House mocked.

"On the professional front, I've had to lie for House more times than I can count—once even under oath—and put my professional reputation on the line over and over again."

"Go on. . ."

"Also, he leaves the hospital vulnerable to all sorts of malpractice suits."

"Of course. . ."

"His behavior once cost the hospital a million dollar grant."

"From the devil," House chimed in.

"And on the personal front?" Nolan probed.

Cuddy hesitated. She folded her hands on her lap, then unfolded them.

"House said the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me when he was withdrawing from drugs."

House furrowed his brow. He had no idea where she was going with this.

"What did he say?" Nolan asked.

"This was four years ago. House told me that I would. . . That I would suck as a mother."

House's mouth dropped open.

"I never said that!" he said, in genuine disbelief.

"It was particularly hurtful, because I had just suffered a miscarriage," Cuddy said, looking down.

"Oh honey," Blythe said, reaching over and squeezing Cuddy's hand.

"I. . .had no idea," House sputtered. "I had no idea you had a miscarriage and I literally have no recollection of ever saying that."

"House you were so strung out, you barely could stand up straight," Cuddy said.

"I'm. . . I'm sorry . .I don't know what to say," House said. He looked down at his Nikes, tried to collect himself.

"What about later?" Nolan asked. "How did his drug use affect you when you were in a relationship with him?"

"I was determined not to let it," Cuddy said. "I mean. . .of course I knew that House was an addict. And I knew there was a chance he would relapse. But I chose not to focus on that. I made a decision to let him into my life and into my daughter's life and that was because I trusted him. I believed—or at least I wanted to believe—his sobriety would stick."

"But it didn't," Nolan said.

"Actually," Cuddy said. "For a long time, it did. And I was so proud of him." She glanced at House. "I don't think I told you often enough how proud I was."

"Try never," House said.

Cuddy nodded.

"That was wrong of me. I should've told you every day how much your sobriety meant to me. . . "

House swallowed hard, then tried to look like what she had said was no big deal.

"But House has a way of making you think he's in control. . .even when he's not," Cuddy said.

"Meaning?" Nolan said.

"I had no idea that he had constant, nagging pain," Cuddy admitted. "He never told me." Then she turned to House. "I wish you had opened up about that more."

"Nobody wants to hear about my pain," House said. "It's boring."

"If the man I love is in pain, that's not boring to me!" Cuddy said, angrily.

"Love?" House said, emphasizing the present tense.

Cuddy glared at him.

"Yes, love," she said.

House gave a skeptical snort.

"And how do you feel now that he's back on the drugs?" Nolan asked.

"I feel . . .guilty."

"As well you should," House said.

"House, your sobriety is not Dr. Cuddy's responsibility," Nolan scolded.

House shrugged.

"It may not be her responsibility, but it is her fault," he said.

"Again, I remind you that you used drugs while you were still seeing Dr. Cuddy," Nolan said.

"I THOUGHT SHE WAS DYING!" House screamed. Then, with great effort, he lowered his voice: "But I guess no one cares about that."

"We care," Nolan said. "We just question your judgment in that moment."

"I'm sorry if my judgment wasn't appropriately sound when I thought my girlfriend was going to die."

"Addicts take drugs first, come up with excuses later," Nolan said.

House broke into a slow clap.

"I'll be sure to put that on a tee-shirt."

Nolan turned back to Cuddy.

"Anything else you want to say to him?"

"Just that . . . I once told House that he was the most incredible man I've ever known," she said. "That's always going to be true. But he's the best version of that man when he's sober."

"Did you practice that in front of the mirror, Cuddy?" House said.

"I mean it," Cuddy said.

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy," Nolan said. Then he turned to Blythe. "I know we all want to hear from you."

"Actually, we don't," House said. He looked imploringly at his mother. "Mom, you don't have to do this."

But Blythe straightened her back, regally.

"Greg House is my only child," she said, to the room. "I love him more than I love life itself. But he has a lot of demons and he has a lot of pain. We all know that. It wasn't easy growing up with his father—you're going to have to trust me on this. And it wasn't easy realizing that no one was ever going to truly understand him—he was never going to meet someone at his intellectual level."

Blythe chuckled a bit, as if over a memory. "I'll never forget the kind of wild-eyed frustration he would get when he tried to explain one of his scientific theorems to me and his father. We were completely lost. We couldn't begin to understand what he was talking about. This was when he was 10, mind you."

She smiled softy.

"I know he's in pain—physical pain and emotional pain. But I need him to be strong. I need him to be strong because I buried his father two years ago and that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I will NOT bury my son." She looked up at House. "Greg, I will not."

Tears were streaming down her face. Wilson reached into his pocket and gave Blythe a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes with it. Cuddy put her arm protectively around Blythe's shoulder.

"I need you to be strong for me, Greg. Can you do that?" Blythe sniffed. "I need that from you."

"Mom. . ." House said. He looked genuinely stricken, but he didn't know what else to say.

There was a long silence.

"Okay. . ." Nolan said finally. "We've now reached the portion of this session where we talk about the consequences of House's addiction. This is the hardest part of the process, what we call the 'tough love' part. So Blythe, I'm going to start with you."

Blythe smiled sadly.

"I don't have any consequences. I could stop making him his Christmas fruitcake, but I know he re-gifts that anyway."

"I do not!" House protested.

"Don't lie to me, Greg," she said. Her wet eyes began to twinkle. "I always know when you lie."

House sighed in defeat.

"It's really horrible fruitcake, mom. It weighs more than Taub."

"Who's Taub?" Blythe said.

"This hobbit I work with," House said.

"What else?" Nolan said, trying to keep the focus.

"I could threaten to call him less, or visit him less. But that's not really a threat. You all know how sons are. . ."

"You could threaten to visit him more," Wilson chimed in, proud of his joke.

There was some awkward laughter.

"Anything else, Blythe?" Nolan said.

She nodded, turned to her son.

"All I can say is, every time you take a pill, every time you even think of taking a pill, envision me attending your funeral." She shuddered at the thought. "I don't know if I could live with that, Greg. It would kill me."

"You're stronger than you think," House said.

"So are you," she replied.

Nolan nodded approvingly.

"Foreman?" he said. "What will your consequences be?"

"No more making excuses to the patients," Foreman said. "The next time a patient asks about House's drug use, I'll send them straight to the source."

"Good. Wilson?"

"No more prescriptions for vicodin," Wilson said, making tentative eye contact with House. "My prescription pad is officially off limits."

"How many times have I heard that before?" House said.

"This time I mean it," Wilson said.

"Yeah, me too," House replied, ironically.

"Follow-through is crucial for these interventions to work," Nolan said. "For all of you. Whether you realize it or not, each and every one of you has become an enabler. You need to break the cycle of co-dependence."

"Consider it broken," Wilson said.

House rolled his eyes.

"And Dr. Cuddy?" Nolan said. "What will your consequences be for House?"

"Hasn't she already done enough?" House said, bitterly.

"I already told House that he couldn't see my daughter—whom he loves very much—until he's clean."

"That's not enough, Dr. Cuddy," Nolan said. "He already hasn't seen her in over a month. What will you do to stop his drug use today?"

"I don't know what you expect me to say," Cuddy said, nervously.

"I think you do."

"What? You want me to say that I won't let him practice medicine at the hospital if he's on drugs?"

"You make it sound like it's unreasonable," Nolan said. "It's actually very reasonable. The unreasonable thing is letting him stay at work."

"But House saves lives!" Cuddy protested.

"And now we're trying to save his," Nolan said.

"I. . .I. . ."

"She won't do it," House said smugly. "She feels shitty enough as it is for dumping me and driving me back to the pills."

Now everyone was looking at Cuddy expectantly.

She gulped.

"House: If you don't stop using vicodin, I will no longer employ you at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," she said firmly.

"You wouldn't!" House said, stunned.

"Just watch me."

House stared incredulously around the room—and once again he was that wild-eyed 10-year-old misunderstood by the world.

"Fine! If you don't want me at the damn hospital, I fucking quit!" he said, standing up. He grabbed his motorcycle jacket. "Fuck all of you. This intervention is over."

And he stormed out.