A/N: Hi all, this chapter and the next one go together, but it was too much to post all in one go, so you'll get the next part shortly. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed - you have no idea how excited I get by those little "review alert" notices in my inbox!

--


After hugging on the sofa for a long while, they'd both got up and headed to the bedroom. Jen looked as tired as he felt and seemingly didn't have any need for words, which was fine with him. They undressed and both unusually put on pyjamas and then cuddled together in bed. House had wondered if she'd want to talk in the darkness, but sleep claimed him before he found out.

He woke late in the morning when Jen got up to make them both coffee, bringing the cups back into bed. Once she settled in again, House went to work, making her come twice – once with his mouth and then again with his hand – before sliding into her to find his own release. He was going to try for a third for her, but she stilled his hand.

"Feel better now?" she asked him.

The first thing that hit him was that they were the first words they'd spoken to each other since they'd sat on the sofa the night before. The second was the tone in her voice – one he'd never heard from Jen before. Bitchy, almost nasty. It was not a kindly enquiry after his wellbeing.

"What do you mean?" he said, immediately on the defensive.

She sighed. "Nothing."

"Yeah, right." He knew she was lying, but couldn't bring himself to ask more.

She reached under the covers and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly. He squeezed back briefly, wondering what the hell was going on.

Jen got up and made them both fresh coffee, returning to bed again. She settled back.

"So, how's your patient, the baby, doing?" she asked.

The question gave him a shiver, suddenly flooding him with the unpleasant memories of the day before. He didn't know what to say.

"Not good?" she asked, turning to him, concern on her face at his silence.

"Very 'not good'," he said. "Dead. Both of them."

He could tell she was both shocked and confused and didn't know which to deal with first.

"Both?" she asked eventually.

"Twins. Girls."

"Oh no." He could see tears well in her eyes. Why the fate of two dead babies she'd never met could possibly upset her he had no idea.

"Their father poisoned them. By the time we found that out, it was too late."

"Oh my God! Their father poisoned them?"

"Yeah."

"How could you do that to your child? To babies?" Jen was clearly upset. "How on earth could a father hurt his own child?"

"There are some assholes in this world who should be castrated before they have the chance to breed," he said quietly. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice. He watched as she turned to him, realising her sympathy was now directed towards him. She reached over and squeezed his arm and the pity in her eyes almost made him feel sick.

House had buried a lot about his own childhood and family way, way down, so deep that it rarely ever surfaced. Which was exactly the way he liked it. But occasionally in his work, a case brushed against that locked box, cracking open the lid, and some of the darkness seeped out. In the past he'd found it took a while – and quite a bit of whisky – to re-close it.

He recalled the framed, "happy family" portraits he'd found at Jen's place the first time he'd visited and her seemingly idyllic childhood suddenly made him angry.

"Not everyone has the perfect little family like the Edwards," he said, his tone sounding a little more nasty than he'd actually intended.

"What?" Her voice was sharp and he could tell he'd hit a nerve. He was at once conscious of what he was about to do, but also unable to stop it. Like a prospector looking for gold, he'd found a glimmer of something shiny and now he had to mine the seam. With a pick axe.

"Oh, daddy's sick, let's all go running to help," he said mockingly. "Let's look after poor mommy who had to take time out of her hectic tennis and gin-and-tonic schedule to be at the hospital. Oh he's had a stroke, let's hope it doesn't affect his golf handicap."

The hurt on Jen's face was raw and almost painful for him to look at. He was torn between wanting to take back the words and a bizarre satisfaction that his barbs had been such a precision strike.

"Greg, you have no idea…" Jen's voice was shaking.

"No idea about what? You have the perfect family. Mom, dad, two pretty daughters. Yeah, only one of them went to college, but hey, that's a fifty per cent strike rate. And what the hell, it leaves more money for trips to Florida and country club fees."

"It's not perfect. It's nothing like that…"

"Really? Well I…"

"Greg, my parents aren't wealthy," she said steadily. "They struggle. I've spent the last few days fighting with an insurance company to try to make sure my dad can get some of his medical bills paid, or else they might have to sell their house."

"Oh, so you're not the perfect family then? Those happy smiley portraits hide skeletons?"

"I don't know about perfect. We love each other. Look out for each other. But there's never been a lot of money to go around. I put myself through college. I'm still paying off some pretty hefty loans. In fact…"

She swallowed hard and he wondered what it was she was about to admit.

"I can't actually afford to pay for anymore take-out this month, after the plane flights, so we're going to have to cook more."

He was surprised, he'd never given the cost of their food a second's consideration. But that was a fleeting thought. He could hear that she was trying to contain herself, reign in her anger. That wasn't good enough. That wasn't going to give him what he needed.

"So not perfect," he said. "What, did mommy slip a little vodka into her morning coffee to get the day started? Did daddy touch you in your special place? Is that the real reason you never managed a proper sex life? You're so uptight it's a wonder any man ever managed to get inside you."

Bullseye.

Jen's eyes filled with tears of hurt and anger. But the satisfaction he'd expected didn't materialise. The cold joy of winning over someone else by hurting them was completely absent. He just felt…empty.

"I can't believe you would say something like that," Jen said quietly, her voice flat, despite the tears that were clearly about to fall. She got out of bed and started to dress, pulling her clothes on robotically. Once she was dressed, she stopped and stared at him.

"I know you like to shock people and I even like to watch you do it sometimes," she continued. "But I can't believe you would say that to me. After what I've been through this week. My dad is in hospital, he's had a stroke. I love him and he loves me and he would never even imagine doing anything like that to his daughter. He could barely bring himself to give us a smack when we were naughty children. My mother is upset because her husband is sick. She barely has a glass of wine a week."

House hadn't expected her to defend the points of his attack. He'd didn't really think her parents had done anything of the sort, but it was as good a place to start as any and it had effectively stopped any of the questions he knew she'd been about to ask about him.

"I think it's best if I go now." She stood in the doorway, looking exhausted and drained.

And House felt…sorry. He wondered why he did this to himself. He was – if he was honest about it – upset by the babies' deaths. He'd already found that being with Jen made him feel better. So why would he sabotage that? He sighed.

This was his way. This was why he was better off being alone.

"Yeah, you probably should." He realised that there was little he could do to salvage things right then. But he hated the hurt look in her eyes. "Jen…I…"

She waited for a moment to see if he said anything further, but he couldn't think of what to say. When no words came forth she turned and walked away. He heard the door close softly a moment later.


--

Thursday

When the flowers had arrived at her work on Monday, Jen had been surprised but not necessarily pleased. They weren't red roses – not that she'd expected that, she knew he wouldn't do something so clichéd – but the brightly coloured gerberas and foliage he'd sent instead weren't…apologetic. They were the sort of flowers you sent a friend for their birthday, or in congratulations for a promotion. She knew the florist might have picked them, but knowing him she didn't think he'd leave something like that up to chance.

She didn't call.

Wasn't sure what to say if she did. She had watched him be mean to other people, but hadn't counted on it hurting so much when he directed it on her. She knew that it was partly her fault. She let him get away with too much. Didn't call him on things. Like training a dog… she hadn't set boundaries about what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour for her. She'd just been so grateful for his attention – anyone's attention. And that it happened to be someone who made her knees weak… She'd been so in need of his presence, so captivated by him and so amazed that he wanted an overweight, inexperienced, insecure woman like her. She couldn't do anything to jeopardise that.

He'd said their relationship meant more to him than sex. But his every action belied that. Yes, she knew he felt guilty about forgetting to pick her up at the airport, but his way of saying sorry was by making her come – three times if she'd let him. Sure, that was good, but it wasn't good enough.

He didn't call either.

That was okay. She needed time to think.

Sarah flew in late on Wednesday night, so Thursday evening was the first chance they had to sit down together and catch up. After Sarah discussed the extra days she'd spent in Boston and Jen very briefly outlined the current rift between her and Greg they sat quietly with a glass of wine, watching TV and each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Jen reached over to the day's pile of mail and started going through it.

One particular envelope caught her eye and she tore it open, just about choking when she read the contents.

Sarah looked away from the TV, picking up Jen's surprise. "What? What is it?"

"Uh…" Jen was so stunned she barely knew where to begin. "I don't…I don't suppose you might have paid off my college loans for me as a surprise?" She looked up at Sarah with wide eyes.

"Um, no. I mean I'd love to and everything, but I have nowhere near that much money lying around."

"I didn't think so," Jen said quietly, musing. "Mom and dad?" she asked, although she was already pretty sure she knew the answer.

"I doubt it. Not with the medical bills…" Suddenly what Jen was asking seemed to dawn on Sarah. "He didn't…did he?"

Jen stared back. "I don't know," she whispered.

"How?"

"I don't know." She handed the piece of paper to Sarah.

Sarah skimmed it and then looked up. "It was over twelve thousand dollars," she said, her tone clearly disbelieving even though she'd read it in black and white. "Paid in full, yesterday."

"I know."

"Maybe he realised the flowers were pathetic." She gestured to the vase in the corner. "What are you going to do?"

Jen's surprise was still too overwhelming to think logically.

"I don't know. How can I give it back? I can't give it back…I don't have that money."

"I guess it's his way of saying sorry."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Pretty impressive apology," Sarah gave her sister a grin. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

Jen sighed. "So it would seem. I don't know, I don't feel right…"

"Jen, take it. Say thank you and take it. If he'd hired someone to do everything you've been doing for him over the past couple of months it would have cost him that much."

Jen flinched, not wanting to even think about what Sarah was insinuating.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Sarah said, having seen Jen's grimace. "I just meant the housework and stuff." She handed the letter back to her sister. "Take the money, Jen."

Jen knew she really had little choice. He had paid the loan, not given her the money to do it herself, so he'd made it impossible for her to choose whether or not to accept. He'd taken that power away from her.

It was totally his style.

"I guess I have to."


--

Friday

"You did what?" Wilson knew he shouldn't be surprised; he should be long past the time that anything House might do could shock him. But it seemed he still had a few tricks up his sleeve that managed to keep Wilson on his toes.

House stopped pacing and flopped down into the chair opposite Wilson's desk. "Well I called the florist on Monday and she definitely got the flowers, but she didn't call. So I figured I'd get her attention some other way. She would have got confirmation in the mail last night."

"And picking up the phone and calling her didn't occur to you?"

House made some noncommittal noise.

"Last time I checked, House, a phone call cost a few cents. You spent – what was it? Twelve thousand dollars? Have you ever thought that it might be easier – not to mention cheaper – to just not get yourself into this sort of situation in the first place?"

"How long have you known me?" House asked, as if Wilson's comment was the most stupid question in the world.

"I just…" Wilson sighed. "I just hope she takes this the way you think she will. She might see it from a different perspective."

House ignored him. "Want to bet me it works?" he asked instead.

Wilson shook his head. "House, I think your expenses this week don't leave much spare cash for gambling."

House had told him that he and Jen had fought over his failure to pick her up at the airport when he'd been tied up with the sick babies. Wilson figured it was probably a lot more than that for two reasons.

One, from what Wilson had seen, Jen had showed herself to be an exceptionally patient woman who seemed to have an astonishing capacity for understanding House's erratic schedule and dedication to his patients. He was sure that if everything else was fine and that House had just not been at the airport because of two dying babies she would completely understand.

Two – and more importantly – House seemed genuinely contrite and appeared to be making sincere attempts to apologise – even if they were somewhat unusual by normal standards. If Jen really had told House that he needed to put her in front of his patients, Wilson had no doubt that House would have told her to like it or lump it.

House looked ready to argue back, but his cell phone rang and he gave Wilson a grin of triumph when he answered it.

"Jen, hi. Hang on a sec."

He gave Wilson his best "I told you so" face and then stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. He was back after only a couple of minutes.

"So?" Wilson asked. House had his poker face on and Wilson was immediately on edge.

"She's coming to my place at seven to talk." House's countenance cracked into a smile. "Oh baby, I'm so getting some tonight."

"House. I think you have more important things to think about."

"Like?"

"Like what are you going to say? Will you actually say 'sorry'? Will you have an adult conversation and resolve what's going on?"

"I've already said sorry – to the tune of twelve thousand dollars. And I'll promise to remember to pick her up at the airport next time."

"Uh huh."

Wilson could tell House just wanted him to say congratulations, to give him kudos for his brilliant "win back the girl" strategy that appeared to have worked. Wilson wasn't so sure. Instead, he gave House an encouraging smile.

"Geez you're a smug bastard," House said, but Wilson could tell there wasn't any fire in his words. "Has Amber found a new bondage DVD that's keeping you grinning?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Whatever House. Good luck tonight."

House headed for the door. "Thanks, but I don't need it," he threw over his shoulder as he walked out.

Wilson remembered that very first night in the bar, when House had brought Jen over to their table. At the time, Wilson had thought Jen seemed sweet and lovely and he had worried about her – about how House might hurt her. Now, he was worried about exactly the opposite. He just hoped she knew what it was that she appeared to be holding in the palm of her hand; House's heart was rarely seen and even more rarely given away.