"Better be ignorant of a matter than half know it."

- Publilius Syrus (~100 BC), Maxims

"Jackpot." House grinned as his gaze fell on a little black book, tucked safely away in the bottom drawer of Thirteen's bedside table. The dying doctor had been sent back to her hospital room, finally admitting (after almost another round of fainting) that maybe she did actually need the rest. Then, unbeknown to her, House had piled his 'eager' little ducklings into Chase's car and ordered the young Australian to drive them over to Thirteen's house. He'd then used the key he'd gotten from Lucas to break into her humble abode and, well, here they were – picking through the woman's things and eating what was left in her pantry.

All for medical purposes, of course.

Foreman looked over at him irritably as House opened the book up at a random page. "Dear Diary, today House was his incredibly sexy self again. I swear, if he wasn't my boss I would have pushed him against the wall and had my hot, lesbian way with him," the doctor said in a high girlish voice.

"It doesn't say that," the African-American stated with a scowl.

House only looked over at him with wide, honest eyes. "No lie."

Foreman's scowl deepened and he snatched the book out of his boss's hands. He looked down at it for a moment, before announcing, "It says 'House was a jerk' and 'I wanted to hit him with his cane,'" he finished, glancing up and sending House a pointed look.

"It also says Foreman was an idiot," he responded without pause.

The other doctor looked confused. "What? Where?"

"Nowhere. But the fact that you believed me proves my point," House told him, earning an unimpressed look from the other man. The head diagnostician shrugged his shoulders and limped away, concluding that you just couldn't please everyone. "She should really see someone about those anger issues of hers. I mean, hitting a cripple with their own cane, can you imagine?" he asked in a voice of mock horror.

…

Meanwhile

Chase frowned as he searched through Thirteen's laundry room. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a little invasive about going through her things, especially since after sleeping with him for over a month she'd seemed to trust him in her house; a point she'd proven one time when she'd gone out to pick up some last minute groceries and left him alone in the house, working on a patient's report for Cuddy. It was probably one of the most couple-y things they'd ever done and neither of them had mentioned it again after she'd finally gotten home and they'd moved onto the more X rated experiences of that night.

Sighing, the blonde made his way over to a cupboard by the sink and opened the doors. There wasn't much in there, bar a few towels and wash cloths, but there was a small brown box resting at the top, shoved into the corner and hidden behind a few blue towels. He didn't know what a box could have to do with why Remy was sick but years of working with House had taught him not to discard things too quickly; you just never knew.

Reaching up a hand to grab at the box, he accidentally knocked it onto its side towards the edge of the shelf, the lid falling off and sailing towards the ground along with another object that quickly followed its descent. A smash sounded and Chase winced, hoping Thirteen wouldn't kill him later for property damage, before bending down and picking up the object.

It was a photo frame, covered in dust, and Chase stared at the photo within in confusion. The glass covering the picture was cracked but the blonde barely noticed. He couldn't understand why Thirteen would have something like this tucked so far away in her cupboard. It didn't make any sense and, after thinking about it for a few more minutes, he decided that it still did not make any sense. He would have to ask her about it sometime.

There was the sound of Foreman and House's voices approaching and Chase hastily hid the photo back in the box, closing the cupboard door. He didn't know why Thirteen wanted to keep it hidden away but he doubted that she wanted House to find out about it so that was enough incentive to go along with her wishes.

Hastily, he searched about for something that could be used to take House of the scent. His gaze fell on her laundry basket and he frowned, an idea forming in his head.

No, he couldn't; could he?

…

"You're not going to find anything, you know," Foreman pointed out, knowing that House's reasons for coming here were less to do with medical purposes and more to do with his own curiosity.

"There has to be some sort of incriminating evidence around here somewhere, a naked picture of her and some girl, or something," House denied, starting to look through some of the cupboards that lined the wall. "This is the woman who got her nickname from the number of women she sleeps with in a week, after all. Or used to, until you came along and ruined it all." He sent Foreman an accusing look and the African-American frowned.

"That's not how she got her nickname."

"It is according to the nurses and a couple of the patients," the older doctor responded. "Apparently, somebody's been spreading rumours around about our dear Huntingon." Foreman stared him down, knowing full well her that 'somebody' was, to which House responded with a 'who, me?' look. "Gary in radiology swears he saw her with Cameron last summer, in the supply closet," he added in a whisper.

Foreman frowned, now very much confused. "There's no Garry in radiology."

The conversation was interrupted, however, by a crash in the laundry where Chase was currently searching. The two doctors stared at the doorway for a moment, simultaneously wondering whether it was worth their time to investigate.

House glanced over at Foreman. "I'm putting you in charge of paying for the damages," he said, heading towards the laundry. "Time to go check on Chase. I don't trust pretty boy to air out Thirteen's dirty laundry if and when he finds it."

Foreman sighed and headed towards the drawer, intent on placing the journal back where it belonged. She may be his ex and she may have aborted his kid for whatever reason but he had no desire for her inner most thoughts to fall into the hands of House. Despite everything, he still cared about her.

He was however stopped in the process by House's voice, calling back. "And don't even think about putting that book back. I've been looking for a good read for ages now and what better than 'The Twisted Confessions of a Dying Lesbian'?"

Not wanting House to get his hands on the book and deeming it too risky to place back in the drawer, Foreman slipped it inside his coat pocket, deciding to give it back to Thirteen when they returned to the hospital.

Suddenly, Chase made his way out from the laundry room, a massive grin on his face. "I swear, Foreman, you are one lucky guy," he announced, holding up a set of bra and panties that would leave considerably little to the imagination when worn, very close to nothing actually. "Cameron never had launderette anywhere near as sexy as this when we were together."

House inspected the undergarments with a critical eye before a smirk formed on his face. "Chase, I do believe you've found gold." Apparently the blonde could air out Thirteen's dirty laundry if and when he found any.

Foreman sighed in defeat; he should have known this was going to happen all along.

Suddenly, Wilson burst in through the door, looking out of breath and all over distressed. They all looked at the panting neurologist in confusion.

"Come to join the fun, Wilson?" House asked with a smirk.

Wilson shook his head, trying to catch his breath. "No, Cuddy – she heard that you were – and she sent me to make sure that you didn't . . ." he trailed off, finally taking the time to look at them properly. His eyes fell on the clothes in Chase's hands, still proudly on display, and his face dropped. "Though, I see I'm already too late."

"Oh, come on, Wilson, you know you were secretly hoping for this," House responded before turning back to Chase. "What else has she got?"

Foreman chose this time to step in. "We're supposed to be looking for toxins or anything else that could cause her to be sick. Not going through her underwear."

House gave the panties and bra a good look. "I don't know, those panties look considerably lethal."

"Not as much as this," a voice said, coming out of the bathroom. Taub stopped in front of them, a bottle of pills in his hand. "Ecstasy – I found it in her medicine cabinet. And there's cocaine in her makeup kit. The ecstasy was coated in dust so it probably hasn't been used in a while but the cocaine . . ."

Foreman's gaze dropped, defeat washing over him. He had hoped, no, prayed that Thirteen hadn't reverted back to her old ways after House's notification of her night-club stamp that morning. It looked like he was wrong though.

House eyed the bottle of pills, expression showing neither whether he was gleeful or disappointed with the discovery. "Well, I do believe a little party girl has returned to us. Makes you proud."

. . .

12 years ago

John Hadley sighed, looking around the dining room with eyes that always seemed to be searching for that one thing that he would never find again. It had been over a year since his wife had passed and still he expected to see her seated at the kitchen table beside him or going over patients' files in the office, or perhaps even seated at the piano, trying futilely to teach either Benny or Remy to play. Of course, he hadn't been witness to any of those things in years – they'd all happened long before her symptoms had started to seriously show.

His gaze found young Benny, now 16, and he smiled slightly at the sight of his son, painstakingly piling waffle upon waffle in order to build a little house. His lips were pursed in the expression familiar with any passionate designer and, to Mr. Hadley, he was the example of what everyone had been constantly repeating to him – 'It'll all be OK, things are going to get better'.

He wished he could believe that.

John knew that serving waffles for dinner wasn't the best thing a parent could do but it was Anne's birthday . . . and she had always loved waffles.

His daughter however was the utter opposite of her brother. Unlike him, she didn't bring about the bloom of hope that would suddenly arise in his chest when looked upon; she hadn't for a long time now. Remy was a complete replica of her mother, right down to the stubborn personality. When John looked at his daughter, he saw Anne. Sometimes that was nice, just to see her again, but most of the time it made him think things he really didn't want to even consider – just how much was Remy really like her mother?

Was her personality and looks a sign that she would indeed fall down the same path as Anne? He hoped not but sometimes, when he stared long enough, he could almost see the disease working its way about his daughter. Then they would lock stares, and it would raise its ugly head behind her eyes and mock him; always it seemed to say, 'You cannot keep her. This, too, I can take from you.'

John knew it was a foolish thing to think but he thought it nonetheless. When he watched Remy, he looked for the signs and symptoms he knew would not appear for years to come, if she had the disease at all. A part of him believed, no matter how foolish, that if he could catch and spot every sign, no matter how small, he could somehow stop the onslaught all together, he could save his daughter.

And that was perhaps the most foolish thought of all.

If Remy had contracted that disease then he could no more put a stop to it than a weatherman could to a raging tornado. If she had that disease, then it would come, and he would watch, and he would lose her. Just like he'd lost her mother.

Remy glared down at her plate as if it had somehow offended her throughout the course of her life. As always, her meal, which was this time waffles, was cut into perfect little squares. His daughter was nothing if not particular with everything she did. She was a perfectionist, always had been, and her school grades screamed this every time he received a report card in the mail. She was just like her mother.

"Remy, honey, are you planning on eating those waffles anytime tonight? They'll be getting cold," he enquired while Benny looked up curiously from his plate.

Sometimes John worried about his son, not as much as he worried about Remy, of course, and that was part of the problem. It was no secret that he put a lot of time and energy into focusing on his daughter, which mostly included worrying about her, and because of that he'd come to realize that his son was often neglected. So far, Benny had shown no signs of this affecting him at all but Mr. Hadley doubted that was truly how he felt.

He should do something with him this weekend, take him to a football match or whatever normal fathers and sons were supposed to do together. Anne's father could look after Remy.

"Why are we having waffles for dinner?" she bit off, ignoring his question.

Ah, he should have known this was coming. "I thought it would be a nice way to celebrate your mother's birthday."

Remy still refused to look up from her plate. "She's dead – she doesn't need anyone to celebrate her birthday."

Benny glanced back down at his own plate and Mr. Hadley's heart clenched at her words. His daughter had always been one to speak her mind, and it was often something he'd admired, but right now he wished she'd been gifted with another personality trait.

"Do you want to talk about your mother?" he asked, glad that his voice didn't shake. The subject had been a taboo for so long that even Benny looked surprise by the question.

"No," she responded petulantly and John sighed. Remy was thirteen and a half now, and had already entered into that angsty teenage faze. Most of the time she shut herself up in her room, pouring over her homework or sometimes listening to melancholy music on full volume that made Mr. Hadley grit his teeth and curse the dozens of artists responsible every time he passed her door. Last month she'd discovered the art of heavy metal and his eardrums had since started to melt. It was not a pleasant faze.

She was also rude and angry a lot of the time. He could tell she was angry because she scowled, a lot. Quite frankly, John Hadley didn't know what to do.

Finally, the young brunette glanced up and her chameleon eyes pierced through him. He wondered whether it was possible for such hatred to be contained in a thirteen year old and he wondered even more what it was directed at. Him? The world? The waffles, even?

He didn't know, he wasn't so sure he wanted to either.

Suddenly something caught his attention and snapped him out of the present conversation. "Baby, where's your cross?"

Remy stiffened in her seat and she took a while to reply.

The Hadley family were firm Christians, or at least they had been before Anne's death. Right now they were very much drifting and God seemed to be the last thing on their minds. Unless you included Benny, who seemed to have become an altar boy over night.

The cross he was referring to was the one Anne had given Remy seven years ago, back before the disease had taken hold. It was the one she herself had been given by her mother and was very important to the both of them. As far as John knew, Remy had never taken it off before now.

"I lost it."

Benny glanced sharply in her direction and John's face softened. No wonder she had been in such a bad mood. That cross meant the world to Remy. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I know how much that necklace meant to you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied tersely. "May I please be excused?"

He stared at her, taken aback, but after a moment nodded his consent. If she was intent on leaving without dinner, nothing he could say would change her mind. "Alright."

She was out of her seat in an instant, the chair legs grating against the hardwood floor, shortly followed by her bare feet making the sound of disappearing steps down the hallway. All was quiet in the kitchen for a moment and neither father nor son returned to their meal, appetites temporarily ruined.

"The year 9s had biology today," Benny commented out of the blue, taking a knife and fork and cutting into one of his waffles.

Mr. Hadley nodded but didn't say anything. While he was very proud of his daughter's progress in school – she'd even skipped a grade – he didn't see what it had to do with now.

"This month's topic is Genome. They learnt about genetic disorders today," he continued, stopping in his actions and glancing over at him. Mr. Hadley sighed and closed his eyes; of course. "She shouted at the teacher," Benny added. "You'll probably be getting a call from school sometime this week."

John nodded but kept his eyes shut. He didn't ask how his son knew about what happened in year 9 classes, specifically his sister's. Benny had always been protective of his little sister and keenly alert to anything and everything that went on in her life. Mr. Hadley wouldn't be surprised if the 16 year old had somehow sensed his sister's distress and shown up at the classroom in just the nick of time.

Sighing he could almost hear his wife's voice in his head, whispering what he had already realized long ago – 'This can't go on'.

But he did not know how to stop it.

A/N: There are going to be more flashbacks after this one so I hope it was OK. Thanks for the reviews, once again I love them. I also realize that Thirteen and Foreman are going to have to have a confrontation and they will, just not yet.