3

The third door, unlike the others, didn't have pictures on it. This door looked battered, as if it had weathered many storms. The dark paint – not quite black, not quite blue – was chipped, showing layers of other paint beneath. Strangely, it gave the door a warm, almost welcoming feel. This door had seen it all – been to hell and back – and lived to tell the tale.

The door opened with a creak, revealing a woman perched on a yoga mat delicately stretching her back like a cat. Dark, curly hair bounced around her face and she brushed back bangs from her eyes.

"Hello?" House asked hesitantly. He hoped she wasn't expecting him to follow suit. That kind of exercise had never been his thing, even when he had been able-bodied.

The woman looked up and smiled. She twisted around carefully on the mat and sat cross legged, patting the space beside her. "Hi. You're welcome to take a seat."

House frowned – he couldn't sit like that, even if he'd wanted to. But sitting did seem like a good idea. Instead he sunk down, leaning his back against the closed door behind him.

She smiled again, not at all perturbed that he hadn't chosen to sit next to her.

"You look so . . . calm," he couldn't help saying.

She nodded sagely. "Thank you. It's important. Especially given what it is you have to remember from this door."

"Ah." That sounded kind of ominous.

"I can put some music on if you'd like," she offered, gesturing to a stereo in the corner. "I've got lots of the stuff you like."

How she knew what music he liked wasn't worth pursuing, he figured. "Nah, don't worry about it. I kinda think I need to know about your message."

Her smile faded and was replaced by an expression of great concern. He felt reassured that this woman felt so distressed for him. It somehow made whatever she was about to say easier to cope with.

"You have to remember the difficult times," she began.

House snorted a black laugh. "Yeah. Not hard. Not like there hasn't been a few of them."

Her expression softened and House again felt reassured. "I know," she said soothingly. "But it's the difficult times – the angst and the sorrow – that make the story worth telling."

"Story?"

"It's the way you've struggled that's kept us in love with you."

"The love thing again? Like from the first door?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

"Sorrow creates love?" House frowned.

She pursed her lips, thinking about that. "Not the sorrow itself," she said eventually. "But the understanding it gives us as it happens."

This was beginning to sound like one of his therapy sessions with Nolan. He waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, learn from my mistakes and all that."

"Sort of. Remember Tritter?"

As if he could forget. He didn't bother to answer.

"Remember how you came so close to pushing Wilson away? Pushed him so hard he left you on the floor at Christmas that time?"

House squirmed. He didn't think anyone else knew about that.

"It's the drama and what you learned about yourself that was valuable. I shouldn't tell you this, but it will happen again at the fifth and sixth doors. And it will be good."

"Good for who?"

She gave him a cheeky smile at that. "Well, possibly not good for you. At the time. Although, in the long run . . . it does make us love you more."

"So you mean to tell me that you people – these women I'm meeting in each door – want me to suffer so they can love me more?"

She gave a satisfied grin. "See, I knew you'd get it."

House was infuriated. "So I'm forced to dance with my toes to the fire just for the entertainment of others? Forget it!"

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

House wanted to rage against that, but something deep inside him told him it was the truth. He fell silent, slumped against the door.

"There's going to be more suffering ahead," she said, more gently this time. "More drama. At least, that's what we're predicting."

Predicting? So they didn't know everything?

"Does that have something to do with the eighth door?" he asked, remembering its hazy outline.

She nodded. "Yes, And possibly the seventh."

"What kind of suffering?"

"I really can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that when it happens, it will be for the best."

A question burned in his throat but he wasn't sure if he was brave enough to ask it. Still, it wasn't like this person knew him. And she seemed so compassionate. He took a deep breath.

"Will it . . . will it hurt?" His voice was almost a whisper.

"Physically?"

House nodded. Pain. He simply couldn't take any more pain.

Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. "Not physically."

A lump formed in his throat. "But emotionally," he guessed.

"We're afraid . . ." Her breath caught and she swallowed hard. "We're afraid your heart is going to be broken."

House shrugged. "I pretty much figure that might happen every morning I wake up."

She managed a watery smile. "I know. That's why we . . ." She dashed the back of her hand against her cheek to wipe away an errant tear, then her expression became determined. "You need to consider your pain management better," she said.

House reeled with the sudden change of topic. "Huh?"

"I can give you advice on all kinds of ways to better manage your leg pain. The Vicodin situation should never have got to where it did." Her hands tightened into fists. "The people around you were not looking out for you properly."

"In fairness, I didn't make it exactly easy for them."

"No, but that's no excuse."

She stood up and House took that as his cue and stood too.

"Come back and see me after and we'll talk. I can prescribe you better pain management. Get you on a regime that'll get you moving again. Might even be able to get you active – get you back on the golf course at least."

House considered that. Maybe. Maybe not. "I thought you said my suffering was a good thing?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "It's complicated. You experience pain; we long for you not to be in pain. It's a symbiotic thing. And I can't help wishing for relief for you."

He nodded. "Okay. Thanks," he added.

She gestured to the door. "Best get on to the next one. There's an important lesson in there too."

She had a lovely smile. House was almost reluctant to leave. But the puzzle was yet to be solved.