6

The room with all the doors still had that table in it, filled with healthy snacks. House took a step closer to it – he was getting hungry. Hungry enough to brave chickpeas. All this mystery-solving was draining.

As he approached he could see that a few new things had appeared on the table. The first thing he noticed was an empty vase, half-filled with water. He looked down at the pink peony in his hand and dropped it in with a smile. He'd never admit such a girly thing aloud, but he liked fresh flowers, and peonies were his favorite. Not as clichéd as roses; freer and less rigid than tulips. He liked pink too. Another thing he wouldn't be admitting out loud.

A can of Coke had appeared and House grabbed it, opened it, and sucked down at least half in one gulp with a grateful burp to follow. He heard a giggle and the sound of a door quietly closing.

These women were looking out for him. He knew, without being told, that they had his best interests at heart. That these lessons they were teaching him were for his benefit. He just wished he understood why.

A door opened, followed by the sound of a foot tapping.

Time to move on – only he needed another moment.

Before turning around, he drained the rest of the Coke and gave another deep, satisfied burp.

"Excuse me! Where are your manners?" There was no mistaking the no-nonsense Philly accent.

"'Scuse me," House muttered swallowing another burp. Coke always did that to him, but he needed it. Now if that woman would just appear with another whisky . . .

He turned around to see the foot-tapping woman. She had short dark hair, her eyes highlighted by blue eye-shadow, and she was looking at him with an indulgent-mother expression. One of those you're in trouble but I love you too much to punish you kind of expressions. He'd seen it on the faces of mothers with sick kids. Not his own.

She gave a crooked smile at his apology. "That's better. Now get a move on – we've got a lot to get through, and it's nearly morning."

"Can you get me something better to eat?" House figured it was worth a try.

"Those are your choices. Go for it. Then get your butt over here."

He took one last look at the carrot and celery sticks and shrugged. He'd have a good breakfast instead. Maybe go to that diner down the street and have one of those omelets that covered half the plate, the other half smothered in fried potato. His stomach growled as he thought about it.

The woman's foot started tapping again.

She was standing in front of the sixth door. The second-last door if you didn't count the eighth one that still wavered in and out of existence to the right. He looked back over the five doors he'd already visited. It had been . . . interesting.

"Okay."

She opened the door wide and gestured for him to step through first. He walked through the doorway and into . . .

The rec room at Mayfield?

No way!

He spun around, seeking to escape, but the dark-haired woman blocked the way. She gestured to two chairs sitting in the middle of the room – those curved plastic ones that House hated with a passion.

"Come on, come on. Sit down. No need for panic. Everything's fine."

She bustled him along, and before House knew it, they were sitting in the chairs, at right angles to each other. It felt like painful déjà vu – a group therapy session for two. There was no one else around. At all. Even the nurses' station was deserted.

"Don't look so worried," she chided. She gave him a little slap on the arm.

"Do you blame me?" he retorted.

Her expression softened and she gave him a kind smile. "I don't blame you. But you really don't have anything to worry about. This lesson is a good one."

"I've heard that before," House scoffed.

"This lesson is about pride," the woman said without any further beating around the bush.

House was momentarily silenced. "Pride?" he said eventually. "That's stupid."

"Pride is not stupid," she chided. "We were so proud of you at Mayfield."

House shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not sure if it was physical or emotional discomfort that was getting to him. "Well, I was proud of myself for getting out of there," he snapped.

"Exactly."

Her calm agreement took the wind out of his sails. He slunk back into the chair and stuck his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. "This is stupid," he said petulantly.

"So you've said." The woman didn't seem in the least fazed by his childishness. "But it's still an important lesson. When we come here, we're filled with pride."

"About what?"

She smiled and the motherly tone left her voice, replaced by a barely-veiled excitement. "About everything that's gone before. We look back and think of all the highlights, because this was one of them."

"Mayfield was a highlight for you?" House sat up straighter in the chair, his anger growing. "Because you know it wasn't such a highlight for me. More a lowlight really. More the lowest point I've ever been in my pitiful, miserable life. And you're proud of that?"

She just smiled.

"It's true isn't it? It's what the yoga lady said. You guys get off on my suffering! If this is something to be proud of – being reduced to an animal locked in a cage – sweating and spewing and shaking through detox – being forced to deal with idiots – if you think this is a highlight then you're all . . ." He leapt up and paced as he searched for the right word. ". . . Twisted! You're all evil, malevolent, sick individuals who deserve a room at Mayfield yourselves!"

She blinked at him. "Are you quite finished?"

House made a strangled sound of frustration and continued to pace. What more were they going to put him through?

"Do you remember Hannah?"

The woman who'd been crushed under the building – whose leg he'd had to amputate. Of course he remembered her. He'd never forget the sound of her scream ringing in his ears, the look in her eyes as she died, as long as he lived. He grunted in acknowledgement of the question, still too angry to speak.

"Oh, we can't tell you how proud we were of you then. You were you, but you'd grown, you were a you that was a result of Mayfield, of everything that had gone before. And it worked. It worked, right up until . . ." She trailed off, and her face crinkled in distaste as if she'd been forced to swallow something unpalatable.

House felt his anger draining away – it was too exhausting to hold on to it. He slumped back into the chair again.

"So pride is the lesson, huh?" He said eventually. "Why now? Why, when the last lesson was about trust?"

"Because there's a reason we're still here."

He shook his head. "I don't get it."

"You will," she said confidently. "There an enormous amount of pride in what we've accomplished."

"You mean what I've accomplished, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, that too," she said in rush. "But also what we've accomplished. There's a body of work that would never have existed that now does, because of the hard work and dedication we've put in. The support we've given to each other. Stories and writing that have enriched people's lives. There are friendships that stretch around the world. There's a lot to be proud of, regardless of what happens next."

"So it's like trust – another lesson that's not really for me."

"Oh no, this lesson is definitely for you too. We want you to be proud of what you've achieved. Without that, you won't remember what it was that got you here." She leaned forward, looking at him directly. "It's desperately important that you take that with you when you go."

"Take pride with me?"

"Take the knowledge of what makes you feel proud about what has gone before. That is what's important."

House sat back and thought about it. What was he proud of in his life? Mayfield? Actually, maybe these women knew more about him than he did himself, because when he thought about it, he was proud of Mayfield. Of what he'd been through, of the fact that he survived and came out the other side.

The woman beamed at him as if she could read his mind – not the first time that had happened in this dream. Perhaps they all could.

What else was he proud of? "I'm proud of my career," House said hesitantly. Even in therapy, this wasn't something he'd been asked to consider. "Of the patients I've helped to save."

"Yes. As you should be."

"I'm proud of the fellows I've taught. I've turned Chase into a damn fine doctor. Foreman is getting there. The others . . . are a work in progress."

She nodded.

"I'm proud of the reputation I have. I know not everyone would want to be known as the doctor nurses least wish to work with," he gave her a quick grin, "but it keeps them on their toes."

"This is great. That's exactly what we want you to think about."

"I'm proud of my brain. Of my knowledge. Of the fact that I'm smarter than most people."

"Of course you are."

House searched her tone for sarcasm, but could find none. It perplexed him. "My friend would tell me that's boasting, not pride."

"Your friend has his own agenda."

House mused on that for a moment. "Yes, you're right."

"This has been wonderful," she said, giving an almost girlish shrug of her shoulders to convey her excitement. "You've really got it. I feel so hopeful now, for the first time in a long time. Maybe things will work out."

"It's time for me to go, isn't it?" House guessed.

"Yes. But you'll be fine. I'm sure of it."

House was as comfortable as he'd been since the dream started and didn't really want to leave. He hadn't been keen to be back at Mayfield, but now that he was here, it felt familiar, comfortable. He wasn't half as sure as this woman seemed to be that everything would work out.

"Maybe I could just stay here," he suggested hesitantly. "We know things are all right here. I don't know what's going to happen next."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "You're right. What happens next isn't great. But it's not awful either. It's just a little . . . dull."

"Dull?"

"Lackluster."

"Lackluster?"

"It's why you're here, learning these lessons."

"Oh. Okay."

The woman stood up and House stood with her, following her over to the door they'd entered by. She opened it and gestured for him to exit.

"Thanks," he said as he took a step through. He paused and turned back before the door closed. There was something he felt he had to say. "Oh, and congratulations to you."

She frowned.

"All that stuff you said you had achieved. The stories and friendships and whatnot. You should be proud of that."

She smiled broadly. "Oh yes. We are."