A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. Off we go into digging into the past, part one. This is, however, only part one of several, so things not covered in this chapter have not necessarily been tossed aside or forgotten. And yes, there is an approaching storm, a large one. The rest of this story is not just one long transcript of conversations between Blythe and House. :)

(H/C)

Around 10:00 a.m. on the morning of the 26th, the doorbell rang. Cuddy went to let the psychiatrist in.

"Jensen!" Rachel ran over to him, her horse in hand. "See my horsey!" It whinnied at him.

Jensen smiled and set down his suitcase, bending over for a better look. "That's great, Rachel. Did you get that for Christmas?"

She nodded. "Daddy." Suddenly a thought occurred to her, and she looked at him closely, then at the suitcase. "You have presents?"

"Rachel!" Cuddy scolded.

Jensen chuckled. "It's okay. And yes, I have presents. I'm going to be here for a day or two, all right?"

"Yay!" Rachel galloped off, pushing a hoof for the hoofbeats. Jensen greeted the others, then headed with his suitcase to the second guest room.

House, on the couch, felt his stomach tighten up. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out, even though this had been his idea. Looking at Blythe, though, he knew it was too late to back out. She had dutifully avoided any sticky conversations throughout Christmas weekend, putting the subject of the past completely on hold and never once bringing up Thornton either, but she was all but vibrating now, eager to talk about things once the girls were down for their nap. The tentative schedule was for two rounds of dissecting things per day, one while the girls were napping, one later at night, although Jensen had made it clear that he wouldn't keep going in any session past what he thought was productive. House hadn't objected to that limit. The psychiatrist was already giving up half of his week off with his family, after all. House had told him to bill for these sessions, but that would hardly make up for the time.

Jensen returned with a few presents in hand, and the girls gathered around eagerly. The first two, however, went to House, one a large plastic container of fudge from Cathy, the other obviously a book. Curious, House ripped the package open. It was by a doctor and was a medical analysis, as far as data existed, of questionable deaths through history, figures like Alexander the Great, Napoleon, and so forth, examining the different theories and trying to solidify the diagnosis. He was already skimming when squeals of delight from the girls interrupted his thoughts and made him look up. Rachel had a stuffed Siamese kitten, and Abby had a stuffed pair of eighth notes, connected with the bar across the top. She was hugging it almost like a teddy bear. Rachel scratched the kitten between the ears, and it produced a few seconds of a mechanical purr. House rolled his eyes. "If it meows like Mozart, it's going straight back to New York with you. We've already had a stable move into the house this weekend."

"Don't worry," Jensen reassured him. "I'd never give anybody a toy with an electronic meow like Mozart. It's bad enough in real life."

Cuddy had a guilty look now. "We didn't get you anything." Jensen started to state that it didn't matter, but House interrupted him, getting up and going over to the piano.

"Actually, we did." He limped back to the psychiatrist, handing over what was obviously a CD case, unwrapped. Jensen looked at it. Timothy Thornton in concert. His dark eyes met House's.

"Thank you," he said simply. Blythe was craning her neck a little, trying to see the title, as was Cuddy, and Jensen tucked it down beside him out of the way. He would put it in his suitcase the next time he got up.

Abby ran over to her father, holding out the eighth notes. "Music!" She pushed them into his hands, then scurried away, returning a minute later with her little computer. House had sat down on the couch again, and she climbed up beside him, cued up a song, and then pointed to the stuffed eighth notes and the music scrolling across the bottom. "Music." House smiled. She actually was picking out eighth notes from the line, not simply pointing at all notes.

"Right." He held the stuffed notes out. "These are called eighth notes. When two of them are together, they have a bar across the top like this connecting them, so they're easy to see." She studied the notes, then the ones on the screen.

"Ate notes." After a moment, she tapped another pair on the computer. "Ate notes?" Her tone recognized the difference, though.

"No, those are sixteenth notes." House waited for the next set to scroll up in the melody, then hit the pause button. "You're right that they have bars on top, but they have two bars. See the difference?" Abby nodded, looking pleased.

Rachel meanwhile was fully occupied trying to get the kitten to ride the horse, complete with whinnies, snorts, and purrs. Cuddy started to pick up the paper before Belle could get to it, but she paused next to Jensen in the recliner. "Thank you," she said.

Jensen heard the veiled concern beneath her voice. She was worried about the next few days herself, and she was glad he was here to monitor things. "You're welcome," he replied.

"Sixteen notes," Abby said from the couch.

(H/C)

Blythe and House wound up subconsciously selecting seats at opposite ends of the couch, Cuddy between them though right at House's side, not close to the middle. Jensen took the recliner facing them in his position as moderator. "A few ground rules going into this," he said firmly, wanting to get this out there for Blythe. House had already agreed to it. Cuddy's presence was something the psychiatrist wasn't sure about, afraid her feelings would distract her husband and get in the way, but she had agreed to stay out of the conversation, and House wanted her there for moral support. But Jensen hadn't had a chance to really lay out the rules with Blythe yet, although she had authorized her psychiatrist to talk to him, and those two had spent a phone call last week in professional strategizing on how she would likely respond to issues and the best approach.

"First, if things get to a point in any session where we need to stop, we will stop. Even if we just started ten minutes ago. This is going to be hard on both of you, and we aren't going to push it past where it stops being helpful. Second, one person speaking at a time, and the other always has a chance to respond to each point. This is a two-sided discussion. Agreed?"

House didn't bother responding. Cuddy nodded shortly, reminding herself to stay in the background and control herself. She was grateful to her husband for wanting her here, though. She thought she would have gone crazy back in the bedroom waiting during these talks. Blythe agreed quickly. "Yes, of course. That all makes sense. I'm so glad Greg wants to go over things." She had longed for a lay-it-all-out session with her son since she had first found out about the abuse almost three years earlier. First, though, she had to satisfy her curiosity, unable to contain herself any longer. "Greg, those presents for the girls, the horse and the little music thing, they were from Thomas, weren't they?"

Jensen straightened up; he hadn't heard anything about that. House sighed. Ah well, might as well jump in media res. He was impressed at his mother's self-restraint this weekend in keeping silent in the background and not blurting out her question right there at the gift opening. "Yes, they were." House's eyes drifted to Jensen. "I got a box from him Friday at the hospital."

"But the girls think they were from you," Blythe objected.

"That's not my fault. I told them they were from Santa Claus. I can't help it if they decided I'm him." He squirmed under her disapproving gaze, suddenly feeling like a little boy again. "If it makes you feel better, he doesn't care that his name wasn't attached to them. He said so yesterday when I talked to him for a minute. He's fine being in the background anonymously."

Cuddy tensed up but didn't contradict him. House knew himself how much of a lie that was. It was obvious that Thornton ultimately wanted to be here, involved in person, taking the girls out, giving them gifts, having them call him Grandpa. Hell, he probably would love to move into one of their guest rooms and be a permanent resident of the house until he died. Not like he had anybody else anymore. He was alone, probably bored, and at loose ends; open the door here, and they would never get rid of him. House's breathing picked up a little just thinking of it, because once Thornton met the girls, once he was that far in, there was no going back. That would be the point of no return. But they were doing fine without him. What difference would he make? Cuddy picked up his hand and squeezed it, and he became aware that Jensen was watching him.

Blythe at least hadn't noticed, caught up in her own thoughts. "You called him on Christmas. That was sweet of you, Greg." Cuddy suppressed her sigh with difficulty. "How long have you been talking to him? Was that back at the trial when you asked me not to?"

"He came up to Princeton to hear it. He wanted to make sure the story about me wasn't a media exaggeration." House closed his eyes briefly, remembering the media, the whole world watching.

"So you met him then?"

"Sort of." House looked at Jensen. The psychiatrist was willing to speak up but also was hoping he would take hold and start things for himself. Crazy to want to not disappoint your shrink. He sighed. "All the details aren't important right now, just that we're talking. But in talking to him, I've found out some things. . ." He tripped there, hesitating for a moment. "About John. About his background. And I wanted to ask you about them. What did he do in the Marines, Mom?"

Blythe stared at him. "You know that, Gregory." There was a trace of maternal "don't waste our time asking silly questions" tone there, and Cuddy silently counted to ten.

Jensen stepped in before she had even reached three. "Mrs. House, would you agree that the truth about parts of the past is different than you thought it was then?"

She looked guilty. "Yes, of course. I know I missed a lot."

"So how do you know all the truths of the past have already been revealed and there's nothing new left?" She was startled. "Mrs. House, your husband lied to you. On several things that you already know about. Do you agree with that?" She nodded slowly. "So please, be willing to at least consider that he might have lied to you on others and listen with an open mind. Okay?"

"All right," she said softly.

At that moment, Belle came into the living room. She surveyed the party, then headed for House and Cuddy, pausing for a moment as she passed Jensen and giving him a sniff. Her ears went back. House was glad of the tension breaker. "She smells Mozart on you." Belle went on to the couch and jumped up on the arm next to House.

Jensen smiled. "I apologize Belle. I didn't bring him with me."

"How is the little holy terror?" House asked.

"Growing but not getting any softer." Jensen turned back to Blythe, not letting House dodge out of the main topic. "Answer your son's question, Mrs. House. What from your point of view was your husband's military career?"

Blythe looked confused, but at least she didn't challenge the question this time. "After boot camp, John went on to flight school. We met at that station, and he was always talking about it at first when we began dating."

House came alert. "At first?"

"Once he got to a certain level in flying, right toward the end, he wasn't allowed to talk about it, and definitely not later with missions. He went on top secret missions several times, even, but he couldn't tell me what they were, and he said I should never bring them up, because I didn't always know what the public cover story was for something. He served a tour in Vietnam - never talked much about that. He said he didn't like to remember, but he flew into the jungle lots of times. Then we were back stateside the last several tours. Most of his later assignments were teaching younger officers things." She trailed off, looking at her son's face. "What is it, Greg?"

House had been watching her throughout that story, and his first unasked question was answered. She truly believed it. He wasn't the only one, at least. "Did you ever yourself see him flying?"

"Yes, of course. He gave me a tour of the flight school. He was proud to be there."

"Later. Did you ever see him flying later?"

"No. I was . . . he had this woman's place is in the home attitude, but then, so did my father, so I was used to that. Other than formal military functions, I didn't see him around his fellow Marines much, and I didn't see him at work."

"And at the functions, you had been told not to bring up his assignments," Jensen emphasized. "Did he remind you of that each time?"

"Yes." She looked from the psychiatrist to her son and back. "What's going on here?"

Jensen waited, giving House the choice. House said nothing. He wanted to watch her during the tale, just as confirmation of what he had already realized. Jensen started off after a moment. "Dr. House asked Thomas Thornton to check on some facts from your husband's service. In other conversation, they discovered that Thornton's memories didn't agree with things John himself had said to your son, so he asked for proof. That proof raised a few more questions, and those were asked, then a few more. After several exchanges, we have a pretty good picture by now, confirmed, of John House's actual military career."

"But Thomas didn't spend that much time posted with him," Blythe protested. "I know they went to boot camp together, but nothing then until about three years later. Then they were stationed together for two years - that's when I got pregnant, Greg. Thomas left when you were one, and everything after was just a visit for a day or so. How would he be sure of all John's career details when he wasn't there for so much of it?"

"It's not from him," House spoke up. "I've seen the source on the information. It's a lot higher up, from a general somewhere. Thornton missed a lot of things, I know, but this isn't just his opinion."

Blythe looked back at him. "So what was his career?"

House looked at Jensen, silently tossing the ball back. Jensen accepted it. "After boot camp, your husband did go on to flight school. However, his scores weren't that high, and because of a situation right at the end of flight school, his field of service was changed. He did not fly after that on through his military career, nor in Vietnam. He did several different things, but the one he was best at was in controlling supplies, keeping track of distributions."

Blythe was shaking her head slowly. "He wasn't a pilot?"

"No."

"But he . . ."

"You said he had started dating you then. He probably was too embarrassed to mention to you that he had been dismissed from the class. Very much against the big, tough Marine image. Can you see where that would be hard for him to tell the woman he's trying to impress?"

"I suppose. He was so proud of it, at the beginning, I mean, when he definitely was in flight training. You said there was a situation that came up at the end that got his MOS changed. What was that?"

"He got into a fight with another flight student one night. Not serious, it occurred off base, and it seemed mutual. They were both just told to knock it off, extra PT, and nothing more at that point. But the next day, on one of the final training group flights, he deliberately used his plane to frighten that man, cutting too close, running straight at him. He was grounded the minute they landed, and of course, the Marines changed his MOS. Nobody wants to risk a loose cannon pilot. He had a psychiatric evaluation and apparently bluffed it off as just a bad day and a one-time lapse of judgment, but that was his first official reprimand in the service. They called it excessive anger; he got them to drop misuse of military equipment, and they kept some of the details private on the condition that he never be anywhere near pilot duty again. There were two other times later he was formally reprimanded. Those also involved excessive anger. I assume he didn't tell you about those, either."

She shook her head. "He never mentioned reprimands or demerits or anything like that. I can't believe . . ." She stopped, considering.

Jensen sat up a little on the edge of his chair. "Think about it, Mrs. House. Can't you picture him doing that after all? Didn't you realize he had a temper?"

She looked back to her son guiltily. "I knew he had a temper, but I never imagined that he would . . . I only saw him a few times lose it. Always with things, not people. But yes, if something really made him mad, he would destroy it."

That was very similar to something that Thornton had said. House shifted, and the cat moved down from the couch arm into his lap. He scratched her ears. "Mom." He waited for her full attention. "Did he ever brag to you about killing people, how many he had taken out and what his score was?"

"No. He said it was hard to talk about things like that."

"So he implied that the score was there without giving actual details," Jensen clarified. "That would maintain the tough Marine front without giving you specifics."

"Yes. I know now that he told you how many he killed, Greg, and that was part of that threat." She shook her head. "You shouldn't have kept silent just for me, Greg. Even if it was true. If you had told me, I would have done something."

House's tension level was climbing rapidly now. "You were the only thing I had, damn it. Of course I had to protect you." Cuddy looked startled herself at his first words, as if a point had truly registered with her for the first time.

"You shouldn't have had to protect me, Greg. That's supposed to be the other way around." Blythe was tearing up now. "I know I missed all of it, and I'm so sorry."

House suddenly felt like he was smothering. He couldn't go on into the next topic yet, asking her for her version of details about the "good" John, those early days when John had, in a twisted way, loved him. He looked over at Jensen like a drowning man pleading for a life ring.

The throw came promptly. "That's enough for now," the psychiatrist said firmly. "We'll talk more later, but we need to take a break."

House got up, walking over to the window and back, stopping with one hand resting on his piano. It steadied him. Cuddy came to her feet. "Anybody want some coffee?"

"There's the fudge, too," Jensen said. "I brought two containers of that, one for Dr. House privately, one general." Both he and Cuddy were acting normal, letting the other two settle down, and House was grateful to them.

"That sounds wonderful," Blythe said. She gave a final look at her son, then stood up with her quad cane to head for the kitchen to help with the coffee. "So, Dr. Jensen, how is your daughter doing?"

By the time the girls woke up from their nap, there was nothing in the atmosphere to show that the adults weren't simply a group of friends and family, getting together for Christmas.