A/N: Here's another installment. Don't expect this posting pace to continue; work has been very slow this week due to the holiday. That should (hopefully) change back to normal levels next week.

(H/C)

Later that night, after the girls were in bed, the group reassembled in the living room. The afternoon with the girls had been pure recreation, mostly playing outside in the new-fallen snow, but both Blythe and House would drift off into thought at intervals, slightly distanced from the games. Jensen, watching them closely, thought again that they might not get through six sessions of this and last all the way through Wednesday. If he thought they'd hit the limit for the visit as a whole, he would insist on stopping. He just hoped they would listen to him, though House had agreed to already. He might still get stubborn in the heat of the moment, though. Blythe was shaken from this afternoon but still was eager to get it all out there. She didn't think anymore that five minutes of apology would cover it, as she had at first, but the psychiatrist was afraid she was still expecting things by the end of these talks to be fixed. The most possible, he thought, was progress and better understanding in their relationship. Things would never be fixed.

It was House, however, who was first out of the gate as they all got settled again, including Belle, sitting tall and attentive on the couch arm next to House like a second official moderator. "Mom," House said. "This afternoon, you said you were used to the woman's place is in the house attitude and didn't question it. Did your father ever . . ." He stopped, unable to voice the possibility that he had wondered about in horror for the last hour. He had only really had a chance to interact with one of his four grandparents, Oma, her mother, Abigail. He didn't remember the others, didn't really know what they had been like.

Blythe shook her head quickly. "No, no, Greg. Nothing like that. Dad was strict, but that was just how it was. He spanked me twice over my childhood years, but I must say, I had it coming both times, definitely had defied him, and it wasn't excessive. He never scared me at all. But he . . . it's hard to describe when I didn't know anything different. He was absolutely in charge of finances. He was the breadwinner, gave Mom a household budget and kept track of every cent. So when John was so particular on the money, that was just the way it was. The woman stayed at home, raised the kids, kept the house straight, and of course put on a good show at any social functions or when we had company."

She frowned suddenly. "But Mom really didn't seem to mind it. There were little moments of humor here and there, like she was laughing quietly at him sometimes while still keeping things up like he wanted. It all seemed strict on the surface, but I'm sure they really loved each other. And I know they loved me. Dad just didn't say so much."

Jensen threw in a question there. "So you were raised in the expectation that you should be a good wife and mother and never challenge your husband's leadership?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"You sounded surprised when you said your Mom really didn't seem to mind it. Of course, you wouldn't question it while you were growing up, but later, was there a time that you looked back and wondered if she had been happy that way?"

Blythe looked down briefly. "Yes," she said. She didn't expand her answer that time.

House took a deep breath and took the plunge, though he still made the question general, not yet zeroing in. "What was life with John like? For you, I mean." He shuddered, remembering all too well what it had been like for him. Cuddy put a hand on his left hand, and simultaneously, Belle put a paw on his right. House looked from one to the other of them and shook his head. Blythe smiled, and Jensen managed not to.

"John was . . ." Blythe started slowly, thinking through it. "When we first started dating, he was charming." House nearly dropped his teeth. He never would have put that word to John House. "Oh, yes, he was. He could smile and really come across well."

House suddenly remembered many group encounters where John had done just that, the image so far from the truth. "He could act," he snapped. Both of his women tightened up the grip a little on his hands.

Blythe looked surprised. "I wasn't thinking of it that way back then, but . . . yes, I guess he could." She looked from her son to Jensen and back. "Are you sure that he wasn't actually a pilot?"

"Positive," House replied. "This is straight from a very high-ranking Marine. He even got into the closed files later, like that flight school incident, once I . . . once Thornton asked him to." Without even questioning. House had the direct emails forwarded, and the general had never once asked Thornton in each round of questions why he wanted to know, just said he was sure there was a good reason.

"He would have had to keep that up for our whole marriage," Blythe said. "And . . . not that he communicated with his parents much. I don't think he was close to them at all. But he said once in flight school that his father had been a pilot. I wonder if he kept lying to him, too."

House and Jensen both reacted sharply to that information, sitting up straighter. "His father was a pilot?" Jensen asked.

"Yes. He served in combat in World War II, and he was quite a good one. The one time John mentioned that, it was back in flight school, and he said he had to make his father proud. Something like that."

"Name," House said sharply. He stood up, shaking off Cuddy and Belle.

"What is it, Greg?" Blythe looked up at him, confused.

"What was his name?" House couldn't quite keep the impatience with her slower mind out of his voice.

"His father's name was Charles. Charles House."

House limped quickly to the desk, fetching his laptop. He returned to the couch and switched it on. "Do you have any idea roughly when he was born? Or where?"

"They can pull it from John's enlistment records," Jensen reminded him. House gave an impatient click on the email icon. Of course they could, and he should have thought of that himself. He quickly typed off a one-line message to Thornton asking for complete service details, in particular combat and flight details, on Charles House. "I'll bet it was true," Jensen said, watching him. "Probably true with so much proof that John couldn't possibly question it. Things like pictures of him flying and flight-related awards visible in the house. That would make getting kicked out of flight school at the end that much more of a failure for John. He probably did lie to them as well as you, Mrs. House."

House hit send and put the laptop down on the coffee table. Cuddy, watching him, suddenly realized that House honestly had not known the name of his alleged paternal grandfather. What sort of a dysfunctional statement about the family was that? "Did. . ." She remembered that she was supposed to keep it zipped as Jensen looked at her.

"What?" House asked.

"You didn't know his name. I know he died earlier, but wasn't he even mentioned in the house when you grew up? He was supposedly your grandfather, after all."

House unfortunately took that as a sideways comparison to the situation right now with Thornton and his concealing him from the girls. She saw the flash of anger in his eyes. Blythe, though, missed the subtext and simply answered the question, giving Cuddy a chance to pick up his hand without being obvious about it, a silent apology. "John almost never talked about his parents, and they never visited, although they didn't live too much longer after we got together. He got a letter once in a while from his mother, but I never got to read them until years later, after John died. I mentioned that last one to you, Greg, back when I came up for the wedding. That was the letter after his father had died."

"Oh, yes, the one that explained him." He sighed. Might as well dig up another yellow-jacket nest while they were at it. "What did it say, Mom?"

"His mother said how she knew his father could be so strict sometimes, but that was just the way he was raised, and she knew that John never got along with him, but John had been hot-headed and defiant, too, as a kid and needed a firm hand. She said his father had just wanted to teach him discipline and 'toughen him up'" - her tone obviously put that phrase in quotes - "and that he really had loved him and meant well, even if they never got along." Blythe looked straight at her son. "It honestly reminded me of me, Greg. Of seeing only part of what had been there. It made me wonder, since I knew by the time I read it how much else there was, what his father had really been like."

The room was silent for a minute. House then dodged sharply, tossing John's childhood aside and returning to Blythe's marriage. "So John was putting on the act when you started dating, trying to sell himself. What then?"

"Well, when we got married, he wanted to have full control of the finances and wanted me to just run the house and have kids, but like I said, I never questioned that. It seemed like what Dad and Mom had done."

"And full control of the mail?" Jensen asked.

"That . . . that came a little later. That wasn't at first. Eventually, yes. It seemed odd to me - Dad never did that - but John acted like it really mattered to him. It wasn't worth making a fuss over."

"Did that with the mail start when I was three?" House asked. Maybe John thought she and Thornton were still having a mail affair.

"No, dear, that was a lot earlier. Before I got pregnant, even. I'd say we'd been married maybe two years when he started acting odd with the mail."

"How long before you got pregnant?" Jensen asked.

"Three years."

"And you had been trying all along?"

"Oh, yes. He always talked about having a son, a chip off the old block, he'd say, a piece of him." House shivered sharply there, enough to distract Blythe, although she managed not to ask right then, just giving him a few seconds. Cuddy squeezed his hand more tightly, and Belle moved from the arm of the couch to his bad leg, arraying herself carefully, and started to knead.

Jensen smoothly continued, keeping control of the questions for the moment and letting House take a break. "So after two years of trying and failing to get you pregnant, John's attitude started getting more suspicious."

"I . . . yes, I guess. I didn't think of it as suspicious; I just thought he was disappointed and tense."

"He was probably feeling inadequate as a man. That might make him wonder if you were communicating with other men on the side."

Blythe straightened up defensively. "I never did anything like that."

House actually laughed there, relaxing a fraction. "You definitely did do something like that at least once, Mom."

Blythe bristled. "That was a one-time lapse, Gregory, and it wasn't intentional. We hadn't planned it, either of us. We both immediately said it was a mistake, too. I definitely was not going around cheating on my husband or always looking at other men."

"Why?" House asked abruptly. "So you're saying one time in 50 years of marriage you cheated, and that night was the only time the thought ever crossed your mind of getting something on the side. So why pick Thornton? What was so great about him?"

"I didn't pick him. It just happened."

Jensen stepped in again. "How did it happen, Mrs. House?"

"John was off on maneuvers. Thomas had met him in boot camp but had been other places for three years after that. When he first got assigned to the base we were at, John remembered him from boot camp, and he invited him home. I think he wanted to show me off a little, actually. Thomas was very nice and mannerly. Then later, when John was gone for a few weeks, I happened to bump into Thomas in a store, and he was asking how I was. He . . . he sounded interested. Not interested like he was on the make, but like he actually cared about the answer. So many people don't, you know. They just ask as something to say. So I invited Thomas home for dinner."

"Without your husband there," House noted. "How many times had you done that before?"

"Never, Greg. But it wasn't like that; I just invited him as a friend. He'd already been to the house before a few times, and John had told him he needed to come again." She squirmed a little, and Jensen wondered if that had also been a mini act of defiance from the controlled wife in her husband's absence. Not intended cheating, simply doing something without his permission first.

House's attention was caught on another point. "He kept inviting Thornton home?"

"Yes, Greg."

"Focused on him specifically? That didn't happen with a lot of others?"

"No. We didn't usually have repeat visitors at home, especially that often. It was odd, come to think of it."

"What did they talk about whenever he came?"

"John . . . I swear, Greg, like I said, I think he was showing me off. Thomas wasn't married yet, and John kept saying what a good wife he'd found."

"Rubbing his nose in it?" House suggested. "One-ups-manship? First place in the wife sweepstakes?"

"Probably," Jensen confirmed, though Blythe still looked dubious.

"I never thought of it like that. But back to that night, he came over for dinner, just as a friend. When we were talking, he . . . like I said, he really seemed interested in how things were going, and I wound up telling him more than I should."

"What did you tell him?" Jensen asked.

She looked down again, suddenly seeming smaller. "I told him that marriage wasn't quite what I had expected. John was getting . . . tense. I knew he wanted a son; he talked about it all the time, and I thought I was letting him down. We weren't really happy anymore, and I wished I could get pregnant for him."

"So of course Thornton unzipped and whipped it out and said he'd see what he could do about that," House suggested, sarcasm dripping off his tone. He immediately felt guilty at his mother's wounded look.

"I was the one who started things, Greg. I started crying, and . . ."

"Oh, yes, that's the start of every great one-night stand."

"Let her finish," Jensen said. There wasn't any edge on his tone, but House dropped into grudging silence.

"When I started crying, Thomas put a hand on my arm, and . . . he was gentle. His hands. Strong, but different. I wasn't used to that. He was just trying to be a friend, but when he touched me, his hands felt so different, and I kind of launched myself at him. I couldn't help it. Right then, I just couldn't help it." She blinked back tears.

There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in House's tone when he spoke again. "John wasn't ever gentle when he touched you?" he asked. "Not even at the beginning?"

Blythe looked straight at him. "I thought he was. But I didn't have anything to compare it to. And then, later, he started getting so impatient and unhappy when we couldn't get pregnant, and that always made things tense. But that night, what I felt with Thomas, starting just from him putting a hand on my arm at first. It was a different kind of strength. He was gentle and strong at the same time. I . . .I never had felt that with John. But I didn't realize it until then."

The silence extended for a moment. Jensen spoke again. "Mrs. House, how did John's attitude change once you were pregnant?"

"He was so happy. Those nine months, he really was happy. He smiled, he laughed. He opened doors, put a hand on my arm all the time. He was as happy as he ever was in our marriage, I think. Then and the first few years after you were born, Greg."

House meanwhile had his head tilted, differential going. Thornton had had that much magnetism, strength, and, okay, compassion? One touch, and she melted? He tried to remember Thornton's hands himself, but unfortunately, the few times he remembered being touched by his father on visits had come after the missed appeal for help at age six. He had been too locked up in anger to even notice what his hands felt like. Thornton had also always been careful to never get too close or seem too interested in front of John; social chances at casually touching his son had been very limited. House abruptly registered Blythe's last words, and he tensed up sharply, tweaking his leg. Here it was, the point he was dreading most of all.

Jensen looked at him for a moment, then cut her off. "I think we need to quit for tonight," he said firmly. House was obviously mentally gnawing on Thornton, and he was too tense to add Good John right on top of new information on his father. House was still having a lot of trouble processing the fact that his stepfather had once loved him and that he himself had been fooled by it. That would be a minefield.

House looked a little stubborn, but Cuddy squeezed his hand, a silent request, and he yielded.

Blythe wasn't putting up an argument, either. "Okay. I am getting tired. But one short thing I need to tell you first, Greg."

He looked over at her. "What?"

"You seem so . . . angry at Thomas. He's a good man. None of this was his fault."

Jensen spoke before House could. "That is enough for tonight," he said, and there was an edge on his tone there, not annoyance but almost military firmness. "You two don't need to talk about this anymore tonight, neither one of you. We'll get back to the past tomorrow afternoon." Blythe dropped the subject obediently.

Cuddy stood up. "Anybody want more dessert?"

(H/C)

Much later that night, House sat on the edge of their bed, staring at his right hand. On one level, he named the bones and the tendons, pictured the internal structure. On another, he wondered what his hands felt like to a woman. Or to a child. Or even to a patient. He flexed the fingers. His grandfather's hands; he knew that from the pictures. But at the moment, trying to remember Thornton's hands, whether his were similar, House couldn't call them to mind. He had never looked.

"Greg?" Cuddy's voice finally penetrated the circling thoughts. He looked up to meet her worried eyes. "What is it?"

"What . . . never mind. It doesn't matter."

She sat down on his side of the bed, tight up against him, her body reassuring. "Music," she said.

He was startled. "That's what you feel when . . . how did you know what I was thinking?"

"Pretty obvious. Right then, at least." She picked up his hand herself. "When you touch me, I feel music. That's what your hands remind me of. Sometimes it's wild and full of runs, sometimes it's playful rhythms, and sometimes it's softer and a simple melody, but it's always skillful. And no, I have never felt anything else like that. Not even close. Not from anyone."

He felt her sincerity, and part of the tension relaxed. She still had his hand and was studying it like she was memorizing it - and like she already had memorized it long since. "I think that must have been one of the first times I ever really could identify with your mother. One touch from somebody with that much intensity and true strength and still with compassion. It's a new world." She quickly moved on, though, not wanting to park on the subject of Thornton. "But I actually felt sorry for her."

"So did I." His voice was barely audible. He shook himself out of thought, turning to her. "You said sorry."

"Yes, I did." Their lips found each other, and then their hands, and Cuddy, in the moment before she was totally lost in the symphony, credited herself for the perfect metaphor.

Definitely like music.