Blythe's psychiatrist was located in a single-level complex of offices. House parked the van in the handicapped slot, then got out and paused, looking at the neatly mulched shrubs the whole length of the complex in between each set of office doors. Jensen joined him and followed his gaze. "I wonder if she picked her therapist based on the landscaping," the psychiatrist said.

"Probably," House agreed. "I can see her driving by and liking the look of it. It wouldn't have occurred to her to do a thorough professional review of credentials like people should."

Jensen concealed his smile, remembering that House himself had chosen him based on only two criteria: Being located out of state and having appointments available on Saturday. Jensen took a deep breath, enjoying the crisp outdoors air. It wasn't as cold today, although by no stretch of the imagination could it have passed for spring. But he was glad for this microbreak outside, a few moments of doing nothing in particular before switching gears to the upcoming appointment.

He had made it perhaps a fourth of the way through the letters in the time he'd spent fully focused on the task after they had parked at Wal-Mart and before they had left to drive across town to the psychiatrist's office. The thought had occurred to him that this was a little like unexpectedly being handed a 300-page book in the morning and being told that not only was your report on it due before the end of the day but that a large portion of the grade for this class would come from that report. The letters themselves were heartbreaking in retrospect. They might have easily been fiction, simply a letter-format story, were it not for the constant reminder that these people and the hidden background were all too real. House wasn't making the process much easier, although Jensen hadn't said anything to him. He knew the other man couldn't help the tension, the occasional curses and outbursts at his game, and the frequent quick, nervous looks. He was impressed that House had refrained from requests for a running commentary or partial report. More couldn't be expected from House, not today, not with this can of worms.

House shifted his weight and looked over. "Ready?"

"Yes." Jensen held his pace back unobtrusively to match House's, and they entered the office together. The secretary checked them in and quietly expressed sympathy over Blythe's death. House's only response was, "Yeah," as he turned away from the desk. He limped to the window, looking out it, and Jensen hoped that the psychiatrist was running fairly to schedule today.

He was. Dr. Sauer entered the small waiting room within just a minute or two of the secretary calling back on the intercom. "Dr. House," he said, offering a hand. "You have my heartfelt sympathies on your mother." He looked over curiously at Jensen, who had crossed the room right at House's side, obviously accompanying him.

"I'm Dr. Michael Jensen," the psychiatrist explained.

"Ah, yes. I spoke with you on the phone a few weeks ago. I hadn't expected . . . nice to actually meet you in person. Come in, both of you. Have a seat." He stood back, holding the door to the inner office, and House entered first. He stopped just inside, but Jensen had been expecting that and already had the brakes on as House studied the office and the seating, comparing.

This office was light both in color scheme and in the sunlight through the window. Four chairs were available but not with the range of style and placement offered in Jensen's office, and while there were books here, Jensen's had more. The desk was equally solid, though, and looked like it might well be nearly as old, perhaps an heirloom from Dr. Sauer's grandfather. Three pieces of pleasantly impersonal artwork were on the walls, and to one side, a shelf of African violets bloomed under a plant light.

She had spent hours here, House thought, talking through the past. He did a differential on the chairs and picked the one on the far side of the front of the desk closest to the violets as her most likely choice. He limped over slowly. Jensen sat down in the chair immediately to his left, and Dr. Sauer took his place behind the desk. "First, just for the formal requirement, may I see your ID?"

House produced it and passed it over. The doctor obviously had already recognized him from the media last summer, but at least he didn't say so. Jensen offered his, too, and Dr. Sauer glanced at them, then handed them back.

This meeting was an unusual request, Sauer thought, but House was Blythe's emergency contact and next-of-kin, and Blythe herself had released her therapy notes to him over a year ago when the Chandler situation had first come up. Just a few weeks ago, she also had fully authorized the telephone conference with Jensen as they prepared for the sessions in Princeton, putting no limits on discussion even though she hadn't been listening in on the call. Sauer would be completely open with them, whatever they wanted from this appointment. He looked from House - tense, under obvious strain, but with searing intelligence in the vivid blue eyes - to Jensen - steadier on the surface but with much more than merely professional interest in his own dark eyes, not to mention the fact that he had physically come across several states and left his practice for several days (assuming he, too, had been here since the funeral) to be with House right now. These two were more than just patient and psychiatrist. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

House led off as expected. "How did Mom seem to you lately?"

"The last time I saw her, the last several times, in fact, she was very much anticipating the Christmas visit to Princeton. She wanted to see you and your family and was excited about that. When you decided to add in the talks about the past, she was looking forward to the visit even more. I'm sure you realize this, but she had wanted to have a good sit-down session with you to discuss things in depth for a long time. I had often explained to her why that wasn't realistic and that it was going to take time even in small doses. I also told her in December that this visit almost certainly wouldn't cover everything and box it up neatly like she wished it could, but she was very glad you were going to be talking about the past more together."

House nodded. Blythe had wanted to talk about everything since the day of her discovery, rehashing the past, apologizing, and getting it behind them. "How did she seem physically? Any recent differences?"

Sauer had thought that one over a few times since receiving the news. "No. She never totally shook off the effects of that accident a few years ago, but she seemed just the same as her post-accident baseline. Hadn't lost weight. She didn't seem tired to me at all, although I only saw her in the office setting, and she was usually wound up a little for appointments. We'd covered a lot of emotionally charged ground in those sessions. She found it helpful, but I'm sure she geared herself up for them in advance."

House's eyes were blue lasers, the focus so intent that Sauer could easily understand right now certain aspects - positive and negative - of his reputation. "In all that emotionally charged ground," House challenged, "she never once showed physical symptoms?"

"No," Sauer replied, his voice even. Obviously, House was feeling some guilt over not noticing anything himself, which made perfect sense psychiatrically. "I have seen her get upset many times, to the point of tears even, as we discussed the past. But there was never anything that made me suspect physical symptoms. If she was having them, I think she was probably refusing to admit their seriousness even to herself, and she believed that so strongly that they honestly did not show."

Jensen spoke up. "You said you had asked her a few times about her medical health."

"Yes, I had. On her initial paperwork and workup, and of course, it came up after she was hit by that car. I expected some possible disability issues there because of the cane, but those didn't develop." That was a prime piece of emotionally charged ground itself in front of House, and he held eye contact, careful not to give even the suggestion of a look at the other man's leg. "I would ask her at least every couple of months if there was anything new physically going on, and I did ask if she was regularly following with a doctor."

"And she said she was," House filled in. Sauer nodded. "Trouble is, her doctor doesn't confirm that. We haven't talked to him yet, will this afternoon, but according to the office manager, she was overdue for a physical and hadn't been in for a while until she made an acute appointment in early December when she complained of fatigue and GI symptoms. They recommended full workup immediately, including cardiac. She put it off." He stared at Sauer, dissecting his reaction. "She never mentioned any of that to you?"

"No. I didn't know she was having any symptoms, and I definitely didn't know she'd been to the doctor recently or that he'd recommended more testing." He looked at Jensen. "I would have told you that when we spoke. Everything she showed me throughout December was purely anticipation of the upcoming visit."

House sighed and drummed his fingers against his cane handle in a quick, annoyed rhythm, though Jensen couldn't help noticing the precision even then and wondering what subconscious song it matched. "What was your opinion of her reality orientation?" Jensen asked.

"It was definitely lacking in some areas. Not to the point of being delusional - at least not currently - but she certainly engaged in magical thinking at times. I don't believe she did lie to me in December, for instance, or to you all at Princeton about her physical condition. I think she must have actually believed herself that nothing serious was wrong, or that it would wait nicely in line. The belief almost became the reality, at least in her mind."

House gripped the cane tighter. "In those sessions, you talked about me and John all the time, right?"

"Almost exclusively, yes. And her missing it. She felt extreme guilt over that, combined with a wish still to somehow make it right. We had many sessions on that."

"How much did she mention -" House hesitated. "Thornton?"

Sauer's eyes narrowed. "Who is Thornton?"

House looked over at Jensen, and Sauer could almost see the baton passed. Jensen was quick to grasp it. "Thomas Thornton." He paused long enough to see if the first name rang a bell, but Sauer clearly hadn't ever heard it. "Dr. House's biological father."

"Oh. She mentioned him once or maybe twice but not by name. It was just in passing. I tried probing for details once when she said that John hadn't been your father, but she just said it was a one-time mistake that they both regretted. Not that she regretted you, understand, Dr. House, but morally, she thought cheating as a married woman had been wrong. But in the catalog of her regrets, cheating on John was minor. We weren't short of other larger material to talk about, and that point didn't seem emotionally charged for her. Her cheating would have predated almost everything we discussed."

"Those one or two times happened when, exactly?" House pushed.

"Right close to the beginning of our appointments. Probably within the first six months."

"It was in the notes," Jensen reminded House.

"Not since then?" House demanded. "Specifically about the time of the trial last summer or right after that. He never came up in a session then?"

"No."

House wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or more guilty over that. Blythe had fretted over his mandate and his relationship to the man; that was the whole context of that letter. But she had never mentioned it in the confidentiality of this room where she could have, where he himself had given her permission to talk openly about him and the past. Was that due to that selective ignoring of things Sauer had mentioned or to her automatic respect for his commanded limits? "Did she. . ." He paused, trying to phrase it. "Did you often get the feeling from her in sessions that there were a lot of things she didn't want to talk about yet?"

"Not at all. I'm assuming we're speaking purely in the psychiatric field at the moment and not about her hiding physical symptoms. She was very invested in sessions, even overeager. I was the one who had to gauge discussions and pace it out. She wanted to talk about things, and she gladly would have pushed it beyond her physical limits and taken several hours of sessions in a row."

House snapped to attention. "So you did see her physical limits at times."

"No, I didn't. But I think that if I hadn't been firm in ending sessions at times and only taking this in 1-hour bites, I might have seen them. It never got that far; I was only referring to the potential."

House was silent, absorbing that. Jensen gave him a moment, then asked his own question. "So you think she was potentially capable of ignoring physical limits when she was talking about something she was invested in emotionally?"

"Yes. She was . . . incredibly good at believing what she wanted to. But I don't think that the setup you described in our phone call, two hours max per day for three days with a several-hour break of family time in between the two, should have pushed those limits. Of course, none of us knew about the acute physical symptoms at the moment."

"She did," House growled.

"None of us except her. The obituary said that she died in her sleep during the night Tuesday. I believe it specifically said quietly."

House looked startled there. He hadn't read the obituary; Thornton must have written it. Jensen, who had read it, nodded. "It did say quietly. Furthermore, it's true. It wasn't during one of our discussions. She died in her sleep of a heart attack several hours after stopping." He left out the bathroom light and the signs that she hadn't been feeling well when she made the choice to go to bed instead of seeking help from the two doctors right down the same hall.

Sauer's expression was full of regret. "I wish she'd talked to me about that doctor's appointment or her symptoms, but really, from what I know and from watching her over the years, none of us have anything to blame ourselves for in her death. She had every chance to speak up and didn't. It also sounds like it might well have happened anyway, either from the excitement of the trip or even back at home." House didn't look convinced. Jensen absorbed it but with the air of a calculation going on, a careful balancing of how that opinion fit on the scales. "One other thing, Dr. House." He waited for House to look up. "I have noticed a distinct change in her since starting these sessions. She was much happier now than she was at first."

"She had a lot of new friends," House pointed out.

"She had made a lot of friends since John's death. He apparently absolutely stifled her, although she didn't see it that way. But she was getting more active socially after his funeral even before we started our sessions. No, I think the change in her specifically had to do with feeling that she had a better relationship than she ever had had before with you. She loved you and your wife and those girls. I don't think anything could have made her cancel that trip to Princeton, even well before you thought of adding the mutual sessions. She was excited clear back a few months in advance, talking about spending Christmas together. I don't believe any doctor on earth could have backed her out of it. She was probably happier now than she ever had been in her life."

House looked down at his fingers on the cane. Ridiculous to be comforted by that thought. Happy or miserable, she was still dead. But some part deep inside him stored up those words to replay them privately in the future.

Jensen spoke softly. "Do you want to ask him anything else?" House eyed the chart on the desk, then shook his head. He didn't need to read this one. He'd read the part up through Chandler, Episode One, already and had been reduced to tears by the revisiting of the past, in spite of the professional phrasing. He'd take the man's word for it that there was nothing new there since. This afternoon with the medical doc, yes, he wanted to see every last lab report, but he didn't want the psych notes.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Sauer." Jensen was speaking again, House realized, and Sauer was giving polite pleasantries in return. House hauled himself to his feet, and the two of them left the office.

Outside in the van, House just sat there for a moment in the driver's seat thinking. Jensen said nothing, giving him space. "What did the obituary say?" he finally asked.

"It was focused on her family - John got one brief mention and that was it, name only, no details, but you and Dr. Cuddy and the girls were listed. It mentioned her activities and the groups she was in lately and her volunteer work at the cancer hospital. Also that she loved flowers. It did say that she died quietly in her sleep Tuesday night. When you want to see it -"

"I don't want to see it," House interrupted.

"When you're ready to, I'm sure Dr. Cuddy kept a copy on file."

One corner of House's lip quirked upward. "I'm sure she did," he agreed. He sat there for a moment thinking, then glanced at the box of letters in the back seat, then at Jensen, then at his watch. He turned on the ignition. "Let's get lunch first before hitting the rest of it," he said, and there was a silent acknowledgement in the look at Jensen, although his hand also crept a quarter of the way toward his leg. He was due for meds.

"What about Chinese?" Jensen suggested.

"If we can find one that doesn't look like their daily special is food poisoning." He pulled out onto the road. "Not a bad shrink, but he needs more comfortable chairs."

"And a guitar," Jensen agreed. "African violets are a nice touch, but sometimes, you just need a guitar." House relaxed a little more and started scanning the businesses, looking for a Chinese place.

It didn't take long to find one. Over the meal, they talked mostly about music. House, without a word, picked up the check. Jensen, without drawing emphasis to it, let him. Then they returned to the van and headed again toward Wal-Mart, the box of letters waiting behind them on the middle seat, visible in the rear-view mirror.