A/N: Thanks to the lovely and talented GratefulInsomniac and Madfashionista for their wit, wisdom and advice in this chapter.

It was Tuesday morning and time again for House's therapy session with Nolan followed by his physical therapy in Princeton. House offered to cancel to spend time with his mother but she encouraged him to go. She was planning to meet up with an old college friend who lived in Delaware.

"Mom I can take the motorcycle to Philly if you want to borrow my car," he told her.

"Nonsense dear, Phyllis is picking me up, I'll be fine. We'll have lunch, go shopping, and make a day of it. I haven't seen her in a few years so I won't be back until this evening."

"Go for it. It's a long day for me anyway."

Blythe kissed her son goodbye and returned to reading the morning paper.

Two hours later, House made his way into Nolan's office wondering where he would start in regards to the discussions he'd been having with his mother. He plopped himself down in his favorite recliner in Nolan's office. For the next forty-five minutes House did most of the talking which surprised Nolan considering he usually had to use some encouragement to get House to open up.

"Yeah, she knows I'm an ass and she loves me anyway. Go figure." House said as he twirled his cane in his hands.

"Well." said Nolan, "unconditional love is a fantasy. But you have the right to be loved by your mother."

"After everything I've done?"

"Some would say that from the moment you were born her job was to do everything within her power to prepare you for entering the world on your own. Your mistakes and unhappiness weigh not just on you but her too. She sees them as her own failures. "

"She shouldn't."

"But she does. She'll blame herself, it's what parents do."

"I'm going to tell her about Cuddy."

This caught Nolan by surprise.

"Have you thought much about how to tell her?" Nolan asked. "It may not be easy."

"I'll play it by ear. She knows some but not all. She deserves to know the truth."

"You're making real strides here," said Nolan with a smile.

House arrived back at his apartment just after five-thirty. As was the case every Tuesday he was exhausted from his therapy sessions. He grabbed his mail and as he entered the apartment he threw it and his backpack on the table by the door. He quickly showered and relaxed on the couch with a medical journal. An hour later his mother returned home. She took a seat on the couch next to him, noticing he looked tired.

"How was therapy?" She asked.

"It was therapy."

"We can turn in early if you like; get a good night's sleep."

"No it's fine, too early for me anyway," he said. Turning to her he asked, "How was your day?"

"I had a wonderful day today with Phyllis. We caught up on quite a bit. I've really missed her. We promised to meet up at least once a year. "

"Huh," he replied.

House went back to reading his journal while his mother worked on a crossword puzzle. A bit later House set the journal down and took off his glasses. He sat in deep thought while the fingers of his left hand tapped nervously on the arm of the couch.

"You seem restless," she said.

"Just thinking."

"You know I've really enjoyed our visit," she told him.

"Yeah, me too," he replied.

"I'm glad we had a chance to talk about some things, it's been too long."

House nodded.

"I appreciate you trusting me enough Greg to tell me things."

"You're welcome."

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"All I want is for you to be happy. You know that right?"

"I know mom." He sighed. "You know I don't do happy, I never have."

House could tell his mother wasn't done yet. It seemed to him she was anxious to talk but trying not to push him.

"Son, you never told me about what happened with Lisa. Would you like to talk about it?"

House stared ahead and kept playing invisible notes on the arm of the couch.

"Do you want to hear it? It's pretty ugly," he replied.

"I know. James told me some of the story. But when you were ready I hoped you would tell me. I'm okay with not knowing if you prefer."

House didn't say anything at first; he just leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. They were both quiet for a few minutes when House spoke again. To her surprise he began to tell her about Cuddy's illness and surgery. Blythe could sense the tension in her son's voice when he spoke so she said nothing, instead nodding her head every now and then encouraging him to continue. He spoke for a long time, pausing here and there to gather his thoughts.

"I don't know why I thought avoiding the situation would make me feel better. It only made me feel worse," he said, about not being there for Cuddy when she needed him.

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. A lot of good being sorry does. I was sorry for not being there for her. I had to take a pill to just be with her when she needed me. She deserved better. At first she thought I'd come through for her but later she realized I needed Vicodin to do it and like that-" he snapped his fingers, "it was over."

House got up and limped over to the window next to his piano. As he looked out the window he said suddenly, "She told me she didn't want me to change but she dumped me after a relapse."

Blythe was caught by surprise with his statement, as he had not said anything for some time.

"Did she know why you took the pill?"

"I told her I did it because I thought she was dying. She told me I took it because I was afraid to open myself up to other people's pain."

"She may be right Greg."

House turned to face his mother. "You're taking her side?"

"Greg I'm always on your side. But you hate being lied to and I'm not going to do that. We both know you've never been good at opening up about your feelings. That's only gotten worse since your surgery."

"I'm in pain, my leg hurts."

Blythe shook her head. "I know son but does being in physical pain mean you have to close yourself off from feeling anything? Does it mean you can't let yourself love and be loved? Do you have to be lonely?"

"I opened myself up to her mom, at least the best I knew how and she dumped me anyway. She didn't give me a chance. Up to that point she'd just get pissy over the little things I did or didn't do. It always seemed as if she was waiting for that one moment when I would really screw it up. It was like she was looking for a reason to break up with me."

"Greg, you don't believe that, do you?"

"Yes. We were both walking on eggshells, waiting for that big moment. We went in believing it could work without either of us making real changes..." his voice trailed off.

"The night she dumped me I sat there in the bathroom, on the floor. That was how she found me and that was how she left me. The pills were in my hand. I didn't want to take them but I knew if I did, everything would hurt less. I hoped she'd come back but she never did. I just didn't care anymore. "

"I worry about you when you say you don't care," Blythe said sadly. "You act like you don't, but you do. Sometimes I think too much."

"I did a lot of things to hurt Cuddy and screwed up my life in the process. There were times I didn't think there was anything left to live for," he said.

His mother cringed.

"Cuddy wanted to talk about our breakup. She wanted some closure, she wanted us to go back to what we were before we got together. She begged me to talk to her and I couldn't do it. I knew if we talked about it, then it really would be over. I couldn't face that. Despite everything I'd done I didn't want it to be over. She kept after me to tell her how I felt and I did, I yelled it to her face. I told her I was hurt." The tone of his voice was one of despair but he kept going. "She apologized. Then I felt so shitty for everything I'd done to her. She didn't deserve that. I told her it wasn't her fault. "

House moved over to the piano leaning on it with both hands.

"I meant it you know," he said looking up at her.

"What?" She watched him closely, his eyes seemed so full of sadness.

"It wasn't her fault. She tried. Change is hard. I should know that."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty son. If we could know the consequences of our actions beforehand life would be great. But we don't. We screw up and then we try our best to move on."

"Mom, you know why I went to prison don't you? I know Wilson told you but you don't know the details."

"I know some of the story of course thanks to James. You don't have to talk about it. I know that this is very difficult for you."

He nodded, appreciating her willingness to back off but he'd already decided to tell her.

"Wilson came over to check on me and invited me out for drinks. I figured what the hell. Before we left I got it into my head that I wanted to see her, just try maybe one last time to talk, away from the hospital, just to figure things out. I used her hairbrush as an excuse because earlier that day she'd asked me to return it. I didn't really have a plan but figured since Rachel would still be in school, at least she and I could talk uninterrupted. On my way to her front door, I saw her in the dining room having coffee with her sister and brother-in-law and some other guy I didn't recognize." His voice cracked slightly.

"This guy was smiling at her and she was smiling at him. She told me that morning she wasn't seeing anyone but there was some guy sitting at the table where I should've been. I felt like my guts were ripped out. I mean I'd been drinking and taking pills for weeks, I married a woman I didn't even know so she could get a green card, I was ruining my life doing one stupid thing after another because I couldn't move on and there she was living her life. She'd moved on and I couldn't. I didn't want to. I didn't even want to live if I couldn't be with her. I couldn't let her see me out there and so I went back to the car and told Wilson to get the hell out. I got in and took off."

"Where were you planning on going?" She asked.

"I don't know. My shrink asked me once what I felt at that moment. It all seems like a blur now, a bad dream. But I remember feeling empty like there was nothing left inside me, no feeling at all. As I took off down the street my first thought was to drive that car into a tree or drive off the nearest bridge. I didn't give a damn where I went just as long as I just got it over with soon. "

Blythe had tears in her eyes. It was hard listening to her son talk about wanting to end his life.

"All of a sudden out of nowhere it hit me. I started feeling sorry for myself and then I started feeling angry. Everything bad that happened to me in my life over the years just hit me at once. I turned the car around and suddenly I headed towards her house. I don't know why I did it, I didn't want to hurt her, God I'd never-." He just stopped and looked at his mother with red-rimmed eyes. He was fighting the tears. He was adamant he would not let them fall.

"I'd kill myself first before I hurt her and yet I drove my car right into her house. I got out of the car and handed her the hairbrush and walked way. Like a coward I just walked away. When I got to my apartment I realized just what I'd done and in a panic I packed a few things and headed out of the country. I had no idea where I was going."

"Greg" was the only thing Blythe could manage to get out at the moment.

"I was gone a few weeks but I felt guilty about what I did. I left her behind to deal with the fallout. I called my lawyer and told him to do whatever he had to do. I came back and turned myself in; he convinced them I wasn't in my right mind. I know I wasn't but I deserved to pay. I ruined her life. I ruined mine. I was wrong doing what I did to her. Every day I wish I could undo it but I can't. "

Blythe let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Greg, I am so sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything," he said.

"I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry for all the pain you have endured in your life that led you to this point. I am also sorry for you and Lisa. I know how much you loved each other," she said.

He just looked at her surprised at how much she knew about his relationship with Cuddy.

"Have you talked to Lisa since?"

"Not in person. She never wanted to see me again and moved away a few months after it happened. I was already in prison. When I got out, came back here, she was long gone. She's in Boston," he paused a moment, "I wrote her a letter."

"You did?"

"Nolan told me to try writing therapy. He meant a journal but when I started writing I realized I wanted to write her. I apologized for everything. I tried to be honest with her."

"Oh my Greg. That's a big step for you."

"Yep. She wrote me back too. She forgave me mom. Can you believe it? I nearly ruined her life and she forgave me. I still don't understand why."

"Oh Greg!" She leaned over and hugged him. He accepted it though he felt awkward at this open display of physical affection with her. "Mom it's okay she just forgave me, we're not getting married."

"I know dear but forgiveness is a powerful thing. You have no idea what it can do for a person."

"Actually I do."

"Greg?"

"Yeah mom."

"May I ask why you are being so open with me? Don't get me wrong, I am eternally thankful but it's such a different side of you, one I have never seen but one I absolutely love."

House thought about it for a moment. "Mom, you've always been there for me even when I didn't deserve it. Everything in me that's good is because of you. Being honest with you is my way of saying thanks—for that and for never losing faith in me. "

"I just want you to be—less miserable." She smiled and he smiled back. He knew she wanted him to be happy but she knew he'd settle for less miserable. "I want you to know I'm very proud of you for having the courage to keep going. I know it's not easy for you."

He gave her a tired smile. She knew he was exhausted. They'd been talking several hours already.

"Come on Greg, let's get some sleep. We've got to get up early in the morning."

House nodded and went into the linen closet to get her sheets and blanket for the couch.

"Mom, can I ask you something?" he asked on his way back into the living room.

"Of course dear."

He helped her make up the couch. "I'm an addict and an ex-con. I'm rude and abrasive. I've wrecked my life so many times I can't even count. Why do you still put up with me?"

Blythe sighed. Maybe he never would understand but she would never stop telling him the reason.

"Greg, if you had a child of your own I know it would make sense. You are a part of me; I carried you inside my body for nine months. I gave birth to you, I raised you. You're my son. Greg, you are a good person, with have a good heart. You deserve love and happiness even though you don't think you deserve it. You are as deserving and worthy as anyone else. I will always love you and support you no matter what."

House didn't know what to say. He looked down at the floor. She moved in front of him and lifted his chin so she could look into his eyes. "Gregory, you have always been a fighter. You will occasionally take a step backwards and that's okay, just always keep trying. I promise you that as long as you never give up, you will eventually find what you want in life. I believe in you. Now it's time for you to believe in yourself."

House smiled at his mom. It made him feel good to know that with everything he's done, there was one person in the world who loved him no matter what.

The next morning House and Blythe woke up early to have breakfast with Wilson before going to the airport. When Blythe gave her son a hug, he not only accepted but also returned it in a way he hadn't done in a long time. He wasn't used to public displays of affection but the visit with his mother had been more than he'd ever imagined. He felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders after having talked to his mother about his relationship with Cuddy and the aftermath of the breakup.

House called Chase on his way home to see if they had any cases. To his relief there was none. He felt like being alone the rest of the day just letting the events of the past few days sink in. When he got home, House threw his keys on the table by the door and then noticed yesterday's mail was still there. He flipped through it quickly with little interest until he came across a white envelope with handwriting he recognized immediately. It was the perfect left-handed script of one Lisa Cuddy. He limped into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and made himself comfortable on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Dear House,

It's late Friday night, Rachel is asleep and I felt like writing you. I'm really tired but it feels good to just write.

I attended a function this evening, it was a meet and greet for the new fellows in our program. We had a nice time and after it was over, I sat at the bar finishing my glass of wine. A guy approached me, a doctor at the hospital. We exchanged pleasantries and then he began acting like a lecherous asshole. I got home fine, no worries but sitting here thinking about it reminded me of how you would have handled it if you'd seen him in action.

You were always so possessive. I remember the way you used to look at me, like you were undressing me with your eyes. I'd make it clear to everyone around us that I found it utterly disgusting but secretly I loved it. You're the only man who could ever make my spine tingle just looking at me. You do know how to make a woman feel sexy and there were moments when I needed to feel it. Looking back I miss the times you made me feel special. You always had your own unique ways of showing me you cared.

I will probably struggle with loving you and hating you for awhile. Okay I don't really hate you it's just that at times when I really miss you and miss my life in Princeton I can't help but think of what happened and it still hurts. I know I can tell you this and you understand that while I still forgive you it's hard to let go of the hurt completely. I know in time it will get better, in fact it already has. They say time heals all wounds. It sounds completely ridiculous but wouldn't you agree it's true?

Rachel is doing well; she's going to be starting music classes soon. There's an after-school program where kids have the opportunity to learn sports and take art, music and dance classes. Rachel wants to learn music. I can't believe it; my little girl wants to learn to play the piano! I thought you would appreciate that. Do you think that those times you let her play yours may have sparked her interest? There are times like this I wonder what she would be like if she were my biological child. What would she have inherited from me? I know that you would say how it's how I raise her that matters, but you know how I can be sometimes.

Rachel talks about you and asks about you quite often. You're probably wondering what I've been telling her all this time. I told her that you were sick and needed help. I did not tell her you went to jail; she is too young to understand that. It's not really a lie, I believe you were sick. Now you are getting help and that's what matters.

How are things with Dr. Nolan? If you care to share your experiences in therapy with me I would like to hear them. I know that it's always been difficult for you to share your feelings. I hope that you are doing it. I wish I'd done more in our relationship to encourage you to talk to me. I didn't want to push too much because I didn't want you to run away. Looking back, I could have encouraged you more, let you know you could talk to me and trust me. Maybe it would have made a difference.

How is your physical therapy coming along? From what you told me, it's been a great help. For that I am glad. How has it helped with your daily pain? I know it was worse for you in the morning. I used to watch you get out of bed and while I did not pity you—I know how you feel about that—I wished there was something I could do to help ease your pain. I watched you at times you didn't think I was looking. You struggled so much sometimes when your leg hurt yet you tried not to let it show and you never gave up. I was proud of you for working so hard to stay off the Vicodin. I never gave you enough credit for the way you fought that addiction every day. I should have supported you more in that, I'm so sorry I didn't. I want you to know I am proud of you for taking charge of your life and your pain.

I have to get up early tomorrow so I'll sign off for now. It's hard to believe that with everything that's happened between us, we're actually writing one another. It's actually therapeutic for me. I feel better when I write you. Some people would think it's lunacy but I don't care.

Take care of yourself and please write soon, if you want to that is.

Love, Cuddy

House couldn't help the smile on his face after reading the letter. She was being cautious but honest. Baby steps. He thought about Rachel and the piano. He'd showed her how to play a few notes on nights she and Cuddy spent at his apartment. Rachel loved the sound of the piano and when he played she would run over to him as fast as her little legs could carry her and put her arms up in the air indicating she wanted him to pick her up. She'd sit in his lap when he played. Cuddy had caught them that way once when she'd gotten out of the shower. He'd made her promise not to tell anyone; after all he had a reputation to uphold.

House rubbed his right thigh vigorously. It hurt from the day's physical therapy. He got up from the couch, taking the letter with him. He turned off all the lights and limped slowly into his bedroom. After changing into a tee shirt and sweatpants he tucked the letter into his nightstand and crawled into bed. The bedroom was dark except for a sliver of moonlight that shined through the window onto his bed. He looked at the silhouette of the picture frame on his nightstand. He'd become quite fond of looking at that picture every night before he fell asleep. Tonight was no different. He took the picture of Cuddy and Rachel off the nightstand and held it to his chest as he fell asleep.