Yes, House understood, but he also felt rightfully threatened by that understanding, causing him to revert and react in a way that those who spent a lot of time with him had grown accustomed to as the norm but that Kelly wasn't used to in that degree.

He became a complete jerk.

If Kelly hadn't been so knocked off balance by her foray back into her old life, she would have known that he was worried. What fine, upstanding humanitarian such as herself could find room in her life for a man who's priorities were largely selfish? A man who would think nothing of supporting the sex trade with his own patronage while she was committed to rescuing people from it? And because he couldn't give voice to these things, he instead gave voice to a variety of other subjects to try to draw from her the same reaction he felt he deserved for being the terrible man that he was... and not caring enough to change.

But Kelly WAS off balance, and reacted just as he wanted her to, wanted for reasons she didn't pick up on until it was too late to matter. By the time they arrived back at her parent's house, she couldn't have been happier to get out of the car and away from him.

She went to the pool and made it clear he was not invited to join her. He went to the music room and took out his frustration on the piano before calling Cuddy at home (it was the middle of the night in Jersey) and taking out his frustration on her. While Cuddy lacked the kindness and grace towards him he'd grown accustomed to from Kelly, she also knew not to take it personally, allowing him to rage about random grievances without consequences.

Usually he took more Vicodin at times like this to escape. Tonight he denied himself even the basic amount so his physical pain would distract him from whatever else he was dealing with. At least, that's how it started. Eventually it became punishment; when the pain started to overwhelm him he wouldn't allow himself the relief. Pacing made it worse instead of better, and so he paced all the more. Around and around and around his bedroom until the steeling and cursing turned to despair and tears but he would not relent.

Kelly was oblivious to all of this. If she hadn't been compelled upon waking at 4:30 a.m. to empty her bladder before returning to sleep, she never would have seen the light under his door. And if she hadn't felt lonely in her big bed on her own despite her anger towards him, she might have ignored the light and let him stew until morning.

But she had been compelled. And she had seen the light. And she had been lonely. She let herself in without knocking.

Kelly knew brokenness. She had lost her husband. She had counseled young girls who had been abandoned, abused, lied to, raped. She had travelled widely and seen the reality that hurting people faced. She KNEW brokenness. And what she saw when she opened his bedroom door broke her again.

"Greg?"

His face was white, almost grey, but he was sweating profusely. His expression changed in recognition of her presence but he ignored her, continued pacing as though if he stopped it was all over for him.

"Greg, please."

One excruciating step after another with no destination. He was sobbing audibly now.

"Dammit, Greg. STOP!" Her own tears flowed as she literally wrestled him to a halt, removing his cane from a death grip and embracing him fiercely, struggling to support his full weight as she lowered him as gently as possible to the ground. She recognized his self-abuse and was as furious as she was sad. "What are you doing?! Why did you do this to yourself?!" He was clutching at his leg now, and she moved his hands aside so she could dig her fingers into his thigh. "Have you taken anything?" He didn't answer, so she had to assume he hadn't. She dug in all his pockets until she found the Vicodin and fumbled to open the childproof cap, unsuccessful at first. "God, help me... Jesus... please...." Finally it open and its contents spilled onto her hand. "How many, Greg? How many do I give you?"

She held one to his lips but he clenched his teeth and stubbornly refused. She screamed and raged and beat at his chest, but he wouldn't cooperate, forcing her to plug his nose until he had to open his mouth to breathe. She dropped in two pills and held him down resolutely even as he gagged. When she was sure he had swallowed, she tried to haul him to his feet. "Come on, Greg; you need to help me."

She may as well have not spoken. He was overcome by his pain and no longer saw her.

"Please, God... Please, God..." Kelly chanted over and over as she struggled to get him to his feet, but he was dead weight and she couldn't manage it no matter how hard she pulled and pleaded. "Greg? I'm going to go get Daddy."

She ran up the stairs and without waking her mother dragged her father from bed. "Daddy, I need your help. Greg's leg is really bothering him, to the point where he can't walk." She tried to stay calm and sugarcoat the matter for House's sake; he would be mortified for her father to know the truth. "I've managed to medicate him, but his muscles are all tensed up and I want to get him into a hot bath. I need you to help move him. Okay?"

Philip groggily agreed and followed her wordlessly, but when he saw House's condition with his own eyes he was immediately awake. "Dear God..." He knelt beside the younger man who was trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet and was flushed and panting from the exertion. "Hang on, Dr. House. I'll help you. Kelly, run the bath. We'll meet you in there."

In the bathroom, Kelly stripped House down to his boxers while her father held him upright. Then she stood in the tub and helped to guide him in as Philip lifted him over the edge. Once he was settled, his head propped limply on a towel and his face still contorted in pain, Philip asked what more he could do.

"Nothing for now, Daddy. Once the medicine works he should be alright to get to his room on his own power; I'll come get you if we run into any more trouble." Stepping out of the tub, she thanked him and sent him back to bed, though he was reluctant to leave her. "And please don't tell mom the gory details, alright?" she added quietly. "Let him keep his dignity."

"Of course." He hugged her tightly. "I'm just upstairs if you need me."

As soon as he was gone Kelly's tears flowed again and her panic returned. She got back into the tub, kneeling beside him and massaging his leg again. "Greg? Please talk to me..."

"Morphine," he choked out, meeting her eyes desperately.

On their second night on the road she'd found the injection kit and he had claimed it was only for emergencies. "No way. You don't get to escape."

"Please..."

She wouldn't give in. Wordlessly she kept up her effort and whether through the Vicodin, the heat of the water, the massage, or some combination, he eventually started to relax, and as he relaxed so did she.

When her fingers started to prune, she drained the tub with them still in it and dried him there. Not caring that he was watching, she removed her wet clothes and donned her terry cloth robe before helping him upright and into a robe of his own. Before tying it, she pulled down his boxers and helped him step out of them.

Getting him out of the tub was a bit of a chore, but once his feet were on the ground House was able to limp slowly with her supporting him. She pulled back the covers and made him sit on the edge of the bed.

Looking at him carefully, Kelly could tell that he was still in pain, though certainly to a lesser degree. Wanting to help him sleep, she quickly formulated a plan and ordered him to stay put as she returned to the bathroom to get what she needed.

He didn't stay put. With obvious difficulty he had made his way across the room and was digging through his belongings looking for the morphine. House put up a losing fight when she discovered him and took the small case from his hands. He cursed her and made her cry, but she didn't leave or lash out, instead guiding him back to the bed.

She pushed away the blankets and lay him down without covering him. Then she turned off all the lights except the small one on the desk which cast dim shadows around the room. When her eyes adjusted, she returned to him and placed her supplies on the bedside table.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled weakly when she reached for the belt of his robe.

"Trust me," she said soothingly, pulling it open and leaving him exposed for a brief moment before laying a towel across his hips for modesty's sake. Then she squirted baby oil onto her hands, warming it between them before rubbing it into his chest and over his stomach and sides. His eyes closed and sighed.

Eventually she moved down his form and gently massaged his feet and legs, ending where she'd began in the tub with his scarred thigh and increasing the pressure.

For a moment she thought he may have fallen asleep, but that's when she saw the towel across his hips move slightly. She smiled; if his body was in a state of being able to respond to her in that way, that seemed to be a good sign.

When Kelly removed her hands from his body, his eyes fluttered open. "Don't stop."

She smiled sweetly at him as she wiped the oil from her palms and fingers on her robe and moved to stand. "You need to sleep, honey, and so do I."

He grabbed her wrist. "Please," he muttered pitifully, his exhaustion making him careless. "It hurts."

Her voice caught in her throat as she said, "I know."

Once more, neither of them were talking about his leg.

"Since you're awake, let's find you something to wear." She returned to his side with a tee-shirt and boxers and proceeded to dress him as though he was a child; he neither resisted or offered much help.

"Stay."

"I will until you fall asleep." She clicked off the lamp and climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling the covers over them both and laying across his chest.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly as his fingers caressed the back of her neck.

"I know." She lifted herself and craned her neck to kiss him soundly, determined to make him feel loved. "We'll talk about it later."

Though if it was up to him, she doubted they ever would.