(Doctor Gregory House and other canon characters featured in this work of fiction belong to NBC/Universal and David Shore. Original characters are my creation. I make no money from writing these stories, it's done for pure enjoyment. All literary passages, quotes and song lyrics are used without permission; I do not own them or make money from using them.)

February 1st

Sarah climbed into the minivan, pulled the door shut and sat there. Bright sunshine shone from a brilliantly blue sky, to highlight road-grime spots on the windshield. She stared at them, then smacked the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, and started up the engine.

On the long drive home she brooded silently over the humiliation of the past two hours. The more she thought about it, the more it stung her. What the hell was she supposed to do now? All her plans were in disarray, ruined, blown up, smoking rubble . . . She snorted at her drama-queen histrionics and concentrated on finding the right exit. While her imagery might be a little overblown, the sentiment was spot on, as Prof would say. Prof . . . her heart sank. She'd have to tell him about this; she didn't even want to think about the rich pickings this would offer her analyst. The realization came along with another one—she'd just missed her exit.

It took her half an hour longer to get home than she'd planned. By the time she arrived she barely had time to change out of her suit and heels and into her work clothes. She gave in to a childish whim and hurled her jacket and skirt into a corner, even though she knew it would cost her a dry cleaning bill she could ill afford at the moment. For good measure the shoes followed. "Fuck it," she growled, and slammed the bedroom door behind her.

When she arrived at work, Lou was in the kitchen. He took one look at her and without comment, made himself scarce. Sarah put on her apron, tied a bandana on her head and washed her hands, only to find there were no paper towels in the dispenser. She stalked to the supply closet, grabbed a roll and stuffed it into place, yanked on the first sheet and watched the entire roll detach itself and bound across the kitchen, to unwind with merry abandon the whole way. Sarah closed her eyes and counted to ten as fury threatened to make her explode like a stick of dynamite. At last she gathered up the toweling and stuffed it in the trash, turned on her heel and found Lou, who hid at the front station, counting silverware. "I know I just got here, but I need to call someone." She struggled to keep her tone calm. "How-how about I make it an early break and work straight through the rest of my hours?"

Lou glanced at her, then away. "Okay," he said. Sarah nodded.

"Thanks."

She ended up perched on a stool at the prep table, phone in hand. Prof answered in two rings. "Sarah, my love! What a delight to hear from you on such a beautiful sunlit Friday. How are you?"

"You should be careful about asking loaded questions," Sarah said, but she already felt a little better. "I'm—I'm a little, um . . . oh hell, I'm a walking disaster. How are you?"

Gordon chuckled. "I think we'd do best to stay with your well-being, for the moment at least. Fortunately you've caught me at an opportune time. Are you at home? May we speak at length?"

"I'm at work, but my boss gave me an early break. Well . . . I told him I was taking one," she amended. Might as well be honest from the start.

"I see. So what has you all het up, my sweeting? Advise me as to details."

Sarah hesitated. "This is gonna sound so stupid."

"Come come, you know me better than that. Unburden yourself, dear girl. You'll feel all the better for it." Gordon sounded impatient, but kind with it.

She sighed. "Yeah. Okay." She took a breath. "This morning . . . I had my appointment with the state board—you know, to get my license to practice renewed."

"Ah, that's wonderful news!" He paused. "Isn't it?"

"Well . . ." She fidgeted. "They want me to take a class."

"I see . . . ?" Sarah heard the question in the statement.

"Prof, they want me to go back to school!" Renewed indignation consumed her for a moment. "Like I'm some kid fresh out of a for-profit college or something! I have three degrees, dammit! Three degrees I half-killed myself to get! I'm a PhD and I keep up with the latest advances, you know I do! What the hell do I need to go back to school for? It's fucking ridiculous!"

There was a little silence after her outburst. "All right," Gordon said at last, his tone mild. "How much school are we talking about, exactly?"

"One class." She winced when she said it. "To start with."

"Hmm. You'll forgive me for saying this, my dear, but this seems extraordinarily reactionary. To be truthful, you're the last person I'd think would be upset by this-"

Sarah's anger rekindled. "Well I am! It's—it's not like I've been gone from active work for decades!"

"No, but it has been a few years," Prof said in a reasonable tone that set her teeth on edge. "I suspect this is a broad requirement that isn't aimed at you personally, Sarah."

"It's bullshit," she snapped. "I may not have been sitting in an office with a secretary keeping track of my appointments but I was still workin', dammit! Ask Greg House!"

Gordon sighed. "Oh, my. There's a great deal going on here, isn't there?" Sarah growled. "Now now, my dear girl. You know it's true. Why don't we talk about your contretemps with the board in detail later this evening? My schedule offers a window of opportunity somewhere between nine and eleven, would that do?"

Sarah sniffed, then sighed. "Yeah, okay." She picked a bit of lint off her apron. Apologies were in order and she knew it. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"My outrageously beautiful girl of the auburn curls, you are fully as entitled as anyone else to be stroppy when the mood comes over you. Are you all right? Do you have something to keep you occupied until we can talk later?" The quiet concern, paired with his knowledge of her, helped her calm down a little more.

"Yes and yes, thank you," she said. "I'm at Lou's doing prep and orders until Jason gets here, then Marge will take over."

"Very good. However, I most humbly beg you, avoid the temptation to decapitate your erstwhile employer, if you would? He's only a man, please do keep that in mind. Besides, the world would be a sad shadow of its former self without Poppi Lou's bagna cauda . . . which, by the by, is a recipe he hasn't imparted to me as of yet."

Sarah had to smile a little. "I'll see if I can pry it out of him. Thanks, Prof."

"You're quite welcome, my dear."

She sat in the quiet kitchen for a few moments and assessed her state of mind. She felt a little better, but still antsy and edgy—spoiling for a fight, as her grandma Bailey would say. There was a part of her that loved nothing more than a good barney; no doubt she'd inherited that trait from both parents, as her mother and father had actually enjoyed the verbal and physical assaults they'd perpetrated on each other. She wanted nothing so violent, but a good argument with someone, now that held tremendous appeal at the moment.

"You here to sit or work?" Lou stood in the doorway, arms folded. Sarah counted to three. Not him and not now, she scolded, behave yourself, Corbett, and stood up.

"Work," she said. "Thanks, Lou." She forced herself to make it a polite thank you. Lou snorted.

"I don't know why you're worried about going back to school," he said. "You're more than smart enough to ace any class they make you take."

Sarah struggled between irritation at his eavesdropping and gratitude at his compliment. "Thanks," she said again. "Prof wants your bagna cauda recipe."

"Tell him he has to come down here to get it. Then he can trade me for his Yorkshire pudding." He eased away from the door and left her to her tasks.

By the time Jason arrived she was in a slightly better mood. Still, she knew the results of her morning showed when her son came to the kitchen door and stopped. His dark eyes widened, and the expression in them moved from pleasure to wariness.

"Hey," he said, quite plainly a test of the waters. Sarah wiped a smear of olive oil from the back of her hand and gave him a smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said. "How was school?"

"Okay. What's wrong?" He stayed where he was. A little ache of sadness went through her because she understood all too well why he did it.

"Had a tough morning. Nothing to do with you," she said, and moved to the wash station. "I will say this though, we're bringin' home pizza tonight. I need some time off cookin'." She wasn't about to confess that any attempt to make dinner in her own kitchen would probably end up in disaster; she'd narrowly avoided two catastrophes when she cut up vegetables and made dough during her shift. "Anyway, Dad's coming home a little later this afternoon, I'd rather spend time with him tonight."

Jason's wariness faded a little. "Yeah. That's sounds good." He unzipped his coat. "I'll ask Poppi if I can help you finish up."

"Of course you can," Lou said as he always did when Jason asked him. "It's good training. A man should know his way around a kitchen." He ruffled Jason's hair and grinned at him. "Besides, your mama needs a little spoiling, she's had a tough day, all that driving so early and bad news."

"Bad news?" Jason looked at her, alarmed. "What bad news?"

"Poppi's teasing me," Sarah said. She filched an olive slice off the pizza she made, and munched it. "It wasn't bad news, it was just—something I didn't want to hear."

"Like what?" Jason began to spread cheese over the other two pizzas. He distributed it evenly over the dough with a masterly hand, not too much or too little. Sarah admired his work; Lou's lessons had found a good home.

"I have to go back to school."

Jason glanced up at her. "But you've been to college already." He set aside the cheese container and picked up the herb-blend shaker.

"It's called continuing education," Sarah said with some reluctance. "It's a way to keep up on what's new, what's changed." Put that way, she had to face the fact that her petulance was unreasonable, which only made her more resentful.

"Okay," Jason said. He added oregano, basil and rosemary seasoning on the cheese. "That's a good idea. Isn't it?"

Sarah sighed. "Yes."

"But you don't want to do it."

She fought the urge to lie. "No, I don't."

Jason set aside the shaker and picked up the pepperoni container. "Why not? It's just school."

Sarah couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up out of her. Trust her son to put everything in perspective with the minimum amount of words. "You're right, sweetheart. Let's talk about it later, okay?"

Jason nodded. "Okay. We should do one pizza with a bunch of pepperoni for Dad, he'll like that."

"You will too, you stinker." Sarah dared to lean in and kiss the top of his head. Jason spared her a pained look.

"Mom."

"Yeah, all right. I just couldn't resist." For good measure she gave him another kiss and grinned at his disgusted groan. "I'm sorry. You're just irresistible."

Jason glared at her. "Try harder to resist," he groused, and threw a pepperoni at her when she laughed.

They brought home three large pizzas, a double order of fries and some antipasto—the last item mainly a salve for Sarah's conscience. When they pulled into the driveway it was to find Minnie Lou in her accustomed place. That meant Gene was home, as he'd taken the truck to the airport in place of a rental car, another reduction in the household budget. Sarah hoped her vehicle had behaved herself.

Gene was crashed out on the couch, but roused as they came in. He took the bags from Sarah, set them aside and took her in his arms for a lengthy, tender kiss. She held him close and took comfort in his embrace.

"Hey." He rubbed her back. "What's wrong? Was I gone too long?" His concern warmed her.

"No—well, yeah you were, but I'm not upset about that. I mean, I was, but . . ." She sighed a little. "Can we talk about it later? It's not a big deal, just—just me being stupid."

"Huh. I'll be the judge of that." He kissed her forehead. "'Elenore, gee I think you're swell,'" he whisper-sang. Sarah pulled back from him. This was an old routine between the two of them, one they both enjoyed despite appearances to the contrary.

"You're not gonna sing that damn song!" she hissed.

"'You got a thing about you/I just can't live without you/I really want you, Elenore, near me,'" he sang. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Gene—"

"'Your looks intoxicate me/even though your folks hate me/there's no one like you, Elenore, really'-"

"Stop it!" She escaped his clutches, grabbed the bags and scurried off to the kitchen. He followed her, his voice risen to dramatic proportions.

"'Elenore, gee I think you're swell/and you really do me well/you're my pride and joy et cetera—'"

Sarah put the antipasto on the counter, got out a cookie sheet and dumped the fries on it. "I'm not listening!"

"'I really think you're groovy/let's go out to a movie/what do you say now, Elenore, can we?'" Gene tried to slip his arms around her waist but she squirmed away, opened the oven door and shoved the fries inside. She caught a glimpse of Jason in the doorway, as he watched them with a blend of amusement, curiosity and apprehension that told her all she needed to know about how he felt.

"'They'll turn the lights way down low/maybe we won't watch the show' . . ." He captured her this time. "'I think I love you /Elenore, love me,'" he sang softly in her ear, and followed it with a kiss that made her melt. She brought her arms up and hugged him close to her.

"Love you too," she said, "Eugene Michael, you rotten tease," and she kissed him in return.

"Ick," Jason said, and retreated into the living room. Gene laughed against her lips.

"You forgot to turn the oven on," he said.

They had dinner in the kitchen with the radio tuned to the usual NPR station, while snow fell in slow, twisting veils past the window. "Forecast says we're gonna get a big storm Sunday night," Jason said through a mouth full of pizza.

"Oh boy," Sarah said. Now it was her turn to be a tease. "You know what that means." She ignored Gene's snort. "'No school tomorrow, no school tomorrow, no school tomorrow if it snows'—"

"Mom! That dumb song's for second graders!" Jason glared at her, but she saw reluctant amusement in his dark eyes.

"I'll remind you of that when you're sitting up in bed glued to your phone to see if the announcement's come in," Sarah said. "How bad is it supposed to be?"

"About a foot of snow, and strong winds." Jason took a black olive from the antipasto plate and popped it in his mouth. Sarah's good humor dimmed.

"We'll lose power," she said. "We'd better spend tomorrow and Sunday getting ready." After a moment Gene moved closer, put his hand on her back, rubbed it. She enjoyed the comfort he offered.

"I say we go to the movies tomorrow," Gene said. "One of my clients handed out free passes at our last meeting because we had some rough spots during the consult. I took a bunch of 'em because it just so happens it's the chain that owns our local cinema. So let's have some fun. We don't need to do that much to get ready, just bring in more firewood and fill buckets for the bathrooms."

Sarah noted the casual reference to what must have been a considerable difficulty in the course of the consultation. She'd ask him about it later. "Okay," she said aloud. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Wicked," Jason said, and attacked a huge pile of fries slathered with ketchup. Sarah was reminded of her oldest boy, which led to another thought.

"We could invite Greg and Roz to stay over on Sunday. And Clare and the babies," she said. Jason rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Full house," Gene said. His green eyes sparked with humor. "You just like bein' a surrogate grandma." He picked up another slice of pizza. "We'd need to pick up some extra milk and coffee."

"I could blend some food for the little ones now and have it on hand." Sarah glanced at Jason. "How do you feel about this?" she asked quietly.

"You both already made up your minds." Jason hunched his shoulders, but Sarah sensed his opposition had weakened. "Why bother to ask?"

"We haven't made up our minds. This is a discussion," Gene said. "If you have serious objections to people staying with us, please tell us what they are and we'll talk about it."

Jason looked at him, then Sarah. "We don't need more people here if our budget is so tight," he said.

"That's a good point," Gene said. "I still believe having those families stay with us might be a good idea, though. What do you think we could do to offset the cost if we do decide to have them stay?"

Jason considered the question. "We could always ask them to pay us something," he said slowly. "But that would be kinda rude, since we asked them in the first place." He dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it. "Maybe we could have them help out with stuff—do dishes and cook or whatever they'd be good at."

Sarah glanced at Gene, who nodded. "That's an excellent idea," he said. "If we do that, would you have any objections to some guests?"

Jason gave him a piercing look. "You're not just saying that to try to get me to agree or something, are you?"

"Well yeah, but it's still an honest question," Gene said with a grin, and dunked a pizza crust in garlic butter. "What say you?"

"What if you and Mom say yes and I say no? That's two against one."

"That's two people who agree and one who doesn't," Gene said calmly. "In this case, that means we talk about it until we can reach an agreement."

"You don't do that when I ask to stay up late," Jason muttered.

"That's something different," Sarah said. "There are some decisions parents make unilaterally because they're older and understand what's better for their kids. Anyway, you know that if you present a valid argument, sometimes you get to do things you wouldn't otherwise. 'Compromise' is a word your father and I understand very well."

"Yeah," Jason said with some reluctance, but his shoulders relaxed a little. "I guess . . . I guess they can come over."

"You're sure?" Gene sipped his beer. "You can think about it if you want to, there's time before we have to decide."

"Um, okay. How about . . . tomorrow morning?" Jason played with a fry. "We can all sleep on it."

"That's an excellent idea," Gene said. "Tomorrow morning it is, then."

"Agreed," Sarah said. "So what movies do we want to see? There's a bunch of really good ones out right now."

They turned the talk to other topics. Jason gave them a few suspicious looks, but eventually followed their lead. It wasn't until later, when he was helping Sarah with the dishes, that he said "I really don't need to wait until tomorrow . . . it's okay if we have people over." He wiped a plate dry and put it in the rack above the sink.

"Okay. Your dad will be glad to hear that," Sarah said. "What made you change your mind?"

Jason picked up another plate. "It's bad for little kids to be in a cold house," he said quietly. "And Roz—she's still recovering from what happened."

Sarah rinsed a handful of silverware. "All good points."

"I remember what it's like," he said eventually. "To be cold and not have any way to get warm. We have plenty of room here, it's dumb not to help."

Yes! Sarah cheered inside. She kept her expression neutral. "That's true," she said. "Your dad will be glad to hear you've changed your mind." She offered him a smile. "Thanks, m'chridhe."

Jason looked away, but Sarah could tell he was pleased. "I'll bring in some extra firewood for the other bedrooms," he said. "Dad and I will need to split some more."

"You know, maybe we should ask Greg and Roz if they'd be willing to bring over some wood," she said. "That way they'd share some of the expense with us and still benefit."

"Yeah," Jason said. "Okay." He glanced at her. "Do you want to do it?"

Sarah hid a smile at his discomfiture. "Sure, I'll ask." She put the last of the cups in the soapy water. "I can finish up here. Your dad's in the living room, I think he's planning on a video game marathon. Go have some fun, you've earned it."

Much to her surprise, Jason leaned in to kiss her cheek. He said nothing, just turned away and hung up the dish towel, then went into the living room. Sarah watched him go, glanced at the clock. She sighed a little and headed to the office. There was still plenty of time before Gordon's 'window of opportunity' call, but she had her own homework to do tonight.

The little room was chilly; she got the woodstove started and kept the door open while she booted up the computer. As she worked she could hear Gene and Jason talk back and forth, a homely sound that comforted her as she checked her inbox for the email the board member had promised her. It was there. She glared at it, then clicked it open and scanned the contents. Offerings for classes with links . . . Sarah rested her chin on her palm and looked them over. She had to admit the topics were relevant to her practice here: domestic violence, substance abuse and addiction, sexual abuse, working with children, dealing with health and insurance programs . . . She clicked the link for 'children and adolescents' and watched as an enormous number of classes popped up. "Wow," she said under her breath, impressed despite her resentment. She began to scroll through them.

She'd already begun to make a list of likely courses when the phone rang. Sarah glanced at the caller ID, and smiled. She picked up. "Hey," she said.

"Hay is for horses," Greg said. "Wife said you made a trip to the bright lights today."

Sarah knew he understood where she'd been, and why. "Yeah. All those tall four-storey buildings just blew my mind."

"Hyuk yuk yuk, you're so original." He hesitated. "What's wrong?"

That made her chuckle. Of course her oldest fosterling would pick up on her mood, just as her youngest had done. "I guess you could say . . . well, my pride got dented a little." She sat back. "I have to start taking courses for continuing education as a condition of renewing my license."

"That's all?" Greg snorted. "Here I was thinking you had to give up a kidney, or hand over that rug rat you insist on keeping around for some reason."

"Nothing that dire. Besides, I have two kidneys."

"You say that now, but when they ask for the other one don't come begging for a transplant from me."

She rolled her eyes and hid amusement. "Oh, shut up. Anyway, it—it won't be that bad. Lots of interesting courses listed at the site they sent me to."

"You did tell them you've been keeping your skills sharpened on me." He sounded tentative.

"Nope. Can't do that without mentioning your name and giving them at least the basics. I made you a promise, one I intend to keep," she said quietly. Silence fell for a few moments.

"Good to know. At least you'll get your license up and running. And you'll be bored-certified in no time, you're the one who should be teaching them." Sarah blinked at the rare compliment and waited for the snark to follow. "Then again, this is psychology. Jungian hugger-mugger, at that. I'm assuming the course materials include a goat's head and knuckle bones for divination purposes."

"I should never have given you that damn notebook. My best blackmail material, gone up in flames," she mourned, and enjoyed his laugh.

"Gonna commute?" Greg asked eventually.

"Nope. Stuck with Skype and a chatroom, which should be an adventure considering the internet's down about the same amount of time it's up around here." She wasn't about to admit she'd moved from resentment to grudging interest. "Speaking of which, it looks like we've got a bad storm coming in Sunday night—"

"I don't know how you can tell," he grumbled. "Winter here is one long bad storm."

"That's true, but it'll be worse than usual. Forecast is for anywhere from one to two feet of snow and strong winds. That means power outages. Gene, Jason and I would like to invite you and Roz over on Sunday, to stay until the power comes back on." Sarah kept her tone casual. "If you're agreeable, we could use a little extra firewood if you want to bring some over."

"Oh, I see. This is nothing more than a plot to extort seasoned logs from us, I get it now. We'll have to bring dinner too, that's next no doubt. Cheapskate."

"Hah. That's good coming from you," she said. "You still owe McMurphy for a month's worth of coffee and doughnut receipts."

"Hey, she pulls down the big bucks and she lives alone. She can afford it." Sarah heard the creak of Greg's Eames chair and pictured him in his study, long legs stretched out with feet atop his desk. "You'll need help getting the house ready."

Sarah smiled. "If you and Roz would like to come over a little early, that would be great."

"'That would be great'," he mocked her in a sarcastic falsetto. "Slavedriver."

"You offered."

"It was a courtesy." She heard Roz's voice in the background. "Ah, the wifey's requesting my services in the sack. Gotta go."

"Have fun rubbing yourselves together to keep warm," Sarah said sweetly, and laughed at his groan.

"Jeez. Don't ruin it, Mom." And he was gone. Sarah put the handset in the charger and glanced out the window. The snow had stopped at least, but the drifts were already deep. She shivered and went back to the course list.

It was close to ten when the phone rang again. Sarah picked up quickly; Gene was still in with Jason as the two of them read together, but she figured Jason was probably almost asleep, if not there already. "Hey Prof."

"Hello once more, dear girl." He sounded tired but warm and kind, as always. "We have half an hour or so before I turn back into a pumpkin-shaped chef, so let us have at it, my sweet."

"I don't think we need to now," Sarah said, and winced. She sounded like every other patient trying to weasel out of a session.

"How so?"

"I . . . I, ah, changed my mind. The courses . . . there are some good ones here. It—it won't be so bad, having to take a class." She waited for the smackdown. It would be given in love, but given nonetheless.

"I'm very pleased to hear it, but there's an underlying issue here which must be examined, and that is your initial reaction to the requirement for further education." Gordon kept his tone neutral. "Let's discuss it, shall we?"

Sarah sighed softly. This is a good thing, she reminded herself as she always did before sessions. This is what helped you move from nightmare to a real life. You know the work never ends, it just changes direction. Get on with it, Corbett. "Okay," she said aloud. "Here's what happened today . . ."

'Elenore,' the Turtles