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The clinic doors are open first thing Tuesday morning. Dr House is at the desk in his office, with the door shut. He is disinclined to sit in the waiting area where coffee is brewing and a soft jazz CD is playing. He's writing in a notebook, his hand jerking across the page in spurts, o laying dormant while his mind processes a thought.

Friday. Four days. he can handle this for four days. He's asked for a permanent leave of absence effective Friday. After that? Maybe he'll go to Michigan and see his moher. Or to Vegas and blow all his money. Or Jamaica and get hs hair braided. Or Venice to see the streets of water. He really hasn't decided.

The doctor is in, but the mun is away until afternoon. Assistants, please tag in. Susan, if you're around House *may* attempt to talk to you.

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"A teacher? Anyone organizing the defense against the attacks that were happening?" Susan bit her lip. "It didn't occur to you at all, did it?"

"Of course not. There were monsters attacking the school. Half the school was already outside," Peter said.

Susan smiled, more amused than anything. "And you have no doubts that it was the right thing to do, correct? Whether or not someone else approved of it?"

"I wouldn't have done it if I had any doubts," Peter said.

Susan nodded carefully. "I am very glad to hear that, Peter." She let that lie there for a moment, then said, "What was different about this time, than it was back in New York? Was it that you didn't have the mask, and now everyone knows? Or just that you took a moment to think, before you jumped in? What made the difference for you?"

"I think it's largely the fact that it's hard to take snowmen seriously as villains." Peter shrugged.

"To be honest, I don't really have many issues with what I did in New York after my uncle was killed. I tried to do what was right. Even if things have turned out poorly sometimes."

"Then I'm rather confused, Peter." Susan laid her pen down. "When you came in last week, you said you were worried that you had impulse control problems, that you were seeking out situations for the buzz of adrenaline. And yet? In the aftermath of a rather difficult and dangerous weekend, you can't tell me what you would do differently." She studied him a moment. "Where is it that you perceive a problem? I'm at a loss."

"That's part of it, really. I don't have a problem with it. I go out, risking my life, and I think nothing of it. Even when I'm thinking of it, I don't see a problem. Until I realize that I don't see a problem, at least. I've been shot three times. I've been threatened, tortured, a freaking clone of me killed one of my best friends, and I've been beaten near to death on a few occasions... and the only thing I would change at all is letting that one guy go. You can't tell me that's normal." Peter thought for a moment. "I also would have trusted a few people a bit less. That would havebeen a good idea."

"Also, there was last week when I took a stroll through the park when I knew it was dangerous. I still argue that was stupid."

"Actually, Peter, I can tell you that's normal." Susan raised her eyebrows at him. "Unusual. Some would say exceptional. But normal. Both for your actions in risking your life to help others, and even the one moment of what might have been genuine stupidity. Do you want to know why?"

"I'm kind of worried this is a trap and you're going to reveal yourself to be evil right now, gas the room, and murder me, but I'll bite," Peter said. "Why?"

Susan laughed, then shook her head. "Peter, people tend to denigrate bravery in favor of self-preservation when we talk about mental health. But it's a gift, the way your other gifts are, something born in your spine and mind. A quality you were born with, that you didn't get from a spider bite. The same way your desire to help is innate."

"Who's Nate?" Peter punned.

"Err, sorry, I get nervous when people try to tell me I'm not crazy. Nerves lead to bad jokes."

"Which is also perfectly acceptable." Susan more brightly. "You're fifteen. And there will be errors in judgment. That doesn't mean your motives and approach to helping people aren't basically sound."

She studied him a moment. "That it's rare, and that you are allowed to exercise it to such extremes may be strange, or uncanny-- but it doesn't make you at all crazy. Questioning it, comparing it to 'normal' people, trying to explain it in terms of guilt or grief-- that isn't going to change that you have that quality, or that wish. If you were foolhardy in its use, or uncaring of the consequences, then I would have a concern. But you're not."

"Can you accept what I'm saying about this?"

"~~I have it on other-dimensional authority that the jokes only get worse when I'm thirty.~~ Can I accept that I'm not crazy? I suppose I could take your word for it. Assuming you're not just being a mean liar, who's going to start laughing as soon as I walk out of the office," Peter said.

"Peter, you came here because a specific event made you question your judgment, and your motivations. You're not questioning them now, after the event. And assuming you're not a congenital liar-- which I've seen no reason to suspect-- I don't question it either." She tilted her head. "I do think you still have a lot of grief and guilt to work through. So if you still want to come in, and just talk, I'd be more than happy to listen."

"I don't know what congenital means," Peter lied. Still with the joking.

"I appreciate the offer, Doctor. I think I'll definitely be taking you up on that. I mean, look at this place. If I'm not dealing with some sort of trauma by... Oh, that's right. I do actually have fresh, weird trauma lined up. It can wait, though. It's still too confusing to fully process right now anyway."

"If you're certain." Susan closed her notepad. "Could you do something for me this week? Could you keep a dream diary? I'd like to see how you're doing, a week from now, just to be sure."

"A dream diary? Oh, that'll be fun," Peter deadpanned. "Just warning you, my dreams are a bit weird. But I'll do it."

"Thank you, Peter. Is there anything else you wish to discuss? Anything that you want to cover now, instead of later? Otherwise, I'll see you next week."

"Well, if you're offering a couple more minutes of your time..." Peter took a breath. "Okay, the thing I just mentioned that I'm not sure how to process? I just found out that an alternate version of my recent-but-now-ex-girlfriend went to school here last semester. She was murdered here. Once I and the friend who mentioned it to me worked out that they were different versions - mine is older, thank God - I was really relieved, but I feel really weird about it because she sounds like just a younger version of her."

"And on top of that, there's somebody I know of from my home who may have gone here last semester, but he died months ago back home. It's all terribly confusing."

"Ah." Susan said, her eyes widening. "I see. This is the first time I've heard of this... Are you considering leaving the school, because of it?"

"No. It's just really, really weird. And I'm trying to process it." Peter shrugged. "I haven't managed to do so yet."

"Right, then. Definitely something to cover next week, when you've managed to think about it a bit more." And allow Susan time to research it more. "Have a good week, Peter. Call me if anything comes up."

"Will do. Thanks again," Peter said as he exited the office.

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