Rachel howled. Cuddy slumped in the rocking chair, silent tears falling onto her baby's pink blanket. Her baby hated her.
"Rachel," she said in a shaky voice, wiping her tears on a cloth diaper. "Mommy's here." Her voice sounded pitiful. She didn't even believe herself. Rachel's tiny face grew redder as she screamed.
"What do you want?" Cuddy shouted over the crying, her sadness turning briefly to anger at her own helplessness. A real mother would know what to do. She pulled out her cell phone in desperation and dialed Dr. Anderson, a Princeton-Plainsboro supermom with five children. There was no answer.
Cuddy continued the steady rocking, the shushing, the intermittent humming of "We Are The Champions" because she was too bad of a mom to know a decent lullaby. The song sounded like a funeral dirge. Some champion she was.
Rachel continued to scream. Cuddy stopped the rocking chair and abruptly placed the swaddled baby into her crib. The sudden motion made Rachel stop, then her blue eyes scrunched into tiny slits again and her mouth formed an 'O'. The air raid siren sound pierced through Cuddy's sleep deprived brain.
"I don't know what you want," Cuddy sobbed, sinking against the wall, beneath the pink tapestry of smiley-face flowers. She clutched her phone the way Rachel clutched a blankie. It was her lifeline. She flipped it open again and dialed Dr. Wilson. He was childless but he knew what to say to make everything better.
"Hello?"
"This is Cuddy," she said brokenly, Rachel's cries punctuating her desperate need for support. "I need you."
"Be there in ten."
Cuddy huddled against the wall, waiting for Wilson to come and tell her she hadn't failed at motherhood. She hadn't expected him to answer, thinking he was working today, but then all of Cuddy's days ran together lately. She listened to her baby's crying as punishment for not being a good enough, caring enough mother. Good mothers soothed their babies. Good mothers didn't give up.
She heard the knock on the front door but she didn't have the energy to get up. A moment later, Rachel's bedroom door opened. Cuddy looked up to see her savior. There stood House framed in the doorway. Instantly, her mind cleared. She felt better, as though the universe had known that House was who she needed instead of Wilson. He dropped his cane and it rattled onto the wood floor. He stood silently looking from Cuddy to Rachel, then he limped to the side of Rachel's crib and lifted her out.
Rachel stopped screaming as he lifted her close to his chest. As her sobs stilled, Cuddy heard House singing to her. Even he knew a lullaby!
Cuddy wiped her tears on her sleeve as she watched this man in control soothe her baby to sleep. She remained huddled on the floor, holding her knees to her chest as though she could hold in her emotion.
House lay Rachel back in her crib and sank to the floor in front of Cuddy. He sat there waiting, his hands resting on his knees. He simply looked at her. He didn't try to comfort her with words.
Cuddy reached a shaking hand out and placed it on House's leg. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"Why are you here?" Cuddy asked.
"You called me."
"I called Wilson."
"You called me." House pulled out his phone and showed her. It was true, and her fingers and known what her brain didn't, that it was House she needed and not Wilson. She needed silent acknowledgment that life sometimes sucked, not pitying words.
"What did you do to Rachel?" Her voice sounded loud in the quiet room. A soft snuffling noise came from the crib, warming her heart.
"I was humming," House said. "It blocks out the screaming. That's why people sing along at concerts."
"You know a lullaby."
House chuckled softly. "Only if you consider 'Living On A Prayer' to be a lullaby."
"I sing Queen songs," Cuddy admitted, the traces of a smile threatening to show for the first time today. She hesitantly leaned in toward House, laying her head against his chest. He hummed the song, equally as hesitant as she. The sound of his voice vibrated against her cheek and the warmth of his body warmed her. He carefully placed a hand on her back, his body stiff but still welcoming. He didn't speak or move for a while, but she was comforted the same way Rachel had been. She closed her eyes, breathing his scent, feeling his warmth.
"You're a terrible mom," House said after a while. "You should know your daughter prefers Bon Jovi to Queen."
Those words did what a thousand comforting words from Wilson couldn't do.