Here's a little oneshot, just something fun. Yes, I am still working on "Theirs" and it will be posted when I can. Sorry it's taking so long. Thanks for reading. :)

House thought he could hear her talking to someone inside. At first, he thought she was talking to Rachel, but her voice was muffled and it lacked the higher pitch she used when speaking with the baby. Then he thought of the television, but again, he knew that wasn't it. He definitely heard her voice. A hundred different scenarios raced through his mind, including Cuddy's sister stopping by for a visit, or possibly Cameron cooing over the little pooper in her crib or maybe even Thirteen. What was it with women and babies?, he wondered. And then, as it always did, House's mind wandered to his least favorite idea: Cuddy must have had a date, and whomever he was, had decided to spend the night.

He refused to think that he was there to seek what? Comfort? No, not comfort; certainly not a shoulder to cry on. He barely knew the kid, what was there to cry over? Some young idiot who put a gun to his head? A kid who had everyone fooled? Everyone. He didn't need to seek out her presence; he didn't need to know that she was okay, too. No, absolutely not. Not everyone at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was suicidal. He hadn't missed some non-existent sign from anyone else. He couldn't have.

Cursing under his breath as he tripped over a garden hose, House rounded the back corner and approached her bedroom window. He could hear Rachel crying loudly. She'd started crying just after he peaked in through the kitchen window, but her wails were increasing. Where the hell was Cuddy? Why wasn't she picking up the Fifteen-pound squawk box and doing whatever it took to shut the kid up? He knew Cuddy was home; she'd become a recluse as soon as work hours were over. Her focus was on one thing and one thing only: to get home to Rachel and spend every last waking second with her before the human poop machine conked out for the night. So, where was she? Why wasn't she with Rachel? Had something happened to her? No, of course not. That would be absurd. She was Cuddy. The Cuddy. Nothing ever fazed her, not even a bout of pneumonia a few years back; the stubborn woman had worked through it. No, she was fine. She had to be.

But what if she wasn't? What if the sounds he'd heard was of Cuddy confronting an intruder? Cuddy's car had to have been in the garage and there were no other cars on the street when he'd pulled up, but what if?

Wary that something must have been wrong, House picked up a hand-held shovel that was sticking up from the gardenia bed and held it aloft, his cane gripped firmly in his other hand, ready as a backup. Standing on an upturned milk-crate, House leaned his forehead towards the glass, listening for anything other than Rachel's cry and desperately trying to see through the curtains.

The sounds from inside seemed to stop. No more rustling, no more footfalls. The sudden silence seemed forced, odd. Rachel's cry continued, but House was certain that whomever was inside was aware of his presence and had it been Cuddy, she would have opened the window by now. She was no longer surprised to find him tapping at her window, he'd done it often enough that it was now almost routine.

Without warning, the window flew open and a hand, wielding a child's piggy bank, shot out from behind the curtain and smacked House square on the head. The portly piggy bank shattered, cascading him in its pink remains and a handful of coins. He marveled at what the term "seeing stars" meant as his knees buckled and he toppled to the ground, stars dancing behind his closed eyelids. House managed to say two words before unconsciousness enveloped him.

"You idiot."

_______

They heard the words before either of them had a chance to open the curtains. Seemingly in slow motion, Cuddy lifted the windowpane fully and as she peered down at the now unconscious House, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear.

Wilson's hand ran through his hair, finally resting on the back of his neck. "Oh my god," he said as Cuddy ran out of the room and towards the back door.

"I killed House."

_______

Wilson paced the room as Cuddy sat on the edge of the bed, holding an icepack to House's temple.

"Don't you think we should take him in?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy shook her head and spoke quietly, in a reassuring voice aimed at soothing Wilson's nerves. She noted that he'd gone from looking perfectly together when he'd arrived at her place to looking haggard and out of sorts in only a matter of minutes. The idea that he had hurt House had clearly affected Wilson.

"He'll be fine. He's breathing normally and his heart rate's good. We can take him in to scan his head if you insist, but not until he wakes."

"What if he doesn't?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy smiled patiently. "He will."

"What was he doing out there?"

"I told you, it's just something he does," she said with a shrug. "Next time, when I tell you there isn't a prowler out there, you should lis-"

"Would you two shut up? Your stupid boyfriend here gave me a wallop of a headache," House groaned.

Wilson's brow furrowed. "Boyfriend?"

Cuddy shushed him as she flashed a penlight in House's eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I feel?" House asked, trying to sit up. Wilson walked over to him and pushed him back by his shoulder. "And yeah, boyfriend," House said. "Why else are you here?"

Wilson stood with his hands on his hips. "I could ask you the same question."

"What, am I her boyfriend or why I'm here? Because if you think I'm her boyfriend-"

"House, most people just knock on the door when they stop by," Wilson said, crossing his arms.

"And I'm most people," House said with a raised brow.

"Seriously, what were you doing?"

"Wilson," Cuddy said, replacing the icepack on House's forehead. She lifted his hand and placed it over the icepack before she stood from the bed. "Give him a break. You just knocked him out."

Wilson's ears reddened as the reality of what had happened came back to him. "Sorry, but if you had just come to the front door-"

"Why are you here?" House asked. "And where's your car?"

Cuddy ran her thumb across House's forehead. "I want a scan."

House swatted at her hand. "I want a million bucks, two hookers and a keg of beer."

"I asked Wilson to stop by the pharmacy to bring me a few things for Rachel."

"That doesn't explain why his car isn't here."

"It's in the garage," Wilson said, finally sitting in the corner chair.

House shot Wilson a quizzical look. "I never get to park in the garage."

Cuddy smirked. "Maybe you could if you'd stop trying to enter through my bedroom window."

House looked over at Rachel's bassinet, brow furrowed. "What's wrong with the little tax deduction?"

"She's got a croupy cough," Cuddy said as she walked to the far side of the bed to check on Rachel. A smile spread across her face. "She finally fell asleep."

It was then that House noticed the cool-mist humidifier in the corner of the room and the dark circles under Cuddy's eyes.

Wilson stood and looked House in the eye. "You okay?"

House gave a curt nod.

"You sure?"

"Go home Wilson."

Wilson turned towards Cuddy. "I can take him for the scan right now, if you want."

"No, he's fine here. He'll live. Scan him in the morning, it's getting late."

Wilson nodded tiredly and headed towards the door. He called out, "Goodnight," without looking back.

_______

"Where's my cane?" House asked, lowering his feet to the floor.

"Shut up and lie down. I'm not going to sleep until I'm sure Rachel's okay and there's no way I'm allowing you to drive that death trap home after all of this."

House swung his legs back up onto the bed as Cuddy sat on the other side with her hand stretched out to the bassinet, gently stroked Rachel's fine hair.

Yawning, Cuddy's hand dropped into her lap and she leaned her head against the headboard. "Why are you here?"

"Needed a consult."

"You don't have a patient."

"I was bored."

"You're not."

"Wanted to see you naked."

Cuddy chuckled. "You're worried."

"About what? The rugrat? Nope."

"You're worried someone else you know will do what Kutner did."

House closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, because everyone on the face of the planet has planned out exactly how they want to die."

"No. Because when Taub was five minutes late last week, you waited in the lobby to throw extra clinic hours at him. And you've been checking up on Hadley's medical progress…"

House raised an eyebrow, impressed that she'd somehow found that little tidbit of information.

Cuddy yawned again, crossing her ankles on top of the comforter. "And when you couldn't find Wilson at his place tonight, you came over here hoping I knew where he was. But, why did you grab the shovel?" Cuddy yawned yet again.

The pair sat in silence for a while as Cuddy stared at the bassinet. She closed her eyes in realization. "Rachel was crying." She half-snorted through her nose. "You thought something had happened to me." With her eyes half open, she looked over at House. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Cuddy shifted so that she was lying on her side, facing House. House sat with his back against the headboard, looking straight ahead.

"You're wrong."

With one last deep yawn, Cuddy's eyes closed. "I'm not going anywh…"

House looked down at the sleeping Cuddy. "And you're asleep."

Wincing slightly, House removed the icepack and slowly limped to the bathroom where he dropped the watery bag into the sink, not bothering to empty it. On his way back out to the bedroom, he looked down at Rachel, curled his lip and shot her an accusatory look. "This is all your fault, you know."

He stood momentarily looking between Cuddy and Rachel and headed towards the bedroom door. Realizing he had no idea where his cane or his shoes were, he shrugged. "Oh, what the hell?"

House crept back to the bed, crawled in and turned onto his side, facing away from Cuddy, and as he fell asleep, he realized he'd gotten a hell of a more than he'd bargained for.

"You're getting a CT scan tomorrow," Cuddy mumbled with a sleepy smile.

House rolled his eyes. Placate her now and limp away as fast as possible tomorrow. "Yes, Mommy."

Fin.