Lisa Cuddy stepped outside. Her bare feet touching the snow covering the wood of her porch. It melted, made her toes numb.
She stared down, flaring eyes, numb all over. Not just from the cold.
There she was. Wrapped in purple blankets tucked into a large corduroy carrier bag. Her little hands unprotected from the cold. Playing with lost snow flakes that got scattered in the evening breeze. Reaching out for something. For warmth, for acceptance, for a mother.
Cuddy looked up, saw a car driving away in the distance. A car that didn't belong to this tidy neighborhood. Like this child didn't belong here.
Slowly she bent down, lifted the heavy weight and took it inside. Silently, secretly, feeling like a theef.
Her fingers stiff from the cold she carried the bag in to her living room, that had only seconds ago belonged to her alone.
She looked around, faced with the realness, the liveliness of what was happening to her.
Everything in this room looked different now, meaningless, estranged.
The Christmas tree decorated in perfectly harmonizing colors, the high heels she had kicked off her feet the minute she had entered the living room after that Christmas dinner , the half emptied cup of tea that had left several water rings on her expensive antique table…it all suddenly belonged to somebody else's life.
She looked back down at the baby, not knowing what to do. A feeling she didn't know.
Rationalizing, a well developed reflex.
She searched this unfamiliar sight for answers.
A small white square note was sticking out from between the blankets.
Her fingers picked it up, carefully trying not to disturb, not to touch the child.
"I am sorry."
This was all Becca had to say. It was all Cuddy wanted her to say.
She sat down next to the bag and re-read the words that had no meaning, that didn't reach her soul.
She felt lost, blank. Scared. Crumpling up the note in her fist, her lower lip trembling with emotions she had not yet deciphered.
Then her hand reached out for the phone. In search for some familiarity outside this house that had so unexpectedly been taken over by something she had desperately tried to forget.
"Wrong number", a dark voice grumbled in to her ear.
"House?"
A long pause followed.
And then Cuddy was waiting. Paralyzed, unable to make any decisions.
She just couldn't.
She couldn't pick Joy up. She didn't want to allow herself to feel her weight in her arms, smell her sweet scent, whisper her name, a name she had picked for her.
For a daughter that had never been hers and would never be.
She knew if she allowed this child to enter and leave her world again, it would destroy her.
"Shsh", she hushed and rocked the bag softly, when a soft, faint cry filled the silence.
Minutes went by.
The two of them, placed next to each other like two strangers. Two human beings stranded in a reality they both had not chosen.
The crying went louder, then died off after a while.
The silence made her angry. It made room for the emptiness of her inaptitude to do something.
Shiftlessness was not a vocabulary that described her world. And yet, it was the only word she could think of at the moment.
Rationalizing...kicking in naturally in an attempt to regain control.
She took a deep breath as she looked away and picked up the phone to dial the number of Social Services. A number she had dialled so many times before, but never for personal reasons.
Before she could hit the "Call" button she heard another knock on the door.
Not a cautious one like the hour before.
It was more foreful, demanding, annoying.
Cuddy got up, thankful to have a reason to leave the baby for a moment.
A cold wind entered her house.
She shivered and looked at him, her whole world falling apart. Nothing recognizable, nothing familiar was left. Because he was here.
It was so alienating that she got on her tiptoes and hugged him in a wave of uncontrolled unreadable emotions, longing for something stable on a night like this.
Silly idea, relying on someone needing a cane for stability himself…
When he didn't hug her back she sighed, relieved, calm. And let go, shifting her weight from her toes back to her sole, feeling naked, awkward and comforted at the same time.
"So, where's this bundle of poop?" he asked in his usual tone that had never before soothed her so perfectly.
Wordlessly she turned around and walked away.
He followed her, watched her, feeling uneasier with every move. Not because of the baby itself.
But because of what this baby was doing to her. Had done to her already.
She turned around, looked up at him, expectations on her face. Displaying desperate inaptitude, a weakness he didn't know from her.
House's eyes narrowed as he scanned her from head to toe, lingering on the tear-loaded sparkling in her eyes, on her unkempt, curly hair, her naked feet, her hands that were nervously playing with the seam of her elegant top, a remnant of a nice Christmas dinner she must have attended earlier.
None of that was left now, none of that elegance, of that strength, of that woman that usually needed no one by her side.
She was close to falling apart, just like that night she had fallen apart in his embrace, in his kiss.
His eyes searched the reason for her state and landed on the child. His lips twitched and he shot a disapproving look at all the purple and pink cuteness of the sight.
Everybody was a liar, he thought and reached out for the phone.
"Called Social Services yet?" he asked nonchalantly while dialling the number already knowing the answer.
She let him.
And when he put the phone down again after having insulted at least one person on the phone he saw the tension resolving into relief.
Gratitude.
"Now. Can you please change her diaper? She smells", he grunted and Cuddy looked at him, puzzled, quizzical.
Cuddy folded her arms in front of her chest, felt a slight pout curling on her lower lip. She shook her head.
"I can't…", she started, blushing, feeling exposed.
Avoiding his gaze that was peeling off her protective shell, stripping her down to her soul, sensing her weakness.
But to her surprise not revelling in it at all.
His eyes widened in alarm, shattered everything with their caring sadness.
"Sure you can", he grunted back and their eyes met again. "You were born with this skill. Just like men are born with the ability to open beer bottles with a lighter."
Spoken but not received, these words kept hanging in the empty space between them.
They didn't mean anything.
It was a silent battle between their eyes, their souls trying to prove each other that they were still the same, besides all the vulnerability of this moment.
So she didn't need to say it, the words lingered on her lips, danced on them, made them tremble, but never left them.
'It hurts', she wanted to say, 'I know', he wanted to reply.
Finally a bitter smile broke through, causing her to chuckle hoarsely. She stroke her hair, awkwardly, blushing again, sniffing her nose, though she hadn't shed a single tear.
"Thanks for coming", she almost whispered, softly.
He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, avoiding her gaze, hiding, closing up again.
There they were. Three human beings trapped in this room, facing a reality they hadn't chosen.
Strangers, intertwined by the irony of life.
Him being there made her feel in control again, though. That was their pattern. Yet, it was an illusion.
Around him, no one had control. But he always tried to make her feel like she did. There was no greater sign of respect coming from him.
Now she had the choice. Between pushing further into his world as he was still standing there, looking at her, and allowing this child to enter her world again just to leave her feeling numbed and more lonely than before.
Either way she had to face her vulnerability.
She looked down at him waiting for her to make her choice, his fingers wrapping around the wood of his cane so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his presence so intense and real that it made her shiver just to smell his scent.
He was here. He had been here the last time. Was this a new pattern evolving?
She nodded at him as her gaze wandered from his face to the baby.
Slowly she bent down, wrapped her hands around the small body and lifted it, her weight feeling so much heavier than the first time she had held her.
"You have grown…", she softly spoke to the child that was watching her as excitedly and cautiously as House was.
The moment she felt the warmth of the baby pressed against her body she felt it again.
The most torturous feeling of ultimate happiness. Stolen from fate for only a short moment in time, meant to be followed by the dark feeling of reality kicking back in even harder than before.
But this time she decided to embrace this feeling. Because she knew it wouldn't last, she knew this was only a borrowed gift. After all, wasn't every child?
She turned around and looked at House.
"She is so beautiful."
He returned the look, sinister and sincere. With a glimpse of relief in his eyes.
"She is…", he replied with a hoarse voice and looked at her until she noticed his stare and allowed his eyes to meet hers again.
Piercing her, stripping her down to her soul again.
Cuddy smiled. The smile died off when she felt chilling nervousness emerging under all that warmth Joy was giving her.
It was him, him not running away from moments like these. It startled her every time, made her nervous so easily these days. It was a tension she didn't know with him, a tension that was so sincere, so real that it could only mean that this meant something.
"But she smells", House instantly added before the intensity of the moment could wash away all their reasonable doubts again.
They were getting closer each time, closer to the edge.
But none of them were ready to let go yet. None of them dared to jump.
Because they didn't know if they would fly, or just fall.
Afraid to hit the ground even harder than before.
Afraid to fall endlessly, never finding ground again.
They just were not the kind of people who lost control.
Except for maybe sometimes.