I apologize for the wonky formatting when I posted the initially. It apparently decided to lose all the punctuation in the entire story when I uploaded it. It should be fixed now.
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When Cuddy had the accident, everyone tried to help.
When Cuddy had the accident, everyone sent flowers.
When Cuddy had the accident, people came and sat by her for hours.
When Cuddy had the accident, she cried because she couldn't tell them what she really needed.
When Cuddy had the accident, she had to be sedated because she was so worked up over what she needed to tell them.
When Cuddy had the accident, she woke up from sedation and saw him standing by the nurses' station, a tiny head resting on his shoulder, as he signed something on a clipboard a nurse held out to him.
When Cuddy had the accident, she watched him hang his cane on the counter, as the baby girl started to fuss.
When Cuddy had the accident, she saw Rachel looking at her but couldn't speak to tell him why she was fussing.
When Cuddy had the accident, she saw him hold her up in front of him, and make buzzing sounds into her neck, which made her giggle and squirm.
When Cuddy had the accident, she saw the nurse watch with an amused smile, as he calmed Cuddy's baby girl.
When Cuddy had the accident, she woke, and found him sitting in the chair beside her bed, Rachel in his arms, holding a bottle in her mouth, and watching the baby girl with a fond look in his blue eyes.
When Cuddy spoke for the first time since the accident, it was his name that she said.
He looked up at her, relief flooding his expression.
She smiled at him, weakly, and he stood, and raised the head of her bed, and helped her hold Rachel in her arms, though she could barely move them.
Rachel giggled up at both of them, waving her hands in the air as though grasping for their faces.
House's arm, the one that wasn't around Cuddy's, holding them under the baby, moved, and he held the bottle while Rachel sucked it.
Cuddy looked at House, green eyes holding confusion and gratitude and worry for what was going to happen to Rachel now.
She had been going to file the adoption papers the day before the accident.
And now this had happened.
He looked at her, and shook his head, "don't worry. She'll be taken care of until you recover."
She shook her head, and protested that she hadn't finalized the adoption, that Rachel would get taken away, that some other family would adopt her, but the words wouldn't come.
House didn't need to hear her say them, though. He knew what was going through her mind.
"I got registered as a foster parent last month. I already arranged for her to stay with me until you're better enough to sign those papers."
She stared up at him, her eyes filling with tears.
He shrugged a bit, then looked down as Rachel finished the bottle.
"I'm better at the big gestures than I am at telling whether I should grab your boob."
She nodded, biting her lip.
He sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her arms in place so she was holding Rachel.
She frowned, and managed to get a word out, "Tritter."
He shook his head, "I wasn't convicted. They spoke to the judge, who told them she had full confidence that I was a cranky asshole that got on Tritter's bad side and had a problem with the drugs that are necessary for valid medical reasons. I haven't been convicted of anything other than parking illegally since I was twenty-five, and I've never been accused of any violent or sexual offences except when my high school girlfriend's dad didn't like me so he called the cops when I came over on my eighteenth birthday—a month before she turned eighteen. He wanted them to slap me with statutory rape, but the judge wouldn't let it even go to court."
Cuddy snorted.
"Char…ec…."
"Character references? Cameron and Wilson. Home inspector loved the piano."
Cuddy smiled.
Her arms hurt.
House gently took Rachel, and laid her over his shoulder.
She snuggled her face into his neck.
"So don't worry about her."
She still looked worried.
He sighed, and shook his head.
"Cuddy, listen to me. I am a cold, uncaring, misanthropic bastard that doesn't see any value in the things that most people hold sacred. But there is an exception to that, Cuddy. I would never do anything, or let anything bad happen to a child. Especially your child."
She looked at him.
"My."
He nodded, "she's a lot better off with you than she would have been with her biological mom."
Cuddy nodded.
She looked exhausted.
House reached over with his free hand, curling it awkwardly around hers.
"Get some rest, Cuddy. Let your body heal. And then get back to work."
*
Cuddy bit her lip, as her doctor informed her that she could be discharged.
Wilson was there, smiling, and stood as she nodded.
"I can give you a ride home?"
She shook her head, "House already offered."
Wilson blinked.
"Seriously?"
She nodded.
It would take some work to get her walking and using her arms again, and she was still incredibly weak, but all the communication problems she had been having had faded with the swelling in her brain.
House limped in, a large leather bag slung over one shoulder, and Rachel in a sling in front of him. The sling was black with silver flames.
Wilson turned around, and frowned.
"Why do you have your doctor bag?"
"Because I may be carrying a baby around, but you are still not going to catch me dead with one of those pastel, flowery diaper bags."
Wilson restrained a laugh at the image.
House perched himself on the edge of the bed, and gently extracted the sleeping Rachel from the sling.
Cuddy still didn't know how she managed to sleep in the sling with House's lopsided gait, but she did—better than she slept in her crib.
House helped Cuddy get Rachel settled in her arms, and pushed the sling out of the way as he dug in the leather bag, eventually pulling out a red rubber ring.
"Is she teething?"
House nodded, "nothing's close to erupting yet, but yeah."
Cuddy smiled, as House waved the ring over the waking baby's face.
She reached for it, giggling.
House let her take it, and start chewing on it.
He smirked a bit, watching her.
Wilson stared at this person who had replaced his misanthropic best friend.
The doctor came back in with the discharge papers, and smiled a little, as he set them on the table next to the bed.
"Good luck. I put in a referral to a good physical therapist."
Cuddy nodded, and he left.
House picked up the papers, as Cuddy smiled down at Rachel, and Wilson came over, tickling the baby girl.
House scowled down at the referral.
Cuddy happened to look at him, and blinked. Five seconds ago, he had been cheerful and enjoying watching Rachel.
Now he looked upset.
"What's wrong?"
He shook his head, "nothing's wrong."
He handed the papers to Wilson, "I'm assuming you offered her a ride?"
Wilson nodded.
"Better give it to her. I… have something I forgot I had to do."
Cuddy nodded, "okay. Can you take her with you?"
House nodded, taking Rachel, and gently easing her back into the sling, pulling the baby bag over his shoulder again.
Then he limped out.
Wilson and Cuddy blinked after him, utterly confused.
He limped back in, "you're taking her to my apartment. Cuddy's doorways aren't wide enough for a wheelchair, I got the lift kind of back in order, but it kept stopping halfway, so I dug the ramp out of the basement where Pearl put it."
Wilson nodded, and opened his mouth to say something, but House was already gone.
*
Dr. Carla Roland looked up, as the door to her office banged open.
She glared.
"House," she said, flatly.
"You just got referred a patient."
"…yes… that happens, I am a doctor. Contrary to what you seem to think…."
"Lisa Cuddy. Dean of medicine at PPTH."
"What? You're angry that someone at a different hospital got your dean as a patient? Or is it just the fact it's me you have a problem with?"
"Just you," said House, sharply.
She sighed, putting down her pen.
"What happened to your leg?"
House scrunched up his face, "boy, you're an even worse physical therapist than I remembered. You never even knew what you were treating me for?"
"You're using that cane like a crutch. Where's the knee brace? When's the last time you did any exercises with the leg? There wasn't *that* much muscle removed, House. You should be able to walk better than that."
"Knee brace itched, exercises hurt, and you stopped showing up for the sessions."
"I had a baby. I referred you to Stevenson."
"And two days later, Stacy left. Kind of hard to get halfway across the state five days a week when you can't drive and your only reliable ride moved to short hills. I went once. Guy wanted me to "visualize the healing"."
She sighed, shaking her head.
"Wear the brace, House. At least do that. You can barely stand up."
He sighed, looking at her for a long time, then slowly lowered himself down onto the couch.
"She can barely move her arms and legs."
"House, I'm a physical therapist. All my patients have some problem with movement."
"Shut up for two minutes. Okay?"
She sighed, and nodded.
"Cuddy—."
House sighed, as Rachel, in the carrier on the floor, started crying.
Carla looked down, blinking.
Then up at House.
"That's something I hadn't heard about before…"
House shook his head, picking Rachel up out of the carrier and checking her diaper.
He sighed, looking at Carla.
She shrugged, "House, I've had two kids. You can change a diaper in front of me."
She reached out to take Rachel while he took out a blanket, wipes, baby powder, a biohazard bag he'd taken from the hospital, and a fresh diaper out of his bag, and knelt, painfully—too painfully, observed Carla—to spread out the blanket.
She got up and handed Rachel down to him so he wouldn't have to get up.
He laid her down, as she wailed, and unfastened the diaper, wiping her, drying her, powdering her, and putting the fresh diaper on. She stopped crying.
He put the diaper and the wipes in the biohazard bag, and the bag and everything else back in the leather bag.
He put Rachel back in her carrier, handed her a toy out of the bag, and turned back to Carla.
"Okay… yeah, that's a long story. But… that baby, there? That's your new patient's. Cuddy was going to file the papers for the adoption the day she got into the accident. I'm taking care of this woman's kid, okay? I got registered as a foster parent so that I could take care of the kid, a month before I knew if she was even going to adopt her or not. I… Cuddy's been in control her whole life," he paused, as Rachel dropped the toy, and started to cry.
"She thinks she has to control everything, because if she doesn't, everything will fall apart. She can't be weak, she can't fail. She thinks she's going to need "a bit of PT" but I don't think she understands how hard this is going to be. She doesn't understand that going from having to have me help her hold the baby to back to normalcy is…like what it's going to be like. Your thing, making it all or nothing each session, works for most people, but… you can't break her, okay? You gotta make sure you don't break her. 'cause you came pretty close to breaking me."
Carla sighed, and nodded.
"You want me to change my approach with her?"
He hesitated, "I want you to make it a game. Not a serious one. Still win or lose each session. But not win or lose self confidence. Just the game. It'll work just as well, the woman became dean of medicine at thirty, she's competitive. It just won't break her."
Carla looked at him for a long time.
Then she nodded, finally.
"If you wear the brace, come in for PT at least once a week, and have lunch with me so I can hear about what kind of woman has you carrying around a baby and showing up in my office after a decade… I will try your idea. And if you buy me a frozen yogurt, I might even be a little bit nice to her."
House snorted, "you don't know how to be nice."
She smirked, "good point. But I still want the yogurt."
House smirked a little as well, "deal."
She nodded, "good."
*
"So," said Cuddy, as Wilson helped her swivel onto the couch, "what do you think House saw in my discharge papers that made him run off like that?"
Wilson shrugged, "I dunno, what did they say?"
Cuddy nodded her chin towards the bag of stuff she'd had at the hospital, "they're in there, along with the PT referral."
Wilson went to get them.
He pulled them out, and leafed through them.
"I don't…" the referral fluttered to the floor, and he bent to pick it up.
He stopped, as he read the name.
Then looked at Cuddy.
"Carla Roland…" he said, hesitatingly, "was House's physical therapist after the infarction."
He held up the slip, "you've been referred to her."
Cuddy blinked, "why would my having been referred to his old physical therapist cause House to run out like that?"
"I… don't know. Back then, when I had Bonnie and House had Stacy, we kind of… were more normal friends. Went bowling or whatever, and hung out, but… neither of us were quite as screwed up back then. I didn't know that much about what was going on in his life—certainly not every detail like now. But I think they might have had a thing for each other."
Cuddy looked away, "oh."
*
House limped into the apartment, tiredly, and sank onto the sofa next to Cuddy.
She looked at him.
"How was your day with your old physical therapist?"
He looked at her. She sounded off.
"She wants me to wear a knee brace and she promises not to be hard-ass on you. And she gave me like four boxes of baby clothes."
"You spent a while with her, didn't you?" asked Cuddy. God, it was just like when she had walked up to find him flirting with that blond woman after realizing he'd gotten her the desk installed.
He scrunched up his face, "am I missing something?"
Wilson walked in, "you had a thing for Carla, didn't you?"
House looked at his friend.
Then at Cuddy.
Then he laughed, "uh, no! She's lived with her girlfriend for longer than I've known either of you. Yeah, she's a fun person to talk to, but she's gayer than Chase."
Cuddy blinked, and Wilson choked.
"…oh."