House could hear exuberant splashing from the bathroom, and shouts of "no ducky! swim ducky, swim!" from Rachel. He winced with each shriek of delight, worried and apprehensive about how it would affect her if she ever found out the truth.
He knew that he could do this. He wasn't naïve, he'd been around Rachel day in and day out for three years, so he was being stupid to think he couldn't handle watching her. He'd babysat before, and the kid was okay with him.
It was all going to be alright.
But the truth was, he worked hard. And now that Cuddy was missing - something that hadn't really set in yet - he could foresee himself working harder. Rachel needed someone here for her, and not just the nanny.
He couldn't believe he was doing this, but it really seemed like the only option.
"Hey, Arlene... it's Greg," House said, listening to Cuddy's mother's breathing.
"Oh..."
Arlene and House notoriously didn't see eye to eye, often arguing, bickering and fighting whenever their paths crossed. He had never called her. So her surprise when she heard his voice of apparently his own free will was obvious.
"Uh... Does Lisa want to talk to me?" She asked, and House paused, wondering how to do this.
How do you tell a woman that her child has been abducted? "Arlene," he said slowly, "have you seen the news tonight?"
She paused. "No."
"Turn it on."
There was silence down the other end and House could hear someone fumbling. He heard the buzz of a television switching on and then the repetitive noise as Arlene kept changing to find the right channel.
He knew when she found it.
There was a strangled cry and the drop of the remote. House heard the soft thump as it hit a couch cushion. He could hear the reporter in the background: Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro hospital...
"Arlene," he cleared his throat. "Arlene!"
There was the muffled sound of sniffing before she picked up the phone again. "Wha-what happened?"
"I don't know."
There's silence. "What do I do?" Arlene said forcefully. "Tell me what I should do."
House grimaced. He didn't know. There was no protocol for this situation, no magic set of instructions that would make everything okay. "You..." He trailed, running a weary hand through his bedraggled hair. "I can't tell you," he exhaled, "because I have no fucking clue."
There was a silence. "But... But she's my daughter," Arlene gasped. "She's my child. How..." She stopped. "This can't be happening."
"It can, and it is," House said unsympathetically. "I was thinking that you could... come down here?" House paused. "For Rachel's sake, obviously." He clarified.
Arlene sniffed, but he could tell she was nodding. "I'll see you in the morning," she answered briskly.
House waited. "Arlene..."
"Yes?"
"It's... going to be alright."
Arlene sighed. "Oh God, I hope so."
House looked at the clock and realised that Rachel had been in the bath for an hour. Hoping to avoid drowning the kid, he got up and went in. She was sitting in the tub looking unhappy and despondent, flapping at the disintegrating bubbles.
"What's up, kid?" House asked.
"Miss mommy," Rachel muttered.
House groaned inwardly. He couldn't handle this. Not hours after she was missing... God, who knew when she was coming back? If it would be ever? House sighed.
"I know." He bent over and picked her up from under her shoulders, trying not to groan as soapy water splashed on his trousers. "But c'mon, kid. Mom's so strict! No cookies, no chocolate . . . she'll be telling you not to breathe soon."
Rachel deliberated. "I would like more cookies." She said slowly.
"You want some now?" He asked, passing her one of the fluffy towels. She haphazardly wrapped it around herself - getting herself no dryer in the process - and her eyes lit up.
"Really?" She gasped. It was nine o'clock! There was absolutely no on-pain-of-death cookie eating after six! "But Mama says that if I eat cookies after six then I won't sleep."
"What does Mommy know?" He scoffed, taking the towel and properly drying her off. The he passed her a pair of sickeningly sweet pajama pants and their matching top.
Rachel gave an incredulous chuckle. "Mommy knows everything." She said seriously. "Even when I'm so careful she still knows!"
House raised an eyebrow. As skilled as Rachel thought she was, sneaking into the kitchen while they were eating at the table could not be called sly in any universe.
"She won't know," House replied, "it'll be our secret. 'Kay?"
"Okay," Rachel agreed, her sunny smile bubbling over. House got up - accompanied with a groan as his thigh cramped - and extended his hand to her. She took it and followed him out of the sopping bathroom.
As they entered the kitchen Rachel yawned and pushed herself up against his side, nuzzling into his hip. He could practically feel her falling asleep. So - cringing in his head - he bent down and picked her up.
She wrapped her little arms around his neck. "Night night," she said in a sing-song voice.
House furrowed his brows. "Goodnight," he said awkwardly.
He placed her down in her bed and pulled the covers up, God forbid that she wake up from being too cold and come and climb into bed with him, looking for Cuddy.
He was stricken when he realised that this how it would be for a considerable amount of time.
Him, and the kid, and Cuddy's mother . . . oh dear God what had he done.
His immediate first thought was to curse Cuddy for leaving him in a lurch like this, but he felt bad as soon as he'd even thought it.
He had a dark mind - and a realistic idea of how things happened - so he couldn't help but imagine where she was.
Somewhere dark, and alone . . . and he didn't want think about what could be happening to her right now.
The truth was, he couldn't fathom a world without her in it. A place without the two of them together was not a place he wanted to be.
She was his best friend.
She was the one woman who really, really loved. She was . . . words cannot describe what she was to him.
People thought that he was horrible and hurtful and had no regard for other's feelings and that was true, for the most part. But not with Cuddy - he didn't want anyone to think that he didn't treat her well.
He knew it was stupid, and ignorant - and totally against his world view - but he'd been brought up with the admittedly crooked world view that a man was to find a woman, marry her, get her pregnant, and spend the rest of his life making her happy.
Well, so far the idea of marriage still made him want to break out in a cold sweat and as much as he tolerated Rachel the thought of having someone with half his DNA made him want to run for the hills... but as for the other things... he'd found a woman, and he wanted to at least try and make her happy.
As sexist and as archaic as it was, he was her man. He was supposed to protect her, and keep her safe.
He failed in that respect.
He'd always thought that the worst day of his life - aside from the infarction - would be the day she broke up with him.
He'd never even entertained the idea that she might die before she had the chance to dump him.
Cuddy felt a salty tear drip of the bridge of her nose onto the floor.
Everything was hurting.
She knew he was behind her . . . she could hear him. She was wishing, and hoping, and praying that he would leave her alone.
Her face was throbbing, with blood trickling out of her mouth, nose and deep cut across the top of her head.
He'd hit her so hard that she'd fell into the corner of the wall.
And now she was on the floor with her hands twisted behind her back by a rough piece of rope tying them together.
She knew what he was about to do to her.
A sob escaped as she felt a sharp blow to the back of her calves, one that she knew would bruise.
"Shut up," he sneered, pressing her head uncomfortably harder into dirty concrete.
He moved over her, into her. She stiffened beneath his touch and started to scream, thrashing herself about and trying to knock him off.
No matter what was he did to her, she was not going to sit back and take it.
But in the end she had no choice.
A vice like grip tightened around her throat as he flipped her over, starting again.
He hit her so hard that her eyes clouded over and she wailed and screamed as her head hit the concrete over and over, harder and harder, until her hair was matted with blood.
He kept going, slamming deeper until he was satisfied. She let out ragged breaths, pulling her knees up to her chest.
He ripped her head back and wiped himself off in it.
He wiped himself off in her hair.
She lashed out and kicked him, only to receive a slap in the face.
She threw herself back and curled her arms around herself, starting to sob loudly as he left the basement, slamming the door behind him.
She felt the tang of blood in her mouth.
She melt the burn between her thighs, were she was sure that he'd ripped something.
But most of all she felt the prickling all over her body, where every nerve was throbbing. She shut her and placed her head gingerly against that wall, leaping back as the now open wound touch the brick.
She moaned, and lay herself down on the floor.
She just wanted to go home.
