House sat on the edge of his bed, rolling a dime in his fingers.

"Just relax," the nameless girl said, running a smooth hand down his back. "James, it's okay."

He gave a tight nod, but didn't move. He kept rolling the coin, feeling the cool smooth metal tracing his fingertips. "You should leave," he said suddenly, without turning round.

She sat up, brushing a curl out of her eyes. "What? James, are you sure?"

"Yes," he snapped.

"If you just lay down," she continued, "let me show you how - "

"No," he said coldly, pushing her hand off his thigh. "I changed my mind. Get out of my house."

"James..."

"Out."

"Oh... okay," she said nervously. "I'll just... go, then."

"You do that," he snarked.

As she pattered around the bedroom, retrieving her shirt and doing up all the buttons, House stared at the space on the bed where she'd been lying.

She'd been lying on Cuddy's side.

And even though he hadn't slept with her, he'd still had another woman in his bed.

Of course, he rationalised, he hadn't done anything wrong. Yes, he may have come close to doing something really bad, but he hadn't. There was nothing for him to feel badly about... though he couldn't shake that lingering feeling.

Everything that was happening right now was unsettling him. It was making him feel things that he'd never thought he would. Normally, as long as he hadn't slept with her, he'd say that having a beautiful young girl half-naked in his bed was fine, regardless of whether he was dating or not.

But now... he kept staring at Cuddy's space, and felt bad for even considering it.

She'd been gone a month - not gone, taken - and he'd nearly cheated? What kind of a sick, undeserving man did that make him?

He heard the front door slam and he let out a breath - not quite believing how close he'd come to making a huge mistake. His breaths came out in ragged puffs. Feeling a little light headed, he reached over for his phone.

"Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"I'm coming over."

"Sam?" Wilson called from the bedroom to the kitchen, "we're going to have a guest."

"Oh, James," Sam sighed. "It is Christmas, you realise? We don't need Scrooge dampening our spirits."

Wilson glanced around the room incredulously, eyeing the vast amounts of tinsel and baubles and the enormous 11ft tree that only just fit into the living room and had taken four guys to carry. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't think even the Grinch himself could steal Christmas from here." He quipped, and Sam swatted him good-naturedly.

"I thought he said he didn't want to come, anyway," Sam continued, stirring the sauce in the pan.

"He did. He just called back and said he was coming over," Wilson shrugged. "I am worried, Sam. You know House... you know what he's like. Cuddy balances him out and she keeps him sane. Not only is she not here to do that, the reason she's not here is making him even more insane. And Cuddy's mother's moved in with him, and he has to look after Rachel..."

"I get it," Sam sighed. "I've understood, and I think you should be there for him. It's just... what do I say to him? He doesn't like me already, and now I'm going to have to tiptoe around him. He must be like a lit fuse."

"He's fine," Wilson replied after a moment's thought. "He's a little in his own head and he's working like a crazy person but he seems okay. I'm sure he'll be fine when he gets Cuddy back."

Sam put down the spatula and turned to James diplomatically. "James, do you really think that's going to happen? You told me what the police told House, about the others. What make you think that they'll find her when they couldn't find anyone else?"

Wilson paused. "She's my friend too. And she's everything to House. I can't sit here with the mentality that she's not coming back."

Sam opened her mouth and looked as if she was going to say something, but then the doorbell rang. Wilson got up and let House in; he looked terrible, Sam noticed. She'd barely seen the man in weeks, maybe once since Cuddy was abducted and that was only in passing.

Now she really got a chance to see him. James had been telling her that he was feeling a little down, but he'd made it seem like House was handling it just fine. Seeing him now, in the flesh, and Sam thought that maybe James saw him too often to notice a difference. House looked... worn out.

"Sam," he nodded to her, flopping down at the table.

"House," she nodded back.

There was an awkward silence, then Wilson clapped his hands. "Beer, anyone?"

"God yes," House replied. "Might as well bring the six pack," he added as an afterthought.

Wilson shook his head but brought it anyway, raising his eyebrows when House chugged his first can in barely thirty seconds. He flashed Sam a meaningful look.

"Uh... I'm just going to... call my mother," Sam said, as if the words were being drawn out of her. "To wish her a happy Christmas. I'll be in the bedroom," she finished, grabbed the landline, and took off.

Wilson sank down across from House and popped open a can. "How you holding up?"

House took a breath. "Great. Feeling like a fourteen year old girl with PMS who's boyfriend just dumped her and who nearly slept with a prostitute an hour ago, so... great."

"Woah woah," Wilson put his hands up in a 'stop' gesture. "You nearly slept with a prostitute?"

"Yeah. It's alright, I gave her your name."

"This is serious," Wilson pressed on, ignoring House's comment. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "I was lonely."

Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He realised that there was more to this story, and he was going to have to be careful in going about it. "I know you miss Cuddy, but - "

"Do you? Really? Are you moronic enough to honestly think that you understand how this feels?" He stared Wilson right in the eye. "You've never had this. Yeah, sure, Amber, but she just died. That was it. Not only was it quick but you got to say goodbye. I've spent the last month thinking that the last words I said to her were Thank God you don't see patients, cause the mortality rates would sky rocket. Better you stick to what you're good at, whining and making bad decisions."

He broke off. "That is what she's going to remember when she thinks of me. Five years, and that's how we end things."

"Don't do that to yourself," Wilson intercut, "because you know that not how it's going to happen - is happening. Cuddy knows you love her, regardless of what you might have said. I doubt she was even mad at you. Now you're obsessing over one comment, when truthfully, you guys have been together long enough that she probably just brushed it off."

House nodded, but still looked utterly miserable.

"It's going to be okay," Wilson ventured cautiously.

House flashed him a glare. "Shut up. Don't spout drivel."

"Regardless of what happens, eventually it will be okay," he repeated, ignoring the black look House continued to give him.

"What if she," House swallowed, "dies?"

There was an unspoken moment of silent communication between them. Wilson knew that he couldn't say that that would be okay, and House knew that he was asking a difficult question, and that Wilson would do his absolute best to respond.

"Then it will be incredibly sad," Wilson said carefully, "and painful. But, you'll find a way to survive."

"Can't do it." He said stubbornly, shaking his head like a toddler.

"You'll have to," Wilson replied.

"Don't want to," he edited.

"Let's not make any decisions. The police are searching, they're doing all they can. I know that they're not coming up with much at the moment, but they're doing everything can and you know they're going to work so hard to get her back. I know she's everything to you... but they are trying. They'll find her." Wilson said.

"Did you know that the other women were killed after two months? Cuddy's been gone for five weeks... I know math is hard for you, but that means they've got three weeks left until this more likely becomes a murder investigation."

"This might be different," Wilson alternated. "She might be found, or alive for longer. You don't know where she is or who she's with. Things could change."

"Change is an illusion. People don't change, minds don't change, and things don't change. If she isn't found in three weeks, we might as well give up."

"That's a little morbid..."

"What about this situation isn't? This stuff doesn't happen in real life... or at least it shouldn't. We're talking talking dark shit here, Wilson. She's alone, who knows where, and no one is helping her. Don't talk to me about morbid." House stopped, feeling the anger well up inside him.

He felt completely helpless.

This is what he did, he helped people when no one else could. He always had that magic answer to make everything okay, to fix everything. While he often didn't see it that way, his patients usually did. They got their lives, their health back. Their family didn't lose a daughter/son/father/mother etc... he knew he was unhelpful, he knew he was unorthodox, but still... he saved lives. People on this planet were alive because of him. He didn't believe in karma, or divine intervention, or the universe keeping a score, but... he couldn't but wish someone or something was keeping track, and knew he didn't deserve this.

He'd have been happy to take on this responsibility himself, but he didn't know what to do. If he thought it would help, he would knock down every door in the city, he would question every person in the tri-state area. But he knew it wouldn't. He understood that there was very little you could do in this situation.

So he had to pretend that the was okay with how it is was going, with how the police were handling it. He had to pretend every minute that this wasn't eating away at him.

"I'm so sorry, House," Wilson murmured.

"Me too." House replied, opening another drink.

One Week Later

House flopped down onto his bed with a sigh. He was exhausted. He'd had a surprisingly relaxed few days at Wilson's and had found Sam strangely more bearable than before. He'd come home on the 28th, feeling a little more hopeful.

Then Rachel and Arlene had come back.

House had missed the munchkin quite a bit while she'd been away. He hadn't realised it, but even though they weren't biologically related Rachel had certain mannerisms that reminded him of Cuddy. Certain expressions or tones would give him such a strong flash of Cuddy that he missed Rachel more than he'd thought.

But Arlene had informed him that Rachel had only becoming more upset, seeing her cousins open presents with their parents. Apparently, Rachel had stopped sleeping properly and was now pining for Cuddy.

House couldn't blame her, but still. It was exhausting. He'd spent the day playing the Sesame Street theme tune on the piano for her, playing catch with ball-y, and other tedious things to keep her entertained. Arlene had begged him to take Rachel for day, saying that spending so much time with her was making her ache for her daughter even more.

Normally House would have scoffed and told her to handle the rugrat, but he'd felt strangely compassionate.

Of course, Rachel had seen the photograph on the mantelpiece of her and her mommy and that had set her off into new floods of tears.

Now, at nine, after a tiring dinner and bath, Rachel was tucked into bed. He'd read her a chapter of A Study in Scarlet, and had rolled his eyes when she'd snuggled up to him. He knew that over the last few weeks they'd become closer, but it was still unnerving.

He pulled off his jeans and put on his pajama pants, opting to leave his t-shirt on. As soon as lay down the plush pillows, he simultaneously felt even more tired and completely alert.

His call to the police station that day had turned up nothing. He now knew that cops did have some leads, but were neglecting to tell him unless any conclusive findings turned up. Idiots. After a bout of mild verbal abuse the stuttering officer had told him that they were doing all they could and to call back some other time.

Great.

He began to drift off, eyes closing. Images of Cuddy filled his head almost immediately. He tried to chase them out by replacing them with images of monster trucks from the rally him and Wilson were going to a fortnight from now, but it was futile.

It just wasn't working. So he succumbed to the pictures and fell into a Cuddy-ful sleep.

He was awoken some time later by the loud sobs of Rachel, who had burst into the bedroom, arms flailing and eyes leaking. "House!" She cried, clambering onto the bed and throwing herself at him, wrapping her lithe little limbs around his neck.

What the hell?

He jerked properly awake as he felt moisture on his neck. "Rachel?" He asked nervously.

"I... miss... my... mommy!" She stammered inbetween sobs.

House's expression changed. "Rachel," he started, easing her vice-like grip away from his throat to seat her next to him. "Why don't I go and get Nana..."

"No!" She shrieked, flinging herself at him again. "Don't want Nana. Want mama!"

"I know, but - "

"No!" She screeched again, burying her little face into his t-shirt. "House, where's my mommy?" She hiccuped, shoulders shaking with each word.

"I don't know," House shook his head.

"Why?" Rachel demanded.

"I just... don't," he finished lamely.

She opened her mouth to wail again, but he shushed. "We don't know when mommy's coming back, but it should be soon, okay? Just hold on a bit longer and she'll be back before you know it."

Rachel paused. "I don't believe you," she whispered. "You told me she'd be home by Christmas. And all I had was Nana telling me not to cry, but it wasn't fair! Everyone else was sitting with their mommy, so why couldn't I?"

House stared into the darkness, feeling the guilt rise up within him. .

"I'm sure she didn't mean it," he avoided. "Come on Rachel, I'll take you back to bed."

"I want to stay here with you," she whispered.

House opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Rachel was hurting too. They all needed some comfort. "Alright, kid," he conceded. "Just don't kick me."