A/N: Thanks again to babygurl0506 for her information and help. Thanks darling :) And while I did work hard on this, I can't vouch for it's accuracy, but I can vouch for my own effort :)
Rachel was tucked safely in her mother's arms while Cuddy rocked her gently, whispering soothingly and pressing few kisses to her daughter's forehead. House watched her from the chair beside her bed. His thigh was cramping from being uncomfortable for such a long time, but he didn't dare move away. He didn't want to leave her.
Cuddy leaned back gingerly on the pillow, shifting a little so Rachel could comfortably curl around her mother. House watched the little girl yawn; she'd been up earlier than normal and the rush of feelings was probably tiring her out.
As Rachel slipped into sleep, Cuddy looked at House. "What time is it?" She asked, clearing her throat in the process.
He looked at his phone. "Eight o'clock."
"Oh." She looked confused. "I thought . . . it was later."
"Nope." He said simply. "But it's been a long few hours."
Cuddy nodded slowly, raising her eyebrows. "Was she okay?" She asked, gesturing to her now snoozing daughter.
"Yeah," House replied. "I guess. She missed you."
"I missed her," Cuddy murmured, glancing fondly at her daughter. "I missed you too, House," she continued.
His lip quirked up. "Same."
The door slid open, and one of the Princeton General doctors walked in. "Good morning," she said, coming over to stand in front of them. "How do you feel?" She said kindly
Cuddy winced as she pushed herself into a sitting position, taking Rachel with her. "Fine," she said tightly. Rachel stirred.
"Mama?" she muttered into Cuddy's scratchy hospital gown.
"S'alright baby," Cuddy whispered back. "You can go back to sleep."
"Maybe it would be better if she waited outside," the doctor said carefully. "I need to talk to you, and it's probably better if she wasn't here."
"Oh . . . " Cuddy said. "Sure. Uh, I think - "
"I can take her outside to your mom," House interjected.
"Come back," Cuddy pleaded, almost immediately. House felt a stab in his chest as fear flashed across her eyes.
"I will," he reassured. "Cuddy, I'm coming back. I'm not just going to leave," he squeezed her hand. She gave a nod. House got up and scooped Rachel off of the bed, ignoring her protests as he carried her out of the room.
"Wanna stay with mommy!" Rachel whined.
"In a bit, kid," House answered, watching Evelyn jump up as he exited the room. "Doctor needs a word," he explained, handing over the struggling Rachel. Before Evelyn could say anything he'd darted back inside the room.
"We've ordered a CT for this morning, as you could have a concussion," he walked in on the doctor saying.
"I am a doctor too," Cuddy cut in. "I know the symptoms of concussion. I don't have them." She said shortly, glaring at the woman. "I feel fine."
"We need to err on the side of caution," the doctor explained. "There's also a psychiatrist that we'll have you speak with. Over the next few days, they will - "
"Next few days?" Cuddy asked, panicked, gripping the bed rail.
"We going to keep you on a three day psychiatric hold." Cuddy opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor got there first. "You been through a trauma, Lisa. And some people in similar situations can't deal with it, even - or rather, especially - in the immediate aftermath. We need to keep you here so we can ascertain the best way to go."
"I don't need this," Cuddy tried to snarl, but instead it came out as little more than a whimper. House leapt up to be at her side, but she held her hand to him. "I. Feel. Fine," she enunciated. "I don't want to stay, I don't need to stay. I don't need to be medicated. I just . . . want to go home, with my family," she brushed away a tear. "Don't make me do this."
"I'm sorry," the doctor said - seeming truly sorry. "But I have to."
"If she says she doesn't need to be here," House drawled, standing close behind Cuddy, "then she doesn't. I can take care of her at home. We don't need to keep her locked up anymore."
"We're not locking her up," the doctor said diplomatically.
"You won't let her leave," House alternated, expression steely. "Sounds like locking her up to me."
"We're trying to help," the doctor said. "We - "
"Stop it," Cuddy stressed. "Fine. I'll stay. But I'm not sick, and I'm not crazy. I'm not going to be treated like I am. I want to wear my own clothes, use my own things, and call my own shots." She specified, eyes brimming and voice shaky.
"We'll do what we can," the doctor said. "Lisa, we want to make this as easy as possible. I know it's painful, and these next few days are going to be intolerably busy when you just need everything to calm down, but . . . we're here to help."
"Get out," Cuddy said lowly, not looking. "Don't come back until my CT."
The doctor nodded shakily, and scurried out after glancing one more at House's icy glare. As soon as the door had swung shut, House turned to her. "She's an idiot," he said bluntly. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."
"I want to go home," Cuddy whispered. "I don't want to be in this hospital," she quivered.
"I know." House replied. He had nothing else to say.
"CT looks clear," Dr Samson told both of them, some two hours later. Cuddy had tried to sleep for a while, but hadn't succeeded. It wasn't that she wasn't tired - she was exhausted - but she couldn't keep her eyes closed.
House had instructed Evelyn to go back to the house with Rachel. After he'd explained that Cuddy was going to be held on a three day pysch hold, he'd told her to bring clothes and such back with her and drop Rachel off with nanny. He was expecting Evelyn back any second, and was wondering if Cuddy was ready to see her. He'd tried to broach the topic a little earlier, but she'd brushed him off, and he'd left it since then.
He left his own head to focus back on what the doctor was saying. Of course, it was nothing that Cuddy hadn't said before, reinforcing his observation that the doctor was an idiot. Every time she said something stupid, he wanted to jump in with his own scathing remark and make the doctor feel as moronic as she sounded. But then, he'd glance at Cuddy, and he'd sit back and shut up.
He couldn't bring himself to potentially make this worse.
"We're going to take you up to a room on the psychiatric ward now," Samson continued, and once again, Cuddy tensed. She'd accepted that she would be spending a few days on the pysch ward, but that didn't make it any easier to digest. She was the woman who was always completely in control of her life, and now she was being treated like she insane? Where was the justice in that?
"The visiting hours are from 8 to 8, so Dr House can stay with you until then. We'll have you participate in some group therapy, have a session with the psychiatrist, and a few other things. I'm afraid Dr House won't be allowed to be present for those," she revealed apologetically.
"Okay," Cuddy nodded, her voice flat. "Great."
"Someone will be here soon to take you upstairs." Samson left.
Cuddy cried, and House tried to console her, but in the end it appeared that she didn't need consoling, but just needed to get it out.
"Lisa," Dr Foster said kindly, "how do you feel?"
"Now?" Cuddy asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Or then?"
She was sitting in the Princeton General therapist's office, dressed in a T-shirt and pair of pajama bottoms. She'd been so grateful to get out of that awful crinkly gown, but had had to ask House to turn away while she changed. She didn't understand it, but she'd had to do it.
House was now outside, probably making a few phone calls - most likely to Wilson. Cuddy was sitting across from Dr Foster, a small woman with smooth chestnut hair twisted into a bun and a creepily inviting expression. Cuddy shifted again, feeling exponentially more uncomfortable around her each second.
"Let's start with now," Foster answered.
"Look, I told Dr Samson. Really, I feel fine," she repeated. "I don't need to be here. I have a daughter, and hospital to run . . . "
"Lisa, you've been through a trauma. You can't bottle those feelings up, you need to get them up. I'm not saying now, it's a learning process, baby steps. But, at some point, you'll need to talk to someone - not necessarily me, but I'm a good place to start. So, how do you feel?"
Cuddy groaned, brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes, and exhaled. She'd been allowed to shower, which had been a blessing. "I feel . . . confused. Not confused, but I feel so many things that I can't understand. I'm angry and scared and upset . . . and I'm never any of these things. This is new to me," she finished, testing out how it felt to open up.
"All of this is going to be new," Foster sympathised.
"I never thought I'd be in this situation," Cuddy said hesitantly, dipping her toe in the metaphorical water. "I'm just . . . so angry."
"Anger's a common emotion to feel after rape and abduction, but what are you angry at?" Foster tried to pinpoint.
"Him. And how he just took my life away from me. Who was he to do that?" Cuddy scrunched her fists in her lap, imaging wringing his neck. "I want to kill him. No, I want him to feel like I do."
"You want him to feel unhappy?" Foster alternated.
"Yes. But, not just that. I want him to feel like he's had all control taken away from him." She explained, then sniffed, willing her tears back down. "I . . . "
"Are you thinking about what happened?" Foster said, after a few moments.
"It's all I can think about!" She exploded. "How am I ever going to think about anything else?"
"There are a number of different coping mechanisms that you can use to control the flashbacks," Foster continued. "We can work on them, find the ones that work for you. That is, if you choose to come back, which I sincerely hope you do."
"Why do you care?" She sniffed, wiping her eyes.
"Because you shouldn't have to feel this way, and I'd like to help you feel better," Foster gave an awkward smile. "You only have three days here, which means only three days of mandated therapy. But I strongly urge you to continue some sort of therapy when you leave here, if not with me, with someone else. Our sessions here are short, and preliminary, and we can't work through everything in a few hours."
"I'm not going to flip out and kill myself," Cuddy scoffed.
"I don't think you are. But I also don't think that you want to stay this person," the psychiatrist alternated. "You'll want your life back."
"I want it back now," she said shakily, feeling angry again. "That's why I want to go home."
"Do you think you'll immediately feel better when you get home?" Foster askd.
"Yes. No . . . I'm not sure. But I don't feel better here."
"Why?"
"Because I makes me feel like I'm crazy. That there's something wrong with me," she shook her head, "I know it's stupid, but they're dictating everything I do and they're discussing which medications to put me on, and they won't let me leave . . . feels like I'm crazy." She let out a sob, but tried to regain composure. "Which I'm not. I'm not crazy."
"Of course you're not crazy," Foster agreed. "No one's saying you are."
Cuddy gave an absent minded nod, and drifted off into her own head for a few seconds. Foster watched, and was about to ask her question when Cuddy opened her mouth. "I remember everything. When the police asked me what happened, they said it was normal for the memory to be a bit fuzzy. But I remember every detail. It's horrible." She leaned back in the chair and squeezed her eyes shut. "Why can't I just forget at least some of it?"
"You were held for two months, and your brain had nothing else to focus on. It kept replaying the experience, because there was nothing else."
"Now there's something else. It could focus on that, but it makes me see it over and over. Every time he came down, I knew what was coming, and even though I know he can't get me certain things just make me flinch and feel like he's coming for me all over again," Cuddy gabbled, exasperated, running a hand through her hair. "It's not even the pain that I remember, really. It's just feeling so powerless and so helpless. Him taking all that away from me. I'm not the kind of person who loses control," she broke off.
Foster began to speak, but Cuddy continued. "Every day. At least, that's what I remember. He kept kissing my head and telling me everything was going to be alright. What kind of sick fuck rapes a woman then tells her that everything's going to be alright? Tries to soothe me?" She'd started crying.
"Rape isn't about sex. It's about power and control, and that's what he was looking for from you. He wanted to you be powerless against him, and then twisted his view of you so that you then needed his affection. In his mind, you were asking to be comforted," Foster explained.
"I wasn't," she whispered, placing her hand on her chest. "I promise, I wasn't."
"I know, and no one else thinks you were." Foster glanced at Cuddy, then at the clock, making an executive decision. "I think we've done enough for today, Lisa. I'm going to see you tomorrow, if that's okay?"
Cuddys sniffed, inwardly surprised that she did want that. As crap as she felt in that moment, she could imagine feeling worse if she hadn't got some of it out. "Okay," she whispered, trying to sound clearer. "Okay."
House stood by the hospital phone and dialled a familiar number. "Hello?"
"Wilson?" House asked, as if it would be anyone else.
"House," Wilson said, sounding surprised. "It's 10am. You thinking of coming into work?"
He took a deep breath, creating a pregnant pause. "They found her, early this morning."
There was no explanation needed as to who the her was. "Is she alright?" Wilson asked breathlessly, and House could hear the concern in his voice.
"Not really," House replied. "But can you blame her? After everything?"
Wilson sucked in a breath. "Did he . . . "
"Yeah." House swallowed. "He did."
"Oh, House, I'm so sorry," Wilson apologised. "I can't believe - "
There was silence on the phone.
"Are you okay?" Wilson changed the topic swiftly.
House chuckled. "Me? I'm fine. I'm not the one who spent eight weeks who-knows-where being - " He paused. "I don't how to do this. In our relationship, I'm the damaged, broken one. And now . . . she looks far more damaged than I've ever been."
Wilson thought for a moment. "Well, how does she look after you?"
"I don't know. She just does it," he stressed. "I want to be there for her."
"Is she at home?" Wilson asked.
"No. They're keeping her at the hospital on a three day psych hold, which is stupid, as I could take just as good care of her at home," he muttered defensively. "They're making her stay."
"Maybe, it's good for her - "
"It's not. If she says she doesn't need to be here then she doesn't need to be here. Why does everyone think that she's going to go crazy or something? I can take care of her perfectly, and - " House was cut off by Wilson.
"I'm sure they aren't doubting your abilities to look after her," Wilson interrupted.
"I don't know," he blew out a breath. "She's in a bloody therapy session right now. Probably retelling the therapist everything."
"Isn't that what she's supposed to do?" Wilson inquired.
House shrugged, even though Wilson couldn't hear it. "I didn't stay when she was telling the police. She started talking, and then she said some stuff, and I . . . I just couldn't. I couldn't hear that. And I'm worried that I'm not doing the right thing, not being there. I already screwed up once, I don't want to do it again."
He looked up, watching as Cuddy left the office. "Gotta go." He said shortly and hung up. He went as fast as he could over to her, now that Evelyn had brought his cane. She's obviously been crying, but she gave him a watery smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Hey," she murmured. "God, I'm so tired," she laughed lightly. "Can't say I'm going to be sleeping much though."
He sniffed. He wasn't going to cry, (at least not yet) but he couldn't deny that he felt emotional when he looked at her. The desire to find the bastard and kill him welling up inside, he squashed it down and tried to return her smile. Didn't quite work out.
"I'm sure they could give you something," House said.
"I'm sure they will," Cuddy agreed. "They seem big on medication."
They unanimously started walking back to the room, but Cuddy stopped him. "House, I . . . " She started to cry. "Damn it. House, I really really want you to know that I don't blame you, I don't think you did anything wrong. And no matter what I say or do to counteract that, please remember that."
He gave a nod. "You'll be okay. And I'll . . . protect you, or whatever I'm supposed to do. That man won't go free. And whether it's in prison or at my hands he will suffer, and he will pay the price of what he did to you. He cannot go free."
"No, he can't," Cuddy agreed, feeling stronger. She had support, she had people on her side.
The next few days passed in a blur. Cuddy was put on Prozac, an anti-depressant, and Xanax to help her sleep. House did stay with her as much as he could, but - despite his arguing - they kicked him out overnight. The nurses informed him that even with the drugs, her sleep had been fitful, but she had slept.
She didn't share much with him about what she did in her sessions. She mainly mocked the group session, complaining about how she got clay under her broken nails in the art therapy or how she wanted to slap one of the group leaders who went on and on about coping mechanisms and breathing.
She didn't say anything bad about her individual psychiatrist, though, aside from informing him that she was coming back to see her when she was released. He wanted to understand better how she was feeling and what she was going through, but every time he got close to telling her that, he seized up. He couldn't bring himself to hear it.
Rachel did come the next day, after throwing a tantrum when she found out House could see her mother and she couldn't. House had watched through the door as Cuddy read to Rachel, as Rachel snuggled into her, as mother and daughter laughed together.
He realised that he was jealous.
He was jealous that Cuddy and Rachel still had such a natural relationship, even after something like this. He knew that he fulfilled a different need to Cuddy than Rachel did, and that obviously they were completely different people in her life but he wished it could be easy like that.
However, he faired better than Evelyn. Cuddy had promised to see her mother when she was released, but had been adamant about not seeing her mother while she was still at the hospital. House understood that one, having spent enough Christmases together to know the tension between mother and daughter and that Cuddy didn't need the added pressure of handling her temperamental mother.
Every evening Evelyn would grill him, and he'd disappoint her with vague answers, not wanting to betray Cuddy's privacy. He didn't care about Evelyn. He didn't care if she felt left out, or lonely. All he cared was that Cuddy felt safe.
He walked into the PG Psychiatric unit mid-morning on Cuddy's third day. He knew that her mandated hold was over, and that she would be racing to get out. He'd wanted her to feel like he understood, so he was preparing to whisk her away.
He opened the door to her private hospital room with his cane, surprised to find her packing the small bag he'd brought for her. She jumped as the door opened, but visibly relaxed when she saw it was him. "Good morning," she said stiffly, wincing as she aggravated her broken ribs.
"Sit," he ordered. "Don't hurt yourself."
"I won't - "
"You might."
She gave a playful scowl. "They said I could leave at lunch," she told him, giving him a relieved grin. "I can't tell you how happy I am to get out of here." She sat on the edge of the bed. "This is probably the longest three days of my life."
"Longer than - "
"Yeah." She looked at him, the blossomed bruises covering her face. He noticed she was wearing baggy sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. She looked different, smaller. She looked like a little girl, one needed to be protected.
He forced himself to blurt it out. "I want you to tell me what happened. I can take it."
She stared at him, then shook her head. "No, you can't."
"Yes - "
"No. I've seen you try to ask me, and you've stopped yourself every time. I know you, House." She took a deep breath. "One day, I'll tell you. When we're both ready. As hard as it will be for you to hear, I'm not sure I want you seeing all that when you look at me."
He sat silent. As he listened he felt his eyes burning. He hadn't cried at all; Cuddy had cried, Evelyn and Rachel both had, he was pretty sure Wilson had. He hadn't been back into work, but Wilson called about three times a day, and he always sounded like he'd been weeping.
He felt Cuddy's soft gaze on him. He scrubbed at his quickly reddening eyes, looking up. "Fine."
She gave him a look of understanding. "Baby steps," she parroted, turning back to her packing. "That's what they all say. Baby steps."
"Yeah," he said quietly.
She sniffed, and he knew she was crying. But, in the same way she'd ignored the beginning of his own tears, he recognised that she didn't want hers highlighted. "Can you grab me the medicine from the top of the counter?"
He picked up the two bottles and one packet, Xanax, Prozac and Valium. "Seriously?" He asked, handing them to her. "Valium? They're really trying to dope you up," he joked.
"Valium's only for . . . " She shrugged. "I zoned out. But the Prozac's apparently for everyday, and the Xanax is every night I can't sleep."
They continued packing wordlessly, waiting for the doctor to come in, give them both a last spiel and the long-awaited discharge forms. Samson arrived and described how they could help, how they were all willing to testify, how Cuddy could come back to the facility if she wished. Dr Foster also popped in, letting House finally meet the psychiatrist. She told Cuddy she was glad that she'd opted to continue talking with her.
He watched Cuddy take in all the information, her eyes glazing over. She nodded, but was silent for the majority. He noticed that she freer around him - much more so than with other people, so he guessed that was something. He was glad she seemed to feel comfortable around. That was all he really wanted, anyway.
They were alone again soon after, clutching signed discharge papers. House looked to her, watching as she tried to hide her tears. "Come on," he said gently, taking her hand, "let me get you home."