A/N: Warning: The story from this point gets intensely medical, and there are also very explicit issues of abuse discussed. About the medical, I am not a doctor. This is not the New England Journal of Medicine and makes no pretense toward it. It's a fanfiction story, an unpaid fanfiction story, purely for your enjoyment. Details have been researched and also are being passed by an actual doctor (though not a specialist in any of the involved areas) as the chapters are written down.

From this chapter for quite a while, there is practically one continuous cliffhanger. Stopping it anywhere would count as a cliffhanger, so don't object to where I end things, as you wouldn't much like the next ending point better. Medical proofing of the chapters is an extra step and will delay things a bit, although it's already in process.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

(H/C)

Part Two

Early October

The ultrasound probe moved across Cuddy's growing abdomen, and she and House were both riveted to the screen. Her baby. Their baby, who was more and more resembling a baby, albeit a miniature one. The steady sound of the heartbeat reassured her. Everything was going well. After all the previous disappointments, after all the times her body had betrayed her, everything was going so well.

"Everything looks great," Dr. Stanton said. "You're at 25 weeks now."

"We have calendars, too," House put in, but his comment lacked his usual snarky tone. His eyes had also softened watching his daughter.

Stanton ignored him, through long practice. "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," Cuddy said. "A few minor leg cramps at times, but not too bad, and Greg gives a great massage. And of course there's the feeling that I'm slowly being inflated by a tire pump." It seemed that her whole body, not just her abdomen, was starting to think it was pregnant.

Stanton smiled. "That goes with the territory, I'm afraid. I've set up an appointment to get your glucose screening test done next week for gestational diabetes, but overall, this has been a textbook pregnancy so far."

Cuddy studied her daughter's face, clearly visible on the monitor. "I can't wait to actually see her."

"Actually we want to wait a good bit longer," House said. He leaned over, addressing her abdomen. "Do not open until Christmas at earliest. You hear in there?"

"Oh, you know what I meant," Cuddy responded. "And don't try to pretend you aren't just as excited about this."

Stanton removed the ultrasound probe and handed Cuddy some tissues to wipe the gel off her skin. "Well, I will see you next appointment, and we'll have the results of the glucose test back." He looked over at House. "You don't need to come with her to the glucose test. It's just a blood draw." House had attended every single one of Cuddy's prenatal visits, even the early ones when he was on crutches and having trouble getting around himself.

"Got to make sure you all do it right," House responded.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide the smile. "I'm sure we'll both be here. Thank you, Doctor." Stanton left the room, and Cuddy pulled her top down - she was in maternity clothes now - and sat up on the table. "Greg, let's celebrate tonight."

"We celebrate almost every night," he replied, with a gleam in his eye. Pregnancy had certainly had an affect on Cuddy's appetite, in more ways than one, and he was appreciating this pregnancy on several levels himself.

"Actually, that's not what I meant. Or not until later. Let's go out to eat. The two of us plus Rachel."

"Since a 10-month-old makes a wonderful addition to a romantic dinner." He liked the idea, though. "Let's see, what upscale, romantic, candlelit restaurant has high chairs?"

She slid off the table, landing neatly on her feet. "We could hire a sitter, but I just think it would be fun to go out as a family. All four of us."

"Three and a half," he corrected, but his eyes were shining. "It does sound like a good idea. Even if we have to downscale the upscale a bit."

"It doesn't have to be the best restaurant in town. Just anywhere with all of us."

"Burgers and fries?" he suggested. "There's a great burger joint not far from the campus. Several steps down from haute cuisine, but a few up from McDonald's. They actually cook your burger to order there - and they even have a veggie burger."

"That sounds great, actually. It's not that I'm in the mood for a fancy meal; I just want to do something together." Cuddy was still soaking up the marvelous feeling of family, a feeling lacking for so long.

House opened the exam room door, and they walked out, side by side. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He looked good these days. All right, he had always looked good, but he looked healthier than he had in a long time, less tense, more content. His stride would never be regular, but his leg was doing as well as it ever did lately. His sarcasm was still intact, but even it had softened a bit around the edges lately. "Does that mean we get to skip the rest of the day at the hospital and play hooky?" he asked right then.

She rolled her eyes. "No. We do both have jobs. It means we get to leave at 5:00, after putting in a legitimate afternoon's work."

"Slave driver," he protested.

"Slacker," she returned. "Stop trying to be a bad influence on me."

"But being a bad influence is so much fun!" he replied, a little louder than he needed to be, loud enough that everyone in the waiting room they were passing through right then heard. Heads turned, sizing up him and her condition. Cuddy sighed.

"Behave yourself," she whispered. "At least for the rest of today."

His eyes brightened at the thought of tonight, especially at the end, when behaving himself was no longer required, and he stood meekly silent as she checked out.

(H/C)

"No!" Rachel had a new word added to her still-limited vocabulary, and she employed it as House tried to maneuver her squirming form into the car seat in the back of Cuddy's car.

"Quit it, squirt," he admonished, wrestling straps.

Cuddy smiled, lost in happiness again. The dinner out had been perfect. Years ago, this would have been nothing like her picture of a romantic night out, but right now, she wouldn't have traded it for the best restaurant in New York. How ideals could change. It had been romantic eating at a corner burger joint with her family, and she was thoroughly ready for her personal dessert - not to mention another of his spectacular leg massages. She shifted her weight slightly.

House noticed, of course, even with his head in the car and his back turned. She swore the man had 360-degree radar where she was concerned. "Legs bothering you?"

"They're starting to ache just a little. I'll take another one of those massages when we get home."

"You want me to drive?" He succeeded in snapping the final strap just then and gave Rachel a consolation pat. "Too bad, kid, but that's what you get for wrestling with the master." He turned to face Cuddy. "Well?"

She hesitated. Her legs were starting to ache, and there was more stretch-out room as a passenger. "Okay, but you drive the speed limit, Greg, or no dessert when you get home."

"Don't you trust me?" He put on an air of being wounded.

"Implicitly, but the police department doesn't share that opinion. So take it easy."

"You wound me. I'll be a model citizen. Precious cargo, you know." She got in the passenger's side as he walked around the car. "Besides, wouldn't want a ticket to delay dessert."

"I knew that was your real motivation," she said dryly. Actually, her eyes had softened at his words precious cargo, and she knew that for all his act, that was his true feeling.

House started off, being as decorous as any traffic cop could have wished, and Cuddy leaned back and closed her eyes. "You okay?" he said immediately.

"I am absolutely wonderful, and keep your eyes on the road. Have you thought any more about names?"

Even with her eyes closed, she felt him tighten up a bit. "I have, but nothing seems quite right. I want it to be perfect."

"Remember back before the wedding, when I was worried about all the details? It will be wonderful anyway. Not that I don't want a great name, but I think you're overthinking this at times, Greg. The name doesn't have some magical impact on the future. Our child will have a happy life named anything." Even with eyes closed, she sensed the mischief immediately rise in him.

"Madonna."

"Forget it," she vetoed. "Okay, not absolutely anything. Let's try to have some class here."

"Yamaha," he suggested. "Makers of truly classy pianos." He stopped at a stoplight, and she opened her eyes to look over at him. He had turned to face her while the car was stopped, and his blue eyes were reflecting the streetlights and laughing at her. Even in mostly darkness, they were beautiful, and she suddenly wished the light would change in a hurry. She was ready for dessert waiting them at home.

The light did change just then, as if hearing her thoughts. "It's green, Greg. Get going," she urged.

"Getting impatient, are we?" He turned back to face the road as he took his foot off the brake. "Relax. It will be there waiting . . ."

"GREG!" She saw the headlights appear suddenly beyond his shoulder, oblivious to the red light, the drunk driver pulling out from a bar up from the intersection and gathering speed as he hurtled like a loaded pistol down the road. House's head jerked around, and he tried to accelerate and swerve at the same time, but the drunk made a matching swerve. Cuddy felt the sickening crash, the car feeling almost airborne for a moment, then a second impact much closer on her side, pounding the door in against her. The street and business lights and Rachel's cries swirled together into a tunnel as she lost consciousness, and her last thought was sickening fear at the pain spreading across her abdomen. Everything went black.