Okay, I think I figured out why the punctuation was missing at first when I posted the last chapter, but I'm not entirely certain, and it looked fine when I checked it right after posting it, so if the formatting's wonky, bear with me, I'll try to fix it.

Other than that, happy Fourth of July! (Or to the rest of the world, happy Saturday!)

House sat on the table, eyes fixed downward on the blue padded floor.

"House?"

He raised his head.

Carla.

She was looking at him oddly.

"No baby?"

"I can barely carry my own weight after sessions with you, much less another person."

"What's she weigh? Fifteen pounds?"

"Sixteen…" muttered House, "she's a big girl."

"Do I detect a note of pride there, House?" she asked, with a smirk.

He looked away.

She frowned, tilting her head.

"Okay, either you really miss the kid, or you're really not looking forward to this session."

House sighed, "the second."

"You been wearing the brace?"

House nodded.

"It helping?"

House shook his head.

"Fine. Take off your pants. Need to see the damage."

House rolled his eyes, "you've seen it."

"Ten years ago."

House dropped trou.

She blinked, slowly.

"There… wasn't that much degeneration ten years ago."

He refused to look at her.

She gripped his chin, making him meet her eyes.

"How much more pain are you in?"

He shook his himself free of her hand, "none. It's fine. I just haven't been doing any exercises."

She shook her head, "you shouldn't have lost that much muscle mass if you've been able to put as much weight on it as you were ten years ago."

"I'm getting older."

"House!" she said, loudly, "I need you to be straight with me!"

"And I need to not do this *right now*!"

"You're the one that scheduled the session!"

"I mean this whole… intervention… or whatever it is! I can handle this. I have to handle this. I can't stop to deal with this now. Not…now."

She looked at him for a long time.

"Gregory House, you are the most under-recognized reliable, soft-hearted romantic I have ever met."

"I'm not a soft-hearted romantic, and I'm certainly not reliable."

"Yes you are," she said, plainly, "you're ignoring your own pain so you can look after a woman you're in love with and take care of her baby. That's what you're doing, House. No matter what misanthropic spin you've been putting on it in that hairball of a brain of yours."

He refused to look at her, though he snorted at her description.

She sighed, and gripped his arm.

"We are having this session. You are going to tell me if the pain get's too bad. And after this session, you are going to make an appointment with Marian. And I promise I won't tell Wilson or Cuddy or anyone else. Okay?"

Marian was her girlfriend of twenty-five years, a pain specialist, and just as no-nonsense as Carla—though slightly less blunt and maybe a little kinder.

He nodded, still looking firmly away from her face.

"House. Look at me."

He looked at her.

"You are a very sweet man," she said, "and if I weren't gay as rainbows, I would be very jealous of that woman you love. Now put your pants back on. I don't need to see your jewels bouncing around while we work the leg."

*

Twenty minutes later, House was sitting on the floor, left hand clenched into a fist, right hand clenched over his thigh though his jeans, chest heaving, face pale and covered in sweat, entire body trembling.

Carla knelt, taking his pulse.

Too high.

He looked like he was about to be sick.

"House. Hey, look at me. I need you to look at me. House. Look at me."

He opened his eyes, and looked at her, expression completely strung out.

She gripped his left hand.

"Look here. Keep looking at my face. Is this gonna fade? Are you gonna be okay?"

He didn't answer.

"House, I wanna help you, but I need something to work with here. Come on. Just nod yes or no, is this gonna get better?"

No answer.

"House, come on."

He finally opened his mouth, and spoke, voice tight with pain, "I don't know. It's been doing this. Trip over the threshold. Stub toe on a bookcase. Cane skids a little. Bracing picking Rachel up. Just… little, tiny things. Set this off. Hours 'till *rrrng!*… calms down…. But not this… not this bad… not every time…. Not this bad."

"House," said Carla, sharply.

He focused on her again, pupils dilated from the pain.

"I'm gonna get you a sedative, okay? I'll be right back."

He shook his head, his breath coming in fast, almost whimpering gasps, "gotta… Wilson… Wilson's watching her. Patient meeting. Gotta be back at the hospital. Rachel. No sedative."

"House, I'm gonna call Wilson. I'm gonna tell him I had more baby stuff I wanted to dump onto you, and you tripped and it set off a pain crisis. I'm gonna tell him that, and I'm sure he won't have a problem watching her, and I'm sure his patient won't mind getting to see that beautiful baby girl. And you're going to not stroke out. Good compromise?"

He shook his head, "my responsibility."

"House. She's either going to spend the next few hours with a perfectly capable, kind and responsible doctor, or she's going to spend the next few hours with a guy who can barely stay conscious."

He finally met her eyes, and gave a short, quick nod.

She gripped his shoulder, then went for the sedative.

By the time she came back, he looked like he was holding in a scream.

She knelt, and gave him the sedative in a vein in his arm.

Within a few minutes, he was curled, breathing quickly because was still out of breath, but no longer trembling.

She gave him a local muscle relaxant, which brought color back into his cheeks, as the cramps that were causing the pain eased.

She kept her fingers on his wrist, until his pulse slowed, and his breathing steadied.

By that time, he had fallen asleep.

His phone went off.

She looked at the caller ID, then answered it, "Wilson?"

"… who is this?"

"Carla."

"Oh," said Wilson on the other end, "is House okay? He's late for picking Rachel up…"

"He's okay now. I was trying to get him to take some more of the stuff from when I had Sammy. He tripped, and had a pain crisis. I gave him a sedative and local muscle relaxant for the cramps. He just fell asleep."

"Oh," said Wilson, sounding slightly concerned, but also relieved, "okay. Well, tell him I'll watch Rachel until the sedative wears off."

"I will."

"Thanks, Carla."

"Yeah."

Carla hung up, and waited.

She watched House sleep for a while, maybe fifteen minutes.

Then she shook him, and he stirred, and looked blearily up at her.

She smiled, "hey, House."

He smiled a little as well, loopily, "I feel better now."

She snorted, "you are stoned, House."

He nodded with a smile.

*

Four hours later, House limped into Wilson's office through the balcony door, looking sheepish, "sorry."

"House, it's fine. Is your leg better?"

House nodded, "tripping set of a muscle spasm. I probably would have been fine with just the muscle relaxant, but she gave me the sedative first."

Wilson nodded, "she keeps making this sound…"

"Bzzz?" said House, buzzing his lips together, "yeah. He crouched awkwardly by Rachel in her carrier, and leaned over her, making the sound back at her.

She giggled, and clapped.

House smiled.

Wilson watched in amazement—not at Rachel, but at House.

The older doctor reached into the carrier, lifting the baby against his shoulder and limping two steps over to sit on the couch.

He laid her in his lap, and gripped her feet, wigging them back and forth.

She giggled again, all smiles.

House was slightly less animated, but his small, quiet smile was quite a lot more than could usually be got out of him.

Wilson's own smile was somewhere between the two.

*

House limped into the living room, looking exhausted.

Cuddy looked up from her nearly perpetual seat on the couch, and smiled.

"I heard you had a bad day."

House shrugged, dropping the leather bag by the table and easing himself onto the cushions, "kind of."

He extricated Rachel from her sling, and held her out to Cuddy.

Cuddy tried to reach for her, but her arms wouldn't cooperate, and she sighed, shaking her head.

House got up, and eased in behind her, Rachel in his left arm, and gently transferred her into Cuddy's arms, which he held in place himself.

Rachel gripped at Cuddy's hair, giggling.

"She sure is a happy baby," said House, with a bit of a smirk in his voice.

"Yes," said Cuddy, softly, "she is. She's happy and beautiful and… perfect. And… lucky, too."

"To have you as a mom?" asked House.

Cuddy shook her head, and whispered, though loud enough that House could hear perfectly well, to Rachel, "your daddy isn't very bright."

House was silent.

Cuddy bit her lip, hoping that she hadn't just destroyed any chance of what she said being true.

"No…" said House, haltingly, "he just isn't sure what mommy thinks of and wants from him."

Cuddy turned her head, although she couldn't turn it far enough to see House, "she wants him to be her baby's father. She doesn't know herself what else she wants or thinks. But she knows she wants that. And she's not closing off any ways this might go, yet."

House, his left arm still under Cuddy's supporting both her arms and Rachel, reached up, gently brushing his fingers over Cuddy's cheek.

Cuddy smiled.

*

House sighed, rolling over in bed, so he could reach the light and see the crib.

Rachel was crying, red in the face as she lay, kicking her feet and waving her arms.

House got up, and reached into the crib, holding her against his shoulder with his left arm, as he limped out into the kitchen.

Her diaper wasn't wet, she refused the bottle.

He sighed, and sat down, sitting her on the counter, holding her little hands in his.

She stopped crying and looked at him.

He reached over to the counter, grabbing a plum out of the fruit bowl and taking a bite out of it.

He placed it against her mouth, and she sucked on it, eyes growing wide as the juice entered her mouth.

He heard a muffled call, and Cuddy wobbled out with the walker, struggling to lift it between steps, though not to support herself on it.

"She won't sleep without me holding her or playing with her," said House, "and every time I leave her in another room, she cries."

Cuddy sat on the other stool, smiling.

House got a knife, and sliced up the plum.

She had started eating things off her plate by herself, and now she ate the bits of plum quite happily—though messily.

House picked one up, holding it near Cuddy's mouth.

Cuddy laughed, and House popped it in.

They sat with Rachel until seven in the morning.

House smiled, gripping Rachel's sticky hands, "bath time."

She giggled.

He picked her up, and Cuddy stood to follow, smiling.

They had almost reached the bathroom, when House heard a crash behind himself.

He turned, and limped as fast as he could back to where Cuddy was.

She had fallen, and was lying curled on the floor, obviously in pain.

He set Rachel on the floor, and lowered himself painfully next to her, gripping her hand.

"Cuddy?"

She looked at him, and her expression was mournful, and frustrated, and a little sheepish, but not scared or too upset.

He sighed, "where are you hurt?"

She shook her head, "I'm not injured, it just hurt to fall."

House nodded, picking Rachel up, "I'm gonna put her in her crib, then I'll be right back."

Cuddy nodded, looking ashamed, now.

House came back, and gripped her under the armpits, the way Carla did when Cuddy fell at PT.

He lifted, and managed to get her to her feet.

She really could barely keep her legs under her, and she did seem to have injured her wrist.

House couldn't help her.

He could keep her standing, but he couldn't walk holding her extra weight. Even if it would have just set off a spasm, he would have done it, but his leg would simply give out if he tried.

"House," she whispered, "you need to call Wilson."

He shook his head, and painfully helped her back down to the floor.

"I'll be right back.

He left, and Cuddy frowned, hearing Rachel start crying in House's bedroom.

House came back with a wheelchair Cuddy had never seen before. Hers had discarded in glee the day she got to use the walker.

She looked up at him, confused.

He gripped her under the armpits, and she gripped his arms, and he lifted her into the chair.

"Where did this come from?"

"The closet. It's been in there since I got out of it after my infarction. You okay to use it with that wrist?"

She nodded, "yes. Though I might have to borrow this for a while. Don't think I should support weight on it."

He nodded.

"I'll give her her bath."

Cuddy nodded, and wheeled herself into her bedroom.