A/N: Here we go on the next installment of my series. It's fully fleshed out mentally, so no danger on being unfinished. I will try to keep the ball rolling on posting schedule, but there is a whole lot going on at the moment. My work schedule has greatly increased due to the pandemic (not for more money, alas, but more hours of effort required to earn not as much). There are also a few family things going on that take attention on uncertain, unannounced schedules, and a bit to my surprise, my next to-be-published book has kicked into high gear and demanded to start being written down and prepared. In fact, it jumped the one I thought was in line ahead of it to be published and moved up a position. So I'm putting writing time into that, too. It's a much different book from the dementia memoir. This one is lighthearted, has a lot of humor, and is far easier and faster for me to write. The dementia book was catharsis; this is whimsical fun. It's about cats, amusing anecdotes from a lifetime with them.

Anyway, I will try to keep the Other Foot rolling along, but as we've all found out lately, life has a way of being uncertain. I hope that all of you are well and hanging on at the moment as best as you can. This story is medium length, nothing like the length of Medical Homicide or Pain, but it does have a nice plot arc with a few surprises. I might shorten chapters at times from what I pictured mentally just to get something out there if I don't have time for more. There are two other stories at the moment developing mentally in the series after this one, (Name Withheld for now because it gives a lot away) and Nexus. Those might possibly flip-flop in order with Nexus coming first because Nexus is coming together faster at the moment. We shall see.

Enjoy! And thanks to everyone who has reviewed the other stories and is still along for this journey. I never imagined what it would be when I started.

(HC)

Ice.

House balanced carefully as he pried himself out of the blue Camaro. New Jersey had been hit by an unusually severe ice storm last night, and the whole world was slick this morning. He had driven very gingerly to PPTH, and he was grateful for his close-to-the-entrance reserved parking space.

On the other side of the car, Cuddy had made her exit faster, of course. She stood there waiting for him with concern in her eyes and obviously making an effort not to let too much of it past her lips. House knew that she had suggested that they ride together today purely because she worried about him falling and wanted to worry at closer range, but his sessions with Jensen and hers with Patterson were paying off. He tried to remind himself that concern for his walking wasn't pity and was actually very justified this morning, and she was obviously trying not to hover too much or come across wrong.

Always, he had disliked cold weather. In his childhood, of course, it had been tied up inextricably with John and with punishments such as sleeping outside. In the era after his leg, it had ramped up the pain and made walking harder. And on the rare truly icy days such as this, it made even the short trek from his parking space to the hospital door a sweat-inducing, stomach-tightening, balance-testing ordeal. He had a gripper that he could apply on such mornings on the end of his cane, but it still didn't replace the balance and surefootedness of two good legs.

Tentatively, he walked around Victory, keeping his left hand on the car for support, taking short steps, and Cuddy came along the passenger's side to meet him at the back. She seized his left arm, and he was glad of it. "Careful, Greg," she couldn't resist saying.

"I am." He managed to keep his tone fairly level. With her providing additional support on his left, he limped slowly toward the door to the hospital, testing the ground with the cane at every step. "Where are those maintenance workers, anyway?" They had already been out this morning obviously, and the whole lot was salted, but there was still light sleet falling, and the temperature was so cold that anything collecting froze. The ice was trying its best to develop new glazed patches, battling with determination against the salt.

"I'll send them out again. How do you think Wilson is going to like having a girl?" Cuddy asked, changing the subject, trying to distract both of them. This was early February, and Sandra was due with her and Wilson's second child in May.

"Oh, girls are so much easier than boys," House replied with the jaunty assurance of someone who only has experience on one side of a question.

Cuddy laughed. "Oh, I don't know. Our girls are going to give us a run for our money as they get older, I think. Abby with her questions on everything, and Rachel with her energy."

"Wish we could bottle that energy," House said. The cane slipped a bit on his next attempted step, and Cuddy broke off in mid agreement with his comment as she steadied him. House gritted his teeth and reached out with the cane again, trying to place it precisely on the ice gripper. He took his next careful step and changed the subject himself. "Those riding lessons are really helping Rachel."

"They are," Cuddy agreed. "The focus and discipline of it is really steadying her." Rachel still enjoyed a good run in the back yard or around the house with the stuffed Ember, but she wasn't quite as much of a whirlwind as she used to be. She was beginning to develop the ability to at least try to hold herself in check when appropriate. "She'll be starting kindergarten in the fall." Cuddy sighed. "They grow up so fast. Do you think we should have put her in a daycare for socialization for a year before then?"

House shook his head fondly. "Lisa, what's the point of wondering what we should have done last fall? We talked about it at the time, and we agreed that another year more directly with Marina and us and - and the old man would help her more. She gets socialization at the park and other places. She hasn't grown up in a bubble. Really, she's pretty good at making friends." That quality in anyone still amazed him. Indeed, Rachel was open and outgoing, warming up quickly to people now, most unlike her first few weeks with Cuddy when she still wasn't sure of her foundation in the world. It was Abby who was more reserved, not antisocial but always thinking. House imagined his girls starting school, Rachel this fall, Abby later. He sighed. Cuddy was right; they grew up so fast.

Cuddy looked at him, hearing the sigh. "Is -" She bit off the comment.

House briefly fought and conquered the old annoyance. He was doing better, he thought again with a private pride. Both of them were. In fact, his leg was hurting more than usual this morning, and Cuddy, of course, already knew it. Methadone and his pain management program helped, but nothing would have overcome the influence of today's weather. "I was just thinking that you're right. They do grow up so fast."

"Yes." She still had his arm for balance, and she gave it a squeeze. They successfully reached the hospital door at that point, and she moved away a little, giving up her position as supplemental cane once they were safely inside. She visibly switched from wife to administrator. "Have a good day, Greg. Think you'll solve that case today?"

He grinned at her. "Count on it. I will, at least; I can tell the answer's getting close. Hopefully the ducklings will not too long after."

"Let me know." She smiled back at him. "See you at lunch."

"See you." He limped toward the elevator, and Cuddy stopped at the receptionist's desk to call maintenance and ask them to redo the parking lots. The head of that department told her that they were still out doing the lots, all of them in rotation, covering everything at least every hour. She reinforced that diligence, then hung up and headed for her office. Halfway there, she remembered that she had meant to talk to the head of Gastroenterology this morning about his budget proposal. That was due today to the board, but his, duly turned in on time, needed a revision. If she hurried, she could probably catch him before he got involved in his patients and procedures for today. She glanced toward the elevators, which had six or seven people already in line, then turned to the stairs, ascending with brisk, swift strides.

"Dr. Cuddy," a voice called below her as someone crossing the lobby spotted her. Cuddy turned quickly. She turned too quickly, and her somewhat wet shoe caught on the next stair at the sudden change of momentum and then slipped off. Almost in slow motion, she felt herself falling, and she snatched desperately at a rail that she hadn't bothered to be holding onto, snatched at it and missed. She fell the full length of the first flight of stairs, landing back on the ground floor with one ankle twisted back beneath her. Her first, fleeting thought was a hope that not many people had seen that ignominious display. Her second thought, not fleeting, was the pain.