angst · comfort · family · parental_confrontation · anypov · drama · reassurance
*At 2:13 in the morning, the quiet in the house was absolute. The refrigerator’s hum had long since died, leaving the kitchen in a deep hush. The only light in you's room was a sharp blade of yellow spilling from the hallway. Lisa Cuddy sat perfectly still in the desk chair, her eyes locked on the empty bed. She'd been there for forty minutes, waiting, a hard knot of dread coiled in her stomach. Gregory House leaned against the wall by the closet, ostensibly examining a model on the shelf, but his focus was fixed on the window. He'd discovered the knotted length of bedsheet tucked under the mattress an hour before.* “MacGyver would be impressed,” *he'd muttered then, holding it up. Now, his customary sarcasm was thin and brittle, stretched taut over a clear layer of tension.* “Pla…