"It's completely different when I'm playing with it," Cuddy agreed. She was getting the hang of the controls but she didn't try anything fancy. She simply kept running it around House. She didn't actually find driving the truck all that interesting. The fun was in using it to get a little revenge for the way he'd driven over her feet when she got home. Anything she could use to get a little payback on the annoyance front was going to be fun.
"Uh huh," she said, distracted by keeping the truck under control. She didn't think there could be any doubt he was the more annoying of them. In fact, she was pretty sure if the question were ever put to a vote, he'd win by a landslide. She wasn't trying to be more annoying however. She was merely giving him a taste of his own medicine.
"Hey!" she complained when he snapped the towel at her. He wasn't doing it hard enough to hurt but he was distracting her from the truck controls. She tried to bring the truck around and zoom it at him from behind but the stupid thing got hung up on the corner of a drawer and she couldn't get it to wiggle free.
She gave him an aggravated look when he flicked the towel again. She'd warned him about getting too playful--and annoying--with her lest he send her into labor. Okay, sure, it was unlikely any of his little tricks would actually have any effect on Junior but she could still threaten him with the possibility.
"Oh," she said with mock concern. She took one hand off the truck controls and pressed it to her belly. "Was that a contraction I felt?"
With his tongue poking out of the corner of his smirking lips, he snapped the towel at her a third time. He loved having fun with her; if she wasn't heavily pregnant, he might have been a little rougher - not to hurt her of course, but he knew Cuddy could give as good as she got and probably wouldn't hold back on being a little rough with him. Maybe he would have wrestled with her or chased her around the kitchen with the hand towel, flicking it at her until she got her own back.
He was about to snap the towel at her again but stopped in his tracks for a brief, startled moment at her announcement that she may have felt a contraction. Towel gripped at either end in his hands, he stared at her. It very quickly dawned on him, however, that she was jerking him around.
He relaxed with a rush of relief, giving her a look at the fact that she'd 'punk'd' him. "You rat," he retorted and he flicked the towel at her again, and then again for good measure. He went to snap the towel at her once more but at the last moment changed his angle, flicking the towel down at her shins instead.
"Don't make me chase you through the house. I can limp faster than you can waddle."
"Don't bet on it," Cuddy retorted. She thought she could probably move faster than he could...but she wasn't sure of that anymore. Under normal conditions she could easily out run him. Now, with her having to carry Junior along with her and his leg pain being a thing of the past.... Well, she wouldn't want to bet on the outcome of a race herself.
She had a smug grin on her face, though. She'd liked the way he froze when he thought she was going into labor. Sure, he'd figured out it was joke fast enough but still, she could get some mileage out of this thing. She only had a couple weeks left--please let it only be a couple weeks--and if playing the pregnancy card was the only way to make him behave, then she'd play it. She just hoped it wouldn't be a case of crying wolf. She'd be pretty pissed off if he ignored her when she really did go into labor.
She reached out and grabbed one end of the towel and kept a good tight grip on it. "Stop abusing the pregnant woman," she said, tugging him closer with the towel. "Just give me a kiss and then feed me."
"Is that a challenge?" he likewise retorted. "If you want to race around the house to see who's faster, game on."
He would race her, too... if the likelihood of her going into labour wasn't so high. No, she likely wouldn't go into labour just from doing something like waddling quickly around the house but he wasn't going to risk it. He'd gotten enough scares already in one day - he didn't want another scare and have it be the real thing.
He grunted in protest when she grabbed the towel and attempted to wrestle it from her hands. Instead, he was pulled towards her. "So demanding," he complained. "I bought you cake, I bought you clothes, I bought that truck which you've taken over..."
He smirked as he stepped in closer, though. Tugging the hand towel free, he grabbed both ends and looped it around the back of her neck to pull her to him.Still holding the towel, he leaned down and pecked her on the lips. "So, how many more times are you going to cry 'contraction'?" He pecked another quick kiss on her mouth. "Even when liars tell the truth, they're never believed. When you actually do go into labour, I might not believe you until you actually do throw a newborn at me."
"You can hardly complain about that. You've known me for years--you knew I was demanding."
She didn't see herself as demanding, of course. First, she hadn't demanded any of the stuff he was listing off. Those purchases had been purely his idea, not hers. Aside from that, though, she didn't think she was all that demanding, certainly not about the little stuff. Not even about some of the big stuff. She wasn't some whiny little diva who insisted he indulge her every whim. She never said no when he chose to indulge her. She wasn't an idiot, after all. She didn't demand it, though.
Her demands tended to be about things she considered important. Like House's psychiatric issues. She'd finally demanded he get treatment and she wasn't sorry about that. She demanded that he listen to her and...well, that was still an ongoing process but she wasn't sorry about it either. She'd made certain demands about the baby as well and again, she wasn't sorry. She knew he didn't like it when she put those kinds of demands on him, especially when she wouldn't let the subject drop. But when something mattered to her enough to put her foot down, she not only put her foot down, she dug her heels in. That wasn't anything new, though, and he should've realized she wasn't going to change.
She put her hands on his waist and leaned in for a kiss, but he was being a tease, only offering quick pecks. She scowled at him and tried again but again he pulled away after only the barest meeting of their lips. "I'll keep doing it as long as it's funny," she said defiantly. "In other words, as long as you keep freaking out every time I do."
She doubted he'd ignore her if she actually went into labor. She'd pretty much make sure he couldn't ignore her. In the meantime, though, it was his own fault. If he hadn't flipped out on the phone earlier over a perfectly innocent situation, she wouldn't have though to torment him with a few 'rehearsals.' She didn't want to push it too far because she didn't want to push him into a full-blown anxiety attack. But a little torture was amusing to her.
She knotted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down for a more satisfying kiss. Not a lust-crazed kiss, just an affectionate, even playful series of soft kisses along his mouth. Pleased with herself, she gave him a smug grin when she allowed him to pull back.
"Now feed me," she said. "And that's Junior's demand, not mine."
Well... maybe he freaked out a little bit. Okay, a lot. He thought it was wholly justified, though. He had good reason to freak out and it wasn't just because he was nervous about parenthood. Knowing the ins and outs of pregnancy and childbirth from a medical standpoint didn't help in the emotional arena. It was common for men who were first-time fathers to panic over their significant other going into labour. Of course, he never thought he'd be that sort of person, and he definitely never thought he'd end up being one of those first-time fathers.
"Well, okay. Maybe I get a little... apprehensive. But that's your fault," he was quick to add just as Cuddy pulled him down for a kiss. He had more to say on the matter but all conversation was put on hold for the several moments that he and Cuddy locked lips. It was a good reason to put conversation on hold - he never got sick of kissing her.
"Stop distracting me," he demanded when she let him go. He rolled his eyes at her command to be fed, especially at her claim that it was Junior's doing that she was so hungry, then he reached a hand around to pinch her ass.
"The kid's speaking through you now?" he asked as he stepped back to return to chopping the salad ingredients up. "I thought demonic possession usually came with a loud, bellowing voice and pea green vomit."
Cuddy smirked, which was not easy to do when she was kissing him. But listening to him try to blame her for his freakouts was amusing. She supposed technically that was true because she'd provided the source of his anxiety--a baby. But she wasn't trying to make him flip out. Well, maybe just a little bit right now, just for giggles. However, when the time came, she was going to be busy enough dealing with the birth. She wouldn't need to deal with his panic as well.
"Junior's not a demon," she said crisply, giving him a light slap on the ass in retaliation. "But yes, he does speak through me, in a manner of speaking. He controls when and how much I eat, when and how much I sleep. He even chooses what I wear to a certain extent."
She set the truck control on the far side of the counter. She used her foot to nudge the truck out from where it had gotten wedged against the drawer, then leaned over with a grunt to pick it up and get it out of the way, too. She didn't really care if it got broken but she would care if one of them tripped over it and fell. If she did a belly flop on the kitchen floor, that just might be enough to kick off her labor. Despite her claim she was ready to birth this baby, she didn't want to do it that way.
"If you're hoping for loud voices and vomit, though, just wait until he's born." She got a couple of glasses down from the cupboard and went to the fridge to get them something to drink with dinner. "Vomit, pee, poop--you'll get the full range of bodily fluids."
House took the knife up and resumed slicing into the tomato. "So, in other words," he replied, "you're being prepped for whatever hell there is to come once Junior is controlling you from the outside instead of from within."
He could identify in his own way what that was like. His leg - after the infarction, during his rehab and even long after rehab was over, his pain had dictated how much sleep he got and he'd had to revolve his entire life around it and his disability. And the Vicodin had dictated a lot of other things, like when and how much he could (or couldn't) crap, how and when he could eat, even sometimes dictated when and how much he could pee.
He'd gone through more sleepless nights than he could ever keep count of, and part of the reason his diet was so bad was out of learned habit - at his sickest points, all he could stomach was soup and sometimes a sandwich. That combined with depression and adjusting to a bachelor life after Stacy had left amounted to the habitual crap diet he still had today.
As Cuddy talked about vomit, pee and poop, House finished chopping up the tomato and tossed the slices into the salad bowl. "The human body is such a wonderful thing. Full of bad smells, excrement, mucus, bacteria, bile, bilirubin, emesis, drool..."
He began shredding lettuce and tossing it into the salad bowl. "At one stage or another, every one of those things is probably going to end up smeared on some part of my body. Which is why I plan on leaving the poopy diapers to you."
Seeing the baby's arrival as some kind of damnation was apparently House's only way of looking at it. Aside from a few brief moments of happily anticipating a new partner in crime, he seemed to focus on the negatives. She shouldn't be surprised because he always focused on the negative but she simply couldn't understand that mindset, not about a baby. She knew it could be hard work to raise a child and she did have some concerns but it was far outweighed by excitement. She didn't think she could see having a child as anything but positive even if she tried.
"Oh, no, no," she said quickly. She set the full glasses on the counter and turned to wag her finger at him. "If you're going to be a daddy, you're going to be 100% daddy. And that means diaper duty." She leaned forward and snatched a slice of tomato from the bowl. She popped it in her mouth, then started collecting the dishes and cutlery they'd need.
"I know you're not grossed out by a little baby poop. You're a doctor; you've seen far more disgusting things than that." She set the pile of dishes next to the salad bowl and leaned against the counter to look at him. "If you think you're getting out of the dirty work the way you avoid clinic duty--think again. And if you're just worried you don't know how to take care of a baby...." She shrugged. "You're a smart guy. You'll learn."
He knew Cuddy would immediately take issue with him declaring himself a diaper-free zone. In part, he'd been joking - after all, if the kid was going to stay at his apartment, then dealing with poop at some point was going to be inevitable.
Dealing with poop wasn't even the issue, though. As Cuddy said, he'd seen far worse things than poop. He'd seen prolapsed anuses, pus-filled ulcers, gangrene, necrotising fasciitis, faecal vomiting... He knew every kind of descriptive ailment that could make guests at a party run for the toilet with their hands clasped over their mouths. So, baby poop didn't even register on the scale of disgusting.
"So, what are you going to do? Keep a tally of how many diapers I don't change when it's my turn and demand I catch up on my diaper duties every time my avoiding it hits double digits?" He finished shredding the lettuce and looked at Cuddy. She'd done that exact same thing to him with clinic duty - kept note of how many hours behind he was and forced him to make up for them.
He shrugged, turning away to reach for the mushrooms to put in the salad. "Taking care of a baby just takes common sense. Can't be that hard." And he knew taking care of a baby on a physical level probably wouldn't be that hard - they ate, pooped and slept. That wasn't too complex.
Taking care of a baby emotionally, however, was something else entirely. As far as he'd come with accepting that he and Cuddy were going to be parents, he still struggled a lot with the idea of attachment and love. It was a lot easier for him to categorise the kid into something negative rather than positive, to accept the kid while still maintaining as big a distance as he could from attachment. Call it self-preservation or self-defence against the unknown and the terrifying.
But he didn't want to get into discussing any of that. He reached for the tap and turned it on to wash the mushrooms, then set them aside. The last mushroom he washed, though, he flicked the excess water at Cuddy.
"No, that's one thing I don't want to keep tally of," Cuddy said. "I simply want you to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done and not call me to do it."
As far as she was concerned, it wasn't about having to deal with stinky diapers. It was about taking care of your kid in any and all ways necessary. More importantly, she wanted House to be intimately involved in every aspect of the baby's life because she felt it was more likely he and the baby would bond if he was a truly hands-on dad. Her hope was that once he developed an emotional bond with the baby, he'd be less anxious about being a good dad.
"And don't call Wilson to do the dirty work either," she added, thinking of the times House would be on his own taking care of the baby. That thought made her pause. She'd known all along--or at least since House had agreed to give fatherhood a try--that there would be times when he and Junior would be on their own at House's place. The closer she got to her due date, the more real that became, and the more difficult to consider.
It wasn't that she thought House couldn't handle taking care of a kid. He would surely do it in ways she didn't necessarily approve of but he'd do it. Junior would be just fine with his or her daddy. What bothered her was simply the notion of not being able to be with her baby at any time. After carrying Junior for nine months, it was a bit unsettling to think of having to let him go off with someone, even if that someone was Daddy. Maybe it wouldn't be bad. Maybe she'd enjoy the occasional breaks. One way or another, she'd find out soon enough.
She frowned at him when he splashed water at her. She leaned forward and very pointedly used his shirt to wipe her face. Hey, if he could be childish, then so could she. After that, she slipped the leftover quiche in the microwave and turned it on. He almost had the salad done and the quiche should be nice and hot by the time he was.
"So when do you have your first outpatient appointment with Megan?" she asked, resting back against the counter until everything was ready.
"I wouldn't dream of calling Wilson to do the dirty work," he lied, sounding scandalised. "What sort of father-to-be do you take me for?"
Maybe he was lying. In truth, he hadn't really thought much about the idea of making Wilson do the dirty work with this kid. But there'd been plenty of other times he'd roped Wilson into doing the dirty work elsewhere. He couldn't really say how he was actually going to be with the kid, on his own. He liked to think he'd do just fine but who knew how handy Wilson might come in.
"Hey!" he protested mildly at Cuddy wiping her face on his shirt. He frowned down at the wet patch, then up at her. She really could be as childish as him when she wanted to be. As she walked around him with the quiche in hand to put in the microwave, he followed her with his eyes and added pointedly, "You've been hanging out with me too much."
He shook his head with a snort and returned to the mushrooms, unevenly slicing them and tossing the pieces into the salad bowl. He looked askance at Cuddy, at her question. A rather sobering question at that. He was glad as anything to be out of the hospital but wasn't so enthused about having to keep seeing Megan. He didn't have a choice, though, not unless he wanted to ruin his chances with Cuddy and everything else in his life.
"Tuesday," he answered, grabbing another washed mushroom to slice. "At three o'clock. Can't wait," he said sarcastically. He threw the cut up mushroom in the bowl and added, "Maybe you ought to talk Junior into making an appearance around that time. 'I didn't feel like going' isn't a good enough excuse to be saved by the bell but you squeezing out an eight pound human being from between your legs would be."
"I've been hanging out with you for twenty years, give or take. I'd say that's definitely too much," Cuddy said lightly.
Despite their long and sometimes tumultuous association, she couldn't really blame him for her behaviors. He didn't make her act childishly or recklessly anymore than he made her act responsibly or maturely. All those things were already part of who she was. He simply provided opportunities for some of the more repressed parts of her personality to be expressed. It was up to her to decide whether to take advantage of those opportunities. So far, she thought it had been good for her to take the occasional break from her usually responsible nature.
"Yeah," she drawled when he encouraged her to provide an excuse to miss his appointment. "I'll see what I can do about that." She knew he hated the idea of having to continue with his therapy but it was something he needed to accept as part of his normal, day to day life. He needed to accept his problems weren't going to go away overnight and therefore, neither was his need for therapy.
He wasn't very patient, though. When he did manage to acknowledge he had a problem, he wanted it fixed immediately, not after months or years of treatment. He'd given up on his physical rehab very quickly after his infarction and that had only hurt him. The consequences could be even worse, though, if he didn't follow through with his psychiatric therapy, and not just because she might leave him if he couldn't get a grip on himself. If he couldn't get a handle on his problems, they would destroy him. She knew he didn't want that anymore than she did.
"Although, given that first-time labor tends to last for hours, she might insist you keep your appointment anyway." She doubted Megan would do any such thing but if she did, Cuddy would have to put her foot down. House needed to be with her while she was in labor. It didn't matter whether he was actually doing anything or not, she needed him there and no one--not even Megan--was going to take him away.
"And that's assuming that--after a few hours of watching me try to push a another human being out of my body-- you won't want to go to your appointment," she teased. "You might prefer an hour of talking to another hour of watching me grunt and groan my way through labor."
She had a point about the average length of first time labour and it was something he'd already considered. For all he knew, Cuddy could be in labour for - as she'd said - hours. Then again, her labour might be fast and hard and over in minimum time. Neither were really ideal. If it was over fast, he'd possibly be bewildered by the blur of events and wind up staring dumbfounded at a baby before he could even blink. If it took hours upon hours, he may have his nails bitten down to the cuticle before Cuddy was even anywhere near the second stage of labour.
Or it was even possible that the birth would be nowhere near as dramatic and terrifying as he'd conjured in his mind. Maybe once it all came to fruition, he'd be a lot calmer and relaxed. Or possibly not. He had a feeling he may be a little more on the anxious side than Cuddy, which was just stupid. He knew what was going to happen, for God's sake. If it were any other birth, he'd likely be bored with the whole thing. But this wasn't just any other birth, not to him.
"Hmm, you have a point," he said thoughtfully. Which would be worse - being stuck in therapy or being stuck in a delivery room with Cuddy grunting in pain? He wasn't sure. They both had their equally unfavourable points. "Maybe I'll just go for a beer instead."
He was joking, of course. If Cuddy was in labour, he'd be there, regardless how much he might be shitting his pants or no matter how much he would actually want to get a beer to calm his nerves. And as much as he really did not want to continue with therapy... he wouldn't cut class, so to speak. At least, not at first.
"I'll kick my feet up in a bar," he continued, teasing Cuddy, "while you kick your feet up in the lithotomy position." Returning to the salad with two utensils, he began tossing it and glanced at Cuddy. "Obviously, I'm joking," he retorted pointedly to the look on her face.
Cuddy threw him a dirty look when he threatened to go for a beer while she was in labor. She knew he was joking if for no other reason than that he had to know she'd cut his nuts off if he left her to give birth to their child while he was slumming in some bar. Since he was fairly fond of all his bits, he wouldn't take the chance. Still, it might not be a bad idea to put Wilson on guard duty, just to make sure someone would be available to drag House's ass into the delivery room.
She also knew there was probably some small kernel of truth to his threat. He'd made it clear he was uncomfortable with the proposition of being present for the birth. She knew it bothered him to think he wouldn't have anything to do. She couldn't help that. She needed him there for moral support. Or immoral support as was likely in his case. She might not need him to physically do anything but she needed him to be there for her. That was one of those demands she fully intended to make and didn't feel the least bit sorry about.
"Trust me--it would be the last beer you ever drank," she said in mock threat. The microwave went off so she stepped over and pulled out the quiche. She served it onto the plates--his portion twice as big as hers--and left them on the counter to cool just a bit. She picked up their drinks to carry them into the living room. Just as she started to walk away, she paused and looked thoughtfully at him.
"I could just have you tied to my bed in the delivery room," she suggested, not seriously. "Or handcuffed. I'm sure everyone would enjoy that...except you, of course."
"I know it would be," he replied, turning back to the salad. Oh, he knew sitting out of the birth to have a beer would be the last beer he'd ever drink. Frankly, he wanted to live to see a few more beers and other alcoholic beverages, and inducing the wrath of Cuddy while she was in labour would be the equivalent of summoning the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
While she tended to the quiche, he finished tossing the salad and went in search of a salad dressing. Salad on its own, while healthy, was also not very tasty, not to him. He was digging around in her fridge for something to put in the salad, even if it was mayo, when Cuddy stopped in the doorway to say something.
He poked his head up to look over the fridge door, at Cuddy. The mental image of being chained to the bed while Cuddy wreathed around in labour entered his head. As much as she might not have been serious, he could actually picture her doing that. And he could picture himself: wrist dangling limp where it was tied to the bed, sitting on a chair, scowling while nurses and doctors bustled around Cuddy and gave him smug or confused looks.
"Why don't you put a collar on me and tie me to the bed with a leash?" he said sarcastically. "I'll sit like a good boy and scratch behind my ears and lick my crotch." He turned back to the fridge. "Might be a good idea. If you don't want me biting the doctor and growling at the nurses..."
He'd long ago made up his mind that he was going to be keeping a very close eye on Patil, especially during delivery. He didn't care what Cuddy said about trusting Patil - just because she did didn't mean he did. Besides, Cuddy already knew how critical he was of other doctors. Patil sure wasn't going to get off lightly. At least snapping at her would give him something to do if he was particularly out of his depth with what the hell to do as a father in the delivery room.
Locating some salad dressing at the back of the fridge, he pulled it out and went back to the salad. He tipped a generous amount in, tossed the salad again, then picked the salad bowl up in his hands. He carried it out into the living room and put it down on the coffee table.
"On the bright side, you'd be living up to your reputation as a dominatrix. At last, everyone would see for themselves that the stories I told about you over the last eight years, of you being a sadistic DOM, are true."
"Uh huh," she said, distracted by keeping the truck under control. She didn't think there could be any doubt he was the more annoying of them. In fact, she was pretty sure if the question were ever put to a vote, he'd win by a landslide. She wasn't trying to be more annoying however. She was merely giving him a taste of his own medicine.
"Hey!" she complained when he snapped the towel at her. He wasn't doing it hard enough to hurt but he was distracting her from the truck controls. She tried to bring the truck around and zoom it at him from behind but the stupid thing got hung up on the corner of a drawer and she couldn't get it to wiggle free.
She gave him an aggravated look when he flicked the towel again. She'd warned him about getting too playful--and annoying--with her lest he send her into labor. Okay, sure, it was unlikely any of his little tricks would actually have any effect on Junior but she could still threaten him with the possibility.
"Oh," she said with mock concern. She took one hand off the truck controls and pressed it to her belly. "Was that a contraction I felt?"
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He was about to snap the towel at her again but stopped in his tracks for a brief, startled moment at her announcement that she may have felt a contraction. Towel gripped at either end in his hands, he stared at her. It very quickly dawned on him, however, that she was jerking him around.
He relaxed with a rush of relief, giving her a look at the fact that she'd 'punk'd' him. "You rat," he retorted and he flicked the towel at her again, and then again for good measure. He went to snap the towel at her once more but at the last moment changed his angle, flicking the towel down at her shins instead.
"Don't make me chase you through the house. I can limp faster than you can waddle."
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She had a smug grin on her face, though. She'd liked the way he froze when he thought she was going into labor. Sure, he'd figured out it was joke fast enough but still, she could get some mileage out of this thing. She only had a couple weeks left--please let it only be a couple weeks--and if playing the pregnancy card was the only way to make him behave, then she'd play it. She just hoped it wouldn't be a case of crying wolf. She'd be pretty pissed off if he ignored her when she really did go into labor.
She reached out and grabbed one end of the towel and kept a good tight grip on it. "Stop abusing the pregnant woman," she said, tugging him closer with the towel. "Just give me a kiss and then feed me."
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He would race her, too... if the likelihood of her going into labour wasn't so high. No, she likely wouldn't go into labour just from doing something like waddling quickly around the house but he wasn't going to risk it. He'd gotten enough scares already in one day - he didn't want another scare and have it be the real thing.
He grunted in protest when she grabbed the towel and attempted to wrestle it from her hands. Instead, he was pulled towards her. "So demanding," he complained. "I bought you cake, I bought you clothes, I bought that truck which you've taken over..."
He smirked as he stepped in closer, though. Tugging the hand towel free, he grabbed both ends and looped it around the back of her neck to pull her to him.Still holding the towel, he leaned down and pecked her on the lips. "So, how many more times are you going to cry 'contraction'?" He pecked another quick kiss on her mouth. "Even when liars tell the truth, they're never believed. When you actually do go into labour, I might not believe you until you actually do throw a newborn at me."
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She didn't see herself as demanding, of course. First, she hadn't demanded any of the stuff he was listing off. Those purchases had been purely his idea, not hers. Aside from that, though, she didn't think she was all that demanding, certainly not about the little stuff. Not even about some of the big stuff. She wasn't some whiny little diva who insisted he indulge her every whim. She never said no when he chose to indulge her. She wasn't an idiot, after all. She didn't demand it, though.
Her demands tended to be about things she considered important. Like House's psychiatric issues. She'd finally demanded he get treatment and she wasn't sorry about that. She demanded that he listen to her and...well, that was still an ongoing process but she wasn't sorry about it either. She'd made certain demands about the baby as well and again, she wasn't sorry. She knew he didn't like it when she put those kinds of demands on him, especially when she wouldn't let the subject drop. But when something mattered to her enough to put her foot down, she not only put her foot down, she dug her heels in. That wasn't anything new, though, and he should've realized she wasn't going to change.
She put her hands on his waist and leaned in for a kiss, but he was being a tease, only offering quick pecks. She scowled at him and tried again but again he pulled away after only the barest meeting of their lips. "I'll keep doing it as long as it's funny," she said defiantly. "In other words, as long as you keep freaking out every time I do."
She doubted he'd ignore her if she actually went into labor. She'd pretty much make sure he couldn't ignore her. In the meantime, though, it was his own fault. If he hadn't flipped out on the phone earlier over a perfectly innocent situation, she wouldn't have though to torment him with a few 'rehearsals.' She didn't want to push it too far because she didn't want to push him into a full-blown anxiety attack. But a little torture was amusing to her.
She knotted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down for a more satisfying kiss. Not a lust-crazed kiss, just an affectionate, even playful series of soft kisses along his mouth. Pleased with herself, she gave him a smug grin when she allowed him to pull back.
"Now feed me," she said. "And that's Junior's demand, not mine."
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Well... maybe he freaked out a little bit. Okay, a lot. He thought it was wholly justified, though. He had good reason to freak out and it wasn't just because he was nervous about parenthood. Knowing the ins and outs of pregnancy and childbirth from a medical standpoint didn't help in the emotional arena. It was common for men who were first-time fathers to panic over their significant other going into labour. Of course, he never thought he'd be that sort of person, and he definitely never thought he'd end up being one of those first-time fathers.
"Well, okay. Maybe I get a little... apprehensive. But that's your fault," he was quick to add just as Cuddy pulled him down for a kiss. He had more to say on the matter but all conversation was put on hold for the several moments that he and Cuddy locked lips. It was a good reason to put conversation on hold - he never got sick of kissing her.
"Stop distracting me," he demanded when she let him go. He rolled his eyes at her command to be fed, especially at her claim that it was Junior's doing that she was so hungry, then he reached a hand around to pinch her ass.
"The kid's speaking through you now?" he asked as he stepped back to return to chopping the salad ingredients up. "I thought demonic possession usually came with a loud, bellowing voice and pea green vomit."
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"Junior's not a demon," she said crisply, giving him a light slap on the ass in retaliation. "But yes, he does speak through me, in a manner of speaking. He controls when and how much I eat, when and how much I sleep. He even chooses what I wear to a certain extent."
She set the truck control on the far side of the counter. She used her foot to nudge the truck out from where it had gotten wedged against the drawer, then leaned over with a grunt to pick it up and get it out of the way, too. She didn't really care if it got broken but she would care if one of them tripped over it and fell. If she did a belly flop on the kitchen floor, that just might be enough to kick off her labor. Despite her claim she was ready to birth this baby, she didn't want to do it that way.
"If you're hoping for loud voices and vomit, though, just wait until he's born." She got a couple of glasses down from the cupboard and went to the fridge to get them something to drink with dinner. "Vomit, pee, poop--you'll get the full range of bodily fluids."
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He could identify in his own way what that was like. His leg - after the infarction, during his rehab and even long after rehab was over, his pain had dictated how much sleep he got and he'd had to revolve his entire life around it and his disability. And the Vicodin had dictated a lot of other things, like when and how much he could (or couldn't) crap, how and when he could eat, even sometimes dictated when and how much he could pee.
He'd gone through more sleepless nights than he could ever keep count of, and part of the reason his diet was so bad was out of learned habit - at his sickest points, all he could stomach was soup and sometimes a sandwich. That combined with depression and adjusting to a bachelor life after Stacy had left amounted to the habitual crap diet he still had today.
As Cuddy talked about vomit, pee and poop, House finished chopping up the tomato and tossed the slices into the salad bowl. "The human body is such a wonderful thing. Full of bad smells, excrement, mucus, bacteria, bile, bilirubin, emesis, drool..."
He began shredding lettuce and tossing it into the salad bowl. "At one stage or another, every one of those things is probably going to end up smeared on some part of my body. Which is why I plan on leaving the poopy diapers to you."
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Seeing the baby's arrival as some kind of damnation was apparently House's only way of looking at it. Aside from a few brief moments of happily anticipating a new partner in crime, he seemed to focus on the negatives. She shouldn't be surprised because he always focused on the negative but she simply couldn't understand that mindset, not about a baby. She knew it could be hard work to raise a child and she did have some concerns but it was far outweighed by excitement. She didn't think she could see having a child as anything but positive even if she tried.
"Oh, no, no," she said quickly. She set the full glasses on the counter and turned to wag her finger at him. "If you're going to be a daddy, you're going to be 100% daddy. And that means diaper duty." She leaned forward and snatched a slice of tomato from the bowl. She popped it in her mouth, then started collecting the dishes and cutlery they'd need.
"I know you're not grossed out by a little baby poop. You're a doctor; you've seen far more disgusting things than that." She set the pile of dishes next to the salad bowl and leaned against the counter to look at him. "If you think you're getting out of the dirty work the way you avoid clinic duty--think again. And if you're just worried you don't know how to take care of a baby...." She shrugged. "You're a smart guy. You'll learn."
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Dealing with poop wasn't even the issue, though. As Cuddy said, he'd seen far worse things than poop. He'd seen prolapsed anuses, pus-filled ulcers, gangrene, necrotising fasciitis, faecal vomiting... He knew every kind of descriptive ailment that could make guests at a party run for the toilet with their hands clasped over their mouths. So, baby poop didn't even register on the scale of disgusting.
"So, what are you going to do? Keep a tally of how many diapers I don't change when it's my turn and demand I catch up on my diaper duties every time my avoiding it hits double digits?" He finished shredding the lettuce and looked at Cuddy. She'd done that exact same thing to him with clinic duty - kept note of how many hours behind he was and forced him to make up for them.
He shrugged, turning away to reach for the mushrooms to put in the salad. "Taking care of a baby just takes common sense. Can't be that hard." And he knew taking care of a baby on a physical level probably wouldn't be that hard - they ate, pooped and slept. That wasn't too complex.
Taking care of a baby emotionally, however, was something else entirely. As far as he'd come with accepting that he and Cuddy were going to be parents, he still struggled a lot with the idea of attachment and love. It was a lot easier for him to categorise the kid into something negative rather than positive, to accept the kid while still maintaining as big a distance as he could from attachment. Call it self-preservation or self-defence against the unknown and the terrifying.
But he didn't want to get into discussing any of that. He reached for the tap and turned it on to wash the mushrooms, then set them aside. The last mushroom he washed, though, he flicked the excess water at Cuddy.
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As far as she was concerned, it wasn't about having to deal with stinky diapers. It was about taking care of your kid in any and all ways necessary. More importantly, she wanted House to be intimately involved in every aspect of the baby's life because she felt it was more likely he and the baby would bond if he was a truly hands-on dad. Her hope was that once he developed an emotional bond with the baby, he'd be less anxious about being a good dad.
"And don't call Wilson to do the dirty work either," she added, thinking of the times House would be on his own taking care of the baby. That thought made her pause. She'd known all along--or at least since House had agreed to give fatherhood a try--that there would be times when he and Junior would be on their own at House's place. The closer she got to her due date, the more real that became, and the more difficult to consider.
It wasn't that she thought House couldn't handle taking care of a kid. He would surely do it in ways she didn't necessarily approve of but he'd do it. Junior would be just fine with his or her daddy. What bothered her was simply the notion of not being able to be with her baby at any time. After carrying Junior for nine months, it was a bit unsettling to think of having to let him go off with someone, even if that someone was Daddy. Maybe it wouldn't be bad. Maybe she'd enjoy the occasional breaks. One way or another, she'd find out soon enough.
She frowned at him when he splashed water at her. She leaned forward and very pointedly used his shirt to wipe her face. Hey, if he could be childish, then so could she. After that, she slipped the leftover quiche in the microwave and turned it on. He almost had the salad done and the quiche should be nice and hot by the time he was.
"So when do you have your first outpatient appointment with Megan?" she asked, resting back against the counter until everything was ready.
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Maybe he was lying. In truth, he hadn't really thought much about the idea of making Wilson do the dirty work with this kid. But there'd been plenty of other times he'd roped Wilson into doing the dirty work elsewhere. He couldn't really say how he was actually going to be with the kid, on his own. He liked to think he'd do just fine but who knew how handy Wilson might come in.
"Hey!" he protested mildly at Cuddy wiping her face on his shirt. He frowned down at the wet patch, then up at her. She really could be as childish as him when she wanted to be. As she walked around him with the quiche in hand to put in the microwave, he followed her with his eyes and added pointedly, "You've been hanging out with me too much."
He shook his head with a snort and returned to the mushrooms, unevenly slicing them and tossing the pieces into the salad bowl. He looked askance at Cuddy, at her question. A rather sobering question at that. He was glad as anything to be out of the hospital but wasn't so enthused about having to keep seeing Megan. He didn't have a choice, though, not unless he wanted to ruin his chances with Cuddy and everything else in his life.
"Tuesday," he answered, grabbing another washed mushroom to slice. "At three o'clock. Can't wait," he said sarcastically. He threw the cut up mushroom in the bowl and added, "Maybe you ought to talk Junior into making an appearance around that time. 'I didn't feel like going' isn't a good enough excuse to be saved by the bell but you squeezing out an eight pound human being from between your legs would be."
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Despite their long and sometimes tumultuous association, she couldn't really blame him for her behaviors. He didn't make her act childishly or recklessly anymore than he made her act responsibly or maturely. All those things were already part of who she was. He simply provided opportunities for some of the more repressed parts of her personality to be expressed. It was up to her to decide whether to take advantage of those opportunities. So far, she thought it had been good for her to take the occasional break from her usually responsible nature.
"Yeah," she drawled when he encouraged her to provide an excuse to miss his appointment. "I'll see what I can do about that." She knew he hated the idea of having to continue with his therapy but it was something he needed to accept as part of his normal, day to day life. He needed to accept his problems weren't going to go away overnight and therefore, neither was his need for therapy.
He wasn't very patient, though. When he did manage to acknowledge he had a problem, he wanted it fixed immediately, not after months or years of treatment. He'd given up on his physical rehab very quickly after his infarction and that had only hurt him. The consequences could be even worse, though, if he didn't follow through with his psychiatric therapy, and not just because she might leave him if he couldn't get a grip on himself. If he couldn't get a handle on his problems, they would destroy him. She knew he didn't want that anymore than she did.
"Although, given that first-time labor tends to last for hours, she might insist you keep your appointment anyway." She doubted Megan would do any such thing but if she did, Cuddy would have to put her foot down. House needed to be with her while she was in labor. It didn't matter whether he was actually doing anything or not, she needed him there and no one--not even Megan--was going to take him away.
"And that's assuming that--after a few hours of watching me try to push a another human being out of my body-- you won't want to go to your appointment," she teased. "You might prefer an hour of talking to another hour of watching me grunt and groan my way through labor."
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Or it was even possible that the birth would be nowhere near as dramatic and terrifying as he'd conjured in his mind. Maybe once it all came to fruition, he'd be a lot calmer and relaxed. Or possibly not. He had a feeling he may be a little more on the anxious side than Cuddy, which was just stupid. He knew what was going to happen, for God's sake. If it were any other birth, he'd likely be bored with the whole thing. But this wasn't just any other birth, not to him.
"Hmm, you have a point," he said thoughtfully. Which would be worse - being stuck in therapy or being stuck in a delivery room with Cuddy grunting in pain? He wasn't sure. They both had their equally unfavourable points. "Maybe I'll just go for a beer instead."
He was joking, of course. If Cuddy was in labour, he'd be there, regardless how much he might be shitting his pants or no matter how much he would actually want to get a beer to calm his nerves. And as much as he really did not want to continue with therapy... he wouldn't cut class, so to speak. At least, not at first.
"I'll kick my feet up in a bar," he continued, teasing Cuddy, "while you kick your feet up in the lithotomy position." Returning to the salad with two utensils, he began tossing it and glanced at Cuddy. "Obviously, I'm joking," he retorted pointedly to the look on her face.
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She also knew there was probably some small kernel of truth to his threat. He'd made it clear he was uncomfortable with the proposition of being present for the birth. She knew it bothered him to think he wouldn't have anything to do. She couldn't help that. She needed him there for moral support. Or immoral support as was likely in his case. She might not need him to physically do anything but she needed him to be there for her. That was one of those demands she fully intended to make and didn't feel the least bit sorry about.
"Trust me--it would be the last beer you ever drank," she said in mock threat. The microwave went off so she stepped over and pulled out the quiche. She served it onto the plates--his portion twice as big as hers--and left them on the counter to cool just a bit. She picked up their drinks to carry them into the living room. Just as she started to walk away, she paused and looked thoughtfully at him.
"I could just have you tied to my bed in the delivery room," she suggested, not seriously. "Or handcuffed. I'm sure everyone would enjoy that...except you, of course."
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While she tended to the quiche, he finished tossing the salad and went in search of a salad dressing. Salad on its own, while healthy, was also not very tasty, not to him. He was digging around in her fridge for something to put in the salad, even if it was mayo, when Cuddy stopped in the doorway to say something.
He poked his head up to look over the fridge door, at Cuddy. The mental image of being chained to the bed while Cuddy wreathed around in labour entered his head. As much as she might not have been serious, he could actually picture her doing that. And he could picture himself: wrist dangling limp where it was tied to the bed, sitting on a chair, scowling while nurses and doctors bustled around Cuddy and gave him smug or confused looks.
"Why don't you put a collar on me and tie me to the bed with a leash?" he said sarcastically. "I'll sit like a good boy and scratch behind my ears and lick my crotch." He turned back to the fridge. "Might be a good idea. If you don't want me biting the doctor and growling at the nurses..."
He'd long ago made up his mind that he was going to be keeping a very close eye on Patil, especially during delivery. He didn't care what Cuddy said about trusting Patil - just because she did didn't mean he did. Besides, Cuddy already knew how critical he was of other doctors. Patil sure wasn't going to get off lightly. At least snapping at her would give him something to do if he was particularly out of his depth with what the hell to do as a father in the delivery room.
Locating some salad dressing at the back of the fridge, he pulled it out and went back to the salad. He tipped a generous amount in, tossed the salad again, then picked the salad bowl up in his hands. He carried it out into the living room and put it down on the coffee table.
"On the bright side, you'd be living up to your reputation as a dominatrix. At last, everyone would see for themselves that the stories I told about you over the last eight years, of you being a sadistic DOM, are true."
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