Gift of Chicken, Chapter 2.2
Title: Gift of Chicken
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy/House, Rachel
Author's Notes: This was written for paroulis for winning my auction at help_lisa. She wanted a sequel to Gift of Screws that explored how House and Rachel were getting along and also something where House and Cuddy had sex. Although she wanted a one shot, I felt like this would be better split up into a couple chapters. Since Gift of Screws was started mid-season 6, it's not canon with the direction the show took. As a result, I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't already.
Warning: This piece contains sexual situations. If this offends you, please do yourself a favor and turn away now..
Summary: House and Cuddy struggle to deal with the ramifications of their agreement to make him Rachel's legal guardian.
Previous Parts: Chapter One (Part One), Chapter One (Part Two), Chapter Two (Part One)
Disclaimer: Show isn't mine
“Mommy, I’m thirsty.”
Knowing there was no way she could continue thinking about House, Cuddy turned her head to Rachel. The little girl's hair had come mostly out of its ponytail, the hair tie barely looped around a few sweaty strands at the nape of her neck. And she was covered in dirt and grass stains, her face pink with the considerable effort she'd put into attacking the yard. Although naps were becoming rarer now, there was no question that Rachel would fall asleep this afternoon. Cuddy smiled at her as she reached for the sippy cup filled with water nestled by her hip out of sight. "Here you go, honey."
Rachel took the cup and drank from it happily. Before Cuddy could even suggest it, Rachel asked, "Can you fix my hair?"
"Of course." Cuddy patted her lap to signal for Rachel to sit down. Rachel eagerly listened. As Cuddy went about making a new ponytail, she said, "You get all the weeds?"
"I think so."
"Good. You're such a big help."
Rachel ignored her. "Where's House?"
"He's taking a nap." There was no need to discuss why. There was no desire to. That would just bring the conversation back to yesterday, and Cuddy didn't want to talk about anything involving the dog. Looking back at their discussion last night, she had come to the conclusion that Rachel had just meant that they'd gotten the dog in the car, not that House had promised such a thing (obviously he hadn't). But just in case she was wrong, Cuddy was hoping that, by not talking about it, Rachel wouldn't ask again. And the next time they were in a parking lot, Rachel wouldn't be allowed anywhere until she took hold of her mother's hand.
“Oh.” She didn’t seem concerned one way or another. The serenity didn’t last long however, as Rachel quickly began to fuss. The sunshine and the heat getting to her, she complained, “My water’s hot.”
“Okay. Let’s -”
“I’m hot,” she whined, wiggling around uncomfortably on Cuddy’s lap.
“Then let’s go inside, all right? Go on,” she said before Rachel could say anything else. “I’ll bring everything in. You just go get cool.” It was easier to deal with the problem than to admonish Rachel for her complaining.
Not surprisingly, Rachel ran toward the door without ever looking back to see if she could help Cuddy bring anything in to the kitchen. But that was fine, honestly. Cuddy didn’t mind cleaning up on her own. Again, it was probably easier that way. There were no helping hands, but this would be quicker. Even counting the time necessary to pick up the extracted weeds Rachel had left behind on the ground, it only took five, maybe ten, minutes to discard the dead plants, grab the blanket, and dirty dishes. Rachel was waiting for her at the door. "I can hold it!" she exclaimed in her eagerness to help, referring to the door that would surely hit Cuddy in the ass if someone weren’t there to prop it open.
"Thank you," Cuddy said with purpose. Living with House sometimes made it feel like a lost cause to teach Rachel manners, but the effort was still important to make. Once she was inside, she asked, "Can you grab the blanket for me please?"
"Uh huh." With more force than was necessary, Rachel tugged on the afghan currently wedged underneath Cuddy's armpit. "What do I do now?"
Cuddy smiled. "Let me put the dishes in the sink and then I'll take it from you."
"And then I can have more cookies?" Rachel asked sweetly. Cuddy ignored her to make sure she got the plates, bowls, and silverware into the sink and not on the floor. "Mommy?"
"Not right now. Maybe after dinner."
"Please?"
Moving back to her daughter, Cuddy said, "I'm glad that you said, 'Please,' but I already gave you an answer." When Rachel started to pout, Cuddy leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I don't want your blood sugar to get too high, so not right now, okay?"
"This sucks." The blanket was tossed on the floor in a fit of frustration, but before the tantrum could fully form, it was interrupted by the phone ringing.
"I have to get this," Cuddy explained. There was no need to threaten Rachel with punishment if she acted up while Cuddy tried to take the call. The warning was implied and understood. "Hello?" she asked a moment after she'd picked up the phone.
"Hello, Lisa."
The friendly voice was familiar though one Cuddy hadn't heard in a while. It felt odd to say that it belonged to her mother-in-law, as House had done his best to keep the two parts of his family as distinct from one another as possible. He more than anyone else would balk at the terminology, but Cuddy wasn’t exactly comfortable with Blythe House being her mother-in-law either. It didn't make much sense to her; she had no problem referring to Blythe as one of Rachel's grandmothers after all. Then again, considering who the other grandmother was in this situation, anyone, even a rock, would probably be an improvement, Cuddy thought bleakly. Still, she had yet to feel anything toward Blythe personally. Good or bad. Their relationship was polite, but they weren't close. They didn't share stories very much or relate to one another. When they were together, they focused on Rachel. They didn't even talk about House really, beyond how he was and the very basics of conversation necessary to maintain a warm dynamic between them, of course. Like so:
"Blythe. How are you doing?"
"I'm well. How are you?"
"Good."
"The hospital keeping you busy?"
"As always, but I'm managing. We got a pretty big donation a few months ago, so it hasn't been as hectic lately," Cuddy explained. Bored, Rachel started to walk away, but Cuddy grabbed her by the arm and motioned for her to stay put.
"Congratulations. And how is Greg?"
"Greg is Greg" was the typical answer Cuddy offered, and so it was the one she used here. It seemed to convey all of the required information.
"That well?" As was her way, Blythe managed to sound warm and sarcastic all at the same time.
If it were what House wanted, Cuddy would have told her about the patient he'd just lost. He wouldn't want his mother to know that though, so Cuddy said nothing. It became clear then, in a way she had never realized, that the issue between the women was House himself. He didn't want there to be a relationship... so there wasn't.
"And how's Rachel?"
Cuddy smiled. "A handful. I have her here if you'd like to say hi."
"I would like that very much, thank you."
"All right. Hold on." Cuddy pulled the phone away from ear. "Do you want to say hello to your grandmother?" she asked Rachel. The answer came in the form of scowl, as though the very idea was torturous. "Not Nana," Cuddy clarified.
Rachel’s mood changed instantly. "Mom Mom?" she asked, acting as though she needed clarification to avoid being tricked. Cuddy nodded her head. "Okay, then I want to talk to her."
"Good. Because I think she wants to talk to you too." Cuddy hit the speakerphone button; it seemed easier to subject herself to the inane conversation than to trust that Rachel, who was still too young to remember that she needed to always hold the phone up to her mouth, would remember. "Blythe, I put you on speakerphone if that's all right."
"That's fine with me. Is Rachel there?"
"Uh huh! I'm here," Rachel said cheerfully as Cuddy set the phone on the kitchen counter. Reaching down, she picked Rachel up and put her on the counter as well.
"And how are you doing, darling?"
"I am good."
"Are you learning a lot in school?"
"No!"
Cuddy intervened. "We're learning some things. Next week, the school is having its field day. The children spend the day outside playing games and participating in sports. I think there's even going to be someone there to paint faces. Isn't there, Rachel?"
Rachel shrugged. "I don't know."
"I'm pretty sure I have that right."
"Well, that sounds like a lot of fun. What could be better than going to school and not having to participate in lessons?" the voice over the phone said.
"It's certainly different than when I attended school," Cuddy replied diplomatically. "But the school year's almost over, so I suppose the idea is to let everyone have one day of fun before they go off for the summer. Or in Rachel's case, before she changes schools. I'm sure I told you about that, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Blythe said in an equally polite manner. "I appreciate you thinking of me when it comes keeping me informed, since my own son chooses not to."
"You know House" was all Cuddy could say in return.
"Are you looking forward to your new school, Rachel?"
Rachel glared at Cuddy; she obviously didn't appreciate this topic of conversation. "No."
"I'm sure you'll meet a lot of new friends. A sweet little girl like you. I think you'll have so much fun next year." That was the thing about all of this that Cuddy couldn't understand. House acted as though he hated his own mother. But from where she was standing, Blythe was more often than not just a sweet woman. Because of House, there was an awkwardness the two women couldn't overcome, but she was gentle and optimistic with Rachel. That was more than Cuddy could say for her own mother.
"I guess," Rachel said noncommittally.
Blythe changed the subject. "Well, what have you been doing outside of school recently? Are you still dancing?"
Excitedly Rachel took the opening to focus on other topics. "Uh huh. I dances a lot, and it's fun, and I get to wear a yellow costume with flames!" She actually shouted the last word, like that would provide extra enjoyment.
"They are having a recital the weekend before the fourth of July," Cuddy explained. "I think she's supposed to be the sun."
"Is that a good part?" Blythe asked carefully.
"Yes! I have to be on stage the whole time, and I has to dance a lot and sometimes I have to stand still and flap my arms cause I has rays."
"That sounds wonderful. I wish I could be there to see it."
The guilt trip was fairly effective. But oblivious to what was happening around her, Rachel kept talking. Unfortunately for Cuddy, Rachel had not forgotten about the dog yesterday. Blythe's desire to see Rachel pushed out of Cuddy's mind, Cuddy focused her attention on what Rachel was now saying. Thankfully, she didn't claim that she had been allowed to keep the dog. It was just the opposite. As the emotionally wrought story came to an end, Rachel finished by saying, "House says we can't keep the puppy."
"Well, you know Rachel, it doesn't sound like that doggie is ready for a family yet," Blythe told her calmly. The fact that Blythe hadn't used the moment to criticize her son or Cuddy was not surprising; she wasn't Arlene. But Cuddy was grateful nonetheless. "Perhaps, if your mommy says it's okay, you could go see the dog before he finds a new home. Wish him good luck and say goodbye to him once you know that he's okay."
Rachel didn't like this idea. It was obvious that she had been hoping desperately that her beloved grandmother would condemn her mother and House for denying such a sweet and precious child the dog of her dreams. "Maybe... but I think he should come live with me!"
“That would be very nice indeed,” Blythe humored. “But… I’m sure the dog already has a home.”
“Yes, he does,” Cuddy said, latching onto the idea, even though it contradicted what Blythe had said only moments ago.
Rachel looked at her suspiciously. “No, he doesn’t.”
“You know what I think?” Blythe offered. “I think that any dog you love must be special enough to already have a home. Because if you want him, then so would everybody else. I'm sure someone misses him very much right now."
It was a complete lie, but for Rachel, there was something about Blythe's soft demeanor that gave the lie more credibility than it deserved. " I guess," she conceded. "Then I wanna say goodbye," she said to Cuddy, who considered refusing.
It was a good idea; she wouldn't deny that she appreciated what Blythe was doing. It would give Rachel the closure she needed, give her the comfort in seeing that the dog was all right and that it would be loved even if not by her. On the other hand, Cuddy could tell that a meeting between the dog and Rachel would be anything but simple. If they came to face to face, it wouldn't be about saying goodbye. That certainly wasn't why she wanted to see the animal. Regardless of Blythe's intentions, the reality would be that this would be a last ditch effort to convince Cuddy that they should take the dog. Rachel would never be able to let the dog go without fighting for it. And when that battle was lost, as it was always going to be, she would be heartbroken. Goodbye would occur, but it would be the type of ending wrenched from her, forced out of her, and in that way, it wouldn't give her the closure she wanted. It would upset her; it would make her angry, and it would cause more problems than just a simple, "We can't go see the dog" would have ever created. But Blythe had made the suggestion. Perhaps she didn't realize the problems it would create, or maybe she just didn't care, so long as she looked like a hero in Rachel's eyes.
No, Cuddy thought rejecting the idea. Her mother-in-law was many things, but the family tree's deviousness seemed to have been concentrated in House, excluding all other family members from having that trait. For Cuddy it might not have been the most helpful suggestion, but it was not intentionally offered as a means to create complication. Blythe was a nice person even if they weren't close. Besides, wasn't she doing Cuddy a favor by putting off Rachel's desire to keep the dog? Cuddy told herself that she was, that this was a sweet attempt at helping her.
Of course, there was no way Cuddy could say no to the idea now. Later... maybe, maybe she would be able to tell Rachel something came up. But not now.
"We can do that. I'll call the vet and see when would be a good time for us to stop by."
"Good," Rachel said calmly. "Will you come to my recital?" she asked, placated by the promise that she would get to see the dog again.
"Oh Rachel, I don't know if Mom Mom wants to come all this way. It's a very long drive for her." As soon as she said it, Cuddy knew how terrible it sounded. She hadn't intended to make it seem like Blythe wouldn't want to see Rachel. As confusing as this family dynamic was, Cuddy was sure that Blythe loved Rachel, would do anything for her.
Reinforcing that point, Blythe said, "Rachel, I would love to come. But we'll have to make sure Greg is okay with it."
Rachel's nose scrunched up in confusion. "Why do you call House 'Greg'?"
"Because that's his name, darling. His first name anyway."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence where nobody spoke. Cuddy knew that the others were waiting for her to say something dismissively about House, such as, "Don't worry about House." But the truth was she didn't want to speak like that, especially not in front of Rachel. Maybe she would have at one time, but looming over them now was the guardianship. And if Cuddy was looking for House to prove that he was worthy, she knew that she couldn't undermine him as she might have done in the past.
It wasn't that she would lose him. He wouldn't break up with her. But if she made him seem unimportant, his opinions valueless, what would that teach Rachel? She could see now that there had been times where she had done just that, recently too, and the result would be, if God forbid something happened, that Rachel would never view House has a figure of authority. With her mother gone, Rachel would be in House's care, but she wouldn't behave for him, because she would have learned to ignore him. She would have come to believe, thanks to her own mother, that House couldn't be trusted to know what was good for her.
That couldn't happen. All the acts of kindness today would be meaningless if she allowed that to occur in her death. There would be no amount of massages and heating pads and breakfasts made for him to make up for that.
So all she could tell Blythe and Rachel was, "I'll talk to House. I'm sure he wants to see you."
"Well I'm glad one of us is sure about that." It was sarcasm mixed with the palpable desire for Cuddy to be right. "I mean, it would be nice to see my granddaughter. She must have grown so much since I last saw her."
"No," Rachel said hastily. "I'm tiny. I'm a baby."
"Yes, you are. A sweet little baby," Blythe agreed.
Her tone was what stuck with Cuddy long after the conversation ended. Regardless of everything else, Blythe loved Rachel. She had seen Cuddy's daughter as part of her family in some ways long before House himself had. And it seemed to Cuddy then so ridiculous that they should be kept apart for reasons House had never named. It seemed so silly that they would be looking for nannies when Blythe was in Lexington, little more than a widow who spent her days waiting for the next friend or acquaintance to die. It seemed wrong.
But the idea didn't form fully in Cuddy's mind until Rachel had gone down for her nap. Only in the silence did Cuddy begin to believe that maybe she could convince Blythe to relocate and House to let her. The latter would obviously take more convincing than the former, but really, what grounds would he have to refuse? He might have felt that his mother had been horrible to him (although he had never really said one way or the other if he believed this), but she was nice to Rachel. Cuddy didn’t underestimate how hard that would be for him to accept. Was it a reason to keep Rachel from enjoying that love and attention though? No.
And if Blythe would be willing to watch Rachel, who would be a better caregiver than Rachel’s own grandmother? She didn't know how to give insulin injections, of course. But Blythe would have more of a reason to learn and certainly more motivation to get the dosage right. And if that was too complicated, there was nothing to prevent her from bringing Rachel to the hospital for doses or from a nurse being hired to help Blythe.
Cuddy took a deep breath and forced herself to pause. It wasn't a bad idea, but she needed House to okay it. Part of her railed against needing his approval, but she couldn't do this without that. It was a delicate matter, the relationship between mother and son. Cuddy wouldn't be doing anyone any good if she brought Blythe out here to be subjected to House's abuse. That wouldn't benefit Rachel in any way, so Cuddy decided broaching the possibility with House had to happen. Even if she didn't like the thought of giving him the power to veto what she thought was best for her own daughter.
Reluctantly then, Cuddy headed to their bedroom. She had no plans to wake House up, but she figured the bedroom was as good a place as any to wait. But when she entered the room, he was sitting up in bed, perusing the book she'd left on her nightstand.
"This is crap, by the way," he said firmly, like he was judging her for even having brought the book into their home.
"And yet you're reading it," she pointed out before shutting the door behind her. “Why are you awake?”
He shrugged. "Can’t sleep, and I didn't feel like getting up to find something better to read." He tossed the book in the general vicinity of her nightstand and missed, the novel sliding onto the floor. "Mommy, I dropped it."
Begrudgingly she went and picked it up. "Speaking of mothers -”
"Yeah, see I was hoping this would turn into kinky sex and not a discussion of your mother's latest -”
"I wasn't referring to my mom," she said in a calm, serious voice.
He must have known what she was getting at. There was no way he didn't understand. But he acted as though he didn't get it. "Oh. Is this about Wilson's latest piece? Because I'm sure he was only joking when he told me he let her dress him up in diapers and spank him with -”
"While I appreciate that mental picture -”
"That turn you on, huh? I know. It's hard to resist."
"I'm talking about your mother."
The playfulness was gone. "Is that who called?" Cuddy nodded her head. "What did she want?"
"To talk." She tried to watch his face carefully as she sat on the bed beside him, but he was too good to let any emotion through.
"And how did that go?" It was a neutral question.
"Fine. Rachel told her about the dog.”
“You didn’t think she would? She isn’t going to shut up about that thing until the mailman knows about it.”
She cautiously admitted, “I may have underestimated her desire for -”
"Let's just get to the point," he interrupted abruptly.
She didn't understand. "What do you -”
"You talked to my mother. You knew I was laying down, didn't know whether I was asleep or not. Yet you came in here anyway. That means you want something. Or rather, it means she wants something. I'm guessing she wants to visit."
She didn't say anything at first. While technically that was true, Cuddy was about to ask him for so much more than that. And it needed to be put to him in the best way possible, if only to get him to even consider the proposal. But she hadn't expected him to be awake, so she hadn't thought of what to say.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said triumphantly. "You tell her no?"
"No."
"You told her yes?"
"No. I told her that I would talk to you."
"And you think I'm going to say yes?" He was almost amused with his own curiosity.
Cuddy decided there would be no time better than the present to spring the idea on House. He would never be in the right frame of mind to hear her out. No matter what, he would rail against the proposal. But if she waited to bring it up, it would look like she'd been plotting against him. Or like she'd lied to him or something. So she had no choice but to wade through the murky thought process that had once seemed perfectly clear. Words forming slowly and uneasily, she explained, "I know you don't like spending time with her, so of course, I know what you're going to say."
"Then you should have told her no." His voice was flat, not angry but hardly pleased by this turn of events.
"She needs to understand that her relationship with Rachel is the way that it is because of her relationship with you, not me."
"Yes it's all my fault."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"But you're hoping I'll tell you that she should come stay with us for a few days anyway." It wasn't a question. He must have been able to sense it from her, what she wanted. "That's why you didn't tell her no. Because you want her here."
"Not exactly." She sighed, every cell in her reluctant to bring up anything that might destroy the neutral ground they'd finally found themselves on. "I was listening to her talk to Rachel on the phone, and Rachel adores her."
A year ago, he would have said something disparaging about Rachel to discredit her opinion. Today, he merely admitted, "I know she does."
Cuddy wanted to believe that was a good sign, so she continued. "And even though you clearly don't believe she was a good mother to you, I'm sure you can see that your mom is great with Rachel." He gave her nothing in response, just kept his eyes on her, imploring her to keep going. "I was thinking how silly it is. Your mother is completely alone, all by herself in that home of hers. She has nobody to turn to."
"Am I supposed to feel bad about that? Cause I don't."
She ignored the snipe, although the comment registered in her mind that it wasn't a good sign of things to come. "The only thing she has is, not counting you, her granddaughter."
He sneered, silencing her immediately. But if he was offended, he didn't explain why. He just said, "Keep talking. I want to get this over with."
Reluctantly, she did as he requested. "And here we are, looking for someone to watch Rachel while -”
"No."
The word was uttered so low that it would have been easy to miss if not for the deadly manner in which it came out. It gave her pause. But she knew that he was going to be mad either way now; she might as well offer the full argument so that his wrath would be lessened by the knowledge that she had said everything she'd wanted to.
"She wouldn't live with us. She would watch Rachel during the weekdays. Pick her up from school."
"Did you talk to my mother about this?" he asked insistently.
"No." She went back to building her case. "You wouldn't have to talk to her. You'd barely have to see her. And in return, she would get to spend time with Rachel, which they both want. We wouldn't have to plan trips for them to see one another. And instead of hiring someone, we would be leaving Rachel in the care of someone who is actually invested in her well-being." She placed a hand over his heart. "I know this is hard, but is there anyone better for -”
"I would say just about everyone else on the planet would be a better babysitter," he snapped. "Actually anyone else - I would trust them more."
He'd rejected the idea. She could see that he wasn't even considering it. Without thinking, he was saying no. She didn't feel anger or disappointment because of that; she understood that she was asking a lot of him right now. But she pushed him anyway, "Please. Don't say no just because -”
"Stop talking." It was an order, roughly given and horribly received. "This isn't happening. It's not going to happen. I don't care what your reasoning in that tiny brain of yours is. You're an idiot. This idea of yours? It's as stupid as you are, so do us both a favor and shut up."
It wasn't what he said that bothered her. He'd said far worse to her before, and when insults, particularly ones about her intellect, were common, she didn't take offense to what he said in the heat of the moment. Well... maybe she did, a little bit anyway. But it wasn't the words themselves that upset her. It was the tone he used, the way he shoved her hand off of him and rolled away from her. Normally, when they argued, they said many terrible things to one another. Years of their working relationship had expanded the limits to what could be said between them. Typically though, he didn't resist her touch; if anything, they should have been angrily tearing off each other's clothes right now and having sex.
This was anything but the usual disagreement between them though. He was proving that with each passing second. The fact that he wouldn't even look at her, the way his body was tightly coiled and tensed, as though he feared her next words like a physical blow - that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Everything about him said that she had to stop. And she did want to do what he had instructed. But she couldn't, could she? She'd made a mistake, and she had to make it right.
Because there was no way this was going to resolve itself on its own.
"House," she said slowly.
"Shut up."
She tried again. "Please -”
"No."
She waited a moment, gave him a chance to calm down, before trying again. "You're right," she said as quickly as she could. She needed to say those words before he interrupted her, so the sentence came out as one long word. This time, he didn't comment. "It's a terrible idea."
And maybe spooning against him when he was desperate to put distance between them was another one, but she did it anyway. Moving as close to him as she could, she let her forehead press against the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have said that. It was stupid."
"You don't say" was his cold reply. Capitulation was having no effect in calming him down.
Neither did "I'm sorry." She had to go further. "I just wish that you would... no, I don't want to say that." She didn't want it to sound like she was blaming him. That he wasn't already yelling at her again was a good sign, she supposed. But it wasn't proof that she had been absolved of her sins. "I want to do what’s best for Rachel and -”
“That isn’t it,” he snarled, proof of an obvious misstep on her part.
She didn’t disagree. “I know. Obviously it’s not if it makes you this upset.” He shifted uncomfortably at the terminology but didn’t fight her. “I just… your mother doesn’t have that much time left.”
“Thank God for that.”
“I know you don’t mean that.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know that. And I do mean it.”
“Rachel loves her. I got caught up in that, wanting to give Rachel that relationship that she will never have with my mother.” She could feel him bristling at her explanation. He didn’t want that, clearly. He wanted her to grovel. “I know. I didn’t think about it enough. I don’t think about you enough when I’m trying to make decisions like this. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you didn’t do that.” He was calmer now but no less judgmental and hateful in his response. “You let a woman who barely sees Rachel once a year consider herself a grandmother, but I live with Rachel, and I have to beg for everything I get from you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You think I’m not good enough for Rachel but the woman who raised me? She’s fine?” He laughed breathlessly, joylessly.
When it was put like that, it sounded awful. But he was ignoring an important fact, which she pointed out. “Two things,” she said in a straightforward manner. “If I let her consider herself Rachel’s grandmother, it was so that you would invest yourself in Rachel’s future more. At that point, you had no interest in her, and I thought that that would help you see the role you were assuming in Rachel’s life. More importantly, Blythe can do what she wants, because she’s never going to be my daughter’s father. You are,” she stressed heavily.
That was what they were talking about. They could couch it in less threatening terms like “guardianship,” but they both knew what they were doing, what it would mean. When they explained it to Rachel, there wouldn’t be any legal terms used. Cuddy knew what she would have to say to her daughter. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
“Yes. This is harder. It should be,” she argued.
“Because I would be around Rachel every day, where as a grandmother wouldn’t - Oh wait,” he exclaimed, pretending to be surprised where his point would lead him.
She rolled her eyes, knowing that he couldn’t see her. “Well, that’s not happening. But if it had, she wouldn’t make decisions. I would have never let her cross that boundary.”
“That’s good to know, considering she would be terrible at it,” he muttered.
Silently she draped an arm over him and held him close for what she would ask next. Afraid he would bolt otherwise, she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t trying to hurt him, that it was just the opposite.
“Talk to me,” she implored. “Your father… I understand.” Comprehension wasn’t thanks to him. He had never talked much about his childhood, save for a few tidbits here and there. When his father had died, House had let more information slip than he ever would have normally. Cuddy had gotten most of it second hand, thanks to Wilson, but through the years, she had received a pretty complete picture of House’s childhood nonetheless. And in all she’d learned, every act of cruelty seemed to be at his father’s hands. Not Blythe’s.
“But your mother,” Cuddy continued.
“Oh, you think you’ve earned the family history now? After that, Cuddy?”
“I want to understand why you get angrier the closer she gets.” She hedged off accusations of stupidity by saying, “I wish I was smart enough to get it. I -”
“I would like that as well. Unfortunately for both of us, your mother drank while pregnant so….”
“Fine. I’m an idiot. Is that you want me to say?”
He shook his head emphatically. “I don’t want you to say anything. I’d much rather you actually consider what it is that you’re asking and figure it out.”
It killed her to open herself up to criticism by saying it, but he left her no choice. She had to admit what he couldn’t see. “House, I would do anything to avoid having this conversation. I hate asking. I do. But I don't understand. I don't."
He made a noise of disgust. "What's there to understand? You just have to do what you are told when it comes to my mother."
"No," she fought back. "I'm not doing that anymore.”
“Putting it like that makes it sound like there was a time when you did do that. And clearly, what today has shown is that -“
“I have done just that for a long time. Every time she calls, I avoid…. Never mind. From now on, if you want me to put your mother off, you're going to have explain why. Right now. Before you've had a chance to come up with something that sounds reasonable but is a complete lie." She wasn't threatening, not really. He just needed incentive to talk to her.
"What do you want me to say?" he demanded, his words echoing hers from moments ago. "You want me to tell you every last gruesome detail of -”
"I want you to talk to me. That is all I have ever wanted from you." She was pleading. Her lips kissed the back of his neck, her hands squeezing into the skin beneath her. "She upsets you so much, and -”
"No, she doesn't."
"Don't deny it. I know you hate her."
"And that should be enough."
"It's not. And it's not for you, because if I say anything even remotely kind about her, you take it as a personal affront."
"Again, that should be enough to tell you everything you need to know."
"I'm not interested in salacious details, House." But the reassurance wasn't successful. Looking at him, she could tell that her tactics hadn't worked so far. Threats, sympathy, pleas - they weren't getting her any nearer to what she needed to know. No, she thought, rejecting the way she had worded the sentiment. It wasn't a fact-finding mission she was on. She hadn't lied by saying she wasn't asking for the specifics. That might help, but she would have settled for knowing what about his mother upset him so badly. To his mind, he would no doubt believe those things were one in the same. They might have been. For her though, there was a distinction between retelling precisely what had happened and what fears or anger he specifically had now about his mother being in his life. He wasn't going to tell her either way. She could say it however she wanted, but he lay there frozen, tensed as though he were waiting for her to strike. He of all people though would know she would never hit him, so what was he afraid of?
It was fear she saw. The realization coming to her without being asked for, she could recognize it now for what it was. He was terrified. And if the cause wasn’t the possibility of physical violence, she could only believe that there was just one reason left.
Stroking his arm with her palm, she told him in a gentle voice, “I won’t tell you you’re wrong. Whatever you tell me… you’re right. I will believe you, no matter what you say."
"Like you did when you suggested my mother move here while you knew I would -”
"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, House."
It was hard to say if he believed her or was just exasperated with the way the conversation was going. The way he let out a ragged breath, it seemed like the weight of his secrets had exhausted him. But the way he relaxed a little against her suggested otherwise.
"I keep thinking," he started off in a voice so quiet that she could barely hear him. "When I look at Rachel, I can't... I can't picture myself doing to her the things that happened to me when I was her age."
She was quick to reassure him. "I know. You could never be like that. You're a good man."
It needed to be said. The last couple of months, she had shown more reluctance toward this whole situation than he deserved. She was scared to share Rachel with him, for reasons that had nothing to do with what kind of man House was. He needed to know that. As concerned as she could be that he would spoil Rachel, Cuddy knew that he would never hurt her. She worried that she had suggested otherwise, and that anxiety wasn't lessened in the way he silently accepted the words. If he had known that, he would have made fun of her for feeling the need to state the obvious.
He wasn't doing that.
"Thing about that is: every time I think that, I also realize that you would never let it happen. If I did something to hurt Rachel... that would be it. And if you had hurt her, I wouldn't - I couldn’t ignore that. I would do everything I could...." His voice trailed off, as though he was incapable of finishing the thought.
She did it for him. "And your mother didn't do that for you."
"No." He waited for a moment to see what she would say, and when she stayed quiet, he added sarcastically, "This is the part where you tell me that she didn't have the means to leave or offer platitudes like 'Things were different in those days' or -”
"I told you I wouldn't do that."
"So you did."
"I'm sorry." The earnestness with which her apology was uttered sounded foreign to her ears. She wasn't sure she had ever sounded more remorseful. "I didn't - I wasn't thinking. But you're right. She's not a good -”
"No, she's the perfect person to watch Rachel."
"Not if she makes you feel like -”
"My mother wouldn't let anything happen to her. I mean, even I can see that. All this has really done is confirm for me that it had nothing to do with her being incapable. It was me... something about me...."
The "No" she uttered got caught in her throat. "You can't -”
"Stop. Just don't." Coldly he sat up. He didn't look at her when he said, "I'm not talking about this anymore." As quickly as his leg would allow, he stood up. She wanted to grab his hand and force him into her arms, so she could hold him while she apologized and comforted him. But he purposely stayed out of her reach. He knew what she wanted, and he clearly wasn't going to give it to her. "Don't ask me about this again."
Before she could find the words to convince him to stay, he was gone. Before she'd gotten out of bed to chase after him, he had locked himself in his office. And she knew that there was no reaching him now. He would only come out when he had had time to push down every unwanted feeling she had brought out in him. It was unclear whether he would still be angry when he re-entered the rest of the home. She would be prepared if he was, but selfishly she hoped that he would forgive her or be willing to move on. Regardless, it was obvious:
They still needed a nanny.
And Cuddy would never see this part of House ever again.
Continue on to the next chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy/House, Rachel
Author's Notes: This was written for paroulis for winning my auction at help_lisa. She wanted a sequel to Gift of Screws that explored how House and Rachel were getting along and also something where House and Cuddy had sex. Although she wanted a one shot, I felt like this would be better split up into a couple chapters. Since Gift of Screws was started mid-season 6, it's not canon with the direction the show took. As a result, I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't already.
Warning: This piece contains sexual situations. If this offends you, please do yourself a favor and turn away now..
Summary: House and Cuddy struggle to deal with the ramifications of their agreement to make him Rachel's legal guardian.
Previous Parts: Chapter One (Part One), Chapter One (Part Two), Chapter Two (Part One)
Disclaimer: Show isn't mine
“Mommy, I’m thirsty.”
Knowing there was no way she could continue thinking about House, Cuddy turned her head to Rachel. The little girl's hair had come mostly out of its ponytail, the hair tie barely looped around a few sweaty strands at the nape of her neck. And she was covered in dirt and grass stains, her face pink with the considerable effort she'd put into attacking the yard. Although naps were becoming rarer now, there was no question that Rachel would fall asleep this afternoon. Cuddy smiled at her as she reached for the sippy cup filled with water nestled by her hip out of sight. "Here you go, honey."
Rachel took the cup and drank from it happily. Before Cuddy could even suggest it, Rachel asked, "Can you fix my hair?"
"Of course." Cuddy patted her lap to signal for Rachel to sit down. Rachel eagerly listened. As Cuddy went about making a new ponytail, she said, "You get all the weeds?"
"I think so."
"Good. You're such a big help."
Rachel ignored her. "Where's House?"
"He's taking a nap." There was no need to discuss why. There was no desire to. That would just bring the conversation back to yesterday, and Cuddy didn't want to talk about anything involving the dog. Looking back at their discussion last night, she had come to the conclusion that Rachel had just meant that they'd gotten the dog in the car, not that House had promised such a thing (obviously he hadn't). But just in case she was wrong, Cuddy was hoping that, by not talking about it, Rachel wouldn't ask again. And the next time they were in a parking lot, Rachel wouldn't be allowed anywhere until she took hold of her mother's hand.
“Oh.” She didn’t seem concerned one way or another. The serenity didn’t last long however, as Rachel quickly began to fuss. The sunshine and the heat getting to her, she complained, “My water’s hot.”
“Okay. Let’s -”
“I’m hot,” she whined, wiggling around uncomfortably on Cuddy’s lap.
“Then let’s go inside, all right? Go on,” she said before Rachel could say anything else. “I’ll bring everything in. You just go get cool.” It was easier to deal with the problem than to admonish Rachel for her complaining.
Not surprisingly, Rachel ran toward the door without ever looking back to see if she could help Cuddy bring anything in to the kitchen. But that was fine, honestly. Cuddy didn’t mind cleaning up on her own. Again, it was probably easier that way. There were no helping hands, but this would be quicker. Even counting the time necessary to pick up the extracted weeds Rachel had left behind on the ground, it only took five, maybe ten, minutes to discard the dead plants, grab the blanket, and dirty dishes. Rachel was waiting for her at the door. "I can hold it!" she exclaimed in her eagerness to help, referring to the door that would surely hit Cuddy in the ass if someone weren’t there to prop it open.
"Thank you," Cuddy said with purpose. Living with House sometimes made it feel like a lost cause to teach Rachel manners, but the effort was still important to make. Once she was inside, she asked, "Can you grab the blanket for me please?"
"Uh huh." With more force than was necessary, Rachel tugged on the afghan currently wedged underneath Cuddy's armpit. "What do I do now?"
Cuddy smiled. "Let me put the dishes in the sink and then I'll take it from you."
"And then I can have more cookies?" Rachel asked sweetly. Cuddy ignored her to make sure she got the plates, bowls, and silverware into the sink and not on the floor. "Mommy?"
"Not right now. Maybe after dinner."
"Please?"
Moving back to her daughter, Cuddy said, "I'm glad that you said, 'Please,' but I already gave you an answer." When Rachel started to pout, Cuddy leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I don't want your blood sugar to get too high, so not right now, okay?"
"This sucks." The blanket was tossed on the floor in a fit of frustration, but before the tantrum could fully form, it was interrupted by the phone ringing.
"I have to get this," Cuddy explained. There was no need to threaten Rachel with punishment if she acted up while Cuddy tried to take the call. The warning was implied and understood. "Hello?" she asked a moment after she'd picked up the phone.
"Hello, Lisa."
The friendly voice was familiar though one Cuddy hadn't heard in a while. It felt odd to say that it belonged to her mother-in-law, as House had done his best to keep the two parts of his family as distinct from one another as possible. He more than anyone else would balk at the terminology, but Cuddy wasn’t exactly comfortable with Blythe House being her mother-in-law either. It didn't make much sense to her; she had no problem referring to Blythe as one of Rachel's grandmothers after all. Then again, considering who the other grandmother was in this situation, anyone, even a rock, would probably be an improvement, Cuddy thought bleakly. Still, she had yet to feel anything toward Blythe personally. Good or bad. Their relationship was polite, but they weren't close. They didn't share stories very much or relate to one another. When they were together, they focused on Rachel. They didn't even talk about House really, beyond how he was and the very basics of conversation necessary to maintain a warm dynamic between them, of course. Like so:
"Blythe. How are you doing?"
"I'm well. How are you?"
"Good."
"The hospital keeping you busy?"
"As always, but I'm managing. We got a pretty big donation a few months ago, so it hasn't been as hectic lately," Cuddy explained. Bored, Rachel started to walk away, but Cuddy grabbed her by the arm and motioned for her to stay put.
"Congratulations. And how is Greg?"
"Greg is Greg" was the typical answer Cuddy offered, and so it was the one she used here. It seemed to convey all of the required information.
"That well?" As was her way, Blythe managed to sound warm and sarcastic all at the same time.
If it were what House wanted, Cuddy would have told her about the patient he'd just lost. He wouldn't want his mother to know that though, so Cuddy said nothing. It became clear then, in a way she had never realized, that the issue between the women was House himself. He didn't want there to be a relationship... so there wasn't.
"And how's Rachel?"
Cuddy smiled. "A handful. I have her here if you'd like to say hi."
"I would like that very much, thank you."
"All right. Hold on." Cuddy pulled the phone away from ear. "Do you want to say hello to your grandmother?" she asked Rachel. The answer came in the form of scowl, as though the very idea was torturous. "Not Nana," Cuddy clarified.
Rachel’s mood changed instantly. "Mom Mom?" she asked, acting as though she needed clarification to avoid being tricked. Cuddy nodded her head. "Okay, then I want to talk to her."
"Good. Because I think she wants to talk to you too." Cuddy hit the speakerphone button; it seemed easier to subject herself to the inane conversation than to trust that Rachel, who was still too young to remember that she needed to always hold the phone up to her mouth, would remember. "Blythe, I put you on speakerphone if that's all right."
"That's fine with me. Is Rachel there?"
"Uh huh! I'm here," Rachel said cheerfully as Cuddy set the phone on the kitchen counter. Reaching down, she picked Rachel up and put her on the counter as well.
"And how are you doing, darling?"
"I am good."
"Are you learning a lot in school?"
"No!"
Cuddy intervened. "We're learning some things. Next week, the school is having its field day. The children spend the day outside playing games and participating in sports. I think there's even going to be someone there to paint faces. Isn't there, Rachel?"
Rachel shrugged. "I don't know."
"I'm pretty sure I have that right."
"Well, that sounds like a lot of fun. What could be better than going to school and not having to participate in lessons?" the voice over the phone said.
"It's certainly different than when I attended school," Cuddy replied diplomatically. "But the school year's almost over, so I suppose the idea is to let everyone have one day of fun before they go off for the summer. Or in Rachel's case, before she changes schools. I'm sure I told you about that, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," Blythe said in an equally polite manner. "I appreciate you thinking of me when it comes keeping me informed, since my own son chooses not to."
"You know House" was all Cuddy could say in return.
"Are you looking forward to your new school, Rachel?"
Rachel glared at Cuddy; she obviously didn't appreciate this topic of conversation. "No."
"I'm sure you'll meet a lot of new friends. A sweet little girl like you. I think you'll have so much fun next year." That was the thing about all of this that Cuddy couldn't understand. House acted as though he hated his own mother. But from where she was standing, Blythe was more often than not just a sweet woman. Because of House, there was an awkwardness the two women couldn't overcome, but she was gentle and optimistic with Rachel. That was more than Cuddy could say for her own mother.
"I guess," Rachel said noncommittally.
Blythe changed the subject. "Well, what have you been doing outside of school recently? Are you still dancing?"
Excitedly Rachel took the opening to focus on other topics. "Uh huh. I dances a lot, and it's fun, and I get to wear a yellow costume with flames!" She actually shouted the last word, like that would provide extra enjoyment.
"They are having a recital the weekend before the fourth of July," Cuddy explained. "I think she's supposed to be the sun."
"Is that a good part?" Blythe asked carefully.
"Yes! I have to be on stage the whole time, and I has to dance a lot and sometimes I have to stand still and flap my arms cause I has rays."
"That sounds wonderful. I wish I could be there to see it."
The guilt trip was fairly effective. But oblivious to what was happening around her, Rachel kept talking. Unfortunately for Cuddy, Rachel had not forgotten about the dog yesterday. Blythe's desire to see Rachel pushed out of Cuddy's mind, Cuddy focused her attention on what Rachel was now saying. Thankfully, she didn't claim that she had been allowed to keep the dog. It was just the opposite. As the emotionally wrought story came to an end, Rachel finished by saying, "House says we can't keep the puppy."
"Well, you know Rachel, it doesn't sound like that doggie is ready for a family yet," Blythe told her calmly. The fact that Blythe hadn't used the moment to criticize her son or Cuddy was not surprising; she wasn't Arlene. But Cuddy was grateful nonetheless. "Perhaps, if your mommy says it's okay, you could go see the dog before he finds a new home. Wish him good luck and say goodbye to him once you know that he's okay."
Rachel didn't like this idea. It was obvious that she had been hoping desperately that her beloved grandmother would condemn her mother and House for denying such a sweet and precious child the dog of her dreams. "Maybe... but I think he should come live with me!"
“That would be very nice indeed,” Blythe humored. “But… I’m sure the dog already has a home.”
“Yes, he does,” Cuddy said, latching onto the idea, even though it contradicted what Blythe had said only moments ago.
Rachel looked at her suspiciously. “No, he doesn’t.”
“You know what I think?” Blythe offered. “I think that any dog you love must be special enough to already have a home. Because if you want him, then so would everybody else. I'm sure someone misses him very much right now."
It was a complete lie, but for Rachel, there was something about Blythe's soft demeanor that gave the lie more credibility than it deserved. " I guess," she conceded. "Then I wanna say goodbye," she said to Cuddy, who considered refusing.
It was a good idea; she wouldn't deny that she appreciated what Blythe was doing. It would give Rachel the closure she needed, give her the comfort in seeing that the dog was all right and that it would be loved even if not by her. On the other hand, Cuddy could tell that a meeting between the dog and Rachel would be anything but simple. If they came to face to face, it wouldn't be about saying goodbye. That certainly wasn't why she wanted to see the animal. Regardless of Blythe's intentions, the reality would be that this would be a last ditch effort to convince Cuddy that they should take the dog. Rachel would never be able to let the dog go without fighting for it. And when that battle was lost, as it was always going to be, she would be heartbroken. Goodbye would occur, but it would be the type of ending wrenched from her, forced out of her, and in that way, it wouldn't give her the closure she wanted. It would upset her; it would make her angry, and it would cause more problems than just a simple, "We can't go see the dog" would have ever created. But Blythe had made the suggestion. Perhaps she didn't realize the problems it would create, or maybe she just didn't care, so long as she looked like a hero in Rachel's eyes.
No, Cuddy thought rejecting the idea. Her mother-in-law was many things, but the family tree's deviousness seemed to have been concentrated in House, excluding all other family members from having that trait. For Cuddy it might not have been the most helpful suggestion, but it was not intentionally offered as a means to create complication. Blythe was a nice person even if they weren't close. Besides, wasn't she doing Cuddy a favor by putting off Rachel's desire to keep the dog? Cuddy told herself that she was, that this was a sweet attempt at helping her.
Of course, there was no way Cuddy could say no to the idea now. Later... maybe, maybe she would be able to tell Rachel something came up. But not now.
"We can do that. I'll call the vet and see when would be a good time for us to stop by."
"Good," Rachel said calmly. "Will you come to my recital?" she asked, placated by the promise that she would get to see the dog again.
"Oh Rachel, I don't know if Mom Mom wants to come all this way. It's a very long drive for her." As soon as she said it, Cuddy knew how terrible it sounded. She hadn't intended to make it seem like Blythe wouldn't want to see Rachel. As confusing as this family dynamic was, Cuddy was sure that Blythe loved Rachel, would do anything for her.
Reinforcing that point, Blythe said, "Rachel, I would love to come. But we'll have to make sure Greg is okay with it."
Rachel's nose scrunched up in confusion. "Why do you call House 'Greg'?"
"Because that's his name, darling. His first name anyway."
"Oh."
There was a moment of silence where nobody spoke. Cuddy knew that the others were waiting for her to say something dismissively about House, such as, "Don't worry about House." But the truth was she didn't want to speak like that, especially not in front of Rachel. Maybe she would have at one time, but looming over them now was the guardianship. And if Cuddy was looking for House to prove that he was worthy, she knew that she couldn't undermine him as she might have done in the past.
It wasn't that she would lose him. He wouldn't break up with her. But if she made him seem unimportant, his opinions valueless, what would that teach Rachel? She could see now that there had been times where she had done just that, recently too, and the result would be, if God forbid something happened, that Rachel would never view House has a figure of authority. With her mother gone, Rachel would be in House's care, but she wouldn't behave for him, because she would have learned to ignore him. She would have come to believe, thanks to her own mother, that House couldn't be trusted to know what was good for her.
That couldn't happen. All the acts of kindness today would be meaningless if she allowed that to occur in her death. There would be no amount of massages and heating pads and breakfasts made for him to make up for that.
So all she could tell Blythe and Rachel was, "I'll talk to House. I'm sure he wants to see you."
"Well I'm glad one of us is sure about that." It was sarcasm mixed with the palpable desire for Cuddy to be right. "I mean, it would be nice to see my granddaughter. She must have grown so much since I last saw her."
"No," Rachel said hastily. "I'm tiny. I'm a baby."
"Yes, you are. A sweet little baby," Blythe agreed.
Her tone was what stuck with Cuddy long after the conversation ended. Regardless of everything else, Blythe loved Rachel. She had seen Cuddy's daughter as part of her family in some ways long before House himself had. And it seemed to Cuddy then so ridiculous that they should be kept apart for reasons House had never named. It seemed so silly that they would be looking for nannies when Blythe was in Lexington, little more than a widow who spent her days waiting for the next friend or acquaintance to die. It seemed wrong.
But the idea didn't form fully in Cuddy's mind until Rachel had gone down for her nap. Only in the silence did Cuddy begin to believe that maybe she could convince Blythe to relocate and House to let her. The latter would obviously take more convincing than the former, but really, what grounds would he have to refuse? He might have felt that his mother had been horrible to him (although he had never really said one way or the other if he believed this), but she was nice to Rachel. Cuddy didn’t underestimate how hard that would be for him to accept. Was it a reason to keep Rachel from enjoying that love and attention though? No.
And if Blythe would be willing to watch Rachel, who would be a better caregiver than Rachel’s own grandmother? She didn't know how to give insulin injections, of course. But Blythe would have more of a reason to learn and certainly more motivation to get the dosage right. And if that was too complicated, there was nothing to prevent her from bringing Rachel to the hospital for doses or from a nurse being hired to help Blythe.
Cuddy took a deep breath and forced herself to pause. It wasn't a bad idea, but she needed House to okay it. Part of her railed against needing his approval, but she couldn't do this without that. It was a delicate matter, the relationship between mother and son. Cuddy wouldn't be doing anyone any good if she brought Blythe out here to be subjected to House's abuse. That wouldn't benefit Rachel in any way, so Cuddy decided broaching the possibility with House had to happen. Even if she didn't like the thought of giving him the power to veto what she thought was best for her own daughter.
Reluctantly then, Cuddy headed to their bedroom. She had no plans to wake House up, but she figured the bedroom was as good a place as any to wait. But when she entered the room, he was sitting up in bed, perusing the book she'd left on her nightstand.
"This is crap, by the way," he said firmly, like he was judging her for even having brought the book into their home.
"And yet you're reading it," she pointed out before shutting the door behind her. “Why are you awake?”
He shrugged. "Can’t sleep, and I didn't feel like getting up to find something better to read." He tossed the book in the general vicinity of her nightstand and missed, the novel sliding onto the floor. "Mommy, I dropped it."
Begrudgingly she went and picked it up. "Speaking of mothers -”
"Yeah, see I was hoping this would turn into kinky sex and not a discussion of your mother's latest -”
"I wasn't referring to my mom," she said in a calm, serious voice.
He must have known what she was getting at. There was no way he didn't understand. But he acted as though he didn't get it. "Oh. Is this about Wilson's latest piece? Because I'm sure he was only joking when he told me he let her dress him up in diapers and spank him with -”
"While I appreciate that mental picture -”
"That turn you on, huh? I know. It's hard to resist."
"I'm talking about your mother."
The playfulness was gone. "Is that who called?" Cuddy nodded her head. "What did she want?"
"To talk." She tried to watch his face carefully as she sat on the bed beside him, but he was too good to let any emotion through.
"And how did that go?" It was a neutral question.
"Fine. Rachel told her about the dog.”
“You didn’t think she would? She isn’t going to shut up about that thing until the mailman knows about it.”
She cautiously admitted, “I may have underestimated her desire for -”
"Let's just get to the point," he interrupted abruptly.
She didn't understand. "What do you -”
"You talked to my mother. You knew I was laying down, didn't know whether I was asleep or not. Yet you came in here anyway. That means you want something. Or rather, it means she wants something. I'm guessing she wants to visit."
She didn't say anything at first. While technically that was true, Cuddy was about to ask him for so much more than that. And it needed to be put to him in the best way possible, if only to get him to even consider the proposal. But she hadn't expected him to be awake, so she hadn't thought of what to say.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said triumphantly. "You tell her no?"
"No."
"You told her yes?"
"No. I told her that I would talk to you."
"And you think I'm going to say yes?" He was almost amused with his own curiosity.
Cuddy decided there would be no time better than the present to spring the idea on House. He would never be in the right frame of mind to hear her out. No matter what, he would rail against the proposal. But if she waited to bring it up, it would look like she'd been plotting against him. Or like she'd lied to him or something. So she had no choice but to wade through the murky thought process that had once seemed perfectly clear. Words forming slowly and uneasily, she explained, "I know you don't like spending time with her, so of course, I know what you're going to say."
"Then you should have told her no." His voice was flat, not angry but hardly pleased by this turn of events.
"She needs to understand that her relationship with Rachel is the way that it is because of her relationship with you, not me."
"Yes it's all my fault."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"But you're hoping I'll tell you that she should come stay with us for a few days anyway." It wasn't a question. He must have been able to sense it from her, what she wanted. "That's why you didn't tell her no. Because you want her here."
"Not exactly." She sighed, every cell in her reluctant to bring up anything that might destroy the neutral ground they'd finally found themselves on. "I was listening to her talk to Rachel on the phone, and Rachel adores her."
A year ago, he would have said something disparaging about Rachel to discredit her opinion. Today, he merely admitted, "I know she does."
Cuddy wanted to believe that was a good sign, so she continued. "And even though you clearly don't believe she was a good mother to you, I'm sure you can see that your mom is great with Rachel." He gave her nothing in response, just kept his eyes on her, imploring her to keep going. "I was thinking how silly it is. Your mother is completely alone, all by herself in that home of hers. She has nobody to turn to."
"Am I supposed to feel bad about that? Cause I don't."
She ignored the snipe, although the comment registered in her mind that it wasn't a good sign of things to come. "The only thing she has is, not counting you, her granddaughter."
He sneered, silencing her immediately. But if he was offended, he didn't explain why. He just said, "Keep talking. I want to get this over with."
Reluctantly, she did as he requested. "And here we are, looking for someone to watch Rachel while -”
"No."
The word was uttered so low that it would have been easy to miss if not for the deadly manner in which it came out. It gave her pause. But she knew that he was going to be mad either way now; she might as well offer the full argument so that his wrath would be lessened by the knowledge that she had said everything she'd wanted to.
"She wouldn't live with us. She would watch Rachel during the weekdays. Pick her up from school."
"Did you talk to my mother about this?" he asked insistently.
"No." She went back to building her case. "You wouldn't have to talk to her. You'd barely have to see her. And in return, she would get to spend time with Rachel, which they both want. We wouldn't have to plan trips for them to see one another. And instead of hiring someone, we would be leaving Rachel in the care of someone who is actually invested in her well-being." She placed a hand over his heart. "I know this is hard, but is there anyone better for -”
"I would say just about everyone else on the planet would be a better babysitter," he snapped. "Actually anyone else - I would trust them more."
He'd rejected the idea. She could see that he wasn't even considering it. Without thinking, he was saying no. She didn't feel anger or disappointment because of that; she understood that she was asking a lot of him right now. But she pushed him anyway, "Please. Don't say no just because -”
"Stop talking." It was an order, roughly given and horribly received. "This isn't happening. It's not going to happen. I don't care what your reasoning in that tiny brain of yours is. You're an idiot. This idea of yours? It's as stupid as you are, so do us both a favor and shut up."
It wasn't what he said that bothered her. He'd said far worse to her before, and when insults, particularly ones about her intellect, were common, she didn't take offense to what he said in the heat of the moment. Well... maybe she did, a little bit anyway. But it wasn't the words themselves that upset her. It was the tone he used, the way he shoved her hand off of him and rolled away from her. Normally, when they argued, they said many terrible things to one another. Years of their working relationship had expanded the limits to what could be said between them. Typically though, he didn't resist her touch; if anything, they should have been angrily tearing off each other's clothes right now and having sex.
This was anything but the usual disagreement between them though. He was proving that with each passing second. The fact that he wouldn't even look at her, the way his body was tightly coiled and tensed, as though he feared her next words like a physical blow - that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Everything about him said that she had to stop. And she did want to do what he had instructed. But she couldn't, could she? She'd made a mistake, and she had to make it right.
Because there was no way this was going to resolve itself on its own.
"House," she said slowly.
"Shut up."
She tried again. "Please -”
"No."
She waited a moment, gave him a chance to calm down, before trying again. "You're right," she said as quickly as she could. She needed to say those words before he interrupted her, so the sentence came out as one long word. This time, he didn't comment. "It's a terrible idea."
And maybe spooning against him when he was desperate to put distance between them was another one, but she did it anyway. Moving as close to him as she could, she let her forehead press against the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have said that. It was stupid."
"You don't say" was his cold reply. Capitulation was having no effect in calming him down.
Neither did "I'm sorry." She had to go further. "I just wish that you would... no, I don't want to say that." She didn't want it to sound like she was blaming him. That he wasn't already yelling at her again was a good sign, she supposed. But it wasn't proof that she had been absolved of her sins. "I want to do what’s best for Rachel and -”
“That isn’t it,” he snarled, proof of an obvious misstep on her part.
She didn’t disagree. “I know. Obviously it’s not if it makes you this upset.” He shifted uncomfortably at the terminology but didn’t fight her. “I just… your mother doesn’t have that much time left.”
“Thank God for that.”
“I know you don’t mean that.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know that. And I do mean it.”
“Rachel loves her. I got caught up in that, wanting to give Rachel that relationship that she will never have with my mother.” She could feel him bristling at her explanation. He didn’t want that, clearly. He wanted her to grovel. “I know. I didn’t think about it enough. I don’t think about you enough when I’m trying to make decisions like this. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you didn’t do that.” He was calmer now but no less judgmental and hateful in his response. “You let a woman who barely sees Rachel once a year consider herself a grandmother, but I live with Rachel, and I have to beg for everything I get from you.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You think I’m not good enough for Rachel but the woman who raised me? She’s fine?” He laughed breathlessly, joylessly.
When it was put like that, it sounded awful. But he was ignoring an important fact, which she pointed out. “Two things,” she said in a straightforward manner. “If I let her consider herself Rachel’s grandmother, it was so that you would invest yourself in Rachel’s future more. At that point, you had no interest in her, and I thought that that would help you see the role you were assuming in Rachel’s life. More importantly, Blythe can do what she wants, because she’s never going to be my daughter’s father. You are,” she stressed heavily.
That was what they were talking about. They could couch it in less threatening terms like “guardianship,” but they both knew what they were doing, what it would mean. When they explained it to Rachel, there wouldn’t be any legal terms used. Cuddy knew what she would have to say to her daughter. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
“Yes. This is harder. It should be,” she argued.
“Because I would be around Rachel every day, where as a grandmother wouldn’t - Oh wait,” he exclaimed, pretending to be surprised where his point would lead him.
She rolled her eyes, knowing that he couldn’t see her. “Well, that’s not happening. But if it had, she wouldn’t make decisions. I would have never let her cross that boundary.”
“That’s good to know, considering she would be terrible at it,” he muttered.
Silently she draped an arm over him and held him close for what she would ask next. Afraid he would bolt otherwise, she wanted him to understand that she wasn’t trying to hurt him, that it was just the opposite.
“Talk to me,” she implored. “Your father… I understand.” Comprehension wasn’t thanks to him. He had never talked much about his childhood, save for a few tidbits here and there. When his father had died, House had let more information slip than he ever would have normally. Cuddy had gotten most of it second hand, thanks to Wilson, but through the years, she had received a pretty complete picture of House’s childhood nonetheless. And in all she’d learned, every act of cruelty seemed to be at his father’s hands. Not Blythe’s.
“But your mother,” Cuddy continued.
“Oh, you think you’ve earned the family history now? After that, Cuddy?”
“I want to understand why you get angrier the closer she gets.” She hedged off accusations of stupidity by saying, “I wish I was smart enough to get it. I -”
“I would like that as well. Unfortunately for both of us, your mother drank while pregnant so….”
“Fine. I’m an idiot. Is that you want me to say?”
He shook his head emphatically. “I don’t want you to say anything. I’d much rather you actually consider what it is that you’re asking and figure it out.”
It killed her to open herself up to criticism by saying it, but he left her no choice. She had to admit what he couldn’t see. “House, I would do anything to avoid having this conversation. I hate asking. I do. But I don't understand. I don't."
He made a noise of disgust. "What's there to understand? You just have to do what you are told when it comes to my mother."
"No," she fought back. "I'm not doing that anymore.”
“Putting it like that makes it sound like there was a time when you did do that. And clearly, what today has shown is that -“
“I have done just that for a long time. Every time she calls, I avoid…. Never mind. From now on, if you want me to put your mother off, you're going to have explain why. Right now. Before you've had a chance to come up with something that sounds reasonable but is a complete lie." She wasn't threatening, not really. He just needed incentive to talk to her.
"What do you want me to say?" he demanded, his words echoing hers from moments ago. "You want me to tell you every last gruesome detail of -”
"I want you to talk to me. That is all I have ever wanted from you." She was pleading. Her lips kissed the back of his neck, her hands squeezing into the skin beneath her. "She upsets you so much, and -”
"No, she doesn't."
"Don't deny it. I know you hate her."
"And that should be enough."
"It's not. And it's not for you, because if I say anything even remotely kind about her, you take it as a personal affront."
"Again, that should be enough to tell you everything you need to know."
"I'm not interested in salacious details, House." But the reassurance wasn't successful. Looking at him, she could tell that her tactics hadn't worked so far. Threats, sympathy, pleas - they weren't getting her any nearer to what she needed to know. No, she thought, rejecting the way she had worded the sentiment. It wasn't a fact-finding mission she was on. She hadn't lied by saying she wasn't asking for the specifics. That might help, but she would have settled for knowing what about his mother upset him so badly. To his mind, he would no doubt believe those things were one in the same. They might have been. For her though, there was a distinction between retelling precisely what had happened and what fears or anger he specifically had now about his mother being in his life. He wasn't going to tell her either way. She could say it however she wanted, but he lay there frozen, tensed as though he were waiting for her to strike. He of all people though would know she would never hit him, so what was he afraid of?
It was fear she saw. The realization coming to her without being asked for, she could recognize it now for what it was. He was terrified. And if the cause wasn’t the possibility of physical violence, she could only believe that there was just one reason left.
Stroking his arm with her palm, she told him in a gentle voice, “I won’t tell you you’re wrong. Whatever you tell me… you’re right. I will believe you, no matter what you say."
"Like you did when you suggested my mother move here while you knew I would -”
"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, House."
It was hard to say if he believed her or was just exasperated with the way the conversation was going. The way he let out a ragged breath, it seemed like the weight of his secrets had exhausted him. But the way he relaxed a little against her suggested otherwise.
"I keep thinking," he started off in a voice so quiet that she could barely hear him. "When I look at Rachel, I can't... I can't picture myself doing to her the things that happened to me when I was her age."
She was quick to reassure him. "I know. You could never be like that. You're a good man."
It needed to be said. The last couple of months, she had shown more reluctance toward this whole situation than he deserved. She was scared to share Rachel with him, for reasons that had nothing to do with what kind of man House was. He needed to know that. As concerned as she could be that he would spoil Rachel, Cuddy knew that he would never hurt her. She worried that she had suggested otherwise, and that anxiety wasn't lessened in the way he silently accepted the words. If he had known that, he would have made fun of her for feeling the need to state the obvious.
He wasn't doing that.
"Thing about that is: every time I think that, I also realize that you would never let it happen. If I did something to hurt Rachel... that would be it. And if you had hurt her, I wouldn't - I couldn’t ignore that. I would do everything I could...." His voice trailed off, as though he was incapable of finishing the thought.
She did it for him. "And your mother didn't do that for you."
"No." He waited for a moment to see what she would say, and when she stayed quiet, he added sarcastically, "This is the part where you tell me that she didn't have the means to leave or offer platitudes like 'Things were different in those days' or -”
"I told you I wouldn't do that."
"So you did."
"I'm sorry." The earnestness with which her apology was uttered sounded foreign to her ears. She wasn't sure she had ever sounded more remorseful. "I didn't - I wasn't thinking. But you're right. She's not a good -”
"No, she's the perfect person to watch Rachel."
"Not if she makes you feel like -”
"My mother wouldn't let anything happen to her. I mean, even I can see that. All this has really done is confirm for me that it had nothing to do with her being incapable. It was me... something about me...."
The "No" she uttered got caught in her throat. "You can't -”
"Stop. Just don't." Coldly he sat up. He didn't look at her when he said, "I'm not talking about this anymore." As quickly as his leg would allow, he stood up. She wanted to grab his hand and force him into her arms, so she could hold him while she apologized and comforted him. But he purposely stayed out of her reach. He knew what she wanted, and he clearly wasn't going to give it to her. "Don't ask me about this again."
Before she could find the words to convince him to stay, he was gone. Before she'd gotten out of bed to chase after him, he had locked himself in his office. And she knew that there was no reaching him now. He would only come out when he had had time to push down every unwanted feeling she had brought out in him. It was unclear whether he would still be angry when he re-entered the rest of the home. She would be prepared if he was, but selfishly she hoped that he would forgive her or be willing to move on. Regardless, it was obvious:
They still needed a nanny.
And Cuddy would never see this part of House ever again.
Continue on to the next chapter