Gift of Screws, Chapter Fourteen
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Fourteen
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson
House never expected her to answer the question. Well, okay, he did expect her to do that, but in his mind, the only response she would have given him would have been something along the lines of, "I'm not your personal chef."
And he would have been glad about that, because, of all the talents she possessed, creating food that was actually edible was not one she often displayed.
Yet, as she crawled off the bed, what she said with a shrug was, "Eggs, bacon… the usual, I guess."
She was too busy looking around the room for her clothes and bathrobe to notice the incredulous look he was giving her. "I don't know." But as she got dressed, she added, "I have to wake Rachel up -"
"You mean, assuming we didn't already do that." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously for added effect.
"Yes." Her voice hitched on the word, and she instantly cleared her throat.
"You're blushing."
But she ignored the comment. "Assuming she's still asleep, I have to wake her up - feed her, give her her medicine."
"Right." It was impossible to miss in her voice a pervasive sense of duty, but he didn't say anything about it. Maybe he should have; maybe as her… partner, it was his duty to remind her that managing Rachel's health was not something she could afford to resent. Doing that, letting Rachel see her feel that way, would just make Rachel less willing to the needles and the drugs and the diet that she already felt had been forced upon her.
But he ended up letting Cuddy go into the bathroom to brush her teeth anyway. Because, while part of him recognized that his point was an important one, he also saw how hypocritical it would be for him to criticize Cuddy over… well just about anything when it came to her daughter.
Really, how could he even think of judging her when he was the one who couldn't even hold the little girl when she was scared? How could he tell Cuddy how to behave when he couldn't even muster up enough affection for the child they both lived with?
He couldn't.
So he didn't.
But then again, even if he wanted to, she didn't give him much of an opportunity to say anything.
The subject solidly back on breakfast, she said, between strokes of her toothbrush, "But you can stay in bed if you want."
Truth be told, part of him thought that that would be for the best. When he'd just been in bed with Cuddy, he'd allowed himself briefly to forget that anything else had happened in the past twenty-four hours. But now that she was up and getting dressed and talking about Rachel… it was impossible to pretend like nothing had occurred the previous night.
And with that came the burgeoning realization that he would have to do something the second he saw the kid.
What that something was, he had no idea. He just knew that, once he came in contact with her, he'd be expected to do something, say something. And since he had no clue what that was, like a coward, he welcomed the possibility of putting it off indefinitely.
Perhaps understanding this, Cuddy offered as she came back into the bedroom, "I'll bring you breakfast in bed if you want."
He was ready to turn her down. It was a nice offer, but the fact was he wanted neither salmonella nor the tall task of guessing what the hell he was actually eating. Oh, she'd said bacon and eggs, but being told what she'd made for you rarely ever made a difference in the end. Sometimes she got it right, but more often than not her meat somehow always looked exactly like her vegetables, and burnt or undercooked, it almost always looked like an amorphous blob in some brownish hue.
Again, sometimes, she got it right. Every now and then, she would do something so wrong that it oddly tasted amazing. But the chances of that happening at any given time were… slim - almost as slim as an offer from her to bring him breakfast in bed.
And it was then that he realized just how weird all of this was.
Why was she willing to bring him breakfast in bed?
"What do you want?" he asked suddenly, as she slipped her arms through her gray bathrobe.
She looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" There was a touch of innocence in her voice, but it was the forced kind.
"So you do want something."
She shook her head. "I don't want anything."
"Not even to keep me from Rachel?" he asked, his eyes narrowing on her.
The pitch in her voice was higher when she responded immediately, "I want you to spend time with her."
But that didn't seem like a good answer either. "You said you weren't going to push," he accused.
And that made her laugh humorlessly. "I see," she said after a moment. "You're so afraid of what's going to happen that you've decided to pick a fight with me."
He shook his head. "I'm not -"
"Really." The doubt was impossible to ignore. "I offer to do something nice for you. That rat maze brain of yours decides to twist that into something bad, and now, no matter what my reasons are, I'm trying to screw you over." With an almost violent effort, she tied the sash of her bathrobe tightly around her waist.
"That's not - that's not what I was saying."
She stared at him for a moment, as though she were assessing him. When she spoke though, she was patient. Her tones equally measured, she said slowly, "I want you to spend time with Rachel. She would love it, and it would be good for both of you. I won't deny that. But," she said, holding up a hand to prevent him from interrupting. "I know that the very idea of doing that terrifies you."
"It doesn't -"
"Whatever." Clearly she believed it was a lie, a lie she didn't have time for. "Which is why I know better than to force any of this on you."
"Really?" This time he was the one who sounded doubtful.
"Yes." She sighed and sat at the foot of the bed. "I would have to be completely blind not to know how uncomfortable all of this makes you. And while I hope you know - as I definitely do - that our relationship can't... last," she finished hesitantly. "If you don't put forth some effort into her on some level, I also know that pushing you is not going to work."
House considered what she was saying for a moment. He didn't doubt her, not exactly. But he wanted a chance to let her words wash over him, wanted the opportunity to really let everything she was trying to tell him sink in.
She, however, took this as more denial on his part. And seemingly desperate to prove him wrong, she said calmly, "If I was that willing to brush aside your concerns, I would have told you last night that Rachel wants to see her grandmother and that I invited her."
At first he didn't understand. Why would she need to consult him about inviting her own mother? Or putting it a different (and probably more apt) way, since when had Cuddy cared about seeking his approval on this matter? Usually, he didn't even know Mommie Dearest was coming until he found garlic arranged in a crucifix on the front door or until farmers reported crop circles or livestock slaughtered under suspicious conditions or something of the like.
But then... then he realized that Cuddy wasn't talking about her mother at all. She was talking about his. "Oh, how nice of you," he replied bitterly. "You don't invite my mother, but you'll let the spawn call her -"
"I couldn't stop that if I wanted to."
"Don't believe you."
Admittedly, it was childish and petulant. The fact that he was lying on top of the bed absolutely naked didn't help his image, but that couldn't be helped.
"What am I supposed to do, House? Your mother adores Rachel. Rachel likes having a grandmother who isn't pure evil." She shrugged. "I'm not... encouraging a relationship between them, but I'm not going to discourage it either. And no matter what," she said pointedly. "I've never used their affection for one another to manipulate you."
"That's because you know it wouldn't work."
"Well, it wouldn't," she agreed. "But my point is that it would be wrong."
"Yes."
"I want you to have a relationship with Rachel. Yes. Of course, I do. But I'm not going to interfere, not like that, not with your mother - although I do think she would like to see Rachel soon - and certainly not with breakfast."
He was reluctant to believe her. He wasn't even sure why that was. All things considered, he should have been thrilled to know that she wasn't going to pressure him either way. But for some reason, House still found himself reticent to take her words at face value.
And she didn't miss that... or appreciate his disbelief. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "Believe what you want. I'm going to go make breakfast. If you want to stay here, stay here. You want to come out and join us, fine."
He opened his mouth to respond, but Cuddy got up and hurried out of the room before he could. Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she told herself that she wasn't running away.
She wasn't.
She was just... choosing not to engage in his insanity any more (or at least not until she knew that Rachel was okay).
In her heart, she fully believed that he would come around. Maybe she was naive to think it, but she knew that House loved her.
A lot.
And though he was reluctant to feel anything for Rachel, though it terrified him to do so, Cuddy was sure that he wouldn't give her up in order to avoid bonding with a child. He would never do that.
Which was why she didn't feel the need to push him. House would eventually get there, and if he could do it on his own, they would all be better for it. Because the last thing Cuddy wanted was for the other two people in her immediate family to have a bond solely, because she'd forced it to happen.
At best, that would be a temporary solution, one that would breed contempt in the end. House would resent her for forcing a child on him, and Rachel would end up hating them both for it. So Cuddy was determined to hold herself back.
Even if it made no sense that House and her daughter should be so distant from one another.
True, Rachel had taken the first step last night. She had been the one to admit that, actually, she did care about House. And Cuddy knew that all of that was great, would be great for everyone involved. That wasn't what she meant though.
When she said it made no sense that they should be distant, she meant that she didn't understand why House and Rachel should have remained so apart for all of these years. They lived together, for crying out loud.
Shouldn't that have counted for something?
Even if it didn't, surely, the fact that House was, in some regards, a little boy... shouldn't that have made a difference? They both liked playing video games, reading children's books, and clinging to Cuddy herself like she was an impressive toy lying in the sandbox.
And, as it turned out, both had decided to begin this morning by being as difficult as they could be. Of course, Cuddy would keep that similarity to herself. But she couldn't help but think it when she tried to wake Rachel up.
Despite the hour, the little girl was still sleeping, curled up in the exact position Cuddy had last seen her in. And though Rachel would have normally been up long by now on most days, today, she actually tried to brush Cuddy's warm hand off her shoulder.
"Rachel," she said quietly. "It's time to wake up."
Rachel rolled away, pulling her shoulder away from Cuddy's fingers.
"C'mon, monkey. Time to get up and eat some breakfast."
"Noooooo." The whine lasted several seconds, only to be cut off as Rachel buried her face into her pillow.
"Yes, it's time to get up."
But in the end, getting up was more like Cuddy pulling the covers off of her daughter's body and gently lifting her out of the bed.
"No!"
Cradling her in her arms, Cuddy rocked her a little bit. "I know you want to sleep. But we need to eat breakfast and take our medicine."
Why she'd ever expected that to work, she didn't know. Perhaps if she'd been more awake herself, she would have realized that mentioning the 'm' word would only make Rachel want to avoid waking up more.
"No medicine" was how Rachel tried to reply. But the words were so slurred and mashed together that it ended up sounding more like "Nomecine."
"Yes, come on." Cautiously Cuddy stood up, careful to make sure she didn't drop her daughter. That was just what they didn't need. "Let's brush your teeth and -"
Rachel let out a loud whine, but Cuddy persisted, carrying the little girl to the bathroom. "Do you need to potty?"
This too was apparently the wrong thing to say. Rachel's chubby cheeks turning a bright pink suddenly, it was obvious that she didn't appreciate the question. Despite the fact that she'd just wet the bed the past night, she clearly felt she still had some dignity to maintain, much to Cuddy's amusement.
"I'm not a baby!" Rachel snapped irritably.
"Then you can brush your teeth and your hair all by yourself like a big girl, can't you?"
It was the kind of emotional blackmail her own mother would have loved, Cuddy thought with an almost queasy sensation rooting itself in the pit of her stomach.
No. It was exactly the kind of thing her mother would have said, and she knew it. But there was no taking it back now. The words had already been said, and that was that.
"I'm not a big girl either!"
Truthfully, it would have been comical if Cuddy didn't intuitively understand that her daughter hated being called big, because in her mind, big had meant, did mean, and would always mean fat.
But again, there was no taking the words back at this point.
All Cuddy could do was work with what she'd said.
Setting her daughter on her feet, she agreed. "No, you're not big. You're my little girl." Rachel seemed slightly mollified by this, and a kiss to her messy hair calmed her even further. "And, my little girl, you need to brush your teeth and your hair before we eat breakfast."
"I'm hungry."
"I know. We slept in late today," Cuddy explained, using her fingers to comb through her daughter's hair. "So as soon as you clean yourself up, we can eat." Rachel nodded her head in understanding. "I can help you if you want, or, if you can do it yourself, Mommy will go start breakfast."
At that, Rachel hesitated, which did not go unnoticed.
"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked, concerned.
"Where's House?"
It was an innocent question, if one that made absolutely no sense given the context.
"Sleeping," she answered simply.
Rachel reached for her Scooby Doo toothbrush. "Can I wake him up?"
"Not right now." Cuddy helped squeeze a dollop of toothpaste onto the brush the plastic Scooby had wedged in his paws.
"Why not?"
"Because he's asleep."
She expected Rachel to point out that being asleep hadn't stopped anyone from waking her up. But what she said was, "But I want him to make me breakfast."
Oh. "Well, that's not going to happen."
Rachel was reluctant to let the point go though. She asked multiple times if she could wake him up - while she brushed her teeth, after she brushed her teeth, while she was peeing, as she washed her hands, while she brushed her hair, as she followed her mother out to the kitchen... She even went so far as to try and barge into the bedroom as they past the door. Thankfully though, by that point, Cuddy had anticipated such a move, and everyone was spared Rachel seeing House naked.
Again.
But that still didn't stop Rachel from trying.
As Cuddy laid strips of bacon along the length of the broiling pan, Rachel said, "But I want -"
"Yes, I know what you want," Cuddy interrupted, tired of hearing about it. "But it's not going to happen today. You're just going to have to eat what I make you."
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Rachel, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, scrunch her face up in disgust. And Cuddy added pointedly, "I didn't see you complaining when we were making cookies yesterday."
Rachel kicked her legs in the air a little impatiently but apparently decided to pretend that she hadn't heard what her mother was saying. Instead, she changed the subject. "I don't like vegetables." She glared at the pan of sautéing peppers, mushrooms, and onions Cuddy had started cooking only minutes ago.
"I know, but they're good for you."
"I don't want dem."
"I know, but you have to eat them anyway," she said, incredibly familiar with this conversation.
"I don't want to."
Setting the tray of bacon in the oven, Cuddy looked over at Rachel. "I know," she repeated. "But -"
"When House makes breakfast, I don't have to -"
"House would let you eat a box of Twinkies if you asked. He -"
"Really?" Rachel's excited eyes were as wide as saucers. She was obviously wondering how she'd gone her whole life and not realized she could get snack cakes whenever she wanted by simply asking the right adult for them.
Of course, that wasn't actually the case. House might have been willing to leave vegetables out of his scrambled eggs, but he wouldn't feed her anything that would hurt her; he wasn't that stupid.
"No," Cuddy said quickly. "I was being facetious."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means I wasn't being serious. He's not going to give you Twinkies." As Cuddy dumped a bowlful of beaten egg into the pan with the vegetables, she warned Rachel, "Don't ask him."
"But I like Twinkies. And Oreos. And M&Ms. And peanut butter -"
"Where are you getting peanut butter?" Cuddy asked sharply. Perhaps the better question was where Rachel was getting any of this nutritional garbage, but since she was only allergic to the peanut butter, Cuddy focused on that.
Rachel shrugged innocently. "No where."
"Are you lying?" When she hesitated, Cuddy added in a threatening voice, "Rachel."
"Umm... I don't know." But Rachel must have realized just how bad of a lie that was, because only a sliver of a second past before she admitted, "Snack time."
Cuddy sighed, though she didn't exactly feel any relief come with the long exhale. "At school?"
"Uh huh."
"Rachel, you know you can't have any of those things. They're not -"
"I know." Frowning deeply though, Rachel added, "But they say pick something, so I taked what I wanted."
Angrily, Cuddy scraped at the bottom of the pan with the spatula in her hand. Thankfully though, her voice wasn't quite as unpleasant. "And they didn't have anything you could eat."
"Nope." It struck her as odd that Rachel didn't sound as though she were lying then.
"Really?"
"Yup."
"No carrots?"
"No."
"Or -"
"No fruits, no vegetables," Rachel practically sang.
And Cuddy wasn't sure what to believe then. Would her daughter lie in order to avoid getting in trouble for eating things she'd been forbidden to touch? Of course. But usually when she did that, Cuddy knew. And right now, it didn't seem like Rachel was lying.
But then that didn't really make sense either, because if she were telling the truth, then that meant that the school had willfully ignored all of Rachel's conditions and put her life at risk for... what? Convenience?
It was a troubling thought but one Cuddy knew she couldn't dwell on now.
She wanted to.
Or rather, she wanted to call whoever it was she needed to talk to get an answer immediately. But it was a Sunday morning; the school wasn't going to be open, and even if she could find the private number for the jackass she needed to disembowel, the chances of her being able to get a hold of said jackass were admittedly slim. So there was nothing to do, no option available to her other than to wait until Monday morning.
Sighing, she told Rachel, "All right. I'll take care of it."
"No carrots."
"We'll see." But seeing Rachel's disappointment, Cuddy conceded the point. "I will do what I can."
It wasn't an empty promise. Given all of the restrictions her daughter had had forced upon her, it wasn't hard to want to please Rachel when it came to food. There were times where giving Rachel something she hated was unavoidable. But surely, asking for a snack that wouldn't kill her or make her gag in disgust wasn't too much of a demand.
"Okay," Rachel replied in a voice that made it clear that she believed her mother. "Can we build a snowman?"
"Uh…." Cuddy had no desire to go play in the snow. But what she said was a diplomatic, "Maybe later."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Right now?" Rachel asked hopefully.
Cuddy shook her head, bending over to turn the bacon. "We're going to eat breakfast now."
"And then -"
"And then," Cuddy said in interruption. "Then Mommy has to go meet her friend John."
"That's boring," Rachel replied with a pout.
But Cuddy didn't get a chance to reply. Because it was at that moment that House spoke up and said, "Oh, I don't know about that, kid. This sounds kinda interesting to me."
Only one thought flitted through her mind:
She was caught.
She didn't want to believe she was, but she didn't think she was lucky enough for him to think John meant anyone other than the former-patient-turned-top-donor whom he despised.
Feeling as though she'd been doused in ice water, Cuddy slowly, guiltily straightened her back once more. And then, it wasn't hard to understand why she felt chills running through her body; the cold glare House was giving her was the obvious cause.
To be completely honest, she expected him to start yelling right then and there. But he didn't. He just told her quietly, "Pass me the spatula for the eggs. They're going to start burning if someone doesn't turn them."
Awkwardly she listened, handing him the utensil. She wasn't sure what he was getting at by focusing on the food and not yelling at her. But she went along with it quietly doing what he wanted.
Yet, as the seconds went by, she found herself unable to keep silent. Maybe she should have appreciated the reprieve, but all she could feel was dread over how he would react when they did have the inevitable conversation about John.
Impatience and anxiety seizing hold of her, she could no longer follow House's lead. Even if he seemed willing to put their fight off, she couldn't.
She wouldn't.
But when she spoke, it was not to him but to Rachel. "Go get a sweater. You're going to get cold without one."
Whether Rachel actually believed her or simply sensed that a fight was brewing, Cuddy didn't know. But nonetheless, Rachel slipped off of the kitchen counter and skipped towards her bedroom.
And yet... House didn't say anything.
At all.
No yelling, no sarcasm, no questions - not even to verify that the John Cuddy was talking about was the John he hated.
House said nothing. He just stared at the eggs, stirring them leisurely as they cooked.
And she couldn't take it.
Again, maybe she should have been able to, but considering all of the crap they'd found themselves surrounded by this weekend, she just didn't have the stomach to wait for the other shoe to drop. "All right," she said almost instantly. "You know the truth. Let's get this over with."
"Get what over with?" he asked calmly, which just agitated her further.
"You know what I'm talking about."
He shrugged. "I really don't."
"Oh shut up," she snapped.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Yes, you are," she accused, as she grabbed a plate to put the finished bacon on. "Stop acting like nothing's wrong."
Again he shrugged. "Why would something be wrong?" Turning off the burner, he said as though it didn't matter to him at all, "My girlfriend wants to see her ex -"
"We spent one night together," she corrected. "He's not my ex."
"Right," he agreed, carrying the pan of eggs over to the table. "My girlfriend wants to see a guy she casually took her panties off for, a guy who treats her like a whore -"
"He does not," she said, the words practically hissed out.
But he pretended not to hear what she was saying. "- whose affections he can buy with his money. Why would I be upset about that?"
She gritted her teeth together and fought the urge to throw the plate of bacon in her hands at his face. "You've made your point."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Cause it usually takes you a while to catch on to -"
"So now I'm a prostitute and a moron," she said, reading between his lines. "Thanks."
"Actually," he replied in a rather snotty tone. "You're neither. But if you're going to let some Village People reject treat you like the former and expect me to be okay with it, then I can only assume that you'd like me to see you as the latter."
He headed back to the kitchen to grab plates and silverware with her hot on his heels.
"The hospital needs the money," she insisted.
"I know."
"And he'll give it to me."
"Great."
"Without any questions, without strings attached."
"Even better."
As she grabbed the cups, she felt incredibly tempted to punch him. Here she was, trying to explain her reasoning, even though, if she were being honest, she didn't feel as though she owed him any explanation. But for every piece of information she gave him, he simply and derisively wrote her off.
"Stop it," she barked, reaching into the cupboards to get cups.
But he didn't. His tone breezy, he told her, "Just juice for me, sweet cheeks."
And that was precisely how breakfast went. Rachel took charge of most of the conversation, offering everyone a well-formed diatribe against vegetables - one that House, of course, agreed with. But every now and then, Cuddy would try to broach the topic of John.
Predictably though, each time she did that, he shot her down by refusing to engage in the conversation.
Was it childish? Sure. He would gladly cop to that. He definitely wasn't going to pretend like this was one of his finer moments, anyway. But then he also wasn't going to go through the charade Cuddy seemed desperate to play. He wasn't going to act like she'd considered or would consider his feelings about this anyway.
Obviously she wasn't going to think about him and hadn't. If she had at any step along the way, she would have gone to anyone else for the money the hospital needed. She would have told him what she wanted to do a long time ago, and even then, she wouldn't have done that.
But here she was, practically smug with the solution she'd used - at most - two brain cells to come up with.
And maybe he was being immature by feeling as though he couldn't even bear to look at her. Yet that was exactly how he felt and precisely why he got up before he'd even finished his breakfast and walked away.
Deciding to take refuge in the shower, House did his best not to think about what she'd decided to do. Every single time he did, he imagined how she would grovel for that asshole's money and how he would, in turn, be even more of a prick after he gave her the cash she needed.
And of course, when that happened, Cuddy would take the check and put up with (or worse, ignore) all of his bad qualities out of gratitude and just in case she ever needed money in the future.
Which made House bubble with rage. So the only thing to do was pretend like none of this was happening. But as hot water cascaded down his bare back in rivulets, he quickly realized that Cuddy wasn't going to be complicit with his plan.
After all, he'd only been in the shower a few minutes before she barged in. All of the warm, humid air escaping, he glared at her accusingly. "I didn't ask you to join."
She acted as though she hadn't heard the anger in his voice. He knew she had, but she pretended to be completely oblivious as she stepped into the shower stall with him. "You're wet and naked," she replied gently, laying her head on his back and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I can't resist that."
He paused. "I think that's supposed to be my line."
Pressing a kiss to his back, Cuddy told him quietly. "I'm sorry." And he knew it had absolutely nothing to do with her wet and naked line. "I know this bothers you, but -"
"You don't care," he finished for her. "Great. You can go now."
She sighed. "That's not what I was going to say."
"But that's what it amounts to." He felt her reach for the washcloth and soap, and he waited for her to respond. But when she didn't, he pressed her for an answer. "Isn't it?"
"House…."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Fine," she said without anger. Oh, absolutely, part of her was annoyed. Yet she knew that he would never let her explain if she didn't give him this one point. "I'm going to do this regardless of how you feel. Yes."
"Glad we cleared that up. And since I can wash my own back, I think we're done here." He reached around to try and grab the washcloth of her hands, but she didn't relent.
"We are not finished," she said, scowling.
"I disagree."
"Well, you're wrong."
"Not really," he replied with a shrug.
"House, I know that you don't want me to do this."
"Of course you do."
"And," she said rather loudly. "If I could get that money on such short notice with no questions asked from anyone else, I would."
He turned around to face her angrily. But seeing her wet and naked made it almost impossible for him to stay irate. She really was hot, he thought at that moment. But, he forced himself to realize that, driving himself back to the point, she was wrong. And he had every right to be pissed.
"Yeah, imagine my surprise that you're going to Mr. Beefcake Benefactor." He sneered.
Cuddy, however, was unmoved. "I'm going to him, because he's convenient for me. He lives in Princeton. Over half my donors don't." He opened his mouth to respond, but she was quick to keep talking so that he could not. "He's never cared where any of his money went. Again, unlike a good portion of the donors I talk to."
House snapped back, "What a swell guy. I'm sure he also doesn't care where he sticks his penis in you either -"
But she ignored the comment, talking over him by saying, "And he's dumb enough to not ask questions. He will literally give me the money without asking a single question, which is kind of important considering why we need the money."
Reluctantly - very reluctantly - he could admit that maybe that made some sense. "So then -"
"I'm not going to have sex with him. I'm not going because I want to have sex with him," she said adamantly. "In no way am I attracted to him."
"You've had sex with him." Was she really going to stand there and say she wasn't attracted to him at all?
Apparently.
Setting the washcloth and soap down, she licked her lips and asked him point black, "What do you remember about that night?"
"The night you slept with him?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Not much. You were trying to eat his face on the dance floor, but -"
"And that doesn't tell you anything?"
Cocking his head to the side, he said casually, "Probably that you were really drunk, hard up, and dumb enough to jump on the first penis that came your way."
"Pretty much," she agreed dryly, throwing her hands in the air.
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah."
That couldn't be right. "Seriously?"
"Yes."
Well, now he felt a little dumb - though he would never admit it. "You just had sex, because -"
"I was drunk and horny, yup."
"Really?"
She smiled a little but then asked, out of curiosity, "You didn't think it was odd that I left the party with a man who was dressed like an uptight version of Wilson?"
"I guess."
"I was desperate then. I'm not now - I have no reason to be, and I'm definitely not attracted to him."
He nodded his head in understanding but said nothing.
"If I really wanted to be with him, don't you think that, when he was your patient, I would have been by his side the entire time?"
Perhaps predictably he answered by asking a question of his own. "He was my patient?"
"You're confusing him with another patient you dreamed about so much that it made you unable to urinate?"
He had never told her that, but it wasn't hard to figure out who had.
Wilson.
"What else has Wilson told you?"
"What else has Wilson told you?" she threw back at him.
"Nothing."
"…Same."
Of course they were both lying. But Wilson's loose lips were hardly new to either of them. Over the years, they'd both become well accustomed to telling their friend a secret… only to learn later that he'd told the other person, and rather than be angry, both House and Cuddy had accepted that that was how things were.
Maybe there had been a time where it would have felt like a betrayal. Perhaps when Wilson had told him that Cuddy had been having trouble bonding with Rachel, House thought as an example. But in an odd sort of way, his trust for Cuddy and her trust of him had grown in such a manner that Wilson telling either one of them all of these things was as good as telling nobody at all. House wasn't one to think of Cuddy as a part of himself, but bizarrely enough, when it came to Wilson's trust and keeping secrets, they were extensions of one another.
And it didn't matter that she knew one of the many things House had told Wilson. It didn't feel like that trust had been broken in any way.
Thinking about it like that, he understood then that he didn't have any reason to be distrustful of Cuddy. If she could know so many awful things about him and not turn away, then surely he could trust her to not cheat on him.
Besides, it was like she said or sort of said, right? If she could be attracted to a man like him, then she definitely couldn't be attracted to a man like Sergeant Douche Bag.
"Fine," he muttered after a moment, picking up the washcloth and soap she'd set down.
"Fine?" She looked confused.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Go panhandle." He gestured for her to turn around, so he could soap her back.
But she didn't move. "Really?"
"Yup." When she still didn't turn around, he focused his attention on soaping one of her breasts.
She brushed his hands off of her though. "Really."
"That's what I said," he replied irritably. "So when are you and the kid leaving?"
"Well…."
"Yes?"
"Actually," she said in a tentative manner. "I was hoping… you would watch Rachel."
He said nothing at first. Which she supposed was a good sign. But then he kept saying nothing, and that made her worry that he was just building up to a very angry and loud response.
The only noise in the shower the sound of water splashing against the tile, she waited for him to speak, waited for him to agree or disagree or do something. But when he did finally break the silence between them, she almost wished he'd stayed silent.
His voice listless and pained, he said, "I thought you weren't going to push."
She closed her eyes and rubbed her hand along her forehead. Slowly realizing what he was thinking, she blinked a few times before saying quickly, "I promise you that this is just a coincidence."
He looked at her doubtfully. "Yeah. Just a coincidence."
"I told you I wouldn't force this on you. But that doesn't mean there aren't going to be times where I need you."
For a moment, he hesitated. And that was enough for her to know that she could make him come around if she played her cards right.
"Look," she said calmly. "I know this is probably the last thing you want to do."
"Pretty much."
"But I can't take her with me."
"Yeah," he said derisively. "It's probably better if you leave the little cock blocker with me, right?"
"I have no intention of sleeping with him!"
Her voice seemed to boom against the tile in the shower, and not for the first time that day, she hoped Rachel hadn't heard her.
"Then why not take her?" House asked in a voice that was equally loud.
"Because," Cuddy said, forcing herself to calm down and talk at a level Rachel wouldn't hear. "She's not going to sit still and be quiet while I needle him for cash. Even if he wouldn't mind her being there, it's not going to be fair for Rachel to sit through that."
"And what am I supposed to do with her here?"
She tossed her hands in the air. "I don't know. Make her watch a movie. Tell her to go play with her toys."
House couldn't help but think, however, that there was something else to this story. Because it was at that moment, when she finished listing things he could do, that her eyes seemed to light up with a spark of realization. And he knew that there was more he needed to know.
"What now?" he asked, dreading the question even as it came out of his mouth.
"Nothing," she said immediately.
"I don't think that's true."
"All right," Cuddy said with a long sigh. "Do you remember, last night, I told you Rachel has a yeast infection?"
"Not at all." As an afterthought, he added, "Sounds like the kind of thing I couldn't possibly be interested in. Why?"
"She needs an antifungal, which we don't have at the moment. And after she wet the bed last night, I used the rest of the cream she -"
"Why is this my problem?" But as soon as the words escaped him, he realized that that wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask. Maybe on some level it was, but that certainly wasn't what he'd meant to say. "I mean," he said quickly. "Why can't you take care of it?"
"I could," she admitted with a nod of her head. "But I don't have enough time to go to the drug store before I have to leave."
She hadn't said his name, but it was obvious that that was what she meant, House understood. She wouldn't have enough time before she had to go meet him.
"And yes," she agreed slowly. "I could pick it up on the way back. But that would mean she'd be without any medication for -"
"It's not life threatening," he muttered, agitated.
"I know that. However, she will be, if she isn't already, uncomfortable. Which probably means nothing to you, but as a doctor, you know how she'll behave."
He opened his mouth to say that he did, but she beat him to it. "She'll start scratching herself, and frankly, our weekend has been awful enough that I don't need yeast on every surface of my home as a capper."
"Thank you," he replied with disgust in the words. "For giving me that mental picture."
Cuddy gritted her teeth but did not lose control. "I'm just saying -"
"That while you're off with your little boyfriend -"
She growled.
But he ignored it and finished his thought. "You want me to take care of your daughter's itchy, burning special place."
"You don't have to put it like that." He could hear the hostility in her voice. "But basically… yes."
"And I would do that because…."
"Because it would be the nice thing to do."
In his estimation, there really wasn't anything she could have said that would have gone over worse with him. "Because I said so," "because I'm going to withhold sex if you don't" - anything along those lines would have been better than what she said.
But what she'd gone with was: it would be the nice thing to do. Meaning, he thought as he turned away from her in the shower, she thought it would be a change for him, meaning she thought he wasn't being nice.
And he wasn't sure he could articulate why that bothered him so much. Yet he knew it did. What she'd said did hurt. Even as some part of him understood that she hadn't intended to, House couldn't stop himself from feeling as though she didn't appreciate anything he had done for this relationship.
And he had done a lot.
House wouldn't pretend that he was perfect or that she hadn't sacrificed as much as he had. Obviously he wasn't, and obviously she had worked just as hard at making this relationship last. But none of that took away or could take away from he'd done.
For her.
He'd never wanted to be a father. He'd never wanted to be anything close to that. But he'd entered this relationship understanding that he would need to... deal with Rachel, spare her from his anger and his problems and flaws.
He'd known what was expected of him.
And of course, there were times when he'd screwed all of that up, when he'd yelled at Rachel or said something he shouldn't have and hurt her feelings. Again, he knew he wasn't perfect. But he had made an attempt. He was still making an attempt at doing something every cell of his being despised or was afraid to do.
Was he all that successful?
The internal voice inside of his head said that no, he hadn't been, not at all. But the fact of the matter was that Rachel had confessed that she'd had feelings for him. Maybe she hadn't said it in as many words, but that was basically what it came down to. She worried about him, wanted him to be in her life. And if that didn't count as some sort of success to Cuddy, he wasn't sure what would.
Yet, she was making it clear now that he was still falling short. She hadn't had to make a sacrifice anywhere near as difficult as his had been, but here she was, he thought bitterly, acting like he owed her more.
"'Nice,'" he repeated in a disgusted voice. He refused to turn and look at her then. Afraid of what he might do if he saw her imploring look, House focused his attention completely on soaping his body.
His hands running the bar of soap and the washcloth in long violent strokes, he set out with determination to finish this as quickly as possible. The irony of the situation - that he should be in a hot shower with his incredibly sex girlfriend and simultaneously desperate to leave - was not lost on him. He knew that it was an unexpected twist internally. But he was so sick of twists and turns and, quite frankly, at this moment, her that he didn't bother to finding any amusement in the irony. He just focused on what he'd originally intended to do in the shower.
Dropping the soap and washcloth onto the tile floor, he didn't wait for the spraying water to clean him off. He wanted to be out as soon as possible, and that wouldn't happen, he knew, if he wasted precious time making sure he was as clean as possible. Hurriedly grabbing the shampoo bottle, he said, as he squirted some of the translucent soap into the palm of his hand, "You don't think I've been nice?"
Cuddy, seemingly oblivious to his souring mood, simply pointed out, "You called me a prostitute five minutes ago, so -"
"Because I'm pissed," he said, feeling his anger burn through his body in a way that the heat of the water couldn't even begin to touch. And then, as he began to violently rub shampoo through his hair, he couldn't hold himself back. "And why shouldn't I be? What man would do as much as I have?"
"House." It was a mild chastisement all considered. She could have been much more offended than she seemed to be, much more outraged by his behavior. But as it was, she just seemed slightly shocked and dismayed by his words.
"Don't do that. Don't act like I'm -"
"You're taking this all wrong," she said quietly, placing a tentative hand on his back.
"Of course, this is all my fault."
Stepping away from her, he rinsed his hair out. But even as the water pounded against his scalp and forehead, he managed to hear her say, "You know exactly what I meant."
"Oh do I?"
"Stop acting like you don't," she ordered in a dangerous voice. "I'd rather you just say you don't like the idea of being alone with Rachel than pick a fight with me."
His eyes popped back open. He hadn't been doing that… had he?
The question must have been easily read on his face, because Cuddy answered, "That's exactly what you're doing."
"I'm not afraid of being around a five year old."
In terms of defenses, this one wasn't exactly a great one. And whether that was because he said it in a voice that would convince absolutely no one or because the argument itself was awful all on its own, he couldn't say. Perhaps it failed on both counts.
Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter. Cuddy didn't believe him either way.
However, she at least had enough sense not to accuse him of lying. Oh, there was no doubt that that was exactly what she thought, not in his mind anyway. But what she said was, "Then this is a matter of inconvenience for you."
He nodded his head vigorously, water dripping into his eyes.
"Do I need to tell you how willing I am to make this up to you?"
Her arms folded across her chest, her white teeth lightly biting into the pink flesh of her lip, her gaze gently cast upon him with unspoken promise - she was a perfect portrait of a temptress willing (and more than able) to use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted.
And it was tempting to let her.
He would never say that in this moment, he'd been completely immune to her moves. Part of him would like to say that, but no one would reasonably believe that. Not even he, while it was happening, could convince himself that what she was offering was something he should resist.
But he did try.
Even as he sensed that he would cave in the end, he tried hard to act like he didn't want her to make it up to him.
"And who says you can make it up to me?" he asked, knowing full well that at this point he was merely biding his time.
"Because what you're doing for me is babysitting my daughter," she answered easily. "And that might not be fun, but it's not going to be psychologically scarring, so -"
"It might be." No, he thought instantly. No, that wasn't right. There was no "might" about it. "It will be," he corrected. "You said it yourself. I'm not just babysitting her. You want me to treat her yeast infection, and frankly -"
"You don't have to put the cream on yourself. Just tell her where it goes, and she can do it herself. And if you're really that uninterested -"
"Oh, I am."
"Then just give her the fluconazole, and wait until I come home, and I'll do the rest."
He couldn't deny that she was making a concession. He knew that she was. But at the same time, it hardly felt like a victory for him.
How could it be though? He'd still be spending time with Rachel.
"House," Cuddy said with a sigh loud enough to pull him from his thoughts. "I know this isn't something you want to do. I know I ask a lot of you, especially when it comes to Rachel."
The way she said this made it sound like she didn't appreciate being forced to admit such truths. However, he didn't care so much about that. For him, the greater importance was on the fact that it was the truth. And he wanted to say that, wanted to tell her that perhaps the real offense was that she used him more often than she realized. But he never got a chance to even open his mouth.
Her voice hardening, she suddenly got to the point. "But I really need you to do this for me. So tell me what I have to do to get you to say yes."
Oh, so she was going to try to bribe him. Of course she would never put it that way; she'd qualify it as bargaining or use some other term that made what she was doing seem more mature than it really was. But it didn't matter what she called it. Whatever the vocabulary, her intentions were clear: she was going to sweeten the deal as much as she could.
And he had half a mind to say no outright. Even if he got something in return, he didn't particularly love the idea of making her feel like she'd won. It sounded absurd, yes. But he knew her well enough to know that there was a good chance she'd smugly hold this moment over his head. Like she'd bested him or something, he thought.
Of course, if he asked for something banal or shortsighted, he knew she would be right to feel that way. If he took her up on her offer and failed to really make her pay, she wouldn't be wrong to think she'd gotten the best of him.
So he would either need to think of something he really wanted and she would really hate to give him or he would need to tell her no flat out.
Again, he had half a mind to pass on the offer. He really did. But if he did that… she'd just keep pestering him until he caved.
And he would cave. She was annoying him so much that his head had begun to pound, his blood vessels seemingly just as agitated by her stupidity as the rest of him. And he knew that if he said no now, she would persist, and his headache would only get worse, and then he would have no choice to agree if he wanted to alleviate his pain.
"Fine," he muttered, bitter at the fact that he didn't really have a choice in this.
Needless to say, Cuddy felt differently. A warm smile playing at her lips, she said, "Thank you."
But as she started to take a step toward him (probably to offer him a hug), he held up his hand. "Not so fast," he said snidely. "You don't know what I want."
That gave her pause. "What - uh, what do you want?" She actually sounded unnerved then. Perhaps she realized that she'd opened the door for all sorts of demands.
And maybe that was the problem for him. He could ask for just about anything right now, which was why it was difficult to figure out exactly what he wanted.
Of course, he knew what he didn't want: more sex.
… Well… that wasn't exactly true. Right now he was a little spent from their morning, so maybe he didn't want it this second. But overall, absolutely, he wanted more sex.
However, he wasn't going to use that as a bargaining chip now. Per their agreement from Friday night, she was already putting out whenever he wanted - not that that was any sort of hardship or sacrifice on her part anyway. So he definitely wasn't going to ask for that in exchange for watching Rachel, not when he was already getting plenty of that.
Besides, he wanted Cuddy to give him something she would hate as much as he hated doing his part. But what would she hate doing?
The answer came almost instantly. There were many things she wouldn't like doing, sure. But there was only one thing she had always seemed adamantly against:
She didn't like it when their relationship encroached upon work.
"Clinic duty," he said immediately, feeling himself smirk as the words came out of his mouth.
She repeated the words in a much less positive tone. "Clinic duty."
"Yeah. If I'm going to do this for you, no clinic duty for me… for a month."
"No."
"Then you can take the cockroach with you."
Her jaw clenched together. "I'm not going to let you off of clinic duty for a month."
"I think you are."
"I can't give you special treatment. I can't let our personal life -"
"Then I can't watch the kid," he said with a shrug.
She practically turned purple with rage, and he knew he'd won. Naturally, she would search her brain for a different solution that she could placate him with. But she wouldn't come up with anything else to bargain with; of that he was sure.
"Fine," she said eventually. "But not a month."
"Sorry." But he wasn't sorry at all. "I'm going to need a month."
"I'll give you a week."
He mulled the offer over. Quickly realizing he probably wouldn't get any better, he nodded his head. "All right. A week - on the condition that you're the one who replaces me."
"Like that wasn't going to happen anyway." Her eyes were narrowed in disgust.
"So that's a yes?"
She threw her hands in the air. "I guess it has to be."
"Wonderful."
But obviously it wasn't. Two stubborn people who felt as though they were being forced to do something they didn't want to do - that was never going to make things anywhere close to wonderful.
They were mature enough to finish their shower together without fighting, mature enough for her to let him apply antibacterial cream to her neck and for him to apologize for creating the injury. They were in control enough to talk about what suit he wanted to wear to tonight's dinner part and for her to say that she would take it with her to have it dry cleaned. He was able to ask if she'd written the scrip for Rachel, and she was polite in her response.
Yes, they were capable of being in one another's presence without fighting.
Yet it was impossible to miss that they were both pissed - at one another and the things they'd decided to put each other through. They didn't say anything; there was, surprisingly, no fighting. But every now and then, House would feel her glaring at him or find himself staring at her as though he wished she'd leave already.
Maybe he really did wish she were gone.
But the funny thing about that was: when she finally did leave, he didn't feel any better.
In fact, the second she closed the door behind her, all he felt was dread.
Continue on to the next chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson
House never expected her to answer the question. Well, okay, he did expect her to do that, but in his mind, the only response she would have given him would have been something along the lines of, "I'm not your personal chef."
And he would have been glad about that, because, of all the talents she possessed, creating food that was actually edible was not one she often displayed.
Yet, as she crawled off the bed, what she said with a shrug was, "Eggs, bacon… the usual, I guess."
She was too busy looking around the room for her clothes and bathrobe to notice the incredulous look he was giving her. "I don't know." But as she got dressed, she added, "I have to wake Rachel up -"
"You mean, assuming we didn't already do that." He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously for added effect.
"Yes." Her voice hitched on the word, and she instantly cleared her throat.
"You're blushing."
But she ignored the comment. "Assuming she's still asleep, I have to wake her up - feed her, give her her medicine."
"Right." It was impossible to miss in her voice a pervasive sense of duty, but he didn't say anything about it. Maybe he should have; maybe as her… partner, it was his duty to remind her that managing Rachel's health was not something she could afford to resent. Doing that, letting Rachel see her feel that way, would just make Rachel less willing to the needles and the drugs and the diet that she already felt had been forced upon her.
But he ended up letting Cuddy go into the bathroom to brush her teeth anyway. Because, while part of him recognized that his point was an important one, he also saw how hypocritical it would be for him to criticize Cuddy over… well just about anything when it came to her daughter.
Really, how could he even think of judging her when he was the one who couldn't even hold the little girl when she was scared? How could he tell Cuddy how to behave when he couldn't even muster up enough affection for the child they both lived with?
He couldn't.
So he didn't.
But then again, even if he wanted to, she didn't give him much of an opportunity to say anything.
The subject solidly back on breakfast, she said, between strokes of her toothbrush, "But you can stay in bed if you want."
Truth be told, part of him thought that that would be for the best. When he'd just been in bed with Cuddy, he'd allowed himself briefly to forget that anything else had happened in the past twenty-four hours. But now that she was up and getting dressed and talking about Rachel… it was impossible to pretend like nothing had occurred the previous night.
And with that came the burgeoning realization that he would have to do something the second he saw the kid.
What that something was, he had no idea. He just knew that, once he came in contact with her, he'd be expected to do something, say something. And since he had no clue what that was, like a coward, he welcomed the possibility of putting it off indefinitely.
Perhaps understanding this, Cuddy offered as she came back into the bedroom, "I'll bring you breakfast in bed if you want."
He was ready to turn her down. It was a nice offer, but the fact was he wanted neither salmonella nor the tall task of guessing what the hell he was actually eating. Oh, she'd said bacon and eggs, but being told what she'd made for you rarely ever made a difference in the end. Sometimes she got it right, but more often than not her meat somehow always looked exactly like her vegetables, and burnt or undercooked, it almost always looked like an amorphous blob in some brownish hue.
Again, sometimes, she got it right. Every now and then, she would do something so wrong that it oddly tasted amazing. But the chances of that happening at any given time were… slim - almost as slim as an offer from her to bring him breakfast in bed.
And it was then that he realized just how weird all of this was.
Why was she willing to bring him breakfast in bed?
"What do you want?" he asked suddenly, as she slipped her arms through her gray bathrobe.
She looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?" There was a touch of innocence in her voice, but it was the forced kind.
"So you do want something."
She shook her head. "I don't want anything."
"Not even to keep me from Rachel?" he asked, his eyes narrowing on her.
The pitch in her voice was higher when she responded immediately, "I want you to spend time with her."
But that didn't seem like a good answer either. "You said you weren't going to push," he accused.
And that made her laugh humorlessly. "I see," she said after a moment. "You're so afraid of what's going to happen that you've decided to pick a fight with me."
He shook his head. "I'm not -"
"Really." The doubt was impossible to ignore. "I offer to do something nice for you. That rat maze brain of yours decides to twist that into something bad, and now, no matter what my reasons are, I'm trying to screw you over." With an almost violent effort, she tied the sash of her bathrobe tightly around her waist.
"That's not - that's not what I was saying."
She stared at him for a moment, as though she were assessing him. When she spoke though, she was patient. Her tones equally measured, she said slowly, "I want you to spend time with Rachel. She would love it, and it would be good for both of you. I won't deny that. But," she said, holding up a hand to prevent him from interrupting. "I know that the very idea of doing that terrifies you."
"It doesn't -"
"Whatever." Clearly she believed it was a lie, a lie she didn't have time for. "Which is why I know better than to force any of this on you."
"Really?" This time he was the one who sounded doubtful.
"Yes." She sighed and sat at the foot of the bed. "I would have to be completely blind not to know how uncomfortable all of this makes you. And while I hope you know - as I definitely do - that our relationship can't... last," she finished hesitantly. "If you don't put forth some effort into her on some level, I also know that pushing you is not going to work."
House considered what she was saying for a moment. He didn't doubt her, not exactly. But he wanted a chance to let her words wash over him, wanted the opportunity to really let everything she was trying to tell him sink in.
She, however, took this as more denial on his part. And seemingly desperate to prove him wrong, she said calmly, "If I was that willing to brush aside your concerns, I would have told you last night that Rachel wants to see her grandmother and that I invited her."
At first he didn't understand. Why would she need to consult him about inviting her own mother? Or putting it a different (and probably more apt) way, since when had Cuddy cared about seeking his approval on this matter? Usually, he didn't even know Mommie Dearest was coming until he found garlic arranged in a crucifix on the front door or until farmers reported crop circles or livestock slaughtered under suspicious conditions or something of the like.
But then... then he realized that Cuddy wasn't talking about her mother at all. She was talking about his. "Oh, how nice of you," he replied bitterly. "You don't invite my mother, but you'll let the spawn call her -"
"I couldn't stop that if I wanted to."
"Don't believe you."
Admittedly, it was childish and petulant. The fact that he was lying on top of the bed absolutely naked didn't help his image, but that couldn't be helped.
"What am I supposed to do, House? Your mother adores Rachel. Rachel likes having a grandmother who isn't pure evil." She shrugged. "I'm not... encouraging a relationship between them, but I'm not going to discourage it either. And no matter what," she said pointedly. "I've never used their affection for one another to manipulate you."
"That's because you know it wouldn't work."
"Well, it wouldn't," she agreed. "But my point is that it would be wrong."
"Yes."
"I want you to have a relationship with Rachel. Yes. Of course, I do. But I'm not going to interfere, not like that, not with your mother - although I do think she would like to see Rachel soon - and certainly not with breakfast."
He was reluctant to believe her. He wasn't even sure why that was. All things considered, he should have been thrilled to know that she wasn't going to pressure him either way. But for some reason, House still found himself reticent to take her words at face value.
And she didn't miss that... or appreciate his disbelief. "Fine," she said grudgingly. "Believe what you want. I'm going to go make breakfast. If you want to stay here, stay here. You want to come out and join us, fine."
He opened his mouth to respond, but Cuddy got up and hurried out of the room before he could. Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she told herself that she wasn't running away.
She wasn't.
She was just... choosing not to engage in his insanity any more (or at least not until she knew that Rachel was okay).
In her heart, she fully believed that he would come around. Maybe she was naive to think it, but she knew that House loved her.
A lot.
And though he was reluctant to feel anything for Rachel, though it terrified him to do so, Cuddy was sure that he wouldn't give her up in order to avoid bonding with a child. He would never do that.
Which was why she didn't feel the need to push him. House would eventually get there, and if he could do it on his own, they would all be better for it. Because the last thing Cuddy wanted was for the other two people in her immediate family to have a bond solely, because she'd forced it to happen.
At best, that would be a temporary solution, one that would breed contempt in the end. House would resent her for forcing a child on him, and Rachel would end up hating them both for it. So Cuddy was determined to hold herself back.
Even if it made no sense that House and her daughter should be so distant from one another.
True, Rachel had taken the first step last night. She had been the one to admit that, actually, she did care about House. And Cuddy knew that all of that was great, would be great for everyone involved. That wasn't what she meant though.
When she said it made no sense that they should be distant, she meant that she didn't understand why House and Rachel should have remained so apart for all of these years. They lived together, for crying out loud.
Shouldn't that have counted for something?
Even if it didn't, surely, the fact that House was, in some regards, a little boy... shouldn't that have made a difference? They both liked playing video games, reading children's books, and clinging to Cuddy herself like she was an impressive toy lying in the sandbox.
And, as it turned out, both had decided to begin this morning by being as difficult as they could be. Of course, Cuddy would keep that similarity to herself. But she couldn't help but think it when she tried to wake Rachel up.
Despite the hour, the little girl was still sleeping, curled up in the exact position Cuddy had last seen her in. And though Rachel would have normally been up long by now on most days, today, she actually tried to brush Cuddy's warm hand off her shoulder.
"Rachel," she said quietly. "It's time to wake up."
Rachel rolled away, pulling her shoulder away from Cuddy's fingers.
"C'mon, monkey. Time to get up and eat some breakfast."
"Noooooo." The whine lasted several seconds, only to be cut off as Rachel buried her face into her pillow.
"Yes, it's time to get up."
But in the end, getting up was more like Cuddy pulling the covers off of her daughter's body and gently lifting her out of the bed.
"No!"
Cradling her in her arms, Cuddy rocked her a little bit. "I know you want to sleep. But we need to eat breakfast and take our medicine."
Why she'd ever expected that to work, she didn't know. Perhaps if she'd been more awake herself, she would have realized that mentioning the 'm' word would only make Rachel want to avoid waking up more.
"No medicine" was how Rachel tried to reply. But the words were so slurred and mashed together that it ended up sounding more like "Nomecine."
"Yes, come on." Cautiously Cuddy stood up, careful to make sure she didn't drop her daughter. That was just what they didn't need. "Let's brush your teeth and -"
Rachel let out a loud whine, but Cuddy persisted, carrying the little girl to the bathroom. "Do you need to potty?"
This too was apparently the wrong thing to say. Rachel's chubby cheeks turning a bright pink suddenly, it was obvious that she didn't appreciate the question. Despite the fact that she'd just wet the bed the past night, she clearly felt she still had some dignity to maintain, much to Cuddy's amusement.
"I'm not a baby!" Rachel snapped irritably.
"Then you can brush your teeth and your hair all by yourself like a big girl, can't you?"
It was the kind of emotional blackmail her own mother would have loved, Cuddy thought with an almost queasy sensation rooting itself in the pit of her stomach.
No. It was exactly the kind of thing her mother would have said, and she knew it. But there was no taking it back now. The words had already been said, and that was that.
"I'm not a big girl either!"
Truthfully, it would have been comical if Cuddy didn't intuitively understand that her daughter hated being called big, because in her mind, big had meant, did mean, and would always mean fat.
But again, there was no taking the words back at this point.
All Cuddy could do was work with what she'd said.
Setting her daughter on her feet, she agreed. "No, you're not big. You're my little girl." Rachel seemed slightly mollified by this, and a kiss to her messy hair calmed her even further. "And, my little girl, you need to brush your teeth and your hair before we eat breakfast."
"I'm hungry."
"I know. We slept in late today," Cuddy explained, using her fingers to comb through her daughter's hair. "So as soon as you clean yourself up, we can eat." Rachel nodded her head in understanding. "I can help you if you want, or, if you can do it yourself, Mommy will go start breakfast."
At that, Rachel hesitated, which did not go unnoticed.
"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked, concerned.
"Where's House?"
It was an innocent question, if one that made absolutely no sense given the context.
"Sleeping," she answered simply.
Rachel reached for her Scooby Doo toothbrush. "Can I wake him up?"
"Not right now." Cuddy helped squeeze a dollop of toothpaste onto the brush the plastic Scooby had wedged in his paws.
"Why not?"
"Because he's asleep."
She expected Rachel to point out that being asleep hadn't stopped anyone from waking her up. But what she said was, "But I want him to make me breakfast."
Oh. "Well, that's not going to happen."
Rachel was reluctant to let the point go though. She asked multiple times if she could wake him up - while she brushed her teeth, after she brushed her teeth, while she was peeing, as she washed her hands, while she brushed her hair, as she followed her mother out to the kitchen... She even went so far as to try and barge into the bedroom as they past the door. Thankfully though, by that point, Cuddy had anticipated such a move, and everyone was spared Rachel seeing House naked.
Again.
But that still didn't stop Rachel from trying.
As Cuddy laid strips of bacon along the length of the broiling pan, Rachel said, "But I want -"
"Yes, I know what you want," Cuddy interrupted, tired of hearing about it. "But it's not going to happen today. You're just going to have to eat what I make you."
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Rachel, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, scrunch her face up in disgust. And Cuddy added pointedly, "I didn't see you complaining when we were making cookies yesterday."
Rachel kicked her legs in the air a little impatiently but apparently decided to pretend that she hadn't heard what her mother was saying. Instead, she changed the subject. "I don't like vegetables." She glared at the pan of sautéing peppers, mushrooms, and onions Cuddy had started cooking only minutes ago.
"I know, but they're good for you."
"I don't want dem."
"I know, but you have to eat them anyway," she said, incredibly familiar with this conversation.
"I don't want to."
Setting the tray of bacon in the oven, Cuddy looked over at Rachel. "I know," she repeated. "But -"
"When House makes breakfast, I don't have to -"
"House would let you eat a box of Twinkies if you asked. He -"
"Really?" Rachel's excited eyes were as wide as saucers. She was obviously wondering how she'd gone her whole life and not realized she could get snack cakes whenever she wanted by simply asking the right adult for them.
Of course, that wasn't actually the case. House might have been willing to leave vegetables out of his scrambled eggs, but he wouldn't feed her anything that would hurt her; he wasn't that stupid.
"No," Cuddy said quickly. "I was being facetious."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means I wasn't being serious. He's not going to give you Twinkies." As Cuddy dumped a bowlful of beaten egg into the pan with the vegetables, she warned Rachel, "Don't ask him."
"But I like Twinkies. And Oreos. And M&Ms. And peanut butter -"
"Where are you getting peanut butter?" Cuddy asked sharply. Perhaps the better question was where Rachel was getting any of this nutritional garbage, but since she was only allergic to the peanut butter, Cuddy focused on that.
Rachel shrugged innocently. "No where."
"Are you lying?" When she hesitated, Cuddy added in a threatening voice, "Rachel."
"Umm... I don't know." But Rachel must have realized just how bad of a lie that was, because only a sliver of a second past before she admitted, "Snack time."
Cuddy sighed, though she didn't exactly feel any relief come with the long exhale. "At school?"
"Uh huh."
"Rachel, you know you can't have any of those things. They're not -"
"I know." Frowning deeply though, Rachel added, "But they say pick something, so I taked what I wanted."
Angrily, Cuddy scraped at the bottom of the pan with the spatula in her hand. Thankfully though, her voice wasn't quite as unpleasant. "And they didn't have anything you could eat."
"Nope." It struck her as odd that Rachel didn't sound as though she were lying then.
"Really?"
"Yup."
"No carrots?"
"No."
"Or -"
"No fruits, no vegetables," Rachel practically sang.
And Cuddy wasn't sure what to believe then. Would her daughter lie in order to avoid getting in trouble for eating things she'd been forbidden to touch? Of course. But usually when she did that, Cuddy knew. And right now, it didn't seem like Rachel was lying.
But then that didn't really make sense either, because if she were telling the truth, then that meant that the school had willfully ignored all of Rachel's conditions and put her life at risk for... what? Convenience?
It was a troubling thought but one Cuddy knew she couldn't dwell on now.
She wanted to.
Or rather, she wanted to call whoever it was she needed to talk to get an answer immediately. But it was a Sunday morning; the school wasn't going to be open, and even if she could find the private number for the jackass she needed to disembowel, the chances of her being able to get a hold of said jackass were admittedly slim. So there was nothing to do, no option available to her other than to wait until Monday morning.
Sighing, she told Rachel, "All right. I'll take care of it."
"No carrots."
"We'll see." But seeing Rachel's disappointment, Cuddy conceded the point. "I will do what I can."
It wasn't an empty promise. Given all of the restrictions her daughter had had forced upon her, it wasn't hard to want to please Rachel when it came to food. There were times where giving Rachel something she hated was unavoidable. But surely, asking for a snack that wouldn't kill her or make her gag in disgust wasn't too much of a demand.
"Okay," Rachel replied in a voice that made it clear that she believed her mother. "Can we build a snowman?"
"Uh…." Cuddy had no desire to go play in the snow. But what she said was a diplomatic, "Maybe later."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Right now?" Rachel asked hopefully.
Cuddy shook her head, bending over to turn the bacon. "We're going to eat breakfast now."
"And then -"
"And then," Cuddy said in interruption. "Then Mommy has to go meet her friend John."
"That's boring," Rachel replied with a pout.
But Cuddy didn't get a chance to reply. Because it was at that moment that House spoke up and said, "Oh, I don't know about that, kid. This sounds kinda interesting to me."
Only one thought flitted through her mind:
She was caught.
She didn't want to believe she was, but she didn't think she was lucky enough for him to think John meant anyone other than the former-patient-turned-top-donor whom he despised.
Feeling as though she'd been doused in ice water, Cuddy slowly, guiltily straightened her back once more. And then, it wasn't hard to understand why she felt chills running through her body; the cold glare House was giving her was the obvious cause.
To be completely honest, she expected him to start yelling right then and there. But he didn't. He just told her quietly, "Pass me the spatula for the eggs. They're going to start burning if someone doesn't turn them."
Awkwardly she listened, handing him the utensil. She wasn't sure what he was getting at by focusing on the food and not yelling at her. But she went along with it quietly doing what he wanted.
Yet, as the seconds went by, she found herself unable to keep silent. Maybe she should have appreciated the reprieve, but all she could feel was dread over how he would react when they did have the inevitable conversation about John.
Impatience and anxiety seizing hold of her, she could no longer follow House's lead. Even if he seemed willing to put their fight off, she couldn't.
She wouldn't.
But when she spoke, it was not to him but to Rachel. "Go get a sweater. You're going to get cold without one."
Whether Rachel actually believed her or simply sensed that a fight was brewing, Cuddy didn't know. But nonetheless, Rachel slipped off of the kitchen counter and skipped towards her bedroom.
And yet... House didn't say anything.
At all.
No yelling, no sarcasm, no questions - not even to verify that the John Cuddy was talking about was the John he hated.
House said nothing. He just stared at the eggs, stirring them leisurely as they cooked.
And she couldn't take it.
Again, maybe she should have been able to, but considering all of the crap they'd found themselves surrounded by this weekend, she just didn't have the stomach to wait for the other shoe to drop. "All right," she said almost instantly. "You know the truth. Let's get this over with."
"Get what over with?" he asked calmly, which just agitated her further.
"You know what I'm talking about."
He shrugged. "I really don't."
"Oh shut up," she snapped.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Yes, you are," she accused, as she grabbed a plate to put the finished bacon on. "Stop acting like nothing's wrong."
Again he shrugged. "Why would something be wrong?" Turning off the burner, he said as though it didn't matter to him at all, "My girlfriend wants to see her ex -"
"We spent one night together," she corrected. "He's not my ex."
"Right," he agreed, carrying the pan of eggs over to the table. "My girlfriend wants to see a guy she casually took her panties off for, a guy who treats her like a whore -"
"He does not," she said, the words practically hissed out.
But he pretended not to hear what she was saying. "- whose affections he can buy with his money. Why would I be upset about that?"
She gritted her teeth together and fought the urge to throw the plate of bacon in her hands at his face. "You've made your point."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Cause it usually takes you a while to catch on to -"
"So now I'm a prostitute and a moron," she said, reading between his lines. "Thanks."
"Actually," he replied in a rather snotty tone. "You're neither. But if you're going to let some Village People reject treat you like the former and expect me to be okay with it, then I can only assume that you'd like me to see you as the latter."
He headed back to the kitchen to grab plates and silverware with her hot on his heels.
"The hospital needs the money," she insisted.
"I know."
"And he'll give it to me."
"Great."
"Without any questions, without strings attached."
"Even better."
As she grabbed the cups, she felt incredibly tempted to punch him. Here she was, trying to explain her reasoning, even though, if she were being honest, she didn't feel as though she owed him any explanation. But for every piece of information she gave him, he simply and derisively wrote her off.
"Stop it," she barked, reaching into the cupboards to get cups.
But he didn't. His tone breezy, he told her, "Just juice for me, sweet cheeks."
And that was precisely how breakfast went. Rachel took charge of most of the conversation, offering everyone a well-formed diatribe against vegetables - one that House, of course, agreed with. But every now and then, Cuddy would try to broach the topic of John.
Predictably though, each time she did that, he shot her down by refusing to engage in the conversation.
Was it childish? Sure. He would gladly cop to that. He definitely wasn't going to pretend like this was one of his finer moments, anyway. But then he also wasn't going to go through the charade Cuddy seemed desperate to play. He wasn't going to act like she'd considered or would consider his feelings about this anyway.
Obviously she wasn't going to think about him and hadn't. If she had at any step along the way, she would have gone to anyone else for the money the hospital needed. She would have told him what she wanted to do a long time ago, and even then, she wouldn't have done that.
But here she was, practically smug with the solution she'd used - at most - two brain cells to come up with.
And maybe he was being immature by feeling as though he couldn't even bear to look at her. Yet that was exactly how he felt and precisely why he got up before he'd even finished his breakfast and walked away.
Deciding to take refuge in the shower, House did his best not to think about what she'd decided to do. Every single time he did, he imagined how she would grovel for that asshole's money and how he would, in turn, be even more of a prick after he gave her the cash she needed.
And of course, when that happened, Cuddy would take the check and put up with (or worse, ignore) all of his bad qualities out of gratitude and just in case she ever needed money in the future.
Which made House bubble with rage. So the only thing to do was pretend like none of this was happening. But as hot water cascaded down his bare back in rivulets, he quickly realized that Cuddy wasn't going to be complicit with his plan.
After all, he'd only been in the shower a few minutes before she barged in. All of the warm, humid air escaping, he glared at her accusingly. "I didn't ask you to join."
She acted as though she hadn't heard the anger in his voice. He knew she had, but she pretended to be completely oblivious as she stepped into the shower stall with him. "You're wet and naked," she replied gently, laying her head on his back and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I can't resist that."
He paused. "I think that's supposed to be my line."
Pressing a kiss to his back, Cuddy told him quietly. "I'm sorry." And he knew it had absolutely nothing to do with her wet and naked line. "I know this bothers you, but -"
"You don't care," he finished for her. "Great. You can go now."
She sighed. "That's not what I was going to say."
"But that's what it amounts to." He felt her reach for the washcloth and soap, and he waited for her to respond. But when she didn't, he pressed her for an answer. "Isn't it?"
"House…."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Fine," she said without anger. Oh, absolutely, part of her was annoyed. Yet she knew that he would never let her explain if she didn't give him this one point. "I'm going to do this regardless of how you feel. Yes."
"Glad we cleared that up. And since I can wash my own back, I think we're done here." He reached around to try and grab the washcloth of her hands, but she didn't relent.
"We are not finished," she said, scowling.
"I disagree."
"Well, you're wrong."
"Not really," he replied with a shrug.
"House, I know that you don't want me to do this."
"Of course you do."
"And," she said rather loudly. "If I could get that money on such short notice with no questions asked from anyone else, I would."
He turned around to face her angrily. But seeing her wet and naked made it almost impossible for him to stay irate. She really was hot, he thought at that moment. But, he forced himself to realize that, driving himself back to the point, she was wrong. And he had every right to be pissed.
"Yeah, imagine my surprise that you're going to Mr. Beefcake Benefactor." He sneered.
Cuddy, however, was unmoved. "I'm going to him, because he's convenient for me. He lives in Princeton. Over half my donors don't." He opened his mouth to respond, but she was quick to keep talking so that he could not. "He's never cared where any of his money went. Again, unlike a good portion of the donors I talk to."
House snapped back, "What a swell guy. I'm sure he also doesn't care where he sticks his penis in you either -"
But she ignored the comment, talking over him by saying, "And he's dumb enough to not ask questions. He will literally give me the money without asking a single question, which is kind of important considering why we need the money."
Reluctantly - very reluctantly - he could admit that maybe that made some sense. "So then -"
"I'm not going to have sex with him. I'm not going because I want to have sex with him," she said adamantly. "In no way am I attracted to him."
"You've had sex with him." Was she really going to stand there and say she wasn't attracted to him at all?
Apparently.
Setting the washcloth and soap down, she licked her lips and asked him point black, "What do you remember about that night?"
"The night you slept with him?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Not much. You were trying to eat his face on the dance floor, but -"
"And that doesn't tell you anything?"
Cocking his head to the side, he said casually, "Probably that you were really drunk, hard up, and dumb enough to jump on the first penis that came your way."
"Pretty much," she agreed dryly, throwing her hands in the air.
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah."
That couldn't be right. "Seriously?"
"Yes."
Well, now he felt a little dumb - though he would never admit it. "You just had sex, because -"
"I was drunk and horny, yup."
"Really?"
She smiled a little but then asked, out of curiosity, "You didn't think it was odd that I left the party with a man who was dressed like an uptight version of Wilson?"
"I guess."
"I was desperate then. I'm not now - I have no reason to be, and I'm definitely not attracted to him."
He nodded his head in understanding but said nothing.
"If I really wanted to be with him, don't you think that, when he was your patient, I would have been by his side the entire time?"
Perhaps predictably he answered by asking a question of his own. "He was my patient?"
"You're confusing him with another patient you dreamed about so much that it made you unable to urinate?"
He had never told her that, but it wasn't hard to figure out who had.
Wilson.
"What else has Wilson told you?"
"What else has Wilson told you?" she threw back at him.
"Nothing."
"…Same."
Of course they were both lying. But Wilson's loose lips were hardly new to either of them. Over the years, they'd both become well accustomed to telling their friend a secret… only to learn later that he'd told the other person, and rather than be angry, both House and Cuddy had accepted that that was how things were.
Maybe there had been a time where it would have felt like a betrayal. Perhaps when Wilson had told him that Cuddy had been having trouble bonding with Rachel, House thought as an example. But in an odd sort of way, his trust for Cuddy and her trust of him had grown in such a manner that Wilson telling either one of them all of these things was as good as telling nobody at all. House wasn't one to think of Cuddy as a part of himself, but bizarrely enough, when it came to Wilson's trust and keeping secrets, they were extensions of one another.
And it didn't matter that she knew one of the many things House had told Wilson. It didn't feel like that trust had been broken in any way.
Thinking about it like that, he understood then that he didn't have any reason to be distrustful of Cuddy. If she could know so many awful things about him and not turn away, then surely he could trust her to not cheat on him.
Besides, it was like she said or sort of said, right? If she could be attracted to a man like him, then she definitely couldn't be attracted to a man like Sergeant Douche Bag.
"Fine," he muttered after a moment, picking up the washcloth and soap she'd set down.
"Fine?" She looked confused.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Go panhandle." He gestured for her to turn around, so he could soap her back.
But she didn't move. "Really?"
"Yup." When she still didn't turn around, he focused his attention on soaping one of her breasts.
She brushed his hands off of her though. "Really."
"That's what I said," he replied irritably. "So when are you and the kid leaving?"
"Well…."
"Yes?"
"Actually," she said in a tentative manner. "I was hoping… you would watch Rachel."
He said nothing at first. Which she supposed was a good sign. But then he kept saying nothing, and that made her worry that he was just building up to a very angry and loud response.
The only noise in the shower the sound of water splashing against the tile, she waited for him to speak, waited for him to agree or disagree or do something. But when he did finally break the silence between them, she almost wished he'd stayed silent.
His voice listless and pained, he said, "I thought you weren't going to push."
She closed her eyes and rubbed her hand along her forehead. Slowly realizing what he was thinking, she blinked a few times before saying quickly, "I promise you that this is just a coincidence."
He looked at her doubtfully. "Yeah. Just a coincidence."
"I told you I wouldn't force this on you. But that doesn't mean there aren't going to be times where I need you."
For a moment, he hesitated. And that was enough for her to know that she could make him come around if she played her cards right.
"Look," she said calmly. "I know this is probably the last thing you want to do."
"Pretty much."
"But I can't take her with me."
"Yeah," he said derisively. "It's probably better if you leave the little cock blocker with me, right?"
"I have no intention of sleeping with him!"
Her voice seemed to boom against the tile in the shower, and not for the first time that day, she hoped Rachel hadn't heard her.
"Then why not take her?" House asked in a voice that was equally loud.
"Because," Cuddy said, forcing herself to calm down and talk at a level Rachel wouldn't hear. "She's not going to sit still and be quiet while I needle him for cash. Even if he wouldn't mind her being there, it's not going to be fair for Rachel to sit through that."
"And what am I supposed to do with her here?"
She tossed her hands in the air. "I don't know. Make her watch a movie. Tell her to go play with her toys."
House couldn't help but think, however, that there was something else to this story. Because it was at that moment, when she finished listing things he could do, that her eyes seemed to light up with a spark of realization. And he knew that there was more he needed to know.
"What now?" he asked, dreading the question even as it came out of his mouth.
"Nothing," she said immediately.
"I don't think that's true."
"All right," Cuddy said with a long sigh. "Do you remember, last night, I told you Rachel has a yeast infection?"
"Not at all." As an afterthought, he added, "Sounds like the kind of thing I couldn't possibly be interested in. Why?"
"She needs an antifungal, which we don't have at the moment. And after she wet the bed last night, I used the rest of the cream she -"
"Why is this my problem?" But as soon as the words escaped him, he realized that that wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask. Maybe on some level it was, but that certainly wasn't what he'd meant to say. "I mean," he said quickly. "Why can't you take care of it?"
"I could," she admitted with a nod of her head. "But I don't have enough time to go to the drug store before I have to leave."
She hadn't said his name, but it was obvious that that was what she meant, House understood. She wouldn't have enough time before she had to go meet him.
"And yes," she agreed slowly. "I could pick it up on the way back. But that would mean she'd be without any medication for -"
"It's not life threatening," he muttered, agitated.
"I know that. However, she will be, if she isn't already, uncomfortable. Which probably means nothing to you, but as a doctor, you know how she'll behave."
He opened his mouth to say that he did, but she beat him to it. "She'll start scratching herself, and frankly, our weekend has been awful enough that I don't need yeast on every surface of my home as a capper."
"Thank you," he replied with disgust in the words. "For giving me that mental picture."
Cuddy gritted her teeth but did not lose control. "I'm just saying -"
"That while you're off with your little boyfriend -"
She growled.
But he ignored it and finished his thought. "You want me to take care of your daughter's itchy, burning special place."
"You don't have to put it like that." He could hear the hostility in her voice. "But basically… yes."
"And I would do that because…."
"Because it would be the nice thing to do."
In his estimation, there really wasn't anything she could have said that would have gone over worse with him. "Because I said so," "because I'm going to withhold sex if you don't" - anything along those lines would have been better than what she said.
But what she'd gone with was: it would be the nice thing to do. Meaning, he thought as he turned away from her in the shower, she thought it would be a change for him, meaning she thought he wasn't being nice.
And he wasn't sure he could articulate why that bothered him so much. Yet he knew it did. What she'd said did hurt. Even as some part of him understood that she hadn't intended to, House couldn't stop himself from feeling as though she didn't appreciate anything he had done for this relationship.
And he had done a lot.
House wouldn't pretend that he was perfect or that she hadn't sacrificed as much as he had. Obviously he wasn't, and obviously she had worked just as hard at making this relationship last. But none of that took away or could take away from he'd done.
For her.
He'd never wanted to be a father. He'd never wanted to be anything close to that. But he'd entered this relationship understanding that he would need to... deal with Rachel, spare her from his anger and his problems and flaws.
He'd known what was expected of him.
And of course, there were times when he'd screwed all of that up, when he'd yelled at Rachel or said something he shouldn't have and hurt her feelings. Again, he knew he wasn't perfect. But he had made an attempt. He was still making an attempt at doing something every cell of his being despised or was afraid to do.
Was he all that successful?
The internal voice inside of his head said that no, he hadn't been, not at all. But the fact of the matter was that Rachel had confessed that she'd had feelings for him. Maybe she hadn't said it in as many words, but that was basically what it came down to. She worried about him, wanted him to be in her life. And if that didn't count as some sort of success to Cuddy, he wasn't sure what would.
Yet, she was making it clear now that he was still falling short. She hadn't had to make a sacrifice anywhere near as difficult as his had been, but here she was, he thought bitterly, acting like he owed her more.
"'Nice,'" he repeated in a disgusted voice. He refused to turn and look at her then. Afraid of what he might do if he saw her imploring look, House focused his attention completely on soaping his body.
His hands running the bar of soap and the washcloth in long violent strokes, he set out with determination to finish this as quickly as possible. The irony of the situation - that he should be in a hot shower with his incredibly sex girlfriend and simultaneously desperate to leave - was not lost on him. He knew that it was an unexpected twist internally. But he was so sick of twists and turns and, quite frankly, at this moment, her that he didn't bother to finding any amusement in the irony. He just focused on what he'd originally intended to do in the shower.
Dropping the soap and washcloth onto the tile floor, he didn't wait for the spraying water to clean him off. He wanted to be out as soon as possible, and that wouldn't happen, he knew, if he wasted precious time making sure he was as clean as possible. Hurriedly grabbing the shampoo bottle, he said, as he squirted some of the translucent soap into the palm of his hand, "You don't think I've been nice?"
Cuddy, seemingly oblivious to his souring mood, simply pointed out, "You called me a prostitute five minutes ago, so -"
"Because I'm pissed," he said, feeling his anger burn through his body in a way that the heat of the water couldn't even begin to touch. And then, as he began to violently rub shampoo through his hair, he couldn't hold himself back. "And why shouldn't I be? What man would do as much as I have?"
"House." It was a mild chastisement all considered. She could have been much more offended than she seemed to be, much more outraged by his behavior. But as it was, she just seemed slightly shocked and dismayed by his words.
"Don't do that. Don't act like I'm -"
"You're taking this all wrong," she said quietly, placing a tentative hand on his back.
"Of course, this is all my fault."
Stepping away from her, he rinsed his hair out. But even as the water pounded against his scalp and forehead, he managed to hear her say, "You know exactly what I meant."
"Oh do I?"
"Stop acting like you don't," she ordered in a dangerous voice. "I'd rather you just say you don't like the idea of being alone with Rachel than pick a fight with me."
His eyes popped back open. He hadn't been doing that… had he?
The question must have been easily read on his face, because Cuddy answered, "That's exactly what you're doing."
"I'm not afraid of being around a five year old."
In terms of defenses, this one wasn't exactly a great one. And whether that was because he said it in a voice that would convince absolutely no one or because the argument itself was awful all on its own, he couldn't say. Perhaps it failed on both counts.
Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter. Cuddy didn't believe him either way.
However, she at least had enough sense not to accuse him of lying. Oh, there was no doubt that that was exactly what she thought, not in his mind anyway. But what she said was, "Then this is a matter of inconvenience for you."
He nodded his head vigorously, water dripping into his eyes.
"Do I need to tell you how willing I am to make this up to you?"
Her arms folded across her chest, her white teeth lightly biting into the pink flesh of her lip, her gaze gently cast upon him with unspoken promise - she was a perfect portrait of a temptress willing (and more than able) to use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted.
And it was tempting to let her.
He would never say that in this moment, he'd been completely immune to her moves. Part of him would like to say that, but no one would reasonably believe that. Not even he, while it was happening, could convince himself that what she was offering was something he should resist.
But he did try.
Even as he sensed that he would cave in the end, he tried hard to act like he didn't want her to make it up to him.
"And who says you can make it up to me?" he asked, knowing full well that at this point he was merely biding his time.
"Because what you're doing for me is babysitting my daughter," she answered easily. "And that might not be fun, but it's not going to be psychologically scarring, so -"
"It might be." No, he thought instantly. No, that wasn't right. There was no "might" about it. "It will be," he corrected. "You said it yourself. I'm not just babysitting her. You want me to treat her yeast infection, and frankly -"
"You don't have to put the cream on yourself. Just tell her where it goes, and she can do it herself. And if you're really that uninterested -"
"Oh, I am."
"Then just give her the fluconazole, and wait until I come home, and I'll do the rest."
He couldn't deny that she was making a concession. He knew that she was. But at the same time, it hardly felt like a victory for him.
How could it be though? He'd still be spending time with Rachel.
"House," Cuddy said with a sigh loud enough to pull him from his thoughts. "I know this isn't something you want to do. I know I ask a lot of you, especially when it comes to Rachel."
The way she said this made it sound like she didn't appreciate being forced to admit such truths. However, he didn't care so much about that. For him, the greater importance was on the fact that it was the truth. And he wanted to say that, wanted to tell her that perhaps the real offense was that she used him more often than she realized. But he never got a chance to even open his mouth.
Her voice hardening, she suddenly got to the point. "But I really need you to do this for me. So tell me what I have to do to get you to say yes."
Oh, so she was going to try to bribe him. Of course she would never put it that way; she'd qualify it as bargaining or use some other term that made what she was doing seem more mature than it really was. But it didn't matter what she called it. Whatever the vocabulary, her intentions were clear: she was going to sweeten the deal as much as she could.
And he had half a mind to say no outright. Even if he got something in return, he didn't particularly love the idea of making her feel like she'd won. It sounded absurd, yes. But he knew her well enough to know that there was a good chance she'd smugly hold this moment over his head. Like she'd bested him or something, he thought.
Of course, if he asked for something banal or shortsighted, he knew she would be right to feel that way. If he took her up on her offer and failed to really make her pay, she wouldn't be wrong to think she'd gotten the best of him.
So he would either need to think of something he really wanted and she would really hate to give him or he would need to tell her no flat out.
Again, he had half a mind to pass on the offer. He really did. But if he did that… she'd just keep pestering him until he caved.
And he would cave. She was annoying him so much that his head had begun to pound, his blood vessels seemingly just as agitated by her stupidity as the rest of him. And he knew that if he said no now, she would persist, and his headache would only get worse, and then he would have no choice to agree if he wanted to alleviate his pain.
"Fine," he muttered, bitter at the fact that he didn't really have a choice in this.
Needless to say, Cuddy felt differently. A warm smile playing at her lips, she said, "Thank you."
But as she started to take a step toward him (probably to offer him a hug), he held up his hand. "Not so fast," he said snidely. "You don't know what I want."
That gave her pause. "What - uh, what do you want?" She actually sounded unnerved then. Perhaps she realized that she'd opened the door for all sorts of demands.
And maybe that was the problem for him. He could ask for just about anything right now, which was why it was difficult to figure out exactly what he wanted.
Of course, he knew what he didn't want: more sex.
… Well… that wasn't exactly true. Right now he was a little spent from their morning, so maybe he didn't want it this second. But overall, absolutely, he wanted more sex.
However, he wasn't going to use that as a bargaining chip now. Per their agreement from Friday night, she was already putting out whenever he wanted - not that that was any sort of hardship or sacrifice on her part anyway. So he definitely wasn't going to ask for that in exchange for watching Rachel, not when he was already getting plenty of that.
Besides, he wanted Cuddy to give him something she would hate as much as he hated doing his part. But what would she hate doing?
The answer came almost instantly. There were many things she wouldn't like doing, sure. But there was only one thing she had always seemed adamantly against:
She didn't like it when their relationship encroached upon work.
"Clinic duty," he said immediately, feeling himself smirk as the words came out of his mouth.
She repeated the words in a much less positive tone. "Clinic duty."
"Yeah. If I'm going to do this for you, no clinic duty for me… for a month."
"No."
"Then you can take the cockroach with you."
Her jaw clenched together. "I'm not going to let you off of clinic duty for a month."
"I think you are."
"I can't give you special treatment. I can't let our personal life -"
"Then I can't watch the kid," he said with a shrug.
She practically turned purple with rage, and he knew he'd won. Naturally, she would search her brain for a different solution that she could placate him with. But she wouldn't come up with anything else to bargain with; of that he was sure.
"Fine," she said eventually. "But not a month."
"Sorry." But he wasn't sorry at all. "I'm going to need a month."
"I'll give you a week."
He mulled the offer over. Quickly realizing he probably wouldn't get any better, he nodded his head. "All right. A week - on the condition that you're the one who replaces me."
"Like that wasn't going to happen anyway." Her eyes were narrowed in disgust.
"So that's a yes?"
She threw her hands in the air. "I guess it has to be."
"Wonderful."
But obviously it wasn't. Two stubborn people who felt as though they were being forced to do something they didn't want to do - that was never going to make things anywhere close to wonderful.
They were mature enough to finish their shower together without fighting, mature enough for her to let him apply antibacterial cream to her neck and for him to apologize for creating the injury. They were in control enough to talk about what suit he wanted to wear to tonight's dinner part and for her to say that she would take it with her to have it dry cleaned. He was able to ask if she'd written the scrip for Rachel, and she was polite in her response.
Yes, they were capable of being in one another's presence without fighting.
Yet it was impossible to miss that they were both pissed - at one another and the things they'd decided to put each other through. They didn't say anything; there was, surprisingly, no fighting. But every now and then, House would feel her glaring at him or find himself staring at her as though he wished she'd leave already.
Maybe he really did wish she were gone.
But the funny thing about that was: when she finally did leave, he didn't feel any better.
In fact, the second she closed the door behind her, all he felt was dread.
Continue on to the next chapter