Gift of Screws, Chapter 18.2
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Eighteen, Part 2
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, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
If he regretted saying it at all, it was because the words set her off.
With milliseconds, he could see her jaw clench in anger. "I am doing the best that I can," she said in short, flat tones. She spoke in a way that attested to just how many times she had had to assert that fact - that she was doing the best she could as a mother.
Not even through his own frustration did he dare to disagree with her. Whether he agreed with the sentiment or not didn't matter. The fact that she would rip his nuts off if he even tried to call her a bad mother did.
So he exercised a modicum of restraint and let her keep talking.
"I'm sorry that she said those things about you and that you heard," she told him. Shaking her head, she admitted, "That's not what I wanted. It's certainly not how I want her to be. But." Cuddy flashed him a dark look. "I can only do so much. If you never talk to her, tell her how you feel, she's never going to -"
"I don't have anything to say to her," he said simply.
And that was the truth. He had absolutely nothing to say to Rachel. He was irritated by how things had turned out today, but there was no reason to discuss that, especially not with a five year old. His irritation would be fleeting, and Rachel would be less annoying if they stayed out of each other's way, and, at some point, he would go back to work and she would be in school, and they would get past… whatever this was.
But Cuddy didn't seem to want to let it go.
"So what are you going to do? You'll just, what, ignore her until -"
"Why not?" he said calmly. "If I don't forgive her and she's not sorry, what's the point in pretending otherwise?"
Cuddy looked at him as though she couldn't believe how dumb he was being. "I can't believe you're saying that." Her mouth hung agape for a moment. "Are you really that stupid? Really?"
"I'm still standing here, talking to you, so the answer to that question is a -"
"Great," she said snidely. "Then we're in agreement: you're being a moron."
He cocked his head to the side. Pretending to consider what she was saying, he told her, "No… no, I don't think so."
If her eyes were capable of popping out of her head, House was sure they would have at that moment. She looked that shocked.
For the life of him, he couldn't understand why. He'd never been quick to forgive. He'd certainly never sought out Rachel's forgiveness when she'd done something wrong. Why was this so hard for Cuddy to get?
He decided to ask her.
"Why is this so confusing for you? You're shocked I'm not a doormat?"
"No," she practically exclaimed within what felt like a nanosecond.
She didn't sound angry, he thought. Confused, annoyed, yes, but surprisingly she wasn't angry. To be perfectly honest, he expected her to be for obvious reasons: he wasn't doing what she wanted; he wasn't being completely subservient to her and her daughter. But she wasn't mad. At least, he didn't think so.
Really, she just sounded frustrated. "A doormat?" She sighed, the air sounding ragged as it escaped her throat. "House, I'm not telling you you have to forgive her right this -"
"That's not what it sounds like."
Cuddy didn't say anything right away. A little voice inside of her wanted to scream and shout until he got the point, but she knew that would be ineffective. He would not respond to anger, and she would get nowhere by giving into her exasperation.
Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, she was slow to respond. She wanted to make it absolutely clear how she felt; anything less and House would use that ambiguity as an excuse to do whatever the hell he wanted.
And she wasn't going to let that happen.
"I don't care," she said eventually. "If you're angry with Rachel."
"That much is obvious," he quickly retorted.
She shook her head. "I mean that I'm not asking you to forgive her this second." She took another deep breath and asked herself why he insisted on making things so difficult.
She did not ask the question aloud.
"I understand that you're… unhappy. If you want a better apology, fine." He looked at her as though he didn't think she really thought that. Which made her pitch go what sounded like half an octave higher when she insisted, "I get it. I really do. I am not asking you to pretend like it didn't bother you."
He wouldn't ever admit that he was confused, of course, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Then what is your problem?"
"I want you to talk to her," she said calmly, firmly.
"No."
"You can't just ignore her."
"Why not?"
Cuddy knew the card she had to play then. If just asking him wasn't going to work, if appealing to his common sense wasn't going to work, she only had a few tactics left. Scraping at the bottom of the barrel for ways to compel House, she understood that none of her options were good.
No matter what she said or did from here on out, he would be mad. And she didn't exactly care about offending him at this point, no. But she was concerned that he would be too furious with whatever she said to take the only reasonable action available to him.
What else could she do though? He couldn't spend the next few hours, days, or weeks ignoring Rachel. Hell, given the way he could hold a grudge, who knew how long this would all last? And in all that time, while he was being hurt, just how much would he be hurting his relationship with Rachel?
Cuddy knew the answer to that question. It would impact her daughter tremendously, and by extension, his bad mood would poison every dynamic in the house. Rachel would want his forgiveness more now that he had shown just how upset he really was. But if he kept ignoring her, at a certain point, she would harden towards him. She would become resentful of his resentment, and she would hate Cuddy for not putting an end to all of it. And when that happened, if not before, Cuddy would be equally angry towards House. She would be furious at him for putting her family through all of this. And then who knew where things would go?
She was determined not to find out. So while none of her options were particularly great, Cuddy wasn't going to let that prevent her from saying what was necessary.
Still she was tentative when she spoke. "I would think that you know the answer to that already."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked with far more directness than she was showing him.
She inhaled deeply. "Wilson -"
"Wilson likes to masturbate while wearing women's panties," House interrupted.
"Wilson," she repeated firmly. He was trying to distract her now, to avoid whatever she was about to say. Oh, he had no clue where this was going. Cuddy knew that much; he didn't know what was coming. But she'd also learned years ago that House had an uncanny ability to sense when something bad was about to happen to him. He didn't know what was going on, but surely, he could tell that he wasn't going to like what came out of her mouth.
She pressed on anyway. "Wilson once told me that your father -"
"Oh, well if Wilson said something, it must be true."
Perhaps stupidly, House had hoped that an out-of-hand denial would put her off of finishing that sentence. Instantly though, he realized that it wasn't going to work.
"You told Wilson your father didn't talk to you for two months." She put it out there gently, in a way so as not to offend him.
But it did offend him. Just the idea that she would even go there pissed him off more than he could say, and he was determined to put a stop to it.
"Like I said, if Wilson said something, it must -"
"Wilson has no reason to lie to me."
"Maybe not," he said with a smirk. He was almost amused by the way she was overlooking so many possibilities. "But who says I didn't have a reason to lie to him?"
He thought he had her with that question. He really believed he'd created enough doubt to force her to go down a different path. It was clear though that he hadn't.
"You didn't lie," she said knowingly.
His chin jutted out defiantly. "You don't know that."
"Your mother would," Cuddy responded. "Would you like me to call her?"
There were no comebacks left for him. He couldn't say that his mother would never tell her or that his mother didn't know. His mother knew more than he'd realized, and she seemed to have no problem talking to Cuddy about all of it. Despite his displeasure, the two had formed an obvious kinship. His mother's loneliness had made her embrace whatever kind of family she could get, and Cuddy would undoubtedly use that relationship to get to the truth.
He wanted to break up with her with all of his heart at that second. In that moment, he hated her so much that he never wanted to see her again. And every last shred of self-control he had disappeared.
He'd tried to calmly steer her away from this topic. He'd tried to appeal to her senses and let him handle Rachel how he wanted.
And she'd done this?
No, whatever consideration he might have given her before was gone now. Screw her and what she wanted.
Viciously he said, "You spend your morning with your tongue down some guy's throat, and you're gonna bring that up."
As anticipated, she looked livid.
And ashamed.
But she was calm when she spoke. "If you want to be pissed off at me for kissing another man… that's one thing." Her hands curling into fists, she practically snarled, "But don't you ever use that against me so you can avoid having a conversation about -"
"How I'm just like dear old Dad?" he interrupted angrily. "You think I'm gonna stand here and let you compare this to that?"
Cuddy took a step back, clearly stunned. She swallowed hard. "House," she said, her voice suddenly quiet. "I wasn't doing that."
He wasn't buying it. "You were. That's exactly what you were doing."
"No, she said, shaking her head. Her lips turning down into a frown, she explained, "I was not saying that."
"You were."
Of course, she would try to back out now, when she saw just how pissed he was. If he'd just nodded his head and accepted what she was trying to say, she would have gone on with her little comparison. Only because he'd fired back had she stopped. And he was far too unhappy to forget that fact.
"No," she repeated.
He watched her intently as she took a step closer to him. And when she reached out and touched his forearm, he glanced down at the place she'd rested her hand.
"That's not what I was saying," she insisted. "With everything I've heard about him, I know that you are not the same person."
House yearned to believe her. Though she had been the one to plant the foul idea in his head to begin with, that he was like his father, he wanted so badly to believe that they were different people. And that overrode everything else. His ire, disgust, hatred - none of that seemed to matter much then.
He hadn't completely forgotten what she'd said. Of course, he hadn't. The whiplash from angry to desperate might have quelled any desire he had to continue the fight. He might have wanted to believe what she was saying. But he did not forget, nor could he, the fact that she had brought up his childhood. Even if she weren't comparing him to his father, House himself had now considered the comparison. And he didn't think he was like his father; he didn't want to be like his father, but part of him couldn't easily shake the idea that somehow he had turned out similarly.
True, he'd never done to Rachel many of the things done to him. He'd never made her sleep outside or bathe in cold water.
But did that really make him any better overall?
He wasn't sure anymore what the answer to that was.
He wanted to believe that the only way to respond to such a question was with an exuberant yes.
But Cuddy had touched on something within him. Whether she had meant to do that or not, whether she'd really been comparing him to his father or not, she had made House believe that there was a comparison to be made. And he couldn't shake that thought off as quickly as he would have liked to. He wanted to, but he couldn't, and frankly, that terrified him.
What did it say about him that he couldn't easily believe they were different? He hated his father, but he couldn't say with any certainty that they were definitely cut from different cloth?
It made House feel queasy.
His blood ran cold at the very idea. It had been snowing for days now, but only in this particular moment did the storm seem to permeate the walls and his own skin. And he could not shake the feeling, even as his own muscles shivered at the thought. Not even Cuddy's warm hand on him could soften the chill that seemed to have frosted over every cell in his body.
Her words were equally ineffective.
"I would never say that," she said, each and every word stressed as though she were begging him to believe. "There is no doubt in my mind about that."
He was desperate to believe her. If he thought that she honestly thought the difference were that apparent, he could push aside the fear clawing at his insides. He could move forward without considering why he'd ever thought differently, and it went without saying how nice that would be.
But he couldn't believe her. No matter how much he wanted it, he remained doubtful. As though he didn't trust salvation that came cheaply, he was unmoved by what she was saying.
"Right," he said doubtfully. "You didn't mean that; you just thought you'd throw that out there for fun."
Inwardly he was incredulous. He was really going to fight her on this? When he wanted her to be right?
It was hard to believe, but there was no taking the words back. He'd said them. He'd meant them.
"I wasn't comparing -"
"Yeah, you -"
"Not to your father," she snapped irritably. Cuddy must have known he was going to disagree, because she was quick to continue talking. "If I was comparing anyone, it was you to Rachel."
"Why the hell would you do that?" he asked, voicing the thought as he heard it in his head. "That's not even remotely the -"
"You wanted to ignore the problem," she explained slowly. She sounded as though it pained her to be logical and calm towards him, but he wasn't concerned with that. "And I understand the impulse, House, but I was trying to say that you of all people should know why that's a bad idea."
Okay, he thought, maybe she hadn't been comparing him to his father directly. But House wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to say was any better. Because maybe she didn't think he was his father, but she definitely seemed to think that there was the same ability to harm. House wasn't John, but apparently she felt he had the equally stupid idea of not talking to someone for two months. Evidently she looked at what he was doing and pictured typed up notes under doors or some equally idiotic way of communicating as Rachel couldn't read and typed up letters would be pointless.
"Oh, that's so much better." He pulled away from her.
She sighed in obvious frustration. "Just stop, all right?"
"Stop what?" She would no doubt take this question as being a sarcastic one, but he was serious. "Being offended by you saying -"
"I'm not saying anything bad," she said through gritted teeth.
"Oh really?"
"You're taking offense, because you want to avoid the conversation," she insisted.
He wanted to laugh; the idea was so dumb. But he settled for, "If you say so."
"I do." Her reply was firm. "You would never intentionally hurt Rachel. If I ever thought differently, we wouldn't be dating. You wouldn't live here."
"But unintentionally I would," he said, reading between the lines. "I wouldn't beat her, but I'd -"
"All I am saying is that, as hurt as you are -"
"I'm not hurt."
Cuddy didn't look convinced, and he knew it was because he had hardly been convincing.
"You're not thinking clearly," she said in a sympathetic voice. "You want to avoid showing her that you're..." She looked like she wanted to say "hurt" again, but she was smart enough not to. "Unhappy with what she said. All I'm saying is that you're only going to make things worse."
He didn't bother to respond. Nothing he could say would change her mind. At this point, that much was clear, so he didn't think it was worth trying.
"You need to talk to her."
"Do I?"
"Yes." The word came out in a hiss. "Because by weaseling your way out of the conversation, you've now hurt her. And the longer you let this go on, the more upset she is going to be."
"Well, since it's all about her."
Instinctively House realized how childish he sounded. The words were so immature, even to his own ears, that helplessly he reflected on how he'd handled this whole thing. He wasn't wrong; he would never admit to THAT, but hearing how he sounded now, he could only think that he had been just as mature as Rachel had been about it.
Cringing, he waited for Cuddy to say as much out loud. He expected her to point out that he'd been behaving like a little boy desperate for Mommy to take his side.
But she didn't do that. She just said, "It's not all about her." Her lips turned into a grimace, as though it pained her to even say that. "But she is my daughter, and I have to look out for her."
"You mean protect her from me."
Cuddy was careful with her response. "Sometimes, yes. Emotionally, I do."
He scoffed. So much for her saying that she knew he would never hurt Rachel.
"When you get it in your head that this is some sort of competition with her, yes, House, I have to protect her." She frowned as the words came out. "It's not healthy for her to think that I'm making a choice between you two every time I -"
"Right," he said, cutting her off. "Well, then, maybe I shouldn't talk to her if I'm so psychologically damaging to her."
"Or you could realize that I love you both very much, that I would be extremely unhappy if I ever lost either of you, and that for my sake," she explained, gesturing to herself. "It's worth trying to work things out with Rachel."
He smirked. "So really, this is all about you."
"This is about us."
"Funny, cause I don't see you thinking much about how I -"
"House," she interrupted. "You have to get along with her. You have to make this work with her. Because if you don't -"
"You think I don't know that?" Really, she thought he wasn't consumed by that fact? That he didn't know just what was at stake here?
Cuddy shrugged. "I know you do - rationally. But sometimes I don't think you're capable of doing what I need you to do." With effort she finished the rest of the soup he'd dished out for her. "I think you get resentful of her every time this gets difficult for you, and you're picking this fight with me now, because you don't like what I'm asking you to do."
"Ya think? What made you think that?" To himself, he thought that sometimes she wasn't the smartest person in the world.
But although he didn't say that aloud, she still seemed to get angry. "You need to suck it up."
"Thanks for the advice."
"You know what will happen if we can't make this relationship fit with Rachel's needs."
"Of course I do," he agreed. "You only remind me of it every day of my life." In a falsetto voice, he mocked, "Get along with her or -"
"You need to protect us."
The words were a demand.
They were not a request, not a statement of fact.
They were orders.
"That's all there is to it," she said with finality. "Protect us."
With that, she walked away.
House let her go. He had no desire to talk to her any longer. She clearly wasn't going to budge, and discussing it with her would just be a waste of both their times. So he simply watched her go.
Now alone in the kitchen once more, he couldn't help but consider the situation ironic. There was absolutely nothing humorous about what had happened, but he still thought it was ironic - that Cuddy should be such a powerful and successful woman and still ask him to be the protector.
He'd never thought that that would be their relationship. Cuddy was stronger than anyone he knew. Being one of the most accomplished women in her field, adopting by herself, dating him - it all spoke to just how much strength of character she had. She had more than he did anyway. And that had been part of the reason to date her. She was a stabilizing force for him, something he had desperately needed and depended on for years.
She was not someone who needed him to watch out for her.
But here she was asking for just that.
And House knew that he had no choice but to play that part, because Cuddy had made it clear: if he didn't do it, no one else would.
He had to protect their relationship.
Because she certainly wasn't going to anymore.
Continue on to the rest of the fic
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, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
If he regretted saying it at all, it was because the words set her off.
With milliseconds, he could see her jaw clench in anger. "I am doing the best that I can," she said in short, flat tones. She spoke in a way that attested to just how many times she had had to assert that fact - that she was doing the best she could as a mother.
Not even through his own frustration did he dare to disagree with her. Whether he agreed with the sentiment or not didn't matter. The fact that she would rip his nuts off if he even tried to call her a bad mother did.
So he exercised a modicum of restraint and let her keep talking.
"I'm sorry that she said those things about you and that you heard," she told him. Shaking her head, she admitted, "That's not what I wanted. It's certainly not how I want her to be. But." Cuddy flashed him a dark look. "I can only do so much. If you never talk to her, tell her how you feel, she's never going to -"
"I don't have anything to say to her," he said simply.
And that was the truth. He had absolutely nothing to say to Rachel. He was irritated by how things had turned out today, but there was no reason to discuss that, especially not with a five year old. His irritation would be fleeting, and Rachel would be less annoying if they stayed out of each other's way, and, at some point, he would go back to work and she would be in school, and they would get past… whatever this was.
But Cuddy didn't seem to want to let it go.
"So what are you going to do? You'll just, what, ignore her until -"
"Why not?" he said calmly. "If I don't forgive her and she's not sorry, what's the point in pretending otherwise?"
Cuddy looked at him as though she couldn't believe how dumb he was being. "I can't believe you're saying that." Her mouth hung agape for a moment. "Are you really that stupid? Really?"
"I'm still standing here, talking to you, so the answer to that question is a -"
"Great," she said snidely. "Then we're in agreement: you're being a moron."
He cocked his head to the side. Pretending to consider what she was saying, he told her, "No… no, I don't think so."
If her eyes were capable of popping out of her head, House was sure they would have at that moment. She looked that shocked.
For the life of him, he couldn't understand why. He'd never been quick to forgive. He'd certainly never sought out Rachel's forgiveness when she'd done something wrong. Why was this so hard for Cuddy to get?
He decided to ask her.
"Why is this so confusing for you? You're shocked I'm not a doormat?"
"No," she practically exclaimed within what felt like a nanosecond.
She didn't sound angry, he thought. Confused, annoyed, yes, but surprisingly she wasn't angry. To be perfectly honest, he expected her to be for obvious reasons: he wasn't doing what she wanted; he wasn't being completely subservient to her and her daughter. But she wasn't mad. At least, he didn't think so.
Really, she just sounded frustrated. "A doormat?" She sighed, the air sounding ragged as it escaped her throat. "House, I'm not telling you you have to forgive her right this -"
"That's not what it sounds like."
Cuddy didn't say anything right away. A little voice inside of her wanted to scream and shout until he got the point, but she knew that would be ineffective. He would not respond to anger, and she would get nowhere by giving into her exasperation.
Forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, she was slow to respond. She wanted to make it absolutely clear how she felt; anything less and House would use that ambiguity as an excuse to do whatever the hell he wanted.
And she wasn't going to let that happen.
"I don't care," she said eventually. "If you're angry with Rachel."
"That much is obvious," he quickly retorted.
She shook her head. "I mean that I'm not asking you to forgive her this second." She took another deep breath and asked herself why he insisted on making things so difficult.
She did not ask the question aloud.
"I understand that you're… unhappy. If you want a better apology, fine." He looked at her as though he didn't think she really thought that. Which made her pitch go what sounded like half an octave higher when she insisted, "I get it. I really do. I am not asking you to pretend like it didn't bother you."
He wouldn't ever admit that he was confused, of course, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Then what is your problem?"
"I want you to talk to her," she said calmly, firmly.
"No."
"You can't just ignore her."
"Why not?"
Cuddy knew the card she had to play then. If just asking him wasn't going to work, if appealing to his common sense wasn't going to work, she only had a few tactics left. Scraping at the bottom of the barrel for ways to compel House, she understood that none of her options were good.
No matter what she said or did from here on out, he would be mad. And she didn't exactly care about offending him at this point, no. But she was concerned that he would be too furious with whatever she said to take the only reasonable action available to him.
What else could she do though? He couldn't spend the next few hours, days, or weeks ignoring Rachel. Hell, given the way he could hold a grudge, who knew how long this would all last? And in all that time, while he was being hurt, just how much would he be hurting his relationship with Rachel?
Cuddy knew the answer to that question. It would impact her daughter tremendously, and by extension, his bad mood would poison every dynamic in the house. Rachel would want his forgiveness more now that he had shown just how upset he really was. But if he kept ignoring her, at a certain point, she would harden towards him. She would become resentful of his resentment, and she would hate Cuddy for not putting an end to all of it. And when that happened, if not before, Cuddy would be equally angry towards House. She would be furious at him for putting her family through all of this. And then who knew where things would go?
She was determined not to find out. So while none of her options were particularly great, Cuddy wasn't going to let that prevent her from saying what was necessary.
Still she was tentative when she spoke. "I would think that you know the answer to that already."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked with far more directness than she was showing him.
She inhaled deeply. "Wilson -"
"Wilson likes to masturbate while wearing women's panties," House interrupted.
"Wilson," she repeated firmly. He was trying to distract her now, to avoid whatever she was about to say. Oh, he had no clue where this was going. Cuddy knew that much; he didn't know what was coming. But she'd also learned years ago that House had an uncanny ability to sense when something bad was about to happen to him. He didn't know what was going on, but surely, he could tell that he wasn't going to like what came out of her mouth.
She pressed on anyway. "Wilson once told me that your father -"
"Oh, well if Wilson said something, it must be true."
Perhaps stupidly, House had hoped that an out-of-hand denial would put her off of finishing that sentence. Instantly though, he realized that it wasn't going to work.
"You told Wilson your father didn't talk to you for two months." She put it out there gently, in a way so as not to offend him.
But it did offend him. Just the idea that she would even go there pissed him off more than he could say, and he was determined to put a stop to it.
"Like I said, if Wilson said something, it must -"
"Wilson has no reason to lie to me."
"Maybe not," he said with a smirk. He was almost amused by the way she was overlooking so many possibilities. "But who says I didn't have a reason to lie to him?"
He thought he had her with that question. He really believed he'd created enough doubt to force her to go down a different path. It was clear though that he hadn't.
"You didn't lie," she said knowingly.
His chin jutted out defiantly. "You don't know that."
"Your mother would," Cuddy responded. "Would you like me to call her?"
There were no comebacks left for him. He couldn't say that his mother would never tell her or that his mother didn't know. His mother knew more than he'd realized, and she seemed to have no problem talking to Cuddy about all of it. Despite his displeasure, the two had formed an obvious kinship. His mother's loneliness had made her embrace whatever kind of family she could get, and Cuddy would undoubtedly use that relationship to get to the truth.
He wanted to break up with her with all of his heart at that second. In that moment, he hated her so much that he never wanted to see her again. And every last shred of self-control he had disappeared.
He'd tried to calmly steer her away from this topic. He'd tried to appeal to her senses and let him handle Rachel how he wanted.
And she'd done this?
No, whatever consideration he might have given her before was gone now. Screw her and what she wanted.
Viciously he said, "You spend your morning with your tongue down some guy's throat, and you're gonna bring that up."
As anticipated, she looked livid.
And ashamed.
But she was calm when she spoke. "If you want to be pissed off at me for kissing another man… that's one thing." Her hands curling into fists, she practically snarled, "But don't you ever use that against me so you can avoid having a conversation about -"
"How I'm just like dear old Dad?" he interrupted angrily. "You think I'm gonna stand here and let you compare this to that?"
Cuddy took a step back, clearly stunned. She swallowed hard. "House," she said, her voice suddenly quiet. "I wasn't doing that."
He wasn't buying it. "You were. That's exactly what you were doing."
"No, she said, shaking her head. Her lips turning down into a frown, she explained, "I was not saying that."
"You were."
Of course, she would try to back out now, when she saw just how pissed he was. If he'd just nodded his head and accepted what she was trying to say, she would have gone on with her little comparison. Only because he'd fired back had she stopped. And he was far too unhappy to forget that fact.
"No," she repeated.
He watched her intently as she took a step closer to him. And when she reached out and touched his forearm, he glanced down at the place she'd rested her hand.
"That's not what I was saying," she insisted. "With everything I've heard about him, I know that you are not the same person."
House yearned to believe her. Though she had been the one to plant the foul idea in his head to begin with, that he was like his father, he wanted so badly to believe that they were different people. And that overrode everything else. His ire, disgust, hatred - none of that seemed to matter much then.
He hadn't completely forgotten what she'd said. Of course, he hadn't. The whiplash from angry to desperate might have quelled any desire he had to continue the fight. He might have wanted to believe what she was saying. But he did not forget, nor could he, the fact that she had brought up his childhood. Even if she weren't comparing him to his father, House himself had now considered the comparison. And he didn't think he was like his father; he didn't want to be like his father, but part of him couldn't easily shake the idea that somehow he had turned out similarly.
True, he'd never done to Rachel many of the things done to him. He'd never made her sleep outside or bathe in cold water.
But did that really make him any better overall?
He wasn't sure anymore what the answer to that was.
He wanted to believe that the only way to respond to such a question was with an exuberant yes.
But Cuddy had touched on something within him. Whether she had meant to do that or not, whether she'd really been comparing him to his father or not, she had made House believe that there was a comparison to be made. And he couldn't shake that thought off as quickly as he would have liked to. He wanted to, but he couldn't, and frankly, that terrified him.
What did it say about him that he couldn't easily believe they were different? He hated his father, but he couldn't say with any certainty that they were definitely cut from different cloth?
It made House feel queasy.
His blood ran cold at the very idea. It had been snowing for days now, but only in this particular moment did the storm seem to permeate the walls and his own skin. And he could not shake the feeling, even as his own muscles shivered at the thought. Not even Cuddy's warm hand on him could soften the chill that seemed to have frosted over every cell in his body.
Her words were equally ineffective.
"I would never say that," she said, each and every word stressed as though she were begging him to believe. "There is no doubt in my mind about that."
He was desperate to believe her. If he thought that she honestly thought the difference were that apparent, he could push aside the fear clawing at his insides. He could move forward without considering why he'd ever thought differently, and it went without saying how nice that would be.
But he couldn't believe her. No matter how much he wanted it, he remained doubtful. As though he didn't trust salvation that came cheaply, he was unmoved by what she was saying.
"Right," he said doubtfully. "You didn't mean that; you just thought you'd throw that out there for fun."
Inwardly he was incredulous. He was really going to fight her on this? When he wanted her to be right?
It was hard to believe, but there was no taking the words back. He'd said them. He'd meant them.
"I wasn't comparing -"
"Yeah, you -"
"Not to your father," she snapped irritably. Cuddy must have known he was going to disagree, because she was quick to continue talking. "If I was comparing anyone, it was you to Rachel."
"Why the hell would you do that?" he asked, voicing the thought as he heard it in his head. "That's not even remotely the -"
"You wanted to ignore the problem," she explained slowly. She sounded as though it pained her to be logical and calm towards him, but he wasn't concerned with that. "And I understand the impulse, House, but I was trying to say that you of all people should know why that's a bad idea."
Okay, he thought, maybe she hadn't been comparing him to his father directly. But House wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to say was any better. Because maybe she didn't think he was his father, but she definitely seemed to think that there was the same ability to harm. House wasn't John, but apparently she felt he had the equally stupid idea of not talking to someone for two months. Evidently she looked at what he was doing and pictured typed up notes under doors or some equally idiotic way of communicating as Rachel couldn't read and typed up letters would be pointless.
"Oh, that's so much better." He pulled away from her.
She sighed in obvious frustration. "Just stop, all right?"
"Stop what?" She would no doubt take this question as being a sarcastic one, but he was serious. "Being offended by you saying -"
"I'm not saying anything bad," she said through gritted teeth.
"Oh really?"
"You're taking offense, because you want to avoid the conversation," she insisted.
He wanted to laugh; the idea was so dumb. But he settled for, "If you say so."
"I do." Her reply was firm. "You would never intentionally hurt Rachel. If I ever thought differently, we wouldn't be dating. You wouldn't live here."
"But unintentionally I would," he said, reading between the lines. "I wouldn't beat her, but I'd -"
"All I am saying is that, as hurt as you are -"
"I'm not hurt."
Cuddy didn't look convinced, and he knew it was because he had hardly been convincing.
"You're not thinking clearly," she said in a sympathetic voice. "You want to avoid showing her that you're..." She looked like she wanted to say "hurt" again, but she was smart enough not to. "Unhappy with what she said. All I'm saying is that you're only going to make things worse."
He didn't bother to respond. Nothing he could say would change her mind. At this point, that much was clear, so he didn't think it was worth trying.
"You need to talk to her."
"Do I?"
"Yes." The word came out in a hiss. "Because by weaseling your way out of the conversation, you've now hurt her. And the longer you let this go on, the more upset she is going to be."
"Well, since it's all about her."
Instinctively House realized how childish he sounded. The words were so immature, even to his own ears, that helplessly he reflected on how he'd handled this whole thing. He wasn't wrong; he would never admit to THAT, but hearing how he sounded now, he could only think that he had been just as mature as Rachel had been about it.
Cringing, he waited for Cuddy to say as much out loud. He expected her to point out that he'd been behaving like a little boy desperate for Mommy to take his side.
But she didn't do that. She just said, "It's not all about her." Her lips turned into a grimace, as though it pained her to even say that. "But she is my daughter, and I have to look out for her."
"You mean protect her from me."
Cuddy was careful with her response. "Sometimes, yes. Emotionally, I do."
He scoffed. So much for her saying that she knew he would never hurt Rachel.
"When you get it in your head that this is some sort of competition with her, yes, House, I have to protect her." She frowned as the words came out. "It's not healthy for her to think that I'm making a choice between you two every time I -"
"Right," he said, cutting her off. "Well, then, maybe I shouldn't talk to her if I'm so psychologically damaging to her."
"Or you could realize that I love you both very much, that I would be extremely unhappy if I ever lost either of you, and that for my sake," she explained, gesturing to herself. "It's worth trying to work things out with Rachel."
He smirked. "So really, this is all about you."
"This is about us."
"Funny, cause I don't see you thinking much about how I -"
"House," she interrupted. "You have to get along with her. You have to make this work with her. Because if you don't -"
"You think I don't know that?" Really, she thought he wasn't consumed by that fact? That he didn't know just what was at stake here?
Cuddy shrugged. "I know you do - rationally. But sometimes I don't think you're capable of doing what I need you to do." With effort she finished the rest of the soup he'd dished out for her. "I think you get resentful of her every time this gets difficult for you, and you're picking this fight with me now, because you don't like what I'm asking you to do."
"Ya think? What made you think that?" To himself, he thought that sometimes she wasn't the smartest person in the world.
But although he didn't say that aloud, she still seemed to get angry. "You need to suck it up."
"Thanks for the advice."
"You know what will happen if we can't make this relationship fit with Rachel's needs."
"Of course I do," he agreed. "You only remind me of it every day of my life." In a falsetto voice, he mocked, "Get along with her or -"
"You need to protect us."
The words were a demand.
They were not a request, not a statement of fact.
They were orders.
"That's all there is to it," she said with finality. "Protect us."
With that, she walked away.
House let her go. He had no desire to talk to her any longer. She clearly wasn't going to budge, and discussing it with her would just be a waste of both their times. So he simply watched her go.
Now alone in the kitchen once more, he couldn't help but consider the situation ironic. There was absolutely nothing humorous about what had happened, but he still thought it was ironic - that Cuddy should be such a powerful and successful woman and still ask him to be the protector.
He'd never thought that that would be their relationship. Cuddy was stronger than anyone he knew. Being one of the most accomplished women in her field, adopting by herself, dating him - it all spoke to just how much strength of character she had. She had more than he did anyway. And that had been part of the reason to date her. She was a stabilizing force for him, something he had desperately needed and depended on for years.
She was not someone who needed him to watch out for her.
But here she was asking for just that.
And House knew that he had no choice but to play that part, because Cuddy had made it clear: if he didn't do it, no one else would.
He had to protect their relationship.
Because she certainly wasn't going to anymore.
Continue on to the rest of the fic