Gift of the Dead (1.1)
Title: Gift of the Dead
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This is a prequel to Gift of Screws. This takes place at Halloween (I know: I'm a little behind in terms of holidays, lol) when Rachel is four/a couple months shy of turning five. This has been split into three sections because of LJ's post limits.
Warning: This fic contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: After Marina's death, House finds himself in charge of babysitting Rachel.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
"One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.” - Emily Dickinson
It was the perfect jack-o-lantern, or at least it would be once he slipped Cuddy’s thong and slapped a few dollar bills on it. His case had resolved itself early this morning with nothing to take its place, and out of boredom, he had resorted to stealing and carving one of the decorations in the lobby. Sure, he could have done his clinic duty or helped his team find a new case, but he’d been under enough stress lately that he took the first break he could get.
At that, he thought: ten days.
Ten long, misery-filled days.
That was how long it had been since they’d last had sex. Part of that had been his fault - staying at the hospital overnight, pissing her off by snapping at her when he’d wanted a test and she hadn’t allowed it. Part of it had been her fault - an inopportune bikini wax, pissing him off by not giving him the test he wanted, and the like. But most of it had been Rachel’s fault.
Okay, technically it wasn’t even her fault that she’d turned into an even more efficient cock blocker than, say, gonorrhea with a side platter of uncontrollable diarrhea. He blamed her, of course, because she was the one who suddenly refused to sleep in her own bed. But to be fair, that change in behavior had been caused by a fairly traumatic event six days ago.
The nanny had died.
Marina, in her infinite ability to get in the way, had found herself in the path of a speeding driver on her way home one night. Reports had indicated that she’d died instantly, but based on her injuries, House was sure that she’d held on for a small fraction of time - just long enough for her to understand that she was going to die. And that knowledge never upset him, because he had always found Marina to be irritating.
Cuddy had accused him, every time he tried to make that point clear to her, of holding a grudge, because Marina had once spilled coffee on his first edition of the original Jack Cannon book, thereby ruining it. House never agreed with his girlfriend’s assessment, but secretly he thought that there was nothing wrong with that accusation being true. Now, of course, it seemed like a petty thing to be angry over. But he wasn’t going to let a little thing like death convince him that Marina had been an angel.
The Cuddys, on the other hand, had allowed her death to take over their lives. Cuddy felt guilty, blamed herself for Marina being on that side of town. Usually House tuned her out when her narcissism became obnoxious, but from what he could tell she blamed herself because Marina had been coming home from work when her tire went flat and she’d gotten into the accident. And Rachel… well, Rachel, being all of four, understood but didn’t. She knew Marina wasn’t going to be coming by anymore, but the concept of death wasn’t something she could wrap her mind around.
And with that came the tears, the nightmares, the refusal to sleep in her own bed, and the desire to be with her mother at all times.
As a result? No playtime for little Greg.
He’d tried.
Cuddy had almost joined him in the shower three days ago (before his team had paged him and forced him to forgo fucking for diagnosing). And last night, he’d actually suggested they just push Rachel over to the other side of the bed and quietly have sex next to her.
That… had not gone over well.
So now he and Cuddy were once again annoyed with one another. At least, he thought there was some lingering irritation there. Oh, the agitation between them was undeniable, but whether or not that was because of what he’d done or because they were both incredibly frustrated from the lack of sex… he couldn’t say. They were in a gray area here, and, consumed with his own need for sex, his mind wasn’t exactly capable of discerning much of anything, much less his girlfriend’s motivations.
Which was why, he supposed, he was carving a pumpkin at work. It required little thought, little effort, and unlike his soaps, there was no sex involved to remind him of what he was missing.
Well… in theory there was no sex involved. As he finished carving hands into the pumpkin with a scalpel, he could see that his jack-o-lantern had quickly become a jack-off-o-lantern. Or something, he thought, understanding that the name needed some work.
Regardless of what he called it, the fact remained: this squash was dirtier than any soap opera could have been. He’d created hands on each side of the pumpkin, which was naturally shaped like the number eight. Having tilted it on its side, he had exposed the wrinkled brownish ring of skin where the stem had been attached before he broke it off. And once he slipped the thong on the thing, it would look as though the pumpkin were spreading its ass cheeks. So, yeah, he guessed that the jack-o-lantern hadn’t exactly been sufficiently entertaining enough to take his mind off of all the sex he wasn’t having.
But even if it had been a good distraction, it wouldn’t have been enough to keep him preoccupied when Cuddy pushed the door to his office open and entered the room.
Ten days a voice inside of him shouted. He didn’t mean to fixate on the point, but the way her tight skirt clung to her hips and ass made thinking of anything else impossible.
Staring at her body longingly, he didn’t give her a chance to speak before he said, “I’m considering suing that driver for killing our sex life, just so you know.”
“Our sex life isn’t dead,” she reassured, closing the door behind her. “It’s just….” Her voice trailed off as she stepped towards him. Her gaze seemed to roam all over his desk; she was clearly trying to figure out what he was doing. “On hold,” she finished distracted. “What are you doing?”
But by the time the question was asked, she had figured it out.
“Is that my thong?” she asked in shock.
He didn’t nod his head or say yes. She would understand soon enough, and he wanted to make sure his jack-o-lantern was finished before she decided to kill him. Eagerly he grabbed the underwear and slipped it on the pumpkin.
“That is my underwear,” she said, as he reached for the superglue. “Why are you gluing my underwear to a pumpkin?”
It would only take seconds before she guessed, so he quickly spread glue onto the crotch and stuck it to the skin of the pumpkin. In the back of his mind, he began to lament the fact that at one point in time, his come mixed with hers had been the only thing smeared inside of these bad boys.
But that thought was shoved aside when Cuddy moved behind him to see what he was working on. And then the only concern in his mind was preparing himself for the screeching that would come when she realized what he was doing.
“Are you serious?” she said loudly in a high-pitched voice. “You’re - you….” She tried to make a grab for the pumpkin, but he held it out of reach. “Give it to me.”
He didn’t. “But I worked hard to -”
“Is that supposed to be?” she hissed. “That better not be -”
“How could it be?” He turned the pumpkin around so she could see it. Naturally she tried to grab it again, but he pulled it out of her reach. “Calm down,” he said patronizingly. “It could have been worse. I’d planned on giving it an anatomically correct version of your vulva, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen it -”
“It’s been ten days,” she snapped. “And right now isn’t a good time to complain.”
“That wasn’t a complaint. I was hoping you’d consider posing for me, so I can -”
“Get rid of it,” she ordered in a flat, emotionless way.
So he did. He didn’t want to, not after he’d put the effort into carving it. But he inherently understood what was at stake. She hadn’t said anything; there’d been no threat made, but then she didn’t need to make one. He just knew. If he pushed her too much, ten days without would be nothing compared to the dry spell she would force them into. And frankly, he wasn’t sure their relationship could handle that at this point, so he tossed the pumpkin into the trashcan.
“Thank you,” she told him even as he planned to fish the thing out as soon as she left.
“Ten days,” he reminded her.
“I know.” She gave him a soft peck on the cheek before perching herself on the edge of his desk. “I miss it too.”
But he was too busy gazing at her hemline, which had ridden up her legs as she sat down. “Please tell me this is an invitation.” He didn’t care that it sounded as though he were pleading.
“To have sex on your desk,” she said in a dry, disbelieving voice. “In your office. With all the windows and glass door.”
“Why not?”
He could feel her watching him intently. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
“Yeah,” he told her honestly.
“But let me guess you stopped listening the second I said ‘sex.’”
“It’s possible.”
She smiled sympathetically, and for a second, he thought he might get lucky. But then she changed the subject entirely. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Please tell me it’s sexual.”
“No. I need you to pick Rachel up from school today.”
That had been the other problem with Marina’s death. Now there was no one to help take care of Rachel, so that even if they’d had the time to have sex, House suspected that they would have been too tired to do it. Because if there’d been one thing he’d realized in the last week, it was that Marina had actually done quite a bit. She was the one who usually picked Rachel up; she was the one who more often than not dropped her off at school and helped her with her homework and generally kept the kid alive. And now Marina was gone; the two babysitters Cuddy had on tap had recently graduated from college, and there was no one else around to help on a daily basis. Which meant that Cuddy had had to do all of it herself.
Apparently though she’d decided she shouldn’t suffer alone.
“You can’t get her?” he asked, unsympathetic and honestly not all that interested in helping.
“Today’s the funeral.”
“On Halloween?” And then after a second, he couldn’t help but ask, “She’s not in the ground already?”
“They cremated her, so I don’t think her family’s afraid she’ll come back to life if they bury her today if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Cuddy replied sarcastically. Matter of factly, she added, “I don’t know what happened; there might have been a relative who couldn’t be here or - whatever. Will you help me?”
He thought about it. He really didn’t want to. But all things considered, picking Rachel up from school was a relatively small task. And the reward, which always came in the form of I’m-so-glad-you-helped-me sex, from Cuddy would more than make up for any hassle. “Just pick her up?”
Cuddy hesitated, which meant no. Knowing that, he was prepared when she admitted, “No…. I don’t know how long the funeral will last, and I have a phone call -”
“Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Feed her dinner. Put her to bed, and… she’s saying she doesn’t want to, but if she changes her mind… I’ll need you to take her trick-or-treating.”
“Seriously?” Suddenly it wasn’t one small thing to do; it was in fact several big things Cuddy wanted him to do. “All of that’s going to happen while you make a call and bury some ashes.”
“School ends at four - when I have a meeting with the board that I can’t reschedule,” she explained. “Trick-or-treating starts half past five, and the funeral starts fifteen minutes after that. I can’t go to her school and pick her up an hour late, have her ready to go out, and have her trick-or-treating for, what, ten minutes before -”
“I got it,” he said, cutting her off. “You can’t do it.” Leaning back in his chair, he tried to think of a way of getting out of having to do any of this. “What about your mother?”
“It’s three o’clock,” she pointed out. As she went on about traffic patterns and how Arlene could not possibly be there in time, he let the time register in his mind. He’d had no idea that it was that late. His case had been resolved early in the day, and it had only felt like an hour - at most - had gone by while he was carving the pumpkin. Apparently though, he’d spent most of his day on that thing.
“And she’s old,” Cuddy said, interrupting his thoughts. “She’s not going to want to take Rachel -”
“But I am?”
She smiled again, and House thought that that couldn’t be a good sign. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He didn’t believe her. Even if she could find some time away from Rachel to have sex with him, he didn’t believe it was possible for her to make it worth his trouble. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a sex act depraved enough to make that true.”
“House.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said firmly.
“It’s one night of babysitting.”
“What about Wilson?”
“He has plans.”
“I could have plans,” he insisted childishly.
“You could, but you don’t.” She shrugged. “Which means you are perfect for the job.”
Frowning he said, “Lucky me.”
Silently he tried to think of a way out of this situation, but House was sure she would go for none of his suggestions. She wouldn’t want someone from his team taking care of Rachel; Rachel certainly wouldn’t want that, and even if both Cuddys could agree to that, surely the school wouldn’t hand Rachel over to some random stranger. So that only left him to get the job done. There wasn’t anyone else to suggest or recommend, and Cuddy herself certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it.” She started to smile victoriously, but he was quick to squash the feeling. “I’m making a list of things you’ll be required to do sexually.”
That was hardly a threat or a punishment. If anything that just seemed to make her happier. “Well, even if I were opposed to having sex with you, it’s been so long I have no doubt you’ll come and be asleep in two minutes.”
“Ten days,” he reiterated. He couldn’t stress enough how long it had been. “If I make it thirty seconds, I’ll be impressed.”
“And I’ll be disappointed.”
“Then you’ll understand how it feels to watch your girlfriend’s kid all evening.”
That was what did it. That was what seemed to destroy the triumph she was feeling, because he could see that light disappear from her eyes. And though part of him knew he should feel guilty about it, another very real part of him did not. He’d agreed to move in with her; he’d agreed to try with Rachel. He had not agreed that things would magically be better and that they’d suddenly act like a family. Whatever his place in their home was, he did not like being shoehorned into a role he had no right to play. But he was sure that the nuance of that argument would never penetrate Cuddy’s stubborn mind, so he always kept that thought to himself. Even now, he preferred to let her assume he was an ass than admit out loud that he wasn’t good in any way for Rachel.
Which was why he let Cuddy get mad and tell him sharply, “Be at the school by four.”
And that was how they left things - with her irritated and him stuck with the knowledge that the truth wouldn’t make it any better.
***********
Rachel tentatively took a step towards him. “Where’s Mommy?” she whined, afraid to get anywhere near the car.
“Working.” That was the simple answer so he said it that way; there was no point in elaborating or sugarcoating it, given that one word said all that needed to be said. But somehow his answer came out more gruffly than intended, and Rachel stopped in her tracks.
Standing on the sidewalk, she refused to step down off the curb and onto the pavement.
“Come on,” he said, trying to hurry her along. This wasn’t the first time he’d picked up Rachel from school. But he did it with such rarity that any hesitation on her part could easily make the other parents in the parking lot assume he was trying to kidnap her.
She didn’t seem to realize that however, much to House’s dismay. “I don’t want to.”
Reaching forward, he plucked her up off of the sidewalk. Holding her, he understood what a risky move he was making. Picking her up could easily set her off and make her scream, which would get him arrested. And for a brief moment, he regretted doing so. But aside from her lunchbox smacking him in the end (and he doubted it was unintentional), she let herself be carried.
He’d only taken a few steps into the parking lot though before it hit him. She wasn’t going along with him, because she trusted him. She was shaking; she was gripping him tightly; she was going along with him, because she was terrified.
That… was his fault, so he guessed it served him right to have to deal with the consequences. When Marina had first died, Cuddy had tried to explain it to Rachel in the vaguest way possible. House understood the impulse, but Rachel was two months shy of five. She was an idiot who couldn’t possibly understand. So he had been honest and told her about the car accident.
Backfired wasn’t the word he’d used to describe the aftermath. Back-nuclear-apocalypse seemed like a better approximation of what was now happening. She seemed scared of the cars but no closer to understanding why Marina wouldn’t be coming around anymore.
“I want Mommy,” Rachel cried into his shoulder.
He lumbered towards the car. A meltdown seemed inevitable, but if he could at least get Rachel in the car, maybe there was a chance no one would see it. “She’s at work.”
Her lower lip trembled against him, the movement something he could feel through his shirt. And though it hurt him physically to force himself to walk more quickly, that was exactly what he did. Because as much as he didn’t want to do any of this, he had told Cuddy that he would. He had said he would take care of it, and that meant something to him.
No, he was not afraid to lie to her when it was necessary. He was not always averse to disappointing her. But he lied and disappointed her enough times that he needed to be selective about making her face that inevitable aspect to their relationship. Do it willy-nilly, and she would eventually realize how unfulfilling a relationship with him really was going to be for her. And today was one of those things where, if he could pull it off, he would earn a lot of points to spend in the future. He wasn’t about to screw it up by getting arrested.
Rachel wasn’t going to make that easy for him. “Mommy,” she started to cry.
He didn’t know what to say or do. Even if he were the kind who knew how to offer sympathy (in other words, if he were Wilson), she wouldn’t accept any comfort from him. She’d slept next to him the last five nights in a row, but she didn’t trust him enough to want him when she was upset. She wanted her mother. And House was normally okay with that, but Cuddy wasn’t here.
Then again, that didn’t necessarily matter. Situations like this, after all, were the reason the phone existed. Even if Cuddy were busy, she knew that he was picking Rachel up. If she saw the call, she would pick up, regardless of how much work she had to do or who she was talking to. In this instance, her lack of faith in him would work to his benefit.
Hoisting Rachel higher up on his hip, he told her, “You wanna talk to Mommy? We can call her when we get in the car.”
That did little to improve her mood. She was still upset, still unhappy to be with him. But she didn’t scream or cry or try to get away either, and maybe that was the best he could hope for.
Having taken Cuddy’s car for the sake of ease, he wasn’t surprised that Rachel got excited when she saw the familiar vehicle. She thought her mother had come to pick her up. When he opened up the car and it was clear Cuddy wasn’t hiding in there, he was prepared. Before she could scream, House practically jammed a squirming Rachel into her booster seat.
“I want Mommy.”
“And I’m going to call her as soon as you sit still and let me buckle you up.”
Thankfully that shut her up, although the pout on her face spoke to how unhappy with this arrangement she was. That didn’t seem to change either when he finally did manage to get a hold of Cuddy. The second he turned on the car, he used the integrated blue tooth to call her office. Lucky for him, she picked up right away, not that that made things better.
“What’s wrong?” were the first words out of her mouth, and Rachel took that as an opportunity to cry and whine. That might not have been so bad if he’d just given Rachel his phone. But he hadn’t, so now he got to listen to her sob about how she wanted Cuddy and also hear Cuddy try to console her daughter.
“Honey, it’s okay.”
“I want you. Mommy.”
“No, it’s okay,” Cuddy said in a reassuring voice. “You’re with House. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise. Mommy will be home soon.”
But if any of that was meant to calm Rachel down, it seemed to have the opposite effect on her. No matter what Cuddy said, it just ended with more tears, more cries for her, and eventually the occasional cough, because Rachel was sobbing so hard she’d begun to gag.
“I don’t think this is working,” he said loudly above all the noise.
To him Cuddy replied, “I’m sorry. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
In the backseat, Rachel was screaming “Mama” in long, wailing tones.
Somehow Cuddy being home as soon as she could didn’t seem soon enough. “Yeah,” he said dryly.
“Can you handle this?”
“We’ll be fine.” He was tempted to point out that they didn’t have other options; he was doing this because of that. But he didn’t say it, because he knew it would just make her worry.
“Are you sure?”
He wasn’t, but he lied. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” she said after a second’s hesitation. “I love you.”
“Uh huh. I’m still making a list.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And then she added, “Rachel, be good for Mommy. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
That couldn’t happen soon enough, he thought, hanging up the phone. It really couldn’t. But he guessed there wasn’t anything else for him to do other than to go through the motions as quickly and competently as he could. If it was going to suck no matter what (and it was), then his only course of action was to simply get through the evening and hope for the best.
With that matter settled in his mind, he tried to remember what Cuddy had asked him to do. That obviously was rather difficult, what with all the crying coming from the backseat.
But mentally he was able to recall the various things Cuddy had asked him to do. Put Rachel to bed - it was too early to do that… sadly. Take her trick-or-treating if she wanted to go - again, too early for that, and even if it weren’t, she wasn’t in a position to say what she wanted or didn’t want at the moment.
No, he thought after a second; that wasn’t exactly true. Rachel was certainly capable of screaming how much she wanted her mother. She was making that fact perfectly clear. However, he doubted he would get anything else out of her while she was this upset. So that left him with only one other thing Cuddy had told him to do: dinner.
That would seem easy enough. None of them had had a decent meal all week. Marina’s death had added strain to two already incredibly busy people, and between that and his case, they’d usually gone for something simple and quick or take out. Cuddy had tried her best the previous night to make something nutritious, but it had largely been inedible… as the food always was when she cooked.
Again, he knew she had given it her best effort. But in the end, a dead chicken was ill equipped to withstand her culinary talents. Although he guessed he shouldn’t have been complaining; she hadn’t made them sick or think they were dying, so really, it was an improvement on her part. Even if it had tasted bad, no one had puked their intestines out, which was as much a victory as an edible meal from her would have been at this point.
Yeah, all things considered, dinner made with his own hands should have sounded appealing. Yet it didn’t. If only because he knew he would need to stop at the grocery store, cooking supper had no appeal. It might have, but having to deal with a screaming Rachel pretty much killed whatever interest he had.
But he would do it.
Did he care about giving Rachel a healthy meal? Hardly. Would Cuddy care though? Yeah. She wouldn’t be angry if he ordered in; she hadn’t given him enough notice to have that right. But she would be far more impressed if he took the time to stop at the store and then make something himself.
And that was what mattered.
It was all about earning the pussy points. After that phone call alone, he’d received implicitly a free trip to Cuddy’s vagina. Add to that the trouble of going to the store and making dinner, and he’d get more play than Foreman’s fleshlight and post-divorce Chase combined. It went without saying that House would screw up eventually, but then this moment would earn him a shred of good will going forward. And that too was important to him.
Nonetheless, it didn’t make the prospect of shopping with Rachel seem any more pleasant. But he had no choice in the matter, he supposed.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot though, he was ready to throw in the towel. It had only been about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, since he’d picked her up, but it had felt like a lifetime. And as long as it seemed they’d been together, she was still crying. Putting the car in park, he decided the tears needed to stop.
Now.
Getting out of the car, he made his way around to the back seat. But he sure as hell had no intention of letting her out. Quickly opening the door and sliding onto the seat, he knew he couldn’t take her out until she was slightly calmer. Because if she didn’t shut up and kept carrying on as she was, he would never be able to slip in and out of the store without someone saying or doing something.
Slamming the door shut behind him, he wasn’t surprised that Rachel jumped a little.
“What’s the problem?” he asked in a rough, unfriendly voice. There were times when he knew the importance of being nice to her; this was not going to be one of those times. Cuddy had tried kindness and sympathy, but it hadn’t stopped the tears.
This didn’t either, but the harsh words did seem to give Rachel pause.
She hiccupped loudly. “I want Mommy.”
“And I would give you her in a heartbeat if that were an option. But it’s not.”
“But….” She started to get herself worked up again.
“No,” he said sharply. “Stop that.” She looked over at him with surprise, shame, and maybe some fear in her eyes. “I don’t know what you want. If I did, I would give it to you. But I don’t understand this,” he told her, gesturing to her. “Maybe Mommy understands the crying and the screaming, but I don’t. You have to tell me what you want.”
House backed off then. Her small mind needed time to process what he was saying, and if he pushed her to respond, he would get nowhere. Or worse, that would make her cry even more. So he waited - as patiently as he knew how. And as she slowly got control of herself, he knew he hadn’t completely screwed up.
She didn’t stop crying altogether. He would have liked that, which was why it couldn’t happen. But with each shaky breath she took, the tears seemed to lessen, and she seemed more in control of herself.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said much more gently.
She shook her head, her eyes fearful. “Don’t wanna go ‘way.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You said….” She frowned. “You said Marina got in the car and she goed away.”
“She died. She didn’t just go away.”
“But Mommy said -”
“Marina was in an accident,” House explained. Cuddy was going to kill him if he got into the specifics of what happened, and he knew that going in. Her preference was to keep Rachel’s knowledge to a minimum, only saying exactly what needed to be said and using a lot of euphemisms to do it. And House wanted to respect that as much as he could. After all, it wasn’t like his attempts at giving Rachel the truth had worked all that well so far. He’d tried to give her a dose of the truth, and Cuddy had tried to soften the blow, and what did they have to show for all of their combined efforts? They had a child who was more confused and afraid than ever. And as much as he knew Cuddy would prefer handling this herself, they couldn’t wait for that. He had to say something now. If he didn’t, nothing would change. Rachel would remain upset, and he couldn’t afford that.
“Yes, she was in a car,” he admitted. “But she didn’t just… go away. She was - she got hurt very badly. Which is not normal,” he told her in a way that he hoped made it perfectly clear that Marina’s accident was not a regular occurrence.
By then Rachel had stopped crying. It would have been hard to hear anything he said over her wailing, so she’d had no choice but to shut up.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. You are completely safe.” She didn’t seem all that convinced, the worry still rumpling her forehead. “Do you believe me?”
“I….” She nibbled on her lip. “I don’t know.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I don’t know. People lie.”
That was the thing about being entirely idiotic; every now and then you would say something intelligent, and it always confused the ones who thought you were a complete dumb ass. House was no exception to that confusion, particularly when Rachel was the one who was making the smart remark. But unlike most other people in that group, he could quickly explain away Rachel’s behavior.
She was parroting what she heard. On any given day, there were probably multiple times where she heard him talk about everyone’s innate proclivity to lie. Why wouldn’t she pick that up?
Satisfied with his explanation, he refocused his attention on the matter at hand. “You think I would lie to you?”
That actually made her smile. “Yes.”
“Really?” he asked, pretending to be offended by that. “I’m wounded,” he said sarcastically. “That you would think so little of -”
“You gave Nana pills at her birfday and maked her sleepy.”
A look of dismay momentarily washed over his face. He easily recovered. “That was a gift to your mother.”
“You put stuff in Uncle Dougie’s food to make him poo.”
“Actually, I didn’t,” he corrected. Deciding that she seemed calm enough to take into the store, he leaned over and unbuckled her from the car seat. “I only said I did so no one would suspect that it was actually Mommy’s hand in making the food that made him sick.”
“You said you -”
“All right, fine. I’m a liar.” Reaching over he opened the car door for her. “Not lying about this. Hop out.”
House would have been lying if he said he was surprised that she didn’t. No, if anything he had anticipated that from her. Although he would have liked her to believe him, he knew that they didn’t have the kind of relationship where she would automatically do so. And even if they did, she was stupidly afraid of dying. As irrational as that was, she was terrified that something would happen. And no matter how they felt about one another, it was a tall order to get him to convince her nothing would go wrong.
But all of that said, when he got out of the car and walked around to her side of the vehicle, she let him pull her out without difficulty. So maybe that said something for where they were headed in their… friendship.
He tried to not let that thought fester too much in his mind. Instead choosing to force the idea out altogether, he started to usher her towards the front of the store. She was reluctant and jumpy the whole time, but he somehow managed to get her there.
And then he promptly stuffed her into the basket of one of the carts. She didn’t seem to want that, though it was hard to tell if she was resisting being manhandled or if she was just too fat to get in easily. Whatever the reason, he still managed to force her in there.
“That hurt,” she said grumpily once she was snug in the seat.
“Sorry.” He wasn’t at all, but he knew if he didn’t say it, she would tell her mother. Only Rachel would make it sound as though he’d cruelly forced her into the basket with little regard for her safety. Which, all right, technically he had done, but she would make it seem like his intention had been to hurt her, and that had never been the case. At the same time though, he wanted to make it perfectly clear his reasons for putting her in the cart. “I don’t feel like chasing you around the store.”
“Not gonna run,” she said with a pout.
“Yeah, I don’t believe that.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Okay.” But he kept pushing the cart along as though he hadn’t even heard what she was saying.
“I mean it.”
“I’m sure you do. But then you’re going to see a cookie display or the lobster tank, and the next thing I know, Rachel’s gone. And then I have to find you - or explain to Mommy why some creepy sixty year old is hiding you in a tent in his back yard and calling you his wife - and then you won’t be able to go trick-or-treating.”
Her mood turned away from argumentative and became somber. “I don’t wanna go.”
“Why not?” It pained him to show any interest in the kid, but for this unique moment in time, he was interested in her reasoning. “It’s free candy. All you have to do is wear a costume and smile and -”
“Cause I don’t wanna.”
As he selected some ground beef and pork from the meat section, he found himself mentally deciding that he would also be sure to pick up some veal. Cuddy never refused to eat his meatballs (an idea that somehow seemed to defy the current state of their love life at the moment, he thought miserably), but she had always been uncomfortable about eating calves. He had no such compunction, and when Rachel was being the nuisance that she was, he felt it was only appropriate to take it out on a youth he was legally allowed to consume.
“That’s dumb,” he said, tossing the packages of meat into the cart. “Why wouldn’t you want candy?”
She didn’t answer the question.
“Fine.” If she didn’t want to talk about it, he was all right with that. Was he curious about her reasons? Sure. But if she wanted to keep quiet, after listening to her scream and cry for so long, he was absolutely okay with that choice. “We’ll go home, make dinner, and you can watch me peruse the Kama Sutra for inspiration.”
“I don’t know what that -”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He thought she would push for an explanation. Kids could be annoying that way, and even though Rachel was lacking in natural curiosity, he was sure that, based on his luck, she would want to know what it was. But she didn’t.
As the shopping trip progressed though, it was easy to see why she didn’t care. As he pushed them towards the canned tomatoes, she began to rub her eyes tiredly. Apparently throwing a fit and crying were exhausting. By the time he finished loading up the cart, she was slumped over and fast asleep.
He couldn’t have been more grateful for that.
No more questions, no more awkward conversations or emotions to get in the way out what should have been a quick trip to the grocery store - it was exactly what he wanted.
He didn’t even mind that, when he needed to push the cart, Rachel’s face rested against his stomach. He didn’t care that people were giving him looks as if to say, “Oh how sweet.” Under normal circumstances it would have, but today, that didn’t bother him in the least. As annoying as it could have been, it was far better than having to listen to her cry or complain. He didn’t even blink when she started drooling against him as he took the cart to the check out. It was gross; he would never pretend otherwise. But his life would be much easier if she stayed asleep.
Obviously it was guaranteed that she would wake up at some point. But if he could get through the check out line, if he could get her in the car and home, that would make things so much better.
Quietly he paid for the groceries and steered the cart back to Cuddy’s car. Getting her out of the basket and into her car seat took considerable effort. Rachel was dead weight against him, and it was difficult to maneuver her body without jostling her into waking up. He was patient, however, and gradually he was able to strap her into the booster seat without a problem.
Gently he shut her car door. The second he did it, he found himself holding his breath. The noise hadn’t been much, but he feared waking her up and dealing with the screaming that he was sure would follow. Yet nothing happened. For all of his concern, she slept right on.
Again though, he knew that that wouldn’t last forever. So he quickly piled the groceries into the trunk and got in the car. But he didn’t pull out of the parking lot right away. In the back of his mind, he understood that he should have. However, as he looked in the rearview mirror to back out, he remembered the phone call he’d made to Cuddy. Rachel had been so inconsolable, so out of her mind with fear and grief and whatever other thoughts and emotions floated around in a four year old’s head. And he doubted Cuddy had been quick to forget that.
In fact, she was probably in a meeting or taking a phone call right now and thinking about what had happened. He didn’t doubt the likelihood of that; her narcissism made every momentary difficulty or failure with Rachel enormous in her own mind. So not only was she probably mulling over what had happened, she’d also probably decided that all of this was her fault. As her boyfriend, he didn’t want her to think that any more than she needed to.
More importantly, he didn’t want her to wonder how long it had taken him to calm Rachel down. He wanted her to know that he’d actually taken care of things pretty damn quickly. Again, it was all about building up that good will, and his performance here would certainly do that. She just needed to know it.
That part was going to be easy. Putting the car in park once more, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He took a picture of Rachel as she slept. Creating a text message, he sent the picture to Cuddy with a note attached saying: Don’t worry, Mommy. We figured it out.
It would have been easy to make a joke about drugging Rachel, but he’d played it straight. He would like to believe that Cuddy would see the joke for what it was, but he wasn’t going to risk it; pussy points were for cashing in - not for gambling away.
His message sent, he put his phone back into his pocket and drove away.
The ride home was serene, the complete opposite of how things had been when he’d picked Rachel up. Even when she woke up, she stayed fairly quiet. She made a few confused sounds as she tried to figure out where she was. But there was no screaming or crying. And even if there had been, they were only five minutes from the house.
However, she was too dazed to do much of anything. By the time she was fully conscious, he was parking Cuddy’s car in the garage.
“See?” he told her after he’d helped her out of her car seat. “We drove in the car twice, and nothing happened to you. You made it home fine.”
Never one to let a little something called logic get in her way, Rachel didn’t react to the comment. As always though, he was content with her silence. A kid who didn’t talk was a kid he could handle being around. And if she wanted to pretend like she hadn’t heard his obvious and lame attempt at making her feel better, he was more than willing to let her do that.
Would he have preferred her to demonstrate the slightest bit of intelligence and admit that he’d been completely right this entire time? Of course. That would have been nice, considering how many times she had gifted him with her idiocy. But since asking for intelligence from Rachel was akin to asking a polar bear to give him a blowjob, he was willing to settle for her not saying anything. At least it meant she wasn’t going to fight him on the subject. So why would he want to push her to respond? Why wouldn’t he let her go into the house while he grabbed the food? No other options made any sense, which was why he didn’t say anything to her; he simply carried in the groceries.
Without a word, he helped her turn on the television. He was aware of all the documented dangers in letting your TV act as your child’s babysitter. He also didn’t care about any of that. Living in the same home as him would surely screw her up more than any amount of television ever could.
Quickly he flipped through the channels to try to find something appropriate for the kid. Frankly he didn’t care if she watched porn. But if what she was watching bored her, she would bother him while he made dinner. Trying to avoid that, House settled on the first child-friendly program he could find.
He had no idea what it was. It just featured a lot of kids and seemed Halloween related. And maybe that was a good thing, because so far, Rachel had been uninterested in trick-or-treating.
Of course, House didn’t want to take her. That was, actually, one of the last things he wanted to do. But if there were one thing Cuddy liked, it was normalcy. Sure, she dated him, which in and of itself suggested that she had no idea what “normal” meant. In a way though, that was why she needed the rest of her life to fit neatly into other people’s definition of typical and all right; she had her fill of weirdness with him, and she needed something else to balance that. And in this case, what that meant was having a daughter who did all the things other children did. It didn’t matter that Rachel’s peanut allergies and diabetes complicated Halloween significantly. What Cuddy wanted was to give her daughter a childhood that didn’t seem weird in the least. And while he didn’t care at all about taking Rachel trick-or-treating, Cuddy did.
Knowing that, he understood that that was all that mattered: giving her what she wanted. He didn’t necessarily appreciate being put in a subservient position in their relationship, but even he could comprehend what it would take to make something with Cuddy work. No sheer amount of will could keep them together on its own. He could want it… all he wanted, but action had to come with that.
Even if that action meant making an effort with Rachel.
Even if that action meant giving Cuddy what she wanted at the expense of his own needs.
As he headed to the kitchen to start dinner, he knew that he wasn’t perfect; he understood that knowing what needed to be done hadn’t always translated into him actually being able to do it. In fact, lately it seemed like he was rarely capable of pulling off the things he thought he would be able to. Sacrifice wasn’t in his nature, and his inherent selfishness made half of this relationship infinitely harder than he wanted it to be.
But for all of that, today had been a success. Regardless of where things went from here, it would be obvious to Cuddy that he had made a huge effort to give Rachel what she wanted. And maybe that was all he could hope for. If not victory itself then at least trying to achieve that had to count for something. Even Cuddy, who had a tendency to overreact to failure, had to give him that much. That phone call had given him some insurance, a modicum of understanding on her part; she wouldn’t be mad no matter how the rest of the day turned out.
Starting to make the marinara sauce, he decided though that it would be nice to keep the momentum going. If he could get Rachel to do everything Cuddy wanted, he would be rewarded all the more handsomely. Hell, Cuddy’s panties would be dropping so fast they’d create a hole to the center of the Earth.
After ten days without even so much of a whiff of pussy in his future, that prospect seemed especially tempting to him. And he made a promise to his dick right then and there that he would do whatever it took to give Cuddy what she wanted Rachel to have. Trick-or-treating had seemed so awful before, but now there was the probability of a treat of his own at the end.
True, someone could say that he was acting on a pretty obvious assumption - that Cuddy would give it up if he behaved tonight. She hadn’t promised anything, and it was possible if unlikely that she would take offense at the logic behind his actions. But he doubted it. What was there to be offended by? Why would she care what his reasons were? Okay, he amended, why would she care what his reasons were when they hadn’t had sex in ten days?
She wouldn’t.
As he gradually went through the process of making dinner, he seemed to tell himself multiple times: she wouldn’t care. (But just in case, he wouldn’t ever tell her what his intentions had been.)
His mind was still mulling all of that over when Rachel entered the kitchen. He was busy rolling meatballs and placing them on a cookie sheet, his back turned away from the entrance. So he didn’t know she had come in the room until she asked casually, “House, what’s a virgin?”
“Your mother before she met me.” The reply came easily. He wasn’t going to lie and say the question hadn’t surprised him. It had. But it wasn’t difficult to make a joke of it. Had he been serious, that would have just created more questions. “Why do you ask?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her skipping towards him.
“They said it in the movie.” Standing next to him, she looked intently at the food he was making. Her fingers gripping the lip of the counter, she asked, “Can I have one?”
“No,” he said flatly. “They need to be cooked. Why were they talking about virgins?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The boy said he was a virgin and made the candle shoot fire and then witches came.”
Given that that made no sense at all, he could only assume that she had missed some important plot points along the way. “Sounds exciting,” he lied. “You better go sit down and watch the rest or you’ll miss something important.”
“I’m hungry.”
It was actually early to get dinner started. He’d only done it, because he wanted to have her fed in case they went trick-or-treating. And since the food would take a while to cook, he didn’t waste any time.
“Dinner’s not ready yet. Go watch TV.”
“Don’t wanna,” she whined.
He placed a meatball on the cookie sheet. “Why not?”
“It’s boring.”
“Then go play.”
“There’s nothing to do.” She impatiently bounced on the balls of her feet, her body brimming with unfocused energy.
“Right. All those toys you have… there’s nothing you can play with.”
She frowned, dejected. “I guess there is.”
“There is,” he insisted. “So why don’t you go find something to play with?”
It would have been too easy for her to walk away and do just that. She had to stick around, her wide eyes looking at him sadly.
“Will you play with me?”
He bit back the no he wanted to say loudly. It almost slipped out, because he certainly didn’t want to play with dolls or read to her or do any of that. But just in the nick of time, he caught himself from voicing his feelings. Opening his mouth and closing it once more, he stopped the words from escaping. And in doing so, he was reminded of all the reasons he was in this position to begin with.
He wanted Cuddy.
And if he was mean to her kid, he would never, ever have Cuddy. It would be over.
Forcing himself to be nice, he reminded Rachel, “I thought you said you were hungry.”
“I am.”
“Then I can cook or I can play with you, but I can’t do both,” he said honestly.
“Fine.”
He was about to point out that, if she wanted something to do, trick-or-treating was an option. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything. By the time he turned to talk to her, she was already stomping away. By the time he realized something was wrong, that she was angry, she was already gone.
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 is a prequel to Gift of Screws. This takes place at Halloween (I know: I'm a little behind in terms of holidays, lol) when Rachel is four/a couple months shy of turning five. This has been split into three sections because of LJ's post limits.
Warning: This fic contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: After Marina's death, House finds himself in charge of babysitting Rachel.
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
"One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.” - Emily Dickinson
It was the perfect jack-o-lantern, or at least it would be once he slipped Cuddy’s thong and slapped a few dollar bills on it. His case had resolved itself early this morning with nothing to take its place, and out of boredom, he had resorted to stealing and carving one of the decorations in the lobby. Sure, he could have done his clinic duty or helped his team find a new case, but he’d been under enough stress lately that he took the first break he could get.
At that, he thought: ten days.
Ten long, misery-filled days.
That was how long it had been since they’d last had sex. Part of that had been his fault - staying at the hospital overnight, pissing her off by snapping at her when he’d wanted a test and she hadn’t allowed it. Part of it had been her fault - an inopportune bikini wax, pissing him off by not giving him the test he wanted, and the like. But most of it had been Rachel’s fault.
Okay, technically it wasn’t even her fault that she’d turned into an even more efficient cock blocker than, say, gonorrhea with a side platter of uncontrollable diarrhea. He blamed her, of course, because she was the one who suddenly refused to sleep in her own bed. But to be fair, that change in behavior had been caused by a fairly traumatic event six days ago.
The nanny had died.
Marina, in her infinite ability to get in the way, had found herself in the path of a speeding driver on her way home one night. Reports had indicated that she’d died instantly, but based on her injuries, House was sure that she’d held on for a small fraction of time - just long enough for her to understand that she was going to die. And that knowledge never upset him, because he had always found Marina to be irritating.
Cuddy had accused him, every time he tried to make that point clear to her, of holding a grudge, because Marina had once spilled coffee on his first edition of the original Jack Cannon book, thereby ruining it. House never agreed with his girlfriend’s assessment, but secretly he thought that there was nothing wrong with that accusation being true. Now, of course, it seemed like a petty thing to be angry over. But he wasn’t going to let a little thing like death convince him that Marina had been an angel.
The Cuddys, on the other hand, had allowed her death to take over their lives. Cuddy felt guilty, blamed herself for Marina being on that side of town. Usually House tuned her out when her narcissism became obnoxious, but from what he could tell she blamed herself because Marina had been coming home from work when her tire went flat and she’d gotten into the accident. And Rachel… well, Rachel, being all of four, understood but didn’t. She knew Marina wasn’t going to be coming by anymore, but the concept of death wasn’t something she could wrap her mind around.
And with that came the tears, the nightmares, the refusal to sleep in her own bed, and the desire to be with her mother at all times.
As a result? No playtime for little Greg.
He’d tried.
Cuddy had almost joined him in the shower three days ago (before his team had paged him and forced him to forgo fucking for diagnosing). And last night, he’d actually suggested they just push Rachel over to the other side of the bed and quietly have sex next to her.
That… had not gone over well.
So now he and Cuddy were once again annoyed with one another. At least, he thought there was some lingering irritation there. Oh, the agitation between them was undeniable, but whether or not that was because of what he’d done or because they were both incredibly frustrated from the lack of sex… he couldn’t say. They were in a gray area here, and, consumed with his own need for sex, his mind wasn’t exactly capable of discerning much of anything, much less his girlfriend’s motivations.
Which was why, he supposed, he was carving a pumpkin at work. It required little thought, little effort, and unlike his soaps, there was no sex involved to remind him of what he was missing.
Well… in theory there was no sex involved. As he finished carving hands into the pumpkin with a scalpel, he could see that his jack-o-lantern had quickly become a jack-off-o-lantern. Or something, he thought, understanding that the name needed some work.
Regardless of what he called it, the fact remained: this squash was dirtier than any soap opera could have been. He’d created hands on each side of the pumpkin, which was naturally shaped like the number eight. Having tilted it on its side, he had exposed the wrinkled brownish ring of skin where the stem had been attached before he broke it off. And once he slipped the thong on the thing, it would look as though the pumpkin were spreading its ass cheeks. So, yeah, he guessed that the jack-o-lantern hadn’t exactly been sufficiently entertaining enough to take his mind off of all the sex he wasn’t having.
But even if it had been a good distraction, it wouldn’t have been enough to keep him preoccupied when Cuddy pushed the door to his office open and entered the room.
Ten days a voice inside of him shouted. He didn’t mean to fixate on the point, but the way her tight skirt clung to her hips and ass made thinking of anything else impossible.
Staring at her body longingly, he didn’t give her a chance to speak before he said, “I’m considering suing that driver for killing our sex life, just so you know.”
“Our sex life isn’t dead,” she reassured, closing the door behind her. “It’s just….” Her voice trailed off as she stepped towards him. Her gaze seemed to roam all over his desk; she was clearly trying to figure out what he was doing. “On hold,” she finished distracted. “What are you doing?”
But by the time the question was asked, she had figured it out.
“Is that my thong?” she asked in shock.
He didn’t nod his head or say yes. She would understand soon enough, and he wanted to make sure his jack-o-lantern was finished before she decided to kill him. Eagerly he grabbed the underwear and slipped it on the pumpkin.
“That is my underwear,” she said, as he reached for the superglue. “Why are you gluing my underwear to a pumpkin?”
It would only take seconds before she guessed, so he quickly spread glue onto the crotch and stuck it to the skin of the pumpkin. In the back of his mind, he began to lament the fact that at one point in time, his come mixed with hers had been the only thing smeared inside of these bad boys.
But that thought was shoved aside when Cuddy moved behind him to see what he was working on. And then the only concern in his mind was preparing himself for the screeching that would come when she realized what he was doing.
“Are you serious?” she said loudly in a high-pitched voice. “You’re - you….” She tried to make a grab for the pumpkin, but he held it out of reach. “Give it to me.”
He didn’t. “But I worked hard to -”
“Is that supposed to be?” she hissed. “That better not be -”
“How could it be?” He turned the pumpkin around so she could see it. Naturally she tried to grab it again, but he pulled it out of her reach. “Calm down,” he said patronizingly. “It could have been worse. I’d planned on giving it an anatomically correct version of your vulva, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen it -”
“It’s been ten days,” she snapped. “And right now isn’t a good time to complain.”
“That wasn’t a complaint. I was hoping you’d consider posing for me, so I can -”
“Get rid of it,” she ordered in a flat, emotionless way.
So he did. He didn’t want to, not after he’d put the effort into carving it. But he inherently understood what was at stake. She hadn’t said anything; there’d been no threat made, but then she didn’t need to make one. He just knew. If he pushed her too much, ten days without would be nothing compared to the dry spell she would force them into. And frankly, he wasn’t sure their relationship could handle that at this point, so he tossed the pumpkin into the trashcan.
“Thank you,” she told him even as he planned to fish the thing out as soon as she left.
“Ten days,” he reminded her.
“I know.” She gave him a soft peck on the cheek before perching herself on the edge of his desk. “I miss it too.”
But he was too busy gazing at her hemline, which had ridden up her legs as she sat down. “Please tell me this is an invitation.” He didn’t care that it sounded as though he were pleading.
“To have sex on your desk,” she said in a dry, disbelieving voice. “In your office. With all the windows and glass door.”
“Why not?”
He could feel her watching him intently. “Did you hear a word I just said?”
“Yeah,” he told her honestly.
“But let me guess you stopped listening the second I said ‘sex.’”
“It’s possible.”
She smiled sympathetically, and for a second, he thought he might get lucky. But then she changed the subject entirely. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Please tell me it’s sexual.”
“No. I need you to pick Rachel up from school today.”
That had been the other problem with Marina’s death. Now there was no one to help take care of Rachel, so that even if they’d had the time to have sex, House suspected that they would have been too tired to do it. Because if there’d been one thing he’d realized in the last week, it was that Marina had actually done quite a bit. She was the one who usually picked Rachel up; she was the one who more often than not dropped her off at school and helped her with her homework and generally kept the kid alive. And now Marina was gone; the two babysitters Cuddy had on tap had recently graduated from college, and there was no one else around to help on a daily basis. Which meant that Cuddy had had to do all of it herself.
Apparently though she’d decided she shouldn’t suffer alone.
“You can’t get her?” he asked, unsympathetic and honestly not all that interested in helping.
“Today’s the funeral.”
“On Halloween?” And then after a second, he couldn’t help but ask, “She’s not in the ground already?”
“They cremated her, so I don’t think her family’s afraid she’ll come back to life if they bury her today if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Cuddy replied sarcastically. Matter of factly, she added, “I don’t know what happened; there might have been a relative who couldn’t be here or - whatever. Will you help me?”
He thought about it. He really didn’t want to. But all things considered, picking Rachel up from school was a relatively small task. And the reward, which always came in the form of I’m-so-glad-you-helped-me sex, from Cuddy would more than make up for any hassle. “Just pick her up?”
Cuddy hesitated, which meant no. Knowing that, he was prepared when she admitted, “No…. I don’t know how long the funeral will last, and I have a phone call -”
“Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Feed her dinner. Put her to bed, and… she’s saying she doesn’t want to, but if she changes her mind… I’ll need you to take her trick-or-treating.”
“Seriously?” Suddenly it wasn’t one small thing to do; it was in fact several big things Cuddy wanted him to do. “All of that’s going to happen while you make a call and bury some ashes.”
“School ends at four - when I have a meeting with the board that I can’t reschedule,” she explained. “Trick-or-treating starts half past five, and the funeral starts fifteen minutes after that. I can’t go to her school and pick her up an hour late, have her ready to go out, and have her trick-or-treating for, what, ten minutes before -”
“I got it,” he said, cutting her off. “You can’t do it.” Leaning back in his chair, he tried to think of a way of getting out of having to do any of this. “What about your mother?”
“It’s three o’clock,” she pointed out. As she went on about traffic patterns and how Arlene could not possibly be there in time, he let the time register in his mind. He’d had no idea that it was that late. His case had been resolved early in the day, and it had only felt like an hour - at most - had gone by while he was carving the pumpkin. Apparently though, he’d spent most of his day on that thing.
“And she’s old,” Cuddy said, interrupting his thoughts. “She’s not going to want to take Rachel -”
“But I am?”
She smiled again, and House thought that that couldn’t be a good sign. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He didn’t believe her. Even if she could find some time away from Rachel to have sex with him, he didn’t believe it was possible for her to make it worth his trouble. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t a sex act depraved enough to make that true.”
“House.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said firmly.
“It’s one night of babysitting.”
“What about Wilson?”
“He has plans.”
“I could have plans,” he insisted childishly.
“You could, but you don’t.” She shrugged. “Which means you are perfect for the job.”
Frowning he said, “Lucky me.”
Silently he tried to think of a way out of this situation, but House was sure she would go for none of his suggestions. She wouldn’t want someone from his team taking care of Rachel; Rachel certainly wouldn’t want that, and even if both Cuddys could agree to that, surely the school wouldn’t hand Rachel over to some random stranger. So that only left him to get the job done. There wasn’t anyone else to suggest or recommend, and Cuddy herself certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it.” She started to smile victoriously, but he was quick to squash the feeling. “I’m making a list of things you’ll be required to do sexually.”
That was hardly a threat or a punishment. If anything that just seemed to make her happier. “Well, even if I were opposed to having sex with you, it’s been so long I have no doubt you’ll come and be asleep in two minutes.”
“Ten days,” he reiterated. He couldn’t stress enough how long it had been. “If I make it thirty seconds, I’ll be impressed.”
“And I’ll be disappointed.”
“Then you’ll understand how it feels to watch your girlfriend’s kid all evening.”
That was what did it. That was what seemed to destroy the triumph she was feeling, because he could see that light disappear from her eyes. And though part of him knew he should feel guilty about it, another very real part of him did not. He’d agreed to move in with her; he’d agreed to try with Rachel. He had not agreed that things would magically be better and that they’d suddenly act like a family. Whatever his place in their home was, he did not like being shoehorned into a role he had no right to play. But he was sure that the nuance of that argument would never penetrate Cuddy’s stubborn mind, so he always kept that thought to himself. Even now, he preferred to let her assume he was an ass than admit out loud that he wasn’t good in any way for Rachel.
Which was why he let Cuddy get mad and tell him sharply, “Be at the school by four.”
And that was how they left things - with her irritated and him stuck with the knowledge that the truth wouldn’t make it any better.
***********
Rachel tentatively took a step towards him. “Where’s Mommy?” she whined, afraid to get anywhere near the car.
“Working.” That was the simple answer so he said it that way; there was no point in elaborating or sugarcoating it, given that one word said all that needed to be said. But somehow his answer came out more gruffly than intended, and Rachel stopped in her tracks.
Standing on the sidewalk, she refused to step down off the curb and onto the pavement.
“Come on,” he said, trying to hurry her along. This wasn’t the first time he’d picked up Rachel from school. But he did it with such rarity that any hesitation on her part could easily make the other parents in the parking lot assume he was trying to kidnap her.
She didn’t seem to realize that however, much to House’s dismay. “I don’t want to.”
Reaching forward, he plucked her up off of the sidewalk. Holding her, he understood what a risky move he was making. Picking her up could easily set her off and make her scream, which would get him arrested. And for a brief moment, he regretted doing so. But aside from her lunchbox smacking him in the end (and he doubted it was unintentional), she let herself be carried.
He’d only taken a few steps into the parking lot though before it hit him. She wasn’t going along with him, because she trusted him. She was shaking; she was gripping him tightly; she was going along with him, because she was terrified.
That… was his fault, so he guessed it served him right to have to deal with the consequences. When Marina had first died, Cuddy had tried to explain it to Rachel in the vaguest way possible. House understood the impulse, but Rachel was two months shy of five. She was an idiot who couldn’t possibly understand. So he had been honest and told her about the car accident.
Backfired wasn’t the word he’d used to describe the aftermath. Back-nuclear-apocalypse seemed like a better approximation of what was now happening. She seemed scared of the cars but no closer to understanding why Marina wouldn’t be coming around anymore.
“I want Mommy,” Rachel cried into his shoulder.
He lumbered towards the car. A meltdown seemed inevitable, but if he could at least get Rachel in the car, maybe there was a chance no one would see it. “She’s at work.”
Her lower lip trembled against him, the movement something he could feel through his shirt. And though it hurt him physically to force himself to walk more quickly, that was exactly what he did. Because as much as he didn’t want to do any of this, he had told Cuddy that he would. He had said he would take care of it, and that meant something to him.
No, he was not afraid to lie to her when it was necessary. He was not always averse to disappointing her. But he lied and disappointed her enough times that he needed to be selective about making her face that inevitable aspect to their relationship. Do it willy-nilly, and she would eventually realize how unfulfilling a relationship with him really was going to be for her. And today was one of those things where, if he could pull it off, he would earn a lot of points to spend in the future. He wasn’t about to screw it up by getting arrested.
Rachel wasn’t going to make that easy for him. “Mommy,” she started to cry.
He didn’t know what to say or do. Even if he were the kind who knew how to offer sympathy (in other words, if he were Wilson), she wouldn’t accept any comfort from him. She’d slept next to him the last five nights in a row, but she didn’t trust him enough to want him when she was upset. She wanted her mother. And House was normally okay with that, but Cuddy wasn’t here.
Then again, that didn’t necessarily matter. Situations like this, after all, were the reason the phone existed. Even if Cuddy were busy, she knew that he was picking Rachel up. If she saw the call, she would pick up, regardless of how much work she had to do or who she was talking to. In this instance, her lack of faith in him would work to his benefit.
Hoisting Rachel higher up on his hip, he told her, “You wanna talk to Mommy? We can call her when we get in the car.”
That did little to improve her mood. She was still upset, still unhappy to be with him. But she didn’t scream or cry or try to get away either, and maybe that was the best he could hope for.
Having taken Cuddy’s car for the sake of ease, he wasn’t surprised that Rachel got excited when she saw the familiar vehicle. She thought her mother had come to pick her up. When he opened up the car and it was clear Cuddy wasn’t hiding in there, he was prepared. Before she could scream, House practically jammed a squirming Rachel into her booster seat.
“I want Mommy.”
“And I’m going to call her as soon as you sit still and let me buckle you up.”
Thankfully that shut her up, although the pout on her face spoke to how unhappy with this arrangement she was. That didn’t seem to change either when he finally did manage to get a hold of Cuddy. The second he turned on the car, he used the integrated blue tooth to call her office. Lucky for him, she picked up right away, not that that made things better.
“What’s wrong?” were the first words out of her mouth, and Rachel took that as an opportunity to cry and whine. That might not have been so bad if he’d just given Rachel his phone. But he hadn’t, so now he got to listen to her sob about how she wanted Cuddy and also hear Cuddy try to console her daughter.
“Honey, it’s okay.”
“I want you. Mommy.”
“No, it’s okay,” Cuddy said in a reassuring voice. “You’re with House. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise. Mommy will be home soon.”
But if any of that was meant to calm Rachel down, it seemed to have the opposite effect on her. No matter what Cuddy said, it just ended with more tears, more cries for her, and eventually the occasional cough, because Rachel was sobbing so hard she’d begun to gag.
“I don’t think this is working,” he said loudly above all the noise.
To him Cuddy replied, “I’m sorry. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
In the backseat, Rachel was screaming “Mama” in long, wailing tones.
Somehow Cuddy being home as soon as she could didn’t seem soon enough. “Yeah,” he said dryly.
“Can you handle this?”
“We’ll be fine.” He was tempted to point out that they didn’t have other options; he was doing this because of that. But he didn’t say it, because he knew it would just make her worry.
“Are you sure?”
He wasn’t, but he lied. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” she said after a second’s hesitation. “I love you.”
“Uh huh. I’m still making a list.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And then she added, “Rachel, be good for Mommy. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
That couldn’t happen soon enough, he thought, hanging up the phone. It really couldn’t. But he guessed there wasn’t anything else for him to do other than to go through the motions as quickly and competently as he could. If it was going to suck no matter what (and it was), then his only course of action was to simply get through the evening and hope for the best.
With that matter settled in his mind, he tried to remember what Cuddy had asked him to do. That obviously was rather difficult, what with all the crying coming from the backseat.
But mentally he was able to recall the various things Cuddy had asked him to do. Put Rachel to bed - it was too early to do that… sadly. Take her trick-or-treating if she wanted to go - again, too early for that, and even if it weren’t, she wasn’t in a position to say what she wanted or didn’t want at the moment.
No, he thought after a second; that wasn’t exactly true. Rachel was certainly capable of screaming how much she wanted her mother. She was making that fact perfectly clear. However, he doubted he would get anything else out of her while she was this upset. So that left him with only one other thing Cuddy had told him to do: dinner.
That would seem easy enough. None of them had had a decent meal all week. Marina’s death had added strain to two already incredibly busy people, and between that and his case, they’d usually gone for something simple and quick or take out. Cuddy had tried her best the previous night to make something nutritious, but it had largely been inedible… as the food always was when she cooked.
Again, he knew she had given it her best effort. But in the end, a dead chicken was ill equipped to withstand her culinary talents. Although he guessed he shouldn’t have been complaining; she hadn’t made them sick or think they were dying, so really, it was an improvement on her part. Even if it had tasted bad, no one had puked their intestines out, which was as much a victory as an edible meal from her would have been at this point.
Yeah, all things considered, dinner made with his own hands should have sounded appealing. Yet it didn’t. If only because he knew he would need to stop at the grocery store, cooking supper had no appeal. It might have, but having to deal with a screaming Rachel pretty much killed whatever interest he had.
But he would do it.
Did he care about giving Rachel a healthy meal? Hardly. Would Cuddy care though? Yeah. She wouldn’t be angry if he ordered in; she hadn’t given him enough notice to have that right. But she would be far more impressed if he took the time to stop at the store and then make something himself.
And that was what mattered.
It was all about earning the pussy points. After that phone call alone, he’d received implicitly a free trip to Cuddy’s vagina. Add to that the trouble of going to the store and making dinner, and he’d get more play than Foreman’s fleshlight and post-divorce Chase combined. It went without saying that House would screw up eventually, but then this moment would earn him a shred of good will going forward. And that too was important to him.
Nonetheless, it didn’t make the prospect of shopping with Rachel seem any more pleasant. But he had no choice in the matter, he supposed.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot though, he was ready to throw in the towel. It had only been about ten, maybe fifteen minutes, since he’d picked her up, but it had felt like a lifetime. And as long as it seemed they’d been together, she was still crying. Putting the car in park, he decided the tears needed to stop.
Now.
Getting out of the car, he made his way around to the back seat. But he sure as hell had no intention of letting her out. Quickly opening the door and sliding onto the seat, he knew he couldn’t take her out until she was slightly calmer. Because if she didn’t shut up and kept carrying on as she was, he would never be able to slip in and out of the store without someone saying or doing something.
Slamming the door shut behind him, he wasn’t surprised that Rachel jumped a little.
“What’s the problem?” he asked in a rough, unfriendly voice. There were times when he knew the importance of being nice to her; this was not going to be one of those times. Cuddy had tried kindness and sympathy, but it hadn’t stopped the tears.
This didn’t either, but the harsh words did seem to give Rachel pause.
She hiccupped loudly. “I want Mommy.”
“And I would give you her in a heartbeat if that were an option. But it’s not.”
“But….” She started to get herself worked up again.
“No,” he said sharply. “Stop that.” She looked over at him with surprise, shame, and maybe some fear in her eyes. “I don’t know what you want. If I did, I would give it to you. But I don’t understand this,” he told her, gesturing to her. “Maybe Mommy understands the crying and the screaming, but I don’t. You have to tell me what you want.”
House backed off then. Her small mind needed time to process what he was saying, and if he pushed her to respond, he would get nowhere. Or worse, that would make her cry even more. So he waited - as patiently as he knew how. And as she slowly got control of herself, he knew he hadn’t completely screwed up.
She didn’t stop crying altogether. He would have liked that, which was why it couldn’t happen. But with each shaky breath she took, the tears seemed to lessen, and she seemed more in control of herself.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said much more gently.
She shook her head, her eyes fearful. “Don’t wanna go ‘way.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You said….” She frowned. “You said Marina got in the car and she goed away.”
“She died. She didn’t just go away.”
“But Mommy said -”
“Marina was in an accident,” House explained. Cuddy was going to kill him if he got into the specifics of what happened, and he knew that going in. Her preference was to keep Rachel’s knowledge to a minimum, only saying exactly what needed to be said and using a lot of euphemisms to do it. And House wanted to respect that as much as he could. After all, it wasn’t like his attempts at giving Rachel the truth had worked all that well so far. He’d tried to give her a dose of the truth, and Cuddy had tried to soften the blow, and what did they have to show for all of their combined efforts? They had a child who was more confused and afraid than ever. And as much as he knew Cuddy would prefer handling this herself, they couldn’t wait for that. He had to say something now. If he didn’t, nothing would change. Rachel would remain upset, and he couldn’t afford that.
“Yes, she was in a car,” he admitted. “But she didn’t just… go away. She was - she got hurt very badly. Which is not normal,” he told her in a way that he hoped made it perfectly clear that Marina’s accident was not a regular occurrence.
By then Rachel had stopped crying. It would have been hard to hear anything he said over her wailing, so she’d had no choice but to shut up.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. You are completely safe.” She didn’t seem all that convinced, the worry still rumpling her forehead. “Do you believe me?”
“I….” She nibbled on her lip. “I don’t know.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I don’t know. People lie.”
That was the thing about being entirely idiotic; every now and then you would say something intelligent, and it always confused the ones who thought you were a complete dumb ass. House was no exception to that confusion, particularly when Rachel was the one who was making the smart remark. But unlike most other people in that group, he could quickly explain away Rachel’s behavior.
She was parroting what she heard. On any given day, there were probably multiple times where she heard him talk about everyone’s innate proclivity to lie. Why wouldn’t she pick that up?
Satisfied with his explanation, he refocused his attention on the matter at hand. “You think I would lie to you?”
That actually made her smile. “Yes.”
“Really?” he asked, pretending to be offended by that. “I’m wounded,” he said sarcastically. “That you would think so little of -”
“You gave Nana pills at her birfday and maked her sleepy.”
A look of dismay momentarily washed over his face. He easily recovered. “That was a gift to your mother.”
“You put stuff in Uncle Dougie’s food to make him poo.”
“Actually, I didn’t,” he corrected. Deciding that she seemed calm enough to take into the store, he leaned over and unbuckled her from the car seat. “I only said I did so no one would suspect that it was actually Mommy’s hand in making the food that made him sick.”
“You said you -”
“All right, fine. I’m a liar.” Reaching over he opened the car door for her. “Not lying about this. Hop out.”
House would have been lying if he said he was surprised that she didn’t. No, if anything he had anticipated that from her. Although he would have liked her to believe him, he knew that they didn’t have the kind of relationship where she would automatically do so. And even if they did, she was stupidly afraid of dying. As irrational as that was, she was terrified that something would happen. And no matter how they felt about one another, it was a tall order to get him to convince her nothing would go wrong.
But all of that said, when he got out of the car and walked around to her side of the vehicle, she let him pull her out without difficulty. So maybe that said something for where they were headed in their… friendship.
He tried to not let that thought fester too much in his mind. Instead choosing to force the idea out altogether, he started to usher her towards the front of the store. She was reluctant and jumpy the whole time, but he somehow managed to get her there.
And then he promptly stuffed her into the basket of one of the carts. She didn’t seem to want that, though it was hard to tell if she was resisting being manhandled or if she was just too fat to get in easily. Whatever the reason, he still managed to force her in there.
“That hurt,” she said grumpily once she was snug in the seat.
“Sorry.” He wasn’t at all, but he knew if he didn’t say it, she would tell her mother. Only Rachel would make it sound as though he’d cruelly forced her into the basket with little regard for her safety. Which, all right, technically he had done, but she would make it seem like his intention had been to hurt her, and that had never been the case. At the same time though, he wanted to make it perfectly clear his reasons for putting her in the cart. “I don’t feel like chasing you around the store.”
“Not gonna run,” she said with a pout.
“Yeah, I don’t believe that.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Okay.” But he kept pushing the cart along as though he hadn’t even heard what she was saying.
“I mean it.”
“I’m sure you do. But then you’re going to see a cookie display or the lobster tank, and the next thing I know, Rachel’s gone. And then I have to find you - or explain to Mommy why some creepy sixty year old is hiding you in a tent in his back yard and calling you his wife - and then you won’t be able to go trick-or-treating.”
Her mood turned away from argumentative and became somber. “I don’t wanna go.”
“Why not?” It pained him to show any interest in the kid, but for this unique moment in time, he was interested in her reasoning. “It’s free candy. All you have to do is wear a costume and smile and -”
“Cause I don’t wanna.”
As he selected some ground beef and pork from the meat section, he found himself mentally deciding that he would also be sure to pick up some veal. Cuddy never refused to eat his meatballs (an idea that somehow seemed to defy the current state of their love life at the moment, he thought miserably), but she had always been uncomfortable about eating calves. He had no such compunction, and when Rachel was being the nuisance that she was, he felt it was only appropriate to take it out on a youth he was legally allowed to consume.
“That’s dumb,” he said, tossing the packages of meat into the cart. “Why wouldn’t you want candy?”
She didn’t answer the question.
“Fine.” If she didn’t want to talk about it, he was all right with that. Was he curious about her reasons? Sure. But if she wanted to keep quiet, after listening to her scream and cry for so long, he was absolutely okay with that choice. “We’ll go home, make dinner, and you can watch me peruse the Kama Sutra for inspiration.”
“I don’t know what that -”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He thought she would push for an explanation. Kids could be annoying that way, and even though Rachel was lacking in natural curiosity, he was sure that, based on his luck, she would want to know what it was. But she didn’t.
As the shopping trip progressed though, it was easy to see why she didn’t care. As he pushed them towards the canned tomatoes, she began to rub her eyes tiredly. Apparently throwing a fit and crying were exhausting. By the time he finished loading up the cart, she was slumped over and fast asleep.
He couldn’t have been more grateful for that.
No more questions, no more awkward conversations or emotions to get in the way out what should have been a quick trip to the grocery store - it was exactly what he wanted.
He didn’t even mind that, when he needed to push the cart, Rachel’s face rested against his stomach. He didn’t care that people were giving him looks as if to say, “Oh how sweet.” Under normal circumstances it would have, but today, that didn’t bother him in the least. As annoying as it could have been, it was far better than having to listen to her cry or complain. He didn’t even blink when she started drooling against him as he took the cart to the check out. It was gross; he would never pretend otherwise. But his life would be much easier if she stayed asleep.
Obviously it was guaranteed that she would wake up at some point. But if he could get through the check out line, if he could get her in the car and home, that would make things so much better.
Quietly he paid for the groceries and steered the cart back to Cuddy’s car. Getting her out of the basket and into her car seat took considerable effort. Rachel was dead weight against him, and it was difficult to maneuver her body without jostling her into waking up. He was patient, however, and gradually he was able to strap her into the booster seat without a problem.
Gently he shut her car door. The second he did it, he found himself holding his breath. The noise hadn’t been much, but he feared waking her up and dealing with the screaming that he was sure would follow. Yet nothing happened. For all of his concern, she slept right on.
Again though, he knew that that wouldn’t last forever. So he quickly piled the groceries into the trunk and got in the car. But he didn’t pull out of the parking lot right away. In the back of his mind, he understood that he should have. However, as he looked in the rearview mirror to back out, he remembered the phone call he’d made to Cuddy. Rachel had been so inconsolable, so out of her mind with fear and grief and whatever other thoughts and emotions floated around in a four year old’s head. And he doubted Cuddy had been quick to forget that.
In fact, she was probably in a meeting or taking a phone call right now and thinking about what had happened. He didn’t doubt the likelihood of that; her narcissism made every momentary difficulty or failure with Rachel enormous in her own mind. So not only was she probably mulling over what had happened, she’d also probably decided that all of this was her fault. As her boyfriend, he didn’t want her to think that any more than she needed to.
More importantly, he didn’t want her to wonder how long it had taken him to calm Rachel down. He wanted her to know that he’d actually taken care of things pretty damn quickly. Again, it was all about building up that good will, and his performance here would certainly do that. She just needed to know it.
That part was going to be easy. Putting the car in park once more, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He took a picture of Rachel as she slept. Creating a text message, he sent the picture to Cuddy with a note attached saying: Don’t worry, Mommy. We figured it out.
It would have been easy to make a joke about drugging Rachel, but he’d played it straight. He would like to believe that Cuddy would see the joke for what it was, but he wasn’t going to risk it; pussy points were for cashing in - not for gambling away.
His message sent, he put his phone back into his pocket and drove away.
The ride home was serene, the complete opposite of how things had been when he’d picked Rachel up. Even when she woke up, she stayed fairly quiet. She made a few confused sounds as she tried to figure out where she was. But there was no screaming or crying. And even if there had been, they were only five minutes from the house.
However, she was too dazed to do much of anything. By the time she was fully conscious, he was parking Cuddy’s car in the garage.
“See?” he told her after he’d helped her out of her car seat. “We drove in the car twice, and nothing happened to you. You made it home fine.”
Never one to let a little something called logic get in her way, Rachel didn’t react to the comment. As always though, he was content with her silence. A kid who didn’t talk was a kid he could handle being around. And if she wanted to pretend like she hadn’t heard his obvious and lame attempt at making her feel better, he was more than willing to let her do that.
Would he have preferred her to demonstrate the slightest bit of intelligence and admit that he’d been completely right this entire time? Of course. That would have been nice, considering how many times she had gifted him with her idiocy. But since asking for intelligence from Rachel was akin to asking a polar bear to give him a blowjob, he was willing to settle for her not saying anything. At least it meant she wasn’t going to fight him on the subject. So why would he want to push her to respond? Why wouldn’t he let her go into the house while he grabbed the food? No other options made any sense, which was why he didn’t say anything to her; he simply carried in the groceries.
Without a word, he helped her turn on the television. He was aware of all the documented dangers in letting your TV act as your child’s babysitter. He also didn’t care about any of that. Living in the same home as him would surely screw her up more than any amount of television ever could.
Quickly he flipped through the channels to try to find something appropriate for the kid. Frankly he didn’t care if she watched porn. But if what she was watching bored her, she would bother him while he made dinner. Trying to avoid that, House settled on the first child-friendly program he could find.
He had no idea what it was. It just featured a lot of kids and seemed Halloween related. And maybe that was a good thing, because so far, Rachel had been uninterested in trick-or-treating.
Of course, House didn’t want to take her. That was, actually, one of the last things he wanted to do. But if there were one thing Cuddy liked, it was normalcy. Sure, she dated him, which in and of itself suggested that she had no idea what “normal” meant. In a way though, that was why she needed the rest of her life to fit neatly into other people’s definition of typical and all right; she had her fill of weirdness with him, and she needed something else to balance that. And in this case, what that meant was having a daughter who did all the things other children did. It didn’t matter that Rachel’s peanut allergies and diabetes complicated Halloween significantly. What Cuddy wanted was to give her daughter a childhood that didn’t seem weird in the least. And while he didn’t care at all about taking Rachel trick-or-treating, Cuddy did.
Knowing that, he understood that that was all that mattered: giving her what she wanted. He didn’t necessarily appreciate being put in a subservient position in their relationship, but even he could comprehend what it would take to make something with Cuddy work. No sheer amount of will could keep them together on its own. He could want it… all he wanted, but action had to come with that.
Even if that action meant making an effort with Rachel.
Even if that action meant giving Cuddy what she wanted at the expense of his own needs.
As he headed to the kitchen to start dinner, he knew that he wasn’t perfect; he understood that knowing what needed to be done hadn’t always translated into him actually being able to do it. In fact, lately it seemed like he was rarely capable of pulling off the things he thought he would be able to. Sacrifice wasn’t in his nature, and his inherent selfishness made half of this relationship infinitely harder than he wanted it to be.
But for all of that, today had been a success. Regardless of where things went from here, it would be obvious to Cuddy that he had made a huge effort to give Rachel what she wanted. And maybe that was all he could hope for. If not victory itself then at least trying to achieve that had to count for something. Even Cuddy, who had a tendency to overreact to failure, had to give him that much. That phone call had given him some insurance, a modicum of understanding on her part; she wouldn’t be mad no matter how the rest of the day turned out.
Starting to make the marinara sauce, he decided though that it would be nice to keep the momentum going. If he could get Rachel to do everything Cuddy wanted, he would be rewarded all the more handsomely. Hell, Cuddy’s panties would be dropping so fast they’d create a hole to the center of the Earth.
After ten days without even so much of a whiff of pussy in his future, that prospect seemed especially tempting to him. And he made a promise to his dick right then and there that he would do whatever it took to give Cuddy what she wanted Rachel to have. Trick-or-treating had seemed so awful before, but now there was the probability of a treat of his own at the end.
True, someone could say that he was acting on a pretty obvious assumption - that Cuddy would give it up if he behaved tonight. She hadn’t promised anything, and it was possible if unlikely that she would take offense at the logic behind his actions. But he doubted it. What was there to be offended by? Why would she care what his reasons were? Okay, he amended, why would she care what his reasons were when they hadn’t had sex in ten days?
She wouldn’t.
As he gradually went through the process of making dinner, he seemed to tell himself multiple times: she wouldn’t care. (But just in case, he wouldn’t ever tell her what his intentions had been.)
His mind was still mulling all of that over when Rachel entered the kitchen. He was busy rolling meatballs and placing them on a cookie sheet, his back turned away from the entrance. So he didn’t know she had come in the room until she asked casually, “House, what’s a virgin?”
“Your mother before she met me.” The reply came easily. He wasn’t going to lie and say the question hadn’t surprised him. It had. But it wasn’t difficult to make a joke of it. Had he been serious, that would have just created more questions. “Why do you ask?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her skipping towards him.
“They said it in the movie.” Standing next to him, she looked intently at the food he was making. Her fingers gripping the lip of the counter, she asked, “Can I have one?”
“No,” he said flatly. “They need to be cooked. Why were they talking about virgins?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The boy said he was a virgin and made the candle shoot fire and then witches came.”
Given that that made no sense at all, he could only assume that she had missed some important plot points along the way. “Sounds exciting,” he lied. “You better go sit down and watch the rest or you’ll miss something important.”
“I’m hungry.”
It was actually early to get dinner started. He’d only done it, because he wanted to have her fed in case they went trick-or-treating. And since the food would take a while to cook, he didn’t waste any time.
“Dinner’s not ready yet. Go watch TV.”
“Don’t wanna,” she whined.
He placed a meatball on the cookie sheet. “Why not?”
“It’s boring.”
“Then go play.”
“There’s nothing to do.” She impatiently bounced on the balls of her feet, her body brimming with unfocused energy.
“Right. All those toys you have… there’s nothing you can play with.”
She frowned, dejected. “I guess there is.”
“There is,” he insisted. “So why don’t you go find something to play with?”
It would have been too easy for her to walk away and do just that. She had to stick around, her wide eyes looking at him sadly.
“Will you play with me?”
He bit back the no he wanted to say loudly. It almost slipped out, because he certainly didn’t want to play with dolls or read to her or do any of that. But just in the nick of time, he caught himself from voicing his feelings. Opening his mouth and closing it once more, he stopped the words from escaping. And in doing so, he was reminded of all the reasons he was in this position to begin with.
He wanted Cuddy.
And if he was mean to her kid, he would never, ever have Cuddy. It would be over.
Forcing himself to be nice, he reminded Rachel, “I thought you said you were hungry.”
“I am.”
“Then I can cook or I can play with you, but I can’t do both,” he said honestly.
“Fine.”
He was about to point out that, if she wanted something to do, trick-or-treating was an option. But he didn’t get the chance to say anything. By the time he turned to talk to her, she was already stomping away. By the time he realized something was wrong, that she was angry, she was already gone.
Continue on to the rest of the fic