Gift of the Dead (1.2)
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.
Previous Parts: Part One
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Dinner improved her mood somewhat. He didn’t know if it was the food itself or the time she’d had to cool off that did it. But once she’d had a few meatballs and some spaghetti in her stomach, she had seemingly forgiven him for whatever wrong she thought he’d committed.
The key word there was thought. Under no circumstances would he admit to having done something wrong, because he hadn’t. He hadn’t played with her, because he’d been too busy making them dinner. And while he knew that it was female Cuddy M.O. to get pissy every now and then for seemingly no reason at all, it was a little uncalled for for a four year old to be imitating Mommy when she was stressed out of her mind. It was certainly insane to expect him to apologize or try to amend the situation when he’d had no hand in making it uncomfortable.
But he didn’t dwell on it either. Well, he didn’t vocalize his thoughts on the subject anyway.
Was he frustrated that their dynamic could go from good to bad to awful in mere seconds? Sure. He didn’t like feeling as though any moment could undo whatever progress they’d made. He didn’t enjoy knowing that every failure on his part would be reported to and scrutinized by Cuddy. He could handle Rachel saying that she hated him, but he despised knowing that those words could make his girlfriend reconsider their relationship altogether.
However, taking offense and remaining upset were not a cure for that. No matter how tempting it was, it wasn’t going to make things better. The only thing that would do that was slowly finding some lasting common ground with the kid. And if that meant letting her unpredictable and childish nature go unchecked, he would reluctantly agree to do that.
As he ate dinner with her, he tried not to think about it too much. He wasn’t going to say anything, so he knew it was dumb to think about what had happened or how it made him feel. Even thinking the phrase, “how it made him feel,” made him shy away from doing it, because it sounded truly pathetic in his own head. But he found himself mulling her behavior over anyway.
At some point, it would come to a head. He could avoid thinking about it or saying anything or doing anything all he wanted. He knew though: it couldn’t always be like this. Even if he tried to convince himself that they would be fine if he just… dealt with it, House recognized that he would never believe it. Not really.
But if he could avoid tackling that problem today, that was exactly what he was going to do. So he calmly ate dinner with Rachel. She talked about her day at school; he pretended to listen, and afterwards, after he’d cleaned the dishes and put the leftovers away, he settled on the couch with her. He could have addressed her behavior, but instead he suggested they watch a movie.
Within minutes they were sitting next to each other, watching The Great Mouse Detective. Well, all right, she was paying attention. For his part, his gaze might have been focused on the screen, but his mind was focusing on other matters.
“Sure you don’t want to trick-or-treat?” he asked casually.
She shook her head. “I don’t wanna go.”
“Really?”
She was too busy watching Basil of Baker Street play the violin to answer the question.
For a moment, being ignored threw him off balance. Her behavior was suspicious - what kind of kid didn’t want free candy? - and that she seemed intent on offering no explanation only served to make him more curious.
“Is it because of your diabetes?”
She looked over at him as though she were annoyed he was talking to her. “No.”
“Because if it is, that’s pretty stupid, given that we have insulin and your mommy bought you other candy you can eat.”
“I don’t care.”
That didn’t sound true. It sounded as though she cared very much, as anyone would in her position. Between the allergies and the diabetes, it was understandably difficult for someone like her to navigate and celebrate Halloween. But the thing about that was Cuddy had taken care of all of that. He’d single handedly listened to her plan this thing out since August.
She’d bought sugar-free, peanut-free candy. The idea had been to take Rachel trick-or-treating like any other kid. Then afterwards, Cuddy would sort out the good candy from the bad and let Rachel trade in the bad stuff for things she could eat. And much to his dismay, his own mother had sent Cuddy a couple of small gifts to give to Rachel as part of the exchange as well. Which meant that, while this could have been an issue, it wasn’t. Rachel would go out like everyone else. She’d be able to get candy and dress up and have fun and come back and get a plastic-pumpkin filled with all sorts of candy she could have. It wasn’t a problem. Not even the Snickers and Butterfingers that would be left over were going to be a problem. Cuddy had promised to give him what Rachel couldn’t eat.
And now the prospect of him not getting anything made him all the more determined to get to the bottom of this. Forget how bizarre she was acting; what it came down to now was that his Halloween experience was about to be ruined. Now maybe that would have been okay under normal circumstances. But if he was going to be jerking off in the shower like he didn’t have a girlfriend at all because of the kid, the least Rachel could do in return for him was give him the sugar rush he had been promised.
The only way that would happen now though was if he figured out what Rachel’s problem was. How he could force the truth from her he didn’t know. She was so busy watching the movie that he realized it would take something big to capture her attention. Obviously just talking to her wasn’t going to do it. So it had to be something else… something that would either make her really happy and excited and interested in talking or something that displeased her enough to make her talk. Given that the latter was easier for him, he went with that.
Standing up, he headed towards the bedroom. Cuddy had kept all the Halloween candy hidden on the top shelf of her closet. And in his mind, while Rachel said she didn’t want to trick-or-treat, perhaps candy being in front of her would make her think differently. After all, it was one thing to say you weren’t interested and another entirely to have to say no once it was right in front of you.
Grabbing the stash of candy, he hurried back out to the living room. As he sat down, he said, “Hey.” Picking out a small grape lollipop, he asked, “You want this?”
She looked at it almost longingly, like she really did want it. But then with a frown, she shook her head. “No.”
“Really? Cause it seems like you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I think you do.”
Her response was to turn back to the movie.
“Oh, so you’re going to ignore me then?” His voice came out taunting, but he hardly cared about the immaturity of that. If it worked, it was okay in his book. “All right, then I guess you won’t mind if I eat it then.”
House dumped the candy back into the bowl and picked out a piece of taffy. He had no problem eating what was meant for her, but if he was going to do that, it wasn’t going to be a crappy grape pop.
As loudly as he could, he unwrapped the candy. “I’m really going to eat it, Rachel. So if you want it, you’re going to have to stop me now.”
“I don’t care. I’m trying to watch the movie.”
Well, fine, he thought, making a dirty face. If she wanted to act like she didn’t want any of it, why shouldn’t he enjoy a few pieces himself? He still had every intention of getting an answer out of her. But in the meantime, he didn’t think it would hurt to give himself a snack. So he popped the taffy into his mouth.
He chewed as obnoxiously as he could to get a reaction, but it didn’t work. So he just kept going. Sifting through the basket of candy in his lap, he picked out a few pieces. A pumpkin-shaped, chocolate-covered Peep, two sugar-free cherry lollipops, and a packet of Sun Cups later, he still hadn’t captured her attention. She was that interested in the movie.
But that was easily something he could change. Reaching for the remote, he hit the pause button. That simple act instantly got her attention.
“Hey!” She turned and glared at him.
He smiled. “We have something to discuss.”
“Put the movie back on!”
“I will. As soon as you tell me why you don’t want to go out tonight.”
“Cause I don’t want to,” she snapped in a bratty manner.
“That’s not a reason.”
“TV on,” she whined, skipping over half the words necessary to make an intelligible sentence. He wasn’t sure that he liked what it said about him, that he understood exactly what she was trying to say. But he chose to ignore it.
Grabbing another lollipop, he unwrapped it. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Yes!”
He shook his head as though it pained him to tell her no. “Mmmm, I don’t think so. I’m kinda going to need an answer for this one.”
“No, you don’t,” she said with a sneer. “You nosy. And mean. And stupid. And -”
“So then you don’t want to watch the part where the mice break out into song.”
He wouldn't deny that he was being cruel, throwing that in her face. The moment the various henchmen broke out into song about how great the bad guy was was Rachel's favorite part. It wasn't out of the question for her to replay that moment over and over (until someone stopped her) when she watched the cartoon. And to bring it up now, while effective, was admittedly mean. He knew it.
"Play it!" She hopped off the couch, so she could stomp her foot loudly on the ground.
"Tell me why you want to stay home."
"No!"
"Then no singing mice." Cruel as he was being, he wasn't going to back down. If this moment went too far, he could always apologize. But he was hoping he wouldn't have to do that. In his mind, if he could get the truth out of Rachel, if he could ease whatever hesitation she had, then the excitement of trick-or-treating would far outweigh whatever bad thing he'd done to get her to that point.
"Noooo!" she cried loudly. "I want Ratigan!"
"Fine," he said calmly, in complete contrast to her behavior. "Just tell me why -”
"Because it's for babies, that's why."
He looked at her carefully. Inspecting her for some sort of tell, he wanted to see the truth in her eyes for he certainly hadn't heard it in her voice. But there was not a drop of honesty to be found. She was lying.
"No. That's not it."
"Yes it is!"
"You don't want to do things babies do?" He shook his head. "That’s why you wanted to watch Pooh’s Heffalump Halloween Movie? Cause that’s something people who don’t crap their diapers like? I forgot. How many Oscars did that receive again?”
“You liked it when we watched it last time,” she accused.
And he couldn’t deny that she was right. So he went for another, better example. “You still let Mommy push you around in a stroller."
"Nuh uh!" she said, her cheeks turning pink in shame. To be fair to her, the last time she'd been in a stroller had been last summer when they'd visited his mother. They'd decided to fly to make things easier on everyone, and not wanting to hold Rachel's hand throughout the airport, Cuddy had used her stroller. And even then, Rachel had been opposed to it - but not because she was interested in being a mature kid. No, if she'd been angry at all, it had been because she'd wanted Cuddy to carry her the entire time.
Still, it felt like an unfair point to make.
Yet any regret he had over it instantly evaporated when Rachel snapped back, "You were in one too!"
For a second he had no idea what she was talking about. But then he understood. "That was a wheelchair."
"So."
"So it's not the same thing."
"Yes, it is."
"No it's not," he said firmly. "But even if you were right, you're telling me that on Halloween, the night millions of kids older than you go out, you've decided you don't want to go?"
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She looked like she was on the verge of a temper tantrum. And that was the last thing he wanted, because that would just be unbearable for him to listen to.
Sighing he realized he needed to take a different approach. As small minded as she was, apparently blackmail was only going to make her less likely to talk to him. She would throw a fit and never tell him anything, because as stubborn as he was, the same went for her. And so they would quickly reach a stalemate, and instead of having time to make up for being so forceful with her, he would have to make room in his calendar for explaining his behavior to Cuddy. Since he didn’t want to do that, he understood he would need to try a different approach.
“Come here,” he said in a gentle voice, patting the couch cushion next to him. Kindness wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he was willing to try sympathy on the off chance that it would work.
It didn’t seem like it would though when she remained standing. Her arms folded across her chest, she was literally and figuratively unmoved.
“Listen, Rachel. We both know something’s not right. Couple weeks ago, you wanted to go trick-or-treating. You told your mother that you wanted to go,” he reminded her. “I know things have been… bad this past week. But Mommy and I thought you’d still want to go out and have some fun. If you’re saying you don’t, I think there’s a reason for that.” He paused to let the words penetrate her hard head. “I’m not asking, because I’m nosy.”
“Yes, you are,” she said in a knowing voice.
And maybe there was some truth to that. It was far more believable that he was interested for the sake of being interested than to be curious because he cared, anyway. But he wouldn’t get anywhere if he agreed with her or proved her right.
“Sure, I’m nosy,” he admitted to defuse her point. “But I’m asking what your reasons are, because I’m… concerned.” The word sounded odd coming from him, not entirely natural. Eagerly he pushed past the awkwardness. “This isn’t like you. And if something’s bothering you, something I can fix so you can go out and get candy -”
“Can’t fix it,” she interrupted. She sounded sad, mournful.
“You don’t know that. I might be able to -”
“I yelled at Marina.”
And then she promptly burst into tears at the sound of her own confession. Then, he didn’t need to pat the couch or ask her to talk, because she gave in all on her own.
Rushing for him, she crawled onto the couch and buried her face into his arm. He was as surprised by the action as he was uncomfortable, and it took him a few seconds before he could awkwardly pat her back.
Maybe he should have been used to it. His focus had been on how long it had been since he’d had sex with Cuddy, but Rachel had displayed the troubled pattern of crying all week too. He hadn’t really thought about it, because Cuddy had always been around to take care of her daughter. Or if she hadn’t been, then House had been dropping Rachel off at school - where he could promptly hand her off to a teacher. So he hadn’t really been exposed or forced to handle her crying. But he thought that he should have been better prepared anyway. Because if she’d been upset this long, surely it would have been predictable to think that she would cry more. It certainly didn’t make any logical sense to believe that wouldn’t happen anyway.
But for whatever reason, he had assumed that she would be okay, that he wouldn’t be the one responsible for comforting her. And now that he was, he could see just how ill equipped he was to handle the moment.
“It’s… okay,” he told her lamely.
“No it’s not,” she sobbed. “I, I, I says I be a mail -”
“Mail?” he asked, confused by what she was trying to say.
She corrected herself, sniffing loudly. “Mail. Like a letter.” He didn’t ask why a four year old would want to be a piece of mail. He didn’t ask how the hell she’d thought of that idea anyway or how Marina could have pulled that costume together for her. He wanted to ask all of those questions, but it would be counterproductive to do so. “But she buys me a snail costume. And I was mad, and I says I hate you.”
A few words might have trickled out after that, but he didn’t understand any of them. She was crying too loudly, clinging onto his arm as though that were the only thing keeping her afloat amongst her grief.
Once again, he told her stupidly, “It’s okay.” She shook her head, rubbing her runny nose along the sleeve of his rumpled button down shirt. “No,” he said more strongly. “It really is okay.”
“I was bad.”
“No.” She was annoying and dumb but nowhere near deserving of the guilt she surely felt.
God, he thought at that moment. Biology might have indicated something different, but lack of girl-in-uterus action couldn’t take away from the most obvious of facts at that moment. She was absolutely Cuddy’s daughter. It would have been such a Cuddy quality to feel as guilty as Rachel looked, to assume that one crappy decision somehow indicated something more sinister.
He wasn’t going to share that thought though. Not with Rachel and certainly not with Cuddy herself, because saying any of it aloud would probably create more trouble than making the observation was worth. So he stuck to the matter at hand.
“No. You’re not bad, Rachel.” He ran his hand along her back. He was so uncomfortable having to do any of it that he’d already made a mental note to forget this night as soon as possible. He’d tell Cuddy just enough so that she could deal with Rachel, but how he’d tried to comfort the kid was going to be buried in the deepest, darkest places of his mind so that he wouldn’t ever have to think about it again.
“You just… said something you shouldn’t have,” he said lamely. “That’s not bad. You were angry, and you made a mistake.”
Her response was barely above a whisper. “Didn’t get to say sorry.”
“Well she’s dead now” was what he wanted to tell her. He wanted to point out that whatever Rachel had done, Marina wasn’t going to have any feelings about it now, on account of the fact that she was dead. But he was smart enough to know that reminding Rachel that the nanny was gone was asking for disaster. That would only make her more upset, and he was trying to calm her down, so it would be counterintuitive to make that point.
Taking a different approach, he conceded the point. “I know. But there’s no way you could have known what would happen. You said something you didn’t mean. Everyone does that. Everyone.”
“Like when you told Mommy her butt was big?”
“No, that was true.”
And although he didn’t say this, technically Cuddy hadn’t even been mad that he’d said her ass was big. That was just a fact. What she had objected to was him using her ginormous backside to explain why he’d dropped her when they’d tried to have sex against the bathroom wall. More specifically, she had reacted to the comment after she’d needed to go to the E.R. and get a small row of stitches put in; his ass remark had been the last straw. But it had also been the part of the conversation Rachel had walked in on, so he could understand her confusion. He also understood that under no circumstances could he correct her, which left him with having to gloss over the point. “But yeah, me too. There are no exceptions.”
Rachel didn’t respond. Realistically he hadn’t made her feel any better. There was nothing he was saying that looked anything like comfort, and he realized that. It was an undeniable fact that people tended to be stupid, particularly with the ones they cared about enough to take for granted; he’d always known that love made people incapable of logical thinking, but he never failed to be surprised at how often they (and he) seemed intent on demonstrating that fact.
Truth be told, he had no doubt that she would eventually learn and accept that unfortunate truth. Some day she would be content with it. But today would not be when that happened. And telling her the truth might have been his only option, but it hardly felt like an adequate one.
“Look,” he told her, not wanting to leave things there. “Marina was with you nearly every day from the time you were a baby. She… loved you,” he said, stumbling over the words. “Whatever you said to her, she knew you didn’t mean it.”
Rachel shifted against him. “Really?”
He didn’t know, but he nodded his head anyway. “Sure.”
Although she didn’t say anything, he could tell that he had told her what she needed to hear. She wasn’t crying anymore. She wasn’t talking about her mistake or acting as though she were bad for having said something mean to Marina. And he was grateful for that, because his next tactic, which would have been to say, “Believe me, I’ve said worse things to the woman,” would not have been particularly effective. So he was relieved she calmed down.
But she didn’t stay quiet for long.
“Don’t tell Mommy.”
He looked down at her. “Why not?”
“Please?” She didn’t offer an explanation.
He was torn with deciding what to say. Saying yes seemed like all sorts of wrong. First of all, there was absolutely no way Rachel was going to keep this moment to herself. If she felt guilty, she would eventually tell Cuddy. If she thought he’d helped her and made her feel better, she still would, probably, eventually tell her mother. If only because she was nearly five, she was going to blab about the event, because that was what kids that age did; they didn’t keep secrets, not for any long period of time at least.
And even if she did, by some random chance, keep her mouth shut, that didn’t seem like a good thing. “It’ll be our little secret” was the pedophile motto, something that was only appropriate if he’d spent his Halloween diddling the kid. Since that wasn’t, had never, and would never be the case, he had no interest in doing something that seemed even tangentially related to that. Besides, even without the icky connotations, it was hardly a good idea to keep a secret from Cuddy. Because if Rachel didn’t tell her the truth, if he didn’t blurt it out out of his own discomfort, what it meant was he was keeping something from his girlfriend.
Something she obviously had a right to know, something involving her own daughter.
But on the other hand, he didn’t want to say no. It was obvious what would happen if he did. Rachel would be angry at him; she would yell and fight, because she would see his refusal as some sort of personal affront. And maybe it was, because to trust him with anything was a big step for both of them. They weren’t the kind to confide in one another; they’d never done that. Here she was though, taking that first step towards… he didn’t even know what they might have been moving towards. But it felt like they were making some progress, and it felt wrong to ruin the moment. Especially since that was what Cuddy wanted - progress, right? She didn’t want secrets, but she also seemed obsessed with making all of their relationships work. So maybe it wasn’t wrong…
“Sure,” he said, making his choice on a whim.
The second he said it, he regretted it. He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t made a promise to her, that he could tell Cuddy if he wanted. But the whole thing had the predictable gross feeling that he didn’t want. And even though his acquiescence seemed to make Rachel calm down, inwardly he felt far worse.
Eagerly he tried to push past his discomfort by making his way back to the reason he’d gotten neck deep in this problem to begin with. “So… you want to go trick-or-treating?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Marina would want you to have a good time,” he said, knowing how heavy handed it was.
“I don’t wanna be a stinky snail.”
It wouldn’t be what Cuddy wanted to hear, that was for sure. But at least now he had a reason to offer her when she became upset that they hadn’t left the house. He’d said he wouldn’t tell her about Marina; that didn’t necessarily exclude saying something about the wrong costume.
Then again, if he could make sure Rachel had a nice evening, even without jamming her butt in a costume and dragging her around the block, maybe that was enough. Sure, it wouldn’t be normal, the all-important buzzword for Cuddy. But normalcy was definitely ranked lower than him making headway with Rachel. Cuddy wanted both, but House knew which was far more important to her in the long run.
Knowing that, he pulled out a piece of candy and handed it to Rachel. “Here. Eat some candy.”
She didn’t take it, which was odd, because for the first time that evening, her eyes did wander to the chocolate bar in his hand. Before she hadn’t seemed all that interested. Now though the picture was becoming clearer for him. It was established that she felt guilty for getting in a fight with Marina before she’d died. Rachel, ashamed of her own behavior, had been dead set against doing anything Halloween related.
Now, maybe she really didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of being a snail. He’d seen the costume, with a brown knit hat and huge hump she’d have to lug around. No kid in their right mind would want to walk around the neighborhood looking like that… although it did say something that Rachel had standards low enough to walk around town as an envelope.
But what kid didn’t want to eat candy?
It wasn’t like she had to do anything to get it. He wasn’t telling her she couldn’t have the chocolate until she cleaned her room or did her homework, if the dumb crap she had to do for school really constituted as homework. He wasn’t giving her any caveats whatsoever. This was candy with no strings attached, and either way, all kids loved candy.
If she didn’t want any, there was a reason. If it had been the diabetes or her allergies that made her reluctant, that would have been apparent weeks ago. She would have said something or shown some doubt in August or September when she’d originally started talking about Halloween. Admittedly Rachel tended to think of problems and complications at the last minute. But even she wasn’t dim witted enough to not see this particular issue months beforehand.
This was new though. This wasn’t something she’d been holding inside for months, something that had been bothering her for a while. This was about Marina, about punishment.
“No one’s mad at you,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to make yourself feel bad.”
“I’m not.” Her response was too forceful to truly be believable.
“Okay.” If she wanted to pretend like she didn’t want to hear his words, then he was going to follow suit and act like he didn’t know that. “Then I guess I’ll have to eat this chocolate all by myself.”
“No,” she whined, grabbing the candy bar out of his hand. “My candy.”
“So now it’s your candy.”
“Yes. And you can’t have none.”
“You gonna stop me?” he challenged, pulling at a yellow lollipop.
“I might.”
She didn’t though. What she did do was grab the basket of candy that had been in his lap. Pulling it towards her, she quickly scurried to the other side of the sofa. Apparently, her need for some sympathy was satisfied and done with. And now that she felt better, all she wanted was to hoard her candy and eat it.
That sucked for him, as he would have really liked to eat a few more pieces before she took it. But she’d at least left him the lollipop, and he guessed that, after all he’d already had, he didn’t need anymore.
Somewhat satisfied, he picked up the remote and turned on the movie once more. Quickly Rachel was captivated by the film again. She was far more conservative with her candy consumption than he had been. But he still told her to stop after she’d had a handful. She squirreled away one last piece; of course, she wouldn’t listen to him right away. She did stop, however, placing the bucket on the coffee table in front of her.
And though it was hardly what her mother would have wanted for her daughter, House couldn’t ignore the grin on Rachel’s face. Staying inside and watching movies, contemplating the sugar content in each piece of candy - none of it would qualify as normal. But it had made Rachel happy, and after the last week, he couldn’t help but think that that was good enough for all of them.
*******************************
It was Rachel’s bedtime, and Cuddy still hadn’t come home. Truthfully House wasn’t surprised by that. Part of him had hoped she’d be home earlier than this, but he’d understood that she was under a lot of pressure as of late. She was working on some big deal to get an award-winning researcher to run an ALS study at the hospital. She was negotiating with the nurses to avoid another strike. And that was in addition to what she did on a daily basis. Add to that everything she’d had to do with Rachel this past week, and it wasn’t hard to believe that Cuddy had chosen to go back to work to avoid getting behind.
And that wasn’t even considering the funeral.
House knew how that had turned out. She’d never responded to his text message, had never called him to tell him what was going on, but he knew her. He knew how she reacted to these situations. He knew her guilt. No doubt she had spent that entire funeral thinking how she’d never really known Marina as a person. As the woman who watched her daughter, as a caregiver, sure, but Cuddy didn’t know who Marina was or what she wanted from life. They weren’t friends or family, and surrounded by those who were, Cuddy no doubt felt guilty for taking their loved one from them for all those years. Which meant that, if she weren’t at work, no doubt she was trying to comfort them, trying to make amends for the wrongs that existed only in her mind.
Either way, he wasn’t surprised by her absence.
He was, on the other hand, unhappy about it.
It was Rachel’s bedtime, and it was easy to see that she was tired, exhausted even. But keeping her in bed, getting her to lie down and just attempt sleep was impossible. All she wanted was her mother… who was obviously not there. And though he was trying his best, it still didn’t seem to be enough.
“Just close your eyes.”
She kicked around beneath the covers as though she were uncomfortable. “I want Mommy.”
“She can’t be here right now,” he reminded her, fighting the urge to bang the back of his head against her headboard. “You’ll have to see her in the morning.”
Rachel rolled over onto her stomach next to him. “I don’t wanna sleep in my bed. I wanna sleep in your bed.”
“No, you have to stay here tonight.”
“Why?” she whined.
“Because this is your bed. If you weren’t supposed to sleep in it, we’d just keep a cardboard box in here.”
“It’s too small,” she complained.
At that particular moment, there was no denying that. It was too small. But there was a good reason for that. “Because I’m lying next to you. When I leave, you’ll have plenty of room.”
“I guess,” she said glumly.
“Close your eyes and try to sleep.”
The suggestion made her yawn widely. And it was one she ultimately couldn’t continue to fight, because she was clearly tired. Trick-or-treating hadn’t happened, but between school, her tantrum in the car, and the cool autumn air, she was facing a losing battle. Everything about the bed and her pillows and the warm blankets around her were lulling her to sleep slowly. He watched her fight it as best as she could, but there was no way she was going to win this round.
Slowly but surely, her eyelids seemed to grow heavy. With every couple of slow blinks, she would try to rouse herself. But each time she did that, it seemed to get less and less effective.
Still he didn’t dare move. He’d laid down on the bed thinking that it would help her relax; if he’d just left, she would run straight for his bed. And if he’d stood over her, she would have never fallen asleep, so he’d had no choice but to join her. Unfortunately for him, he was now stuck where he was - at least until she was well and truly out of it.
But that plan shortly became jeopardized, because Cuddy came into the room. She’d been quiet, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t even heard her come into the house; her voice was still low when she said, “Hi.” Yet he worried Rachel would see her mother and instantly shoot out of bed.
Holding his breath, he waited for that to happen. But she barely lifted her head.
“How are you guys?” Cuddy asked, walking to the bed to join them. The second she sat down on the bed, she lowered her head to give Rachel a peck on the forehead. After a brief smile at her daughter, she then leaned over Rachel to kiss him. “Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled against his mouth.
He shrugged but didn’t say anything. Even if there was something to say, now was not the time to register his complaints.
On the other hand, Rachel couldn’t help but slip one of her own into the conversation. “Your boobies is squishing me,” she said petulantly, her voice muffled by Cuddy’s chest.
Cuddy pulled away from him and settled back on the bed. As she hugged Rachel close to her, she must have seen the jealous look on his face; he was thinking how much he would have liked to have Cuddy’s breasts suffocating him, and that must have read on his face, because she told him warningly, “Don’t even say it.”
“Say what?” he asked innocently.
She didn’t answer the question. Her hand smoothing Rachel’s hair back, she asked her, “Were you a good girl?”
House wasn’t sure how she would respond. Part of Rachel obviously thought she was bad, as she had said as much. Of course, she was ashamed of that, so there was a good chance she wouldn’t say it out loud. But he worried that she would anyway. And if she did, what would Cuddy assume?
That he had put that idea in Rachel’s head.
That he had said it.
And if that happened….
Quickly he answered the question for Rachel. “She was fine.”
On a more relaxing day, Cuddy would have surely been suspicious of his ready response. Whether he’d done anything or not, she would have accused him of hiding something. If only because it wasn’t in his nature to inject himself to conversations with Rachel, Cuddy would have thought it was odd. But today, he could clearly get away with it - as evidenced by the fact that he was.
Rather than be suspicious, she kissed Rachel’s forehead once more. “Did Mommy’s little snail go -”
“Not a snail!”
Cuddy was surprised by the outburst. Guaranteed she was going to look at him for an explanation, so before she could even form the words, he supplied, “She didn’t want to go trick-or-treating.”
“So what did you do?” There was no accusation in the question. There easily could have been, but the way she said it, it sounded as though she just wanted to know what they had done.
Slowly he recapped the afternoon and evening’s events. He could have easily said they’d had dinner and watched movies and been done with the conversation in thirty seconds. But he purposely dragged his feet while talking. The longer this took, the more likely it was that Rachel would simply fall asleep in her own bed.
Knowing that, he kept his voice soft and calm. Cuddy would interject every now and then with a question or comment, but she too remained relaxed and quiet. Absolutely nothing about this conversation could seem interesting or exciting, and they both worked effortlessly to make sure it stayed that way. He glossed over any and all discomfort he might have felt at staying home with Rachel. If Cuddy were upset that they’d stayed inside and watched movies, she didn’t say anything about it. She didn’t accuse him of not doing his best to take the kid out; she didn’t complain or judge, even if he thought there might be reason for her to feel that way.
And with everything quiet and boring, it didn’t take more than ten minutes for Rachel to fall asleep. They kept the conversation going for a few minutes longer, just in case she woke up. But she was done for the evening.
The second that became apparent, Cuddy said to him in a low voice, “You go first.”
He supposed that made sense. Rachel didn’t give a crap about him, but she definitely cared about her mother. If she were to wake up at all, it would be because she noticed her mother had gotten up and left.
“Okay,” he said in agreement.
Slowly he eased himself off the bed. Both adults watched Rachel carefully to see if she woke up. Thankfully she didn’t. Still, Cuddy waited a few minutes before getting up herself. Both understood that if they did this too quickly, the chances of Rachel waking up were greater, and they were trying to avoid that.
Eventually though, Cuddy was able to pull away from Rachel’s side and get up without Rachel ever noticing.
What that meant hit him immediately: they could have sex. He didn’t dare voice the words aloud; he didn’t even allow himself to truly contemplate the possibility of it. It just seemed too dangerous to do that. So he forced himself to focus on the task of quietly exiting the room.
Outwardly he tried to remain calm. His heart was pounding, his body pumping blood to places desperate for Cuddy’s touch. But he didn’t let himself even look at her until she’d shut Rachel’s bedroom door behind her.
As soon as the latch clicked though, he abandoned all self-control. His hand clasped around her wrist, and he pulled her to him. Cuddy clearly expected the move, because she eagerly gave in to his touch. With equal intensity, they kissed - lips and tongues meeting with passion. She stepped on his toes, as she pressed her body against his, but he didn’t care.
It had been so long.
And just recognizing that fact made his desire swell to uncontrollable peaks. He needed her now. He couldn’t wait. His hand eagerly caressing the side of her breast, all he could think was that he had to get her in his office or in bed as quickly as he could. He just needed to be inside her as soon as possible.
At that moment though, she pushed him away - not violently, of course, just enough so that there was some space between them. At first he was confused and didn’t get what she was doing. But then he felt her press on his shoulders; she was trying to push him to the floor.
“In front of Rachel’s door?” he asked in a low voice.
“She’s asleep.”
“She could wake up.”
She smiled and kissed him, her tongue briefly touching his. “I locked the door,” she whispered into his mouth.
“That door locks from her side of the -”
“And we’ll hear her before she ever sees anything,” Cuddy said, the frustration obvious in her voice. He hesitated, opened his mouth to object. But she was quick to speak before he could. “Nothing’s going to happen. Now. I want to have sex.” She reached back behind her to unzip her skirt to show how serious she was.
The sound hitting his ears, it instantly silenced any hesitation he might have had. Whatever his feelings had been seconds before, the prospect of having sex with her overrode every logical thought he could possibly have.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled them both to the ground. She let go of her zipper to stop them both from crashing to the floor in a painful heap. But at this point, he wouldn’t have cared if it hurt. He would have accepted pain after the fact if it meant he got fucked now. And if he allowed himself to be eased down to the ground at all, it was because he didn’t want the kid to interrupt them because they’d landed too loudly.
The second his ass touched the ground, Cuddy was straddling him. Her lips were on his mouth, her hands on his fly. Undoing his pants as quickly as she could, she eagerly pulled his straining cock out of his underwear.
“I want you so badly,” she whispered between kisses.
He shoved her unzipped skirt up around her thighs. She was bare underneath, lips perfectly parted for him. His fingers rubbing against her, he could feel her wetness coating his fingers. For all of his suffering, her body was making it clear that she too missed the intimacy they usually shared.
If he hadn’t come to that conclusion on his own though, she was willing to prove it in other ways. As he was about to shove a finger inside her warm hole, she pushed his hand away all together. Her hand around his dick, she lined him up with her body and quickly sank down on top of him.
Instantly he was surrounded by her warmth, by the feeling of her muscles clenched tightly around him. He wanted to cry out, scream because it was that good. But she hastily guided his head to her chest, and her suit coat and breasts muffled the noise.
He stayed that way even when she let go of him. His legs were splayed out in front of him, one of his hands behind him to hold himself up. As she rocked against him, she was simultaneously yanking her skirt up further. Her thighs uncovered more, she could spread her legs further and straddle him better.
She was hot above and around him, her pace somehow both slow and frenzied at the same time. She ground down against him, which let his dick reach new depths inside her warmth. As she fucked him, she rubbed herself against him, using his pelvic bone to stimulate her clit.
He could have touched her. She was so wet that it wouldn’t take much more to make her come. With a little help from his thumb, she could be keening within seconds. But he was too busy forcing her coat open to care.
His single free hand wasn’t dexterous enough to undo the buttons, so he settled for yanking on the neckline.
“Don’t rip it,” she uttered breathlessly. But seeing the slightest hint of cleavage, he didn’t care about anything she was saying.
House buried his face in that tiny v-neck. She smelled like soap and sweat, which was beading along the center of her chest. His tongue darted out to taste her, to have every bit of this encounter in him. She was salty and warm, and there was nothing he wouldn’t have done in that moment to make all of this last forever. To be inside her, to feel her pussy glide over him, her ass bouncing against his legs, her nails digging into his shoulders - it was all he wanted, all he could think of that in that moment.
He nipped at her soft skin, his teeth lightly catching on her breast. She cried out though not loudly. The sound caught in the back of her throat, wobbled over her shaky breath. He could feel her fingers tremor against his shoulders.
She was close.
His cock was slick with her juices. Her pace was quicker, more forceful, and each time his dick bottomed out inside her, he could feel his own need become more and more palpable. It coiled within him hotly, like molten lead in his stomach. It had been so long that it wouldn't take much more for either of them to come.
Her lips hovered next to his ear. As she sank down as low as she could go, she whimpered. And the sound was his undoing. His face pressed into her breasts, his sweat mixing with hers, he came in elongated waves of pleasure. Instinctively he thrust upwards, though he wasn't in a position to do much of anything. The head of his penis hitting her just right, her muscles immediately tightened around him. Her body a delightful vice he couldn't possibly escape, she stilled on top of him. She clutched his shoulders with a bruising grip, and she froze against him.
As the haze of his orgasm receded, he glanced up at her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flush. Every feature of her face seemed tense as she let her body give into the pleasure she too hadn't had for days. He was simply content to watch her do this; although his back and leg hurt, although his clothes clung to him uncomfortably, he was happy to relish the feeling. Her body on top of his, his dick in her pussy - it had been so long that he wasn't ready for the moment to end.
It would have to inevitably, but he was in no rush to go about the rest of his day. He’d spent enough time this past week not being in this position. “Just been fucked” was a description he wasn’t eager to give up.
But after a few minutes, when Cuddy pulled away from him, he knew he had to. He frowned as she helped him stand up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the face he was making.
“Nothing.” It was the truth, he thought, as he went through the uncomfortable task of tucking himself back in his shorts. There really was nothing wrong.
She looked at him pointedly before tugging her skirt back down. “You look unhappy.”
“Because I’m wondering how long it’s going to be before we get a chance to do that again.”
“Don’t start,” she said before heading towards the bedroom.
He followed her, knowing all the while that he probably shouldn’t have complained. He’d gotten what he wanted. For the first time in ten days, he could claim he’d been brought to orgasm by something other than his own hand. And that fact alone should have made him happy enough.
But as reality returned to him, he couldn’t help but feel as though this dry spell was hardly over. They’d gotten laid tonight, but what were the chances that Rachel would stay in her own bed from here on out? What was the guarantee that tomorrow night she wouldn’t be just as upset as she had been the past week?
Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind them, he said to Cuddy, “You need to hire someone.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked as she started to take off her clothes. His gaze lingered on her for a moment; there was no denying how beautiful she was, and he didn’t bother to hide his leering. “I would love to have someone help me out,” she said, drawing his attention away from her body and back to the conversation.
His frown deepening, he went into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he half-listened to her. She was hard to hear over the running tap (which he left going, because he knew she hated when he did that). But he paid attention as best he could.
Did he care what she had to say? Not really. At this point, he could easily guess what her points were going to be. But on the off chance that she would accuse him of not listening (as she did from time to time), he did his best to hear her out.
“But I can’t just hire someone,” she said, her voice muffled through the partially closed door. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who I know can do… what’s necessary if something were to happen. Who can give her her medicine. That’s not just some random person I can find on the street.”
He spit into the sink. “Well, you’re definitely not going to find that person if you’re not even looking.”
When he looked back up, he was taken aback by her reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t heard her push the door open, and unprepared for her presence, he was surprised to see her glaring at him.
Continue on to the next part
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.
Previous Parts: Part One
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
Dinner improved her mood somewhat. He didn’t know if it was the food itself or the time she’d had to cool off that did it. But once she’d had a few meatballs and some spaghetti in her stomach, she had seemingly forgiven him for whatever wrong she thought he’d committed.
The key word there was thought. Under no circumstances would he admit to having done something wrong, because he hadn’t. He hadn’t played with her, because he’d been too busy making them dinner. And while he knew that it was female Cuddy M.O. to get pissy every now and then for seemingly no reason at all, it was a little uncalled for for a four year old to be imitating Mommy when she was stressed out of her mind. It was certainly insane to expect him to apologize or try to amend the situation when he’d had no hand in making it uncomfortable.
But he didn’t dwell on it either. Well, he didn’t vocalize his thoughts on the subject anyway.
Was he frustrated that their dynamic could go from good to bad to awful in mere seconds? Sure. He didn’t like feeling as though any moment could undo whatever progress they’d made. He didn’t enjoy knowing that every failure on his part would be reported to and scrutinized by Cuddy. He could handle Rachel saying that she hated him, but he despised knowing that those words could make his girlfriend reconsider their relationship altogether.
However, taking offense and remaining upset were not a cure for that. No matter how tempting it was, it wasn’t going to make things better. The only thing that would do that was slowly finding some lasting common ground with the kid. And if that meant letting her unpredictable and childish nature go unchecked, he would reluctantly agree to do that.
As he ate dinner with her, he tried not to think about it too much. He wasn’t going to say anything, so he knew it was dumb to think about what had happened or how it made him feel. Even thinking the phrase, “how it made him feel,” made him shy away from doing it, because it sounded truly pathetic in his own head. But he found himself mulling her behavior over anyway.
At some point, it would come to a head. He could avoid thinking about it or saying anything or doing anything all he wanted. He knew though: it couldn’t always be like this. Even if he tried to convince himself that they would be fine if he just… dealt with it, House recognized that he would never believe it. Not really.
But if he could avoid tackling that problem today, that was exactly what he was going to do. So he calmly ate dinner with Rachel. She talked about her day at school; he pretended to listen, and afterwards, after he’d cleaned the dishes and put the leftovers away, he settled on the couch with her. He could have addressed her behavior, but instead he suggested they watch a movie.
Within minutes they were sitting next to each other, watching The Great Mouse Detective. Well, all right, she was paying attention. For his part, his gaze might have been focused on the screen, but his mind was focusing on other matters.
“Sure you don’t want to trick-or-treat?” he asked casually.
She shook her head. “I don’t wanna go.”
“Really?”
She was too busy watching Basil of Baker Street play the violin to answer the question.
For a moment, being ignored threw him off balance. Her behavior was suspicious - what kind of kid didn’t want free candy? - and that she seemed intent on offering no explanation only served to make him more curious.
“Is it because of your diabetes?”
She looked over at him as though she were annoyed he was talking to her. “No.”
“Because if it is, that’s pretty stupid, given that we have insulin and your mommy bought you other candy you can eat.”
“I don’t care.”
That didn’t sound true. It sounded as though she cared very much, as anyone would in her position. Between the allergies and the diabetes, it was understandably difficult for someone like her to navigate and celebrate Halloween. But the thing about that was Cuddy had taken care of all of that. He’d single handedly listened to her plan this thing out since August.
She’d bought sugar-free, peanut-free candy. The idea had been to take Rachel trick-or-treating like any other kid. Then afterwards, Cuddy would sort out the good candy from the bad and let Rachel trade in the bad stuff for things she could eat. And much to his dismay, his own mother had sent Cuddy a couple of small gifts to give to Rachel as part of the exchange as well. Which meant that, while this could have been an issue, it wasn’t. Rachel would go out like everyone else. She’d be able to get candy and dress up and have fun and come back and get a plastic-pumpkin filled with all sorts of candy she could have. It wasn’t a problem. Not even the Snickers and Butterfingers that would be left over were going to be a problem. Cuddy had promised to give him what Rachel couldn’t eat.
And now the prospect of him not getting anything made him all the more determined to get to the bottom of this. Forget how bizarre she was acting; what it came down to now was that his Halloween experience was about to be ruined. Now maybe that would have been okay under normal circumstances. But if he was going to be jerking off in the shower like he didn’t have a girlfriend at all because of the kid, the least Rachel could do in return for him was give him the sugar rush he had been promised.
The only way that would happen now though was if he figured out what Rachel’s problem was. How he could force the truth from her he didn’t know. She was so busy watching the movie that he realized it would take something big to capture her attention. Obviously just talking to her wasn’t going to do it. So it had to be something else… something that would either make her really happy and excited and interested in talking or something that displeased her enough to make her talk. Given that the latter was easier for him, he went with that.
Standing up, he headed towards the bedroom. Cuddy had kept all the Halloween candy hidden on the top shelf of her closet. And in his mind, while Rachel said she didn’t want to trick-or-treat, perhaps candy being in front of her would make her think differently. After all, it was one thing to say you weren’t interested and another entirely to have to say no once it was right in front of you.
Grabbing the stash of candy, he hurried back out to the living room. As he sat down, he said, “Hey.” Picking out a small grape lollipop, he asked, “You want this?”
She looked at it almost longingly, like she really did want it. But then with a frown, she shook her head. “No.”
“Really? Cause it seems like you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I think you do.”
Her response was to turn back to the movie.
“Oh, so you’re going to ignore me then?” His voice came out taunting, but he hardly cared about the immaturity of that. If it worked, it was okay in his book. “All right, then I guess you won’t mind if I eat it then.”
House dumped the candy back into the bowl and picked out a piece of taffy. He had no problem eating what was meant for her, but if he was going to do that, it wasn’t going to be a crappy grape pop.
As loudly as he could, he unwrapped the candy. “I’m really going to eat it, Rachel. So if you want it, you’re going to have to stop me now.”
“I don’t care. I’m trying to watch the movie.”
Well, fine, he thought, making a dirty face. If she wanted to act like she didn’t want any of it, why shouldn’t he enjoy a few pieces himself? He still had every intention of getting an answer out of her. But in the meantime, he didn’t think it would hurt to give himself a snack. So he popped the taffy into his mouth.
He chewed as obnoxiously as he could to get a reaction, but it didn’t work. So he just kept going. Sifting through the basket of candy in his lap, he picked out a few pieces. A pumpkin-shaped, chocolate-covered Peep, two sugar-free cherry lollipops, and a packet of Sun Cups later, he still hadn’t captured her attention. She was that interested in the movie.
But that was easily something he could change. Reaching for the remote, he hit the pause button. That simple act instantly got her attention.
“Hey!” She turned and glared at him.
He smiled. “We have something to discuss.”
“Put the movie back on!”
“I will. As soon as you tell me why you don’t want to go out tonight.”
“Cause I don’t want to,” she snapped in a bratty manner.
“That’s not a reason.”
“TV on,” she whined, skipping over half the words necessary to make an intelligible sentence. He wasn’t sure that he liked what it said about him, that he understood exactly what she was trying to say. But he chose to ignore it.
Grabbing another lollipop, he unwrapped it. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Yes!”
He shook his head as though it pained him to tell her no. “Mmmm, I don’t think so. I’m kinda going to need an answer for this one.”
“No, you don’t,” she said with a sneer. “You nosy. And mean. And stupid. And -”
“So then you don’t want to watch the part where the mice break out into song.”
He wouldn't deny that he was being cruel, throwing that in her face. The moment the various henchmen broke out into song about how great the bad guy was was Rachel's favorite part. It wasn't out of the question for her to replay that moment over and over (until someone stopped her) when she watched the cartoon. And to bring it up now, while effective, was admittedly mean. He knew it.
"Play it!" She hopped off the couch, so she could stomp her foot loudly on the ground.
"Tell me why you want to stay home."
"No!"
"Then no singing mice." Cruel as he was being, he wasn't going to back down. If this moment went too far, he could always apologize. But he was hoping he wouldn't have to do that. In his mind, if he could get the truth out of Rachel, if he could ease whatever hesitation she had, then the excitement of trick-or-treating would far outweigh whatever bad thing he'd done to get her to that point.
"Noooo!" she cried loudly. "I want Ratigan!"
"Fine," he said calmly, in complete contrast to her behavior. "Just tell me why -”
"Because it's for babies, that's why."
He looked at her carefully. Inspecting her for some sort of tell, he wanted to see the truth in her eyes for he certainly hadn't heard it in her voice. But there was not a drop of honesty to be found. She was lying.
"No. That's not it."
"Yes it is!"
"You don't want to do things babies do?" He shook his head. "That’s why you wanted to watch Pooh’s Heffalump Halloween Movie? Cause that’s something people who don’t crap their diapers like? I forgot. How many Oscars did that receive again?”
“You liked it when we watched it last time,” she accused.
And he couldn’t deny that she was right. So he went for another, better example. “You still let Mommy push you around in a stroller."
"Nuh uh!" she said, her cheeks turning pink in shame. To be fair to her, the last time she'd been in a stroller had been last summer when they'd visited his mother. They'd decided to fly to make things easier on everyone, and not wanting to hold Rachel's hand throughout the airport, Cuddy had used her stroller. And even then, Rachel had been opposed to it - but not because she was interested in being a mature kid. No, if she'd been angry at all, it had been because she'd wanted Cuddy to carry her the entire time.
Still, it felt like an unfair point to make.
Yet any regret he had over it instantly evaporated when Rachel snapped back, "You were in one too!"
For a second he had no idea what she was talking about. But then he understood. "That was a wheelchair."
"So."
"So it's not the same thing."
"Yes, it is."
"No it's not," he said firmly. "But even if you were right, you're telling me that on Halloween, the night millions of kids older than you go out, you've decided you don't want to go?"
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She looked like she was on the verge of a temper tantrum. And that was the last thing he wanted, because that would just be unbearable for him to listen to.
Sighing he realized he needed to take a different approach. As small minded as she was, apparently blackmail was only going to make her less likely to talk to him. She would throw a fit and never tell him anything, because as stubborn as he was, the same went for her. And so they would quickly reach a stalemate, and instead of having time to make up for being so forceful with her, he would have to make room in his calendar for explaining his behavior to Cuddy. Since he didn’t want to do that, he understood he would need to try a different approach.
“Come here,” he said in a gentle voice, patting the couch cushion next to him. Kindness wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he was willing to try sympathy on the off chance that it would work.
It didn’t seem like it would though when she remained standing. Her arms folded across her chest, she was literally and figuratively unmoved.
“Listen, Rachel. We both know something’s not right. Couple weeks ago, you wanted to go trick-or-treating. You told your mother that you wanted to go,” he reminded her. “I know things have been… bad this past week. But Mommy and I thought you’d still want to go out and have some fun. If you’re saying you don’t, I think there’s a reason for that.” He paused to let the words penetrate her hard head. “I’m not asking, because I’m nosy.”
“Yes, you are,” she said in a knowing voice.
And maybe there was some truth to that. It was far more believable that he was interested for the sake of being interested than to be curious because he cared, anyway. But he wouldn’t get anywhere if he agreed with her or proved her right.
“Sure, I’m nosy,” he admitted to defuse her point. “But I’m asking what your reasons are, because I’m… concerned.” The word sounded odd coming from him, not entirely natural. Eagerly he pushed past the awkwardness. “This isn’t like you. And if something’s bothering you, something I can fix so you can go out and get candy -”
“Can’t fix it,” she interrupted. She sounded sad, mournful.
“You don’t know that. I might be able to -”
“I yelled at Marina.”
And then she promptly burst into tears at the sound of her own confession. Then, he didn’t need to pat the couch or ask her to talk, because she gave in all on her own.
Rushing for him, she crawled onto the couch and buried her face into his arm. He was as surprised by the action as he was uncomfortable, and it took him a few seconds before he could awkwardly pat her back.
Maybe he should have been used to it. His focus had been on how long it had been since he’d had sex with Cuddy, but Rachel had displayed the troubled pattern of crying all week too. He hadn’t really thought about it, because Cuddy had always been around to take care of her daughter. Or if she hadn’t been, then House had been dropping Rachel off at school - where he could promptly hand her off to a teacher. So he hadn’t really been exposed or forced to handle her crying. But he thought that he should have been better prepared anyway. Because if she’d been upset this long, surely it would have been predictable to think that she would cry more. It certainly didn’t make any logical sense to believe that wouldn’t happen anyway.
But for whatever reason, he had assumed that she would be okay, that he wouldn’t be the one responsible for comforting her. And now that he was, he could see just how ill equipped he was to handle the moment.
“It’s… okay,” he told her lamely.
“No it’s not,” she sobbed. “I, I, I says I be a mail -”
“Mail?” he asked, confused by what she was trying to say.
She corrected herself, sniffing loudly. “Mail. Like a letter.” He didn’t ask why a four year old would want to be a piece of mail. He didn’t ask how the hell she’d thought of that idea anyway or how Marina could have pulled that costume together for her. He wanted to ask all of those questions, but it would be counterproductive to do so. “But she buys me a snail costume. And I was mad, and I says I hate you.”
A few words might have trickled out after that, but he didn’t understand any of them. She was crying too loudly, clinging onto his arm as though that were the only thing keeping her afloat amongst her grief.
Once again, he told her stupidly, “It’s okay.” She shook her head, rubbing her runny nose along the sleeve of his rumpled button down shirt. “No,” he said more strongly. “It really is okay.”
“I was bad.”
“No.” She was annoying and dumb but nowhere near deserving of the guilt she surely felt.
God, he thought at that moment. Biology might have indicated something different, but lack of girl-in-uterus action couldn’t take away from the most obvious of facts at that moment. She was absolutely Cuddy’s daughter. It would have been such a Cuddy quality to feel as guilty as Rachel looked, to assume that one crappy decision somehow indicated something more sinister.
He wasn’t going to share that thought though. Not with Rachel and certainly not with Cuddy herself, because saying any of it aloud would probably create more trouble than making the observation was worth. So he stuck to the matter at hand.
“No. You’re not bad, Rachel.” He ran his hand along her back. He was so uncomfortable having to do any of it that he’d already made a mental note to forget this night as soon as possible. He’d tell Cuddy just enough so that she could deal with Rachel, but how he’d tried to comfort the kid was going to be buried in the deepest, darkest places of his mind so that he wouldn’t ever have to think about it again.
“You just… said something you shouldn’t have,” he said lamely. “That’s not bad. You were angry, and you made a mistake.”
Her response was barely above a whisper. “Didn’t get to say sorry.”
“Well she’s dead now” was what he wanted to tell her. He wanted to point out that whatever Rachel had done, Marina wasn’t going to have any feelings about it now, on account of the fact that she was dead. But he was smart enough to know that reminding Rachel that the nanny was gone was asking for disaster. That would only make her more upset, and he was trying to calm her down, so it would be counterintuitive to make that point.
Taking a different approach, he conceded the point. “I know. But there’s no way you could have known what would happen. You said something you didn’t mean. Everyone does that. Everyone.”
“Like when you told Mommy her butt was big?”
“No, that was true.”
And although he didn’t say this, technically Cuddy hadn’t even been mad that he’d said her ass was big. That was just a fact. What she had objected to was him using her ginormous backside to explain why he’d dropped her when they’d tried to have sex against the bathroom wall. More specifically, she had reacted to the comment after she’d needed to go to the E.R. and get a small row of stitches put in; his ass remark had been the last straw. But it had also been the part of the conversation Rachel had walked in on, so he could understand her confusion. He also understood that under no circumstances could he correct her, which left him with having to gloss over the point. “But yeah, me too. There are no exceptions.”
Rachel didn’t respond. Realistically he hadn’t made her feel any better. There was nothing he was saying that looked anything like comfort, and he realized that. It was an undeniable fact that people tended to be stupid, particularly with the ones they cared about enough to take for granted; he’d always known that love made people incapable of logical thinking, but he never failed to be surprised at how often they (and he) seemed intent on demonstrating that fact.
Truth be told, he had no doubt that she would eventually learn and accept that unfortunate truth. Some day she would be content with it. But today would not be when that happened. And telling her the truth might have been his only option, but it hardly felt like an adequate one.
“Look,” he told her, not wanting to leave things there. “Marina was with you nearly every day from the time you were a baby. She… loved you,” he said, stumbling over the words. “Whatever you said to her, she knew you didn’t mean it.”
Rachel shifted against him. “Really?”
He didn’t know, but he nodded his head anyway. “Sure.”
Although she didn’t say anything, he could tell that he had told her what she needed to hear. She wasn’t crying anymore. She wasn’t talking about her mistake or acting as though she were bad for having said something mean to Marina. And he was grateful for that, because his next tactic, which would have been to say, “Believe me, I’ve said worse things to the woman,” would not have been particularly effective. So he was relieved she calmed down.
But she didn’t stay quiet for long.
“Don’t tell Mommy.”
He looked down at her. “Why not?”
“Please?” She didn’t offer an explanation.
He was torn with deciding what to say. Saying yes seemed like all sorts of wrong. First of all, there was absolutely no way Rachel was going to keep this moment to herself. If she felt guilty, she would eventually tell Cuddy. If she thought he’d helped her and made her feel better, she still would, probably, eventually tell her mother. If only because she was nearly five, she was going to blab about the event, because that was what kids that age did; they didn’t keep secrets, not for any long period of time at least.
And even if she did, by some random chance, keep her mouth shut, that didn’t seem like a good thing. “It’ll be our little secret” was the pedophile motto, something that was only appropriate if he’d spent his Halloween diddling the kid. Since that wasn’t, had never, and would never be the case, he had no interest in doing something that seemed even tangentially related to that. Besides, even without the icky connotations, it was hardly a good idea to keep a secret from Cuddy. Because if Rachel didn’t tell her the truth, if he didn’t blurt it out out of his own discomfort, what it meant was he was keeping something from his girlfriend.
Something she obviously had a right to know, something involving her own daughter.
But on the other hand, he didn’t want to say no. It was obvious what would happen if he did. Rachel would be angry at him; she would yell and fight, because she would see his refusal as some sort of personal affront. And maybe it was, because to trust him with anything was a big step for both of them. They weren’t the kind to confide in one another; they’d never done that. Here she was though, taking that first step towards… he didn’t even know what they might have been moving towards. But it felt like they were making some progress, and it felt wrong to ruin the moment. Especially since that was what Cuddy wanted - progress, right? She didn’t want secrets, but she also seemed obsessed with making all of their relationships work. So maybe it wasn’t wrong…
“Sure,” he said, making his choice on a whim.
The second he said it, he regretted it. He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t made a promise to her, that he could tell Cuddy if he wanted. But the whole thing had the predictable gross feeling that he didn’t want. And even though his acquiescence seemed to make Rachel calm down, inwardly he felt far worse.
Eagerly he tried to push past his discomfort by making his way back to the reason he’d gotten neck deep in this problem to begin with. “So… you want to go trick-or-treating?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Marina would want you to have a good time,” he said, knowing how heavy handed it was.
“I don’t wanna be a stinky snail.”
It wouldn’t be what Cuddy wanted to hear, that was for sure. But at least now he had a reason to offer her when she became upset that they hadn’t left the house. He’d said he wouldn’t tell her about Marina; that didn’t necessarily exclude saying something about the wrong costume.
Then again, if he could make sure Rachel had a nice evening, even without jamming her butt in a costume and dragging her around the block, maybe that was enough. Sure, it wouldn’t be normal, the all-important buzzword for Cuddy. But normalcy was definitely ranked lower than him making headway with Rachel. Cuddy wanted both, but House knew which was far more important to her in the long run.
Knowing that, he pulled out a piece of candy and handed it to Rachel. “Here. Eat some candy.”
She didn’t take it, which was odd, because for the first time that evening, her eyes did wander to the chocolate bar in his hand. Before she hadn’t seemed all that interested. Now though the picture was becoming clearer for him. It was established that she felt guilty for getting in a fight with Marina before she’d died. Rachel, ashamed of her own behavior, had been dead set against doing anything Halloween related.
Now, maybe she really didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of being a snail. He’d seen the costume, with a brown knit hat and huge hump she’d have to lug around. No kid in their right mind would want to walk around the neighborhood looking like that… although it did say something that Rachel had standards low enough to walk around town as an envelope.
But what kid didn’t want to eat candy?
It wasn’t like she had to do anything to get it. He wasn’t telling her she couldn’t have the chocolate until she cleaned her room or did her homework, if the dumb crap she had to do for school really constituted as homework. He wasn’t giving her any caveats whatsoever. This was candy with no strings attached, and either way, all kids loved candy.
If she didn’t want any, there was a reason. If it had been the diabetes or her allergies that made her reluctant, that would have been apparent weeks ago. She would have said something or shown some doubt in August or September when she’d originally started talking about Halloween. Admittedly Rachel tended to think of problems and complications at the last minute. But even she wasn’t dim witted enough to not see this particular issue months beforehand.
This was new though. This wasn’t something she’d been holding inside for months, something that had been bothering her for a while. This was about Marina, about punishment.
“No one’s mad at you,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to make yourself feel bad.”
“I’m not.” Her response was too forceful to truly be believable.
“Okay.” If she wanted to pretend like she didn’t want to hear his words, then he was going to follow suit and act like he didn’t know that. “Then I guess I’ll have to eat this chocolate all by myself.”
“No,” she whined, grabbing the candy bar out of his hand. “My candy.”
“So now it’s your candy.”
“Yes. And you can’t have none.”
“You gonna stop me?” he challenged, pulling at a yellow lollipop.
“I might.”
She didn’t though. What she did do was grab the basket of candy that had been in his lap. Pulling it towards her, she quickly scurried to the other side of the sofa. Apparently, her need for some sympathy was satisfied and done with. And now that she felt better, all she wanted was to hoard her candy and eat it.
That sucked for him, as he would have really liked to eat a few more pieces before she took it. But she’d at least left him the lollipop, and he guessed that, after all he’d already had, he didn’t need anymore.
Somewhat satisfied, he picked up the remote and turned on the movie once more. Quickly Rachel was captivated by the film again. She was far more conservative with her candy consumption than he had been. But he still told her to stop after she’d had a handful. She squirreled away one last piece; of course, she wouldn’t listen to him right away. She did stop, however, placing the bucket on the coffee table in front of her.
And though it was hardly what her mother would have wanted for her daughter, House couldn’t ignore the grin on Rachel’s face. Staying inside and watching movies, contemplating the sugar content in each piece of candy - none of it would qualify as normal. But it had made Rachel happy, and after the last week, he couldn’t help but think that that was good enough for all of them.
*******************************
It was Rachel’s bedtime, and Cuddy still hadn’t come home. Truthfully House wasn’t surprised by that. Part of him had hoped she’d be home earlier than this, but he’d understood that she was under a lot of pressure as of late. She was working on some big deal to get an award-winning researcher to run an ALS study at the hospital. She was negotiating with the nurses to avoid another strike. And that was in addition to what she did on a daily basis. Add to that everything she’d had to do with Rachel this past week, and it wasn’t hard to believe that Cuddy had chosen to go back to work to avoid getting behind.
And that wasn’t even considering the funeral.
House knew how that had turned out. She’d never responded to his text message, had never called him to tell him what was going on, but he knew her. He knew how she reacted to these situations. He knew her guilt. No doubt she had spent that entire funeral thinking how she’d never really known Marina as a person. As the woman who watched her daughter, as a caregiver, sure, but Cuddy didn’t know who Marina was or what she wanted from life. They weren’t friends or family, and surrounded by those who were, Cuddy no doubt felt guilty for taking their loved one from them for all those years. Which meant that, if she weren’t at work, no doubt she was trying to comfort them, trying to make amends for the wrongs that existed only in her mind.
Either way, he wasn’t surprised by her absence.
He was, on the other hand, unhappy about it.
It was Rachel’s bedtime, and it was easy to see that she was tired, exhausted even. But keeping her in bed, getting her to lie down and just attempt sleep was impossible. All she wanted was her mother… who was obviously not there. And though he was trying his best, it still didn’t seem to be enough.
“Just close your eyes.”
She kicked around beneath the covers as though she were uncomfortable. “I want Mommy.”
“She can’t be here right now,” he reminded her, fighting the urge to bang the back of his head against her headboard. “You’ll have to see her in the morning.”
Rachel rolled over onto her stomach next to him. “I don’t wanna sleep in my bed. I wanna sleep in your bed.”
“No, you have to stay here tonight.”
“Why?” she whined.
“Because this is your bed. If you weren’t supposed to sleep in it, we’d just keep a cardboard box in here.”
“It’s too small,” she complained.
At that particular moment, there was no denying that. It was too small. But there was a good reason for that. “Because I’m lying next to you. When I leave, you’ll have plenty of room.”
“I guess,” she said glumly.
“Close your eyes and try to sleep.”
The suggestion made her yawn widely. And it was one she ultimately couldn’t continue to fight, because she was clearly tired. Trick-or-treating hadn’t happened, but between school, her tantrum in the car, and the cool autumn air, she was facing a losing battle. Everything about the bed and her pillows and the warm blankets around her were lulling her to sleep slowly. He watched her fight it as best as she could, but there was no way she was going to win this round.
Slowly but surely, her eyelids seemed to grow heavy. With every couple of slow blinks, she would try to rouse herself. But each time she did that, it seemed to get less and less effective.
Still he didn’t dare move. He’d laid down on the bed thinking that it would help her relax; if he’d just left, she would run straight for his bed. And if he’d stood over her, she would have never fallen asleep, so he’d had no choice but to join her. Unfortunately for him, he was now stuck where he was - at least until she was well and truly out of it.
But that plan shortly became jeopardized, because Cuddy came into the room. She’d been quiet, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t even heard her come into the house; her voice was still low when she said, “Hi.” Yet he worried Rachel would see her mother and instantly shoot out of bed.
Holding his breath, he waited for that to happen. But she barely lifted her head.
“How are you guys?” Cuddy asked, walking to the bed to join them. The second she sat down on the bed, she lowered her head to give Rachel a peck on the forehead. After a brief smile at her daughter, she then leaned over Rachel to kiss him. “Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled against his mouth.
He shrugged but didn’t say anything. Even if there was something to say, now was not the time to register his complaints.
On the other hand, Rachel couldn’t help but slip one of her own into the conversation. “Your boobies is squishing me,” she said petulantly, her voice muffled by Cuddy’s chest.
Cuddy pulled away from him and settled back on the bed. As she hugged Rachel close to her, she must have seen the jealous look on his face; he was thinking how much he would have liked to have Cuddy’s breasts suffocating him, and that must have read on his face, because she told him warningly, “Don’t even say it.”
“Say what?” he asked innocently.
She didn’t answer the question. Her hand smoothing Rachel’s hair back, she asked her, “Were you a good girl?”
House wasn’t sure how she would respond. Part of Rachel obviously thought she was bad, as she had said as much. Of course, she was ashamed of that, so there was a good chance she wouldn’t say it out loud. But he worried that she would anyway. And if she did, what would Cuddy assume?
That he had put that idea in Rachel’s head.
That he had said it.
And if that happened….
Quickly he answered the question for Rachel. “She was fine.”
On a more relaxing day, Cuddy would have surely been suspicious of his ready response. Whether he’d done anything or not, she would have accused him of hiding something. If only because it wasn’t in his nature to inject himself to conversations with Rachel, Cuddy would have thought it was odd. But today, he could clearly get away with it - as evidenced by the fact that he was.
Rather than be suspicious, she kissed Rachel’s forehead once more. “Did Mommy’s little snail go -”
“Not a snail!”
Cuddy was surprised by the outburst. Guaranteed she was going to look at him for an explanation, so before she could even form the words, he supplied, “She didn’t want to go trick-or-treating.”
“So what did you do?” There was no accusation in the question. There easily could have been, but the way she said it, it sounded as though she just wanted to know what they had done.
Slowly he recapped the afternoon and evening’s events. He could have easily said they’d had dinner and watched movies and been done with the conversation in thirty seconds. But he purposely dragged his feet while talking. The longer this took, the more likely it was that Rachel would simply fall asleep in her own bed.
Knowing that, he kept his voice soft and calm. Cuddy would interject every now and then with a question or comment, but she too remained relaxed and quiet. Absolutely nothing about this conversation could seem interesting or exciting, and they both worked effortlessly to make sure it stayed that way. He glossed over any and all discomfort he might have felt at staying home with Rachel. If Cuddy were upset that they’d stayed inside and watched movies, she didn’t say anything about it. She didn’t accuse him of not doing his best to take the kid out; she didn’t complain or judge, even if he thought there might be reason for her to feel that way.
And with everything quiet and boring, it didn’t take more than ten minutes for Rachel to fall asleep. They kept the conversation going for a few minutes longer, just in case she woke up. But she was done for the evening.
The second that became apparent, Cuddy said to him in a low voice, “You go first.”
He supposed that made sense. Rachel didn’t give a crap about him, but she definitely cared about her mother. If she were to wake up at all, it would be because she noticed her mother had gotten up and left.
“Okay,” he said in agreement.
Slowly he eased himself off the bed. Both adults watched Rachel carefully to see if she woke up. Thankfully she didn’t. Still, Cuddy waited a few minutes before getting up herself. Both understood that if they did this too quickly, the chances of Rachel waking up were greater, and they were trying to avoid that.
Eventually though, Cuddy was able to pull away from Rachel’s side and get up without Rachel ever noticing.
What that meant hit him immediately: they could have sex. He didn’t dare voice the words aloud; he didn’t even allow himself to truly contemplate the possibility of it. It just seemed too dangerous to do that. So he forced himself to focus on the task of quietly exiting the room.
Outwardly he tried to remain calm. His heart was pounding, his body pumping blood to places desperate for Cuddy’s touch. But he didn’t let himself even look at her until she’d shut Rachel’s bedroom door behind her.
As soon as the latch clicked though, he abandoned all self-control. His hand clasped around her wrist, and he pulled her to him. Cuddy clearly expected the move, because she eagerly gave in to his touch. With equal intensity, they kissed - lips and tongues meeting with passion. She stepped on his toes, as she pressed her body against his, but he didn’t care.
It had been so long.
And just recognizing that fact made his desire swell to uncontrollable peaks. He needed her now. He couldn’t wait. His hand eagerly caressing the side of her breast, all he could think was that he had to get her in his office or in bed as quickly as he could. He just needed to be inside her as soon as possible.
At that moment though, she pushed him away - not violently, of course, just enough so that there was some space between them. At first he was confused and didn’t get what she was doing. But then he felt her press on his shoulders; she was trying to push him to the floor.
“In front of Rachel’s door?” he asked in a low voice.
“She’s asleep.”
“She could wake up.”
She smiled and kissed him, her tongue briefly touching his. “I locked the door,” she whispered into his mouth.
“That door locks from her side of the -”
“And we’ll hear her before she ever sees anything,” Cuddy said, the frustration obvious in her voice. He hesitated, opened his mouth to object. But she was quick to speak before he could. “Nothing’s going to happen. Now. I want to have sex.” She reached back behind her to unzip her skirt to show how serious she was.
The sound hitting his ears, it instantly silenced any hesitation he might have had. Whatever his feelings had been seconds before, the prospect of having sex with her overrode every logical thought he could possibly have.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled them both to the ground. She let go of her zipper to stop them both from crashing to the floor in a painful heap. But at this point, he wouldn’t have cared if it hurt. He would have accepted pain after the fact if it meant he got fucked now. And if he allowed himself to be eased down to the ground at all, it was because he didn’t want the kid to interrupt them because they’d landed too loudly.
The second his ass touched the ground, Cuddy was straddling him. Her lips were on his mouth, her hands on his fly. Undoing his pants as quickly as she could, she eagerly pulled his straining cock out of his underwear.
“I want you so badly,” she whispered between kisses.
He shoved her unzipped skirt up around her thighs. She was bare underneath, lips perfectly parted for him. His fingers rubbing against her, he could feel her wetness coating his fingers. For all of his suffering, her body was making it clear that she too missed the intimacy they usually shared.
If he hadn’t come to that conclusion on his own though, she was willing to prove it in other ways. As he was about to shove a finger inside her warm hole, she pushed his hand away all together. Her hand around his dick, she lined him up with her body and quickly sank down on top of him.
Instantly he was surrounded by her warmth, by the feeling of her muscles clenched tightly around him. He wanted to cry out, scream because it was that good. But she hastily guided his head to her chest, and her suit coat and breasts muffled the noise.
He stayed that way even when she let go of him. His legs were splayed out in front of him, one of his hands behind him to hold himself up. As she rocked against him, she was simultaneously yanking her skirt up further. Her thighs uncovered more, she could spread her legs further and straddle him better.
She was hot above and around him, her pace somehow both slow and frenzied at the same time. She ground down against him, which let his dick reach new depths inside her warmth. As she fucked him, she rubbed herself against him, using his pelvic bone to stimulate her clit.
He could have touched her. She was so wet that it wouldn’t take much more to make her come. With a little help from his thumb, she could be keening within seconds. But he was too busy forcing her coat open to care.
His single free hand wasn’t dexterous enough to undo the buttons, so he settled for yanking on the neckline.
“Don’t rip it,” she uttered breathlessly. But seeing the slightest hint of cleavage, he didn’t care about anything she was saying.
House buried his face in that tiny v-neck. She smelled like soap and sweat, which was beading along the center of her chest. His tongue darted out to taste her, to have every bit of this encounter in him. She was salty and warm, and there was nothing he wouldn’t have done in that moment to make all of this last forever. To be inside her, to feel her pussy glide over him, her ass bouncing against his legs, her nails digging into his shoulders - it was all he wanted, all he could think of that in that moment.
He nipped at her soft skin, his teeth lightly catching on her breast. She cried out though not loudly. The sound caught in the back of her throat, wobbled over her shaky breath. He could feel her fingers tremor against his shoulders.
She was close.
His cock was slick with her juices. Her pace was quicker, more forceful, and each time his dick bottomed out inside her, he could feel his own need become more and more palpable. It coiled within him hotly, like molten lead in his stomach. It had been so long that it wouldn't take much more for either of them to come.
Her lips hovered next to his ear. As she sank down as low as she could go, she whimpered. And the sound was his undoing. His face pressed into her breasts, his sweat mixing with hers, he came in elongated waves of pleasure. Instinctively he thrust upwards, though he wasn't in a position to do much of anything. The head of his penis hitting her just right, her muscles immediately tightened around him. Her body a delightful vice he couldn't possibly escape, she stilled on top of him. She clutched his shoulders with a bruising grip, and she froze against him.
As the haze of his orgasm receded, he glanced up at her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flush. Every feature of her face seemed tense as she let her body give into the pleasure she too hadn't had for days. He was simply content to watch her do this; although his back and leg hurt, although his clothes clung to him uncomfortably, he was happy to relish the feeling. Her body on top of his, his dick in her pussy - it had been so long that he wasn't ready for the moment to end.
It would have to inevitably, but he was in no rush to go about the rest of his day. He’d spent enough time this past week not being in this position. “Just been fucked” was a description he wasn’t eager to give up.
But after a few minutes, when Cuddy pulled away from him, he knew he had to. He frowned as she helped him stand up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the face he was making.
“Nothing.” It was the truth, he thought, as he went through the uncomfortable task of tucking himself back in his shorts. There really was nothing wrong.
She looked at him pointedly before tugging her skirt back down. “You look unhappy.”
“Because I’m wondering how long it’s going to be before we get a chance to do that again.”
“Don’t start,” she said before heading towards the bedroom.
He followed her, knowing all the while that he probably shouldn’t have complained. He’d gotten what he wanted. For the first time in ten days, he could claim he’d been brought to orgasm by something other than his own hand. And that fact alone should have made him happy enough.
But as reality returned to him, he couldn’t help but feel as though this dry spell was hardly over. They’d gotten laid tonight, but what were the chances that Rachel would stay in her own bed from here on out? What was the guarantee that tomorrow night she wouldn’t be just as upset as she had been the past week?
Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind them, he said to Cuddy, “You need to hire someone.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked as she started to take off her clothes. His gaze lingered on her for a moment; there was no denying how beautiful she was, and he didn’t bother to hide his leering. “I would love to have someone help me out,” she said, drawing his attention away from her body and back to the conversation.
His frown deepening, he went into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he half-listened to her. She was hard to hear over the running tap (which he left going, because he knew she hated when he did that). But he paid attention as best he could.
Did he care what she had to say? Not really. At this point, he could easily guess what her points were going to be. But on the off chance that she would accuse him of not listening (as she did from time to time), he did his best to hear her out.
“But I can’t just hire someone,” she said, her voice muffled through the partially closed door. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who I know can do… what’s necessary if something were to happen. Who can give her her medicine. That’s not just some random person I can find on the street.”
He spit into the sink. “Well, you’re definitely not going to find that person if you’re not even looking.”
When he looked back up, he was taken aback by her reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t heard her push the door open, and unprepared for her presence, he was surprised to see her glaring at him.
Continue on to the next part