Gift of Chicken, Chapter 3.1
Title: Gift of Chicken
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy/House, Rachel
Author's Notes: This was written for paroulis for winning my auction at help_lisa. Since Gift of Screws was started mid-season 6, it's not canon with the direction the show took. As a result, I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't already.
Warning: This piece contains sexual situations. If this offends you, please do yourself a favor and turn away now..
Summary: House and Cuddy struggle to deal with the ramifications of their agreement to make him Rachel's legal guardian.
Previous Parts: Chapter One (Part One), Chapter One (Part Two), Chapter Two (Part One), Chapter Two (Part Two)
Disclaimer: Show isn't mine
Forgiveness had come in the coldest package possible. He hadn’t yelled at her once in the last four days. He was talking to her at least… but it wasn’t normal. He said only what he had to. There were a few light kisses when they were in front of Rachel, which she complained about in spite of the fact that it was being done for her benefit. What was going on between them would not be something Rachel would ever be aware of; they had decided this without needing to discuss it. But when she wasn’t around, Cuddy could see it all over his face: he had no desire to touch her.
There were no comments about her body at work or at home.
There were no mornings where she woke up with his arms around her and his head on her pillow.
There was no sex.
He wasn’t even giving her an opportunity to turn him on. At night he avoided coming to bed until she had fallen asleep. During the day, he had become an expert at skirting around her touch. Charts needed to be looked at, patients seen; Rachel needed her medicine and on and on. He had never been like that before. Even when they were fighting, they usually kept having sex. Instead of avoiding Cuddy, he was perfectly comfortable reliving the argument and all the reasons he thought she was wrong. This time was different.
It was as though he couldn’t bear even the slightest possibility of going through the fight again. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to worry; she had no intention of bringing it up, not when she had been incredibly stupid to do it in the first place. If she did that though, if she apologized for pushing him, that in and of itself would be her discussing the issue again. Or it wasn’t, but he would take it that way.
Since Saturday, she’d tried to think of a means to deliver an apology that would earn her his forgiveness. But there was nothing that would help. She’d thought about saying she was sorry for little grievances and mistakes he wouldn’t notice much less complain about. No, he would see through that. She’d considered leaving him a note in the bathroom. It would say something basic enough - it was never you - or - I’m sorry. They weren’t note writers however; if he saw a scrap of paper in the bathroom, he would either throw it away or not read it at all and put it on her nightstand under the assumption that she’d dropped it. The latter being unlikely, he would probably just read it, sneer, get angry with her for bringing it up, and then throw the note away.
He left her only silence and the constant fear that she would say something wrong to provoke him into drawing this hell out longer. It was making her sick. She had thrown up twice at work, when the day-to-day withdrew into the background and her mind became unable to distract her from what she had done. With the stress physically taking its toll on her, it was unappreciated. How could she be mad at him for it though?
The longer this went on, the more she could see the damage she had done the last two months. Ignoring the good things he did, holding his mistakes against him, forcing him to fear every possible complication for each action he took - she had done that. And if she were in his place now, being treated that way, she couldn’t be angry. She was just getting what she deserved.
That made it harder to fight the treatment she was getting. He wasn’t out of line to behave how he was, and the masochistic part of her felt that she should accept his ire with silence. She had a duty to him though, to make it better. Maybe she had earned this dynamic, but he had done nothing wrong. If she didn’t start making overtures to show her regret, he would believe she thought otherwise, which would only create more problems for them.
The morning of the fifth day since their fight, she decided to tackle that task over breakfast. She’d considered her first move carefully, knowing that he would be all that much harder to reach if she inadvertently upset him. She’d come up with what she felt was a good idea, but even so, she paused over her bowl of mixed fruit while trying to find the courage to say something. Her fork speared in a cube of pineapple, she thought she might get sick if she tried to chew it. Knowing how stupid it was, to be nervous about talking to House, she forced herself to speak up.
“Hey, Rachel. You know whose birthday’s coming up?”
Rachel looked up from her oatmeal and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. At first she shook her head but then stopped and said cautiously, “Mine?”
“Well, yes, eventually… but before that.” Cuddy pretended not to notice the way House had stopped scraping his bread noisily with butter (which he knew she hated) to look at her cautiously. But there was no ignoring him when he answered the riddle.
“She means me.”
There would have been more tension following the comment if not for Rachel’s excitement to diffuse the moment.
“Really?” Rachel nearly shrieked. “It’s your birfday?”
“Not today,” he explained, picking up his knife to massacre his toast once more. “But in a couple weeks.”
“Are you gonna be old?”
“I’m already old.”
Rachel smiled. “I know.”
He hid his amusement, or maybe he only vaguely took pleasure in the exchange, knowing that Cuddy had a point in bringing it up. She had to believe it was the latter, because he looked at her without any warmth in his eyes and said, “I’m assuming there’s more to this conversation.”
Cuddy nodded her head once. “Yes, there is. I was thinking we should do something this year. Considering it’s going to be a big day.”
“It’s just a birthday,” he said with a shrug. But he was being dense purposely, because he knew just as well as she did that his birthday was when they had agreed to file the guardianship papers and explain to Rachel what it would mean.
Since that day was not today, Cuddy didn’t correct him. Rachel, however, felt the need to protest. “But it’s your birfday. You should have a party and, and, cake and a doggie.”
As divided as they had been recently, both adults groaned. House responded first. “We’re not getting a dog.”
Cuddy was quick after him to remind Rachel, “What did we say, Rachel? What did we agree on?”
“We’re not getting a dog,” Rachel parroted glumly.
“And?”
“If I wanna see the doggie, I can’t ask for him no more.” Sadness quickly turned to anger. “This is stupid!”
Cuddy remained composed. “We’re going to go see the dog today, but I’m going to call the vet and cancel if this is how you’re -”
“Nooooo!”
“I know you would like a pet, honey, but it’s just not going to happen right now. Now, if you want to see the dog, we can do that. We will do that this afternoon after school. But I’m not going to keep repeating myself.”
Rachel looked like she wanted to respond, but House, clearly fed up with the conversation, didn’t let her say anything. “Can we return to the topic at hand and get this over with?”
“Yeah,” Cuddy answered. Although she wasn’t immune to his tone, she was eager to stop talking about the goddamn dog. “Specifics aside, I agree with Rachel. We should do something. I -”
“Not something. You obviously have something in mind.”
Fine, she thought. If he were going to push her, she would just have to say it. The suspicion in his eyes meant that he assumed her idea involved his mother, which made it all the more necessary to put the idea forward quickly. “My sister’s cabin. It -”
“Not interested. No offense, but Julia is -”
“Not going to be there,” she interrupted. “I want it to just be the three of us, spending time together.”
“We can’t do that here?”
She didn’t get to answer, because Rachel derailed the conversation to complain about going to school. But Cuddy wouldn’t let the topic drop before he’d gotten the explanation needed. After breakfast, while Rachel begrudgingly found her shoes, as House poured himself another cup of coffee, Cuddy broached the subject once again.
“I think we should go. It’s a nice place, and my sister won’t mind.”
His back having been turned to her, he slowly angled his body around to face her. He didn’t bother to hide the irritation he felt, and that made her think that she had come on too strong with the idea. She was insisting, she told herself. She was supposed to be making him feel like she wanted to do something for him, not that he was obligated to do this for her.
“I don’t mean it like that,” she said abruptly before he could even open his mouth to respond. “I -”
“Just want spend time with me,” he finished. The sentence was completed, however, with far more disdain than she would have. “That’s fine, great. I’m not opposed, but again, we can’t do that here? Without the hours of driving necessary to get to your sister’s house in the woods?”
Cuddy stifled a laugh. There was nothing funny about what he’d said, but in that moment, she could only think of how screwed up they were, how completely wrong this situation was.
To answer the question, she knew she could point out the likelihood of play dates and patients getting in the way of any private celebration. She could mention that, if he were here, Wilson would want to do something with him. In theory, that sounded fine, but in reality, Wilson would take House out to some sort of bar; and in between drinks, House would be made to feel guilty for having found some semblance of happiness while Wilson, the normal one, struggled to find someone. It wouldn’t be intentional. Wilson was screwed up, but he wouldn’t do this on purpose. It just tended to happen when the two men were alone together these days.
But none of that got to the point as succinctly as what Cuddy said: “Because we’re like this here.”
House looked at her as though he wanted to ask her if she thought location would make any difference. And if he did that, she knew she wouldn’t have any response to that, because he was right. It wasn’t the home causing their problems. He didn’t say that though, possibly because that fact wasn’t one either of them wanted to think about.
“Fine,” he said, relaxed, no enjoyment or resentment in the word. “That’s what we’ll do.”
Instinctively she hugged him. For just the briefest of seconds, victory had her forgetting that they weren’t getting along, and she found herself moving into his arms, head on his shoulder when she remembered. Her initial reaction would have been to back away from him, but inertia forced her to complete the act. And though it was odd to be close to him once more, to be in his personal space, with her cheek against his worn pajama t-shirt, the distinct scent of coffee and the slight smell of sweat all around her, she had no desire to pull away from him.
In kind, he wrapped an arm around her, a hand skimming along her ass. Their first act of spontaneous contact in days, it felt nice to be near him once more. Until he ruined it anyway.
“I forgot how wet you get when you get what you want,” he murmured as though she couldn’t hear when he knew full well that she could.
The sentiment bothered her (of course it did); this wasn’t a contest, and she certainly wasn’t looking to win any of their battles. But she was sure that he wouldn’t believe her if she said that, so she ignored that part of the comment and focused on the remaining aspect left to her.
“We haven’t had sex in days. It doesn’t take much,” she half-heartedly joked.
He was amused enough by the remark to pretend like he wasn’t irritated with her. “See, this is what I’ve been saying. Everyone assumes I’m the reason we have sex all the time, but -”
“‘Everyone’?” she asked, lifting her head off of his shoulder. “Who are you talking to about our sex life?”
He shrugged. “Anyone who will listen? Let’s see: Wilson, my team, the neighbors, although that one was kind of necessary cause -”
“You haven’t been able to update them for a while then.” It wasn’t exactly the smoothest way to introduce the problem, but it would do. She didn’t believe that he was discussing their sex life with anyone - well, Wilson maybe, but not anyone else, not seriously anyway. So she figured she might as well steer the conversation to something that actually mattered.
The transparency just amused House. “Really? That’s your seduction technique?”
“It’s just a statement of fact.”
“It’s a complaint,” he corrected.
“Yes.”
“Which you would like me to fix.”
With a sigh, she said, “Desperately.”
“Right now?”
She was already dressed for work, and she still had to drop Rachel off at school, so the answer had to be no. Had to be, but the answer she gave was, “Yes.”
“Not gonna happen.” He didn’t say it, because he knew she needed to leave in the next ten minutes if she wanted to get Rachel to school on time. He didn’t say it, because sex would leave her clothes rumpled and her hair frizzy and because for the rest of the day, Cuddy would look like she’d been fucked. He didn’t even say it, because, if they had sex now, it would be a quickie and not at all the lengthy make up sex she needed. He said it, because denying her would make her that much more interested in having sex; he wanted to drive her nuts with want of him.
There was no point in acting like he wouldn’t get exactly what he wanted.
She opened her mouth to protest anyway, but House quickly asked, “Don’t you think Rachel should have her shoes on by now?” It was a distraction but a successful one.
Cuddy paused, thought about it, decided the answer was yes. “That can’t be good.” She pulled away from House and went to investigate.
She found Rachel in her room, searching for something. “Are you ready?” Cuddy asked conversationally.
“I can’t find my shoes.”
“They should be in your closet.” But when Cuddy opened the door to where all of Rachel’s shoes were kept, there were no sneakers, sandals, or Mary Janes to be found. It was if the shoes had disappeared. Of course, they hadn’t. Understanding the situation immediately, Cuddy whirled around to give Rachel a stern look. “Where did you put them?”
“Nowheres,” Rachel lied. “They missing.”
Cuddy shook her head. “Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Rachel. This isn’t going to work. I know you hid your shoes, so I suggest you find a pair right now and put them on.” Her tone was lethal, but it didn’t have the desired effect until Cuddy added, “Do you want to go see the dog today?”
“Yes,” Rachel cried out, suddenly afraid that she wouldn’t be able to.
“Then get dressed. Now.”
The little girl ran into the hallway and into her bathroom. A pair of sneakers were produced from the bathtub and quickly thereafter velcroed shut on Rachel’s feet.
“Good. I think we’re ready to go then. Is your backpack in the car?”
“It’s on the couch.”
“Then let’s get it. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.”
Knowing that she was in trouble, Rachel didn’t waste time, but Cuddy could see the reluctance in her eyes.
That hesitation boiled over in the car. When they were about two minutes from the school, Rachel said, “I don’t feel good.”
“What’s wrong?” Cuddy assumed that everything was absolutely fine and that Rachel just didn’t want to go to school.
“My tummy hurts” came from the backseat with a whine.
But once they were in the parking lot and Cuddy had a chance to get a good look at Rachel, it was clear that wasn’t exactly the truth. Rachel had no fever, didn’t look pale or discomforted. Cuddy tested her blood sugar just to be sure there wasn’t anything else going on, but everything about Rachel pointed to her being physically fine.
That didn’t necessarily mean that Rachel was lying. It was possible, probable even, that she was so upset about going to school that her mind, under a lot of stress, was making her think she was unwell. Although he tried to hide all illness from her, House had suffered from conversion disorder in the past - usually when he was fighting with Wilson or Cuddy herself. Perhaps Rachel also had a somatoform disorder. It wouldn’t exactly be the oddest thing, especially since she was young and her ability to vocalize the anxiety school gave her was limited.
What the situation did mean, however, was that Rachel would have to go to school. It sounded cruel and definitely felt that way as Cuddy carried Rachel to the front door and forced her inside and into her classroom. Cuddy wished that she had the ability to take Rachel to work with her, that Rachel had never gone to this stupid school to begin with, that all of these problems could be undone. But none of that was possible. Cuddy couldn’t take her daughter to work; Rachel had enough wrong with her that she didn’t need to be exposed to all of the germs that lingered in the hospital. And Rachel had gone to this particular school, and now they would just have to deal with the ramifications of that idiotic choice.
Cuddy was sure the damage was done at this point. When fall came around and Rachel started going to her new school, was there really any chance of all this stopping? Would Rachel know that things would be different? Cuddy doubted it. It destroyed her to know that, but really, what evidence did she have to think otherwise? She had nothing.
Part of her had considered over the last few days whether keeping Rachel in school until summer was a wise idea. There were only a couple of weeks left, but it seemed like there was no benefit to taking Rachel to class every week day, forcing her every step of the way. Yet there weren’t any other options. Rachel couldn’t linger in the hospital all day. Cuddy couldn’t stay home. House might be able to take the time off, but he wouldn’t do well without the mental stimulation work provided. That wasn’t even addressing the fact that he would be using time off that he could probably think of better ways to spend. Since they had no nanny, no daytime babysitter, that limited their choices to Cuddy’s mother (Cuddy couldn’t handle that much consistent exposure to her mother), House’s mother (clearly not going to happen), and… that was about it. There were no other options. School was the only possible solution, unfortunately.
But maybe seeing the dog she’d helped rescue would cheer Rachel up. It was the one bit of hope Cuddy had left, even though she recognized that any happiness gained would be lost the second Rachel had to leave the dog once more. Still… it was something for Rachel to look forward to.
And when Cuddy picked Rachel up from school hours later, it seemed like the dog was enough to put her in a good mood. Normally, Rachel, filled with resentment, would trudge toward the car. Today she was practically jumping up and down as they walked back to where Cuddy had parked. Cuddy very pointedly held onto her hand, but that didn’t stop her daughter from hopping about with excitement.
“Are you ready to see the doggie?” Cuddy asked, assuming that was the cause. Rachel nodded her head enthusiastically. “What’d you do in school today? Anything fun?”
Surprisingly Rachel indicated yes again. “We learned to make paper chains, and we did math problems on the chalkboard, and everyone had to do one, and I got mine right.” She was proud, practically overcome with happiness.
Cuddy felt no differently. It wasn’t unheard of for Rachel to solve a math equation, but sometimes it took a little effort. That was hardly an issue. Rachel was five. Of course it would take time for her to learn the basic rules. But this was one of the first times Cuddy could see that Rachel found any joy in her education. Sure, she enjoyed recess and gym and fun activities like making a greenhouse in a balloon. That was different though. Those were things one did that in and of themselves created pleasure, whether something was learned or not. Math didn’t exactly fall into that category - and Cuddy said that as someone who had considerable talents in that field.
Understanding the magnitude of Rachel’s success, Cuddy stopped where she was in the parking lot. Her hand holding Rachel’s, as a result, she forced Rachel to stop as well. Cuddy crouched down, as best as her tight skirt would allow anyway, and said joyfully, “You did? That’s great! I am so proud of you.” She leaned forward and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Do you remember the math problem?”
“Uhhh, I think it was five plus four. It’s nine.”
“That’s right!” Cuddy exclaimed, grinning widely. “Good job.” She hugged Rachel close to her. “You are so smart, my smart little monkey.”
“Can we go see the puppy now?”
“Of course.” When Cuddy pulled away, it was hard to miss the flush of embarrassment on Rachel’s face. There was no reason for it, but Cuddy decided it would be best to tone down her reaction. Rachel knew she was proud, and that had to be enough. Standing up once more, she grabbed Rachel’s hand and guided her to the car.
An overwhelming sense of anticipation marked the short ride over. It was hard to believe a dog could create so much anxiety, but it was undeniable. Cuddy could feel the yearning from the backseat. That couldn’t be a good sign. She expected Rachel to be completely out of control by the time they entered the vet’s office.
In fact though, Rachel was calm. Quiet. She remained eager, but at the prospect of seeing the dog, she was focused, careful to stay out of the way of the adults as they drifted in and out of the waiting room to help other customers. It was not an intentional act. When Rachel tried to be good to get what she wanted, there was always a moment where she would try to assess how well her efforts were paying off. She wasn’t doing that now. She was too intent on seeing the dog.
After about ten minutes of waiting, someone approached them. “Mrs. Cuddy?” a young man asked. Cuddy nodded to indicate that she was the person he was looking for. “Come this way. We have an exam room with the dog inside already.”
Cuddy grabbed her purse and gestured for Rachel to walk in front of her. As they headed down a hallway to the exam room, Cuddy asked, “How’s the dog doing?”
“Excellent,” the man said. “We just examined him, to make sure that he would be in good enough condition to be seen, but actually, he’s recovered well. Real friendly too.”
“That’s good to hear.” It was a relief; if the dog had been ill tempered, Cuddy wasn’t sure how she would explain that to Rachel.
“Still, he has quite a few stitches left, so we’re trying to avoid exciting the dog too much.”
Cuddy understood the implications immediately and put it more plainly for her daughter. “Do you hear that, Rachel? That means you need to be very gentle with the dog, okay?”
“Okay.”
The man seemed a little doubtful that Rachel would listen, but he pushed open the door to the exam room to let Rachel and Cuddy in. The dog was already inside, not leashed to anything, but it showed no interest in running away. It was too busy lying on the ground, half asleep. (Nevertheless, the man closed the door behind them.)
Cuddy’s first thought on seeing the creature was just how frighteningly large he was. It probably weighed more than she did. Its dark grey coat marred with jagged pink and red lines where its skin had been ripped apart didn’t help make the dog look any friendlier. This was a far cry from the small dog Cuddy had had as a little girl.
“His appearance is shocking, I know,” the man admitted. “But he’s actually quite sweet and patient. We don’t even put a muzzle on him when we examine him, and clearly, he’s been through a lot.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you…”
“Ron,” he supplied.
“Thank you, Ron.”
The reassurance was clearly for her, as Rachel didn’t seem bothered by the dog’s appearance at all. She had yet to touch the animal, but she showed no signs of distress whatsoever. It seemed that if she was being careful at all, it was out of some sort of concern for the dog. Cuddy realized how unlikely that seemed. Rachel was five. As evidenced by her penchant for hitting people, she hadn’t exactly learned self-control yet. But here she was slowly creeping up to the dog, as though one wrong step might hurt him.
“Hi,” Rachel said quietly to the dog, who wagged his tail upon receiving attention. “Do you remember me?” As soon as she got close enough, the dog lifted its head to lick her hands. Then it got up to lick her face, and Cuddy could see on the stomach of the dog a stark white patch of fur that spread up to his chest. Two of its back toes were also white - but just the two, which made Cuddy smile.
With its thick pink tongue lapping at a giggling Rachel, the dog no longer seemed dangerous. Truth be told, it was pretty cute. Cuddy had to remind herself that nothing could come of this. Even though the dog was being gentle with Rachel and she in kind, it didn’t matter. They weren’t getting the dog.
Still… the animal and Rachel couldn’t have been sweeter together. The dog was bigger than Rachel and only somewhat aware of its size. As excited as he got to see her, he never jumped on her. He just tried to lean against her so that she could pet his side better. Rachel stumbled backwards beneath the weight. For a brief moment, Cuddy worried that she might hit the dog. She’d been working on trying to get Rachel to stop resorting to violence when she got upset, but so far, based on the last time she’d had friends over, Rachel hadn’t learned her lesson.
Fearing that she might react negatively to the dog, Cuddy stepped in as a precaution. “Oopsie. Careful there, doggie.” The dog’s ears perked up at the sound, and he took a step toward her. She reached out and gently patted his head, his short fur soft underneath the palm of her hand. “Are you okay, honey?”
Rachel stood back up straight. “Uh huh. He didn’t mean to.” And then she went back petting the dog, this time focusing her attention on the dog’s back. Sometimes, unintentionally, her hands would graze over a spot on the dog that had been sutured up. Each time she did, the animal cringed, clearly in pain. But it didn’t bark, growl, or even move away from her. Thank God, it showed no signs of wanting to bite her.
There was no need to correct her; whenever she made that mistake, Rachel apologized to the dog. Eventually however, Cuddy suggested, “Why don’t you pet him on the head? There aren’t as many stitches up here.”
“Okay.”
That ended up making everyone happier. Rachel could pet the dog and enjoy the feel of his wet, sandpapery tongue against her hand and elbow every now and then. And now, free of discomfort, the dog couldn’t stop wagging his tail so hard that his entire back side wiggled with the effort. As for Cuddy herself… well, it was impossible to look at the affection from and toward her daughter and feel nothing.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t try to be detached. Cute as it all was, it was not something Cuddy needed in her life every day for the next ten years. A dog was more than what she thought she could handle right now. She could barely balance work and Rachel. There was no way a pet could be added on top of that. She would have no help. All right, maybe that wasn’t completely true. Rachel could probably help feed the dog - but only if she were reminded. She could play with the dog, brush it, possibly, but having fun with the animal was never the issue. Who would walk the dog, clean up after it? Rachel was too young. House would be useless. That almost went without saying. Cuddy guessed they could always hire someone, but then what was the point of having a pet?
The dog sunk to the ground abruptly. The sudden movement pulled Cuddy from her thoughts and sent a jolt of panic through her. As a doctor, she had the natural desire to do something to help before realizing that she couldn’t. And then, just as impotence began to set in, the dog rolled over onto his back, so Rachel could rub his stark white belly.
“You’re silly, Chicken,” Rachel said with a giggle.
Cuddy wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take that comment. If the dog already had a name, there was no need to be concerned. But she didn’t think it did, and if Rachel were calling the dog “Chicken” and not a chicken, that didn’t bode well for what would happen when they went to leave.
Reluctantly Cuddy asked Ron, “Is that the dog’s name?” He looked at her as though she were silly for pretending she didn’t already know the answer. She sighed and turned her gaze back to her daughter. “Rachel, I don’t think we can name the -”
“But it’s his name,” Rachel interrupted. She was matter of fact about it, insistent but not in a way that suggested she was angling for a pet. Of course, she was. Or at least, she would. And she probably wasn’t consciously behaving now in order to get a pet, but Cuddy could recognize how carefully this needed to be played out. Sever the relationship too soon, and it would be scarring. Be too subtle, and Rachel might think she had a chance of owning the dog.
As Cuddy prepared herself for the inevitable, Rachel began to explain, “Well… he didn’t tell me or nothing, but it don’t matter. I think he looks like a… a Franklin, but I guess he could be a Toby or a Snoopy or something like that. But I think he needs a nickname. He hasta have one.” She leaned over to pet the dog again.
“Chicken?” Cuddy asked, trying hard not to scoff at the choice of a nickname. Honestly, Cuddy wasn’t sure Rachel knew what that meant, based on her selection. “Oh, Rachel, don’t do that,” she ordered when Rachel suddenly went to rub her face against the dog’s white belly. “That’s not good for your asthma.”
Rachel reluctantly complied. “It has to be Chicken.”
“Why?” Cuddy wasn’t sure why she was even bothering to humor her daughter.
Thankfully, the explanation was quick and to the point. “Cause I’m monkey, and Froggie’s froggie, so Chicken has to be Chicken. And House is House, but that doesn’t make sense, so I don’t know about that….”
It was difficult to explain the emotions Rachel’s words brought forth in Cuddy. That was unfortunate, because she would have to describe this moment to House eventually. But try as she might, she couldn’t articulate what she felt.
The comment was so childish and silly. If anyone else had said it, she would have to make an effort not to roll her eyes. She knew the comment shouldn’t mean anything. It did though - perhaps because seeing this dog was making her nostalgic for her the dog she’d once had, maybe because of this continued… issue with House. Regardless, she felt, above her own embarrassment and inability to comprehend why, certain of two things:
There had never been a possibility of House coming between her and Rachel. Whatever relationship he had forged with their child or would, it wouldn’t change how Rachel treated her. He had said so many times before - “Cuddy, you’re her mother” - but she hadn’t seen it before, the ways in which Rachel was like her, how Cuddy was shaping her daughter. Maybe she’d known, but she had taken it for granted, become so used to it that she no longer appreciated it. With that awful nickname though, there was now no denying that Rachel would always be hers. There had never been a reason to think otherwise.
But she had, even when House had tried to tell her otherwise, even when she’d had enough awareness to draw up the guardianship papers. Because… for some reason, she couldn’t forget the fear. She couldn’t move past it long enough to let House take them the rest of the way in becoming a family. He had never wanted a contest with her, but she would believe that again at some point.
Unless something changed.
And that was why she was certain that she needed the dog. Every time she would hear Rachel call the dog “Chicken,” every time Cuddy thought of the day they brought the animal into their lives, she would be reminded that she had no reason to fear House’s presence in their lives. She would be forced to remember.
But that would mean getting a dog, the very thing House had already told Rachel would never happen.
Loudly Cuddy sighed.
The phone call she was about to make to House would not be easy.
********************
When he heard his cell ring, he wanted to laugh at the situation but didn’t, because it wasn’t funny. It was too early for Cuddy to be at home. The plan had been for her to take Rachel to the vet’s to see the dog, and taking in to account the need for Rachel to pet and play with the creature for as long as possible, he had decided that they would still be there. Which meant that Cuddy wasn’t calling to tell him that things had gone well, the matter had been settled, etc. She was calling, because as he had quietly predicted, she had wimped out on telling Rachel no. She’d fallen in love with the animal herself or once again convinced herself that gaining Rachel’s affections was a contest that she had been losing - something along those lines. Of that he had no doubt. It was all very predictable.
Picking up the phone, he tried to keep his tone even. For now anyway. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to play this yet. “Let me guess. We’re getting a dog.”
She didn’t sound offended when she spoke (meaning he was right), but she didn’t sound happy either (meaning he was right and she hated that). “I didn’t say -”
“So I’m completely wrong?”
There was some hesitation, then, “No. No, I do think we should -”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She was clearly unsure whether to take that to mean that he was all right with her decision. He didn’t know that she was wrong for thinking that way. Truth be told, he didn’t fully understand how he was reacting to the news.
“This some sort of way to prove to her that you’re more….” He stopped mid-sentence, not liking how the words were coming out. He was being too indirect. “Is this to make me look bad?” he asked shortly.
Her answer was immediate. “No.”
“But you do realize that I told Rachel she couldn’t have a dog, and now you’re giving her exactly what she wants.”
It was obvious to House then that he had chosen his response. He was going with anger and accusation.
“It’s not like that, House.” When she scoffed, she added, “Just give me a chance to explain.”
“Pretty sure I already understand.”
“You don’t.”
“Then tell me this is because you fell in love with the dog, that you -”
“Just come home tonight. Okay? Don’t stay at the hospital or hide out in your apartment.”
She couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. She couldn’t say that she’d wanted the dog for personal reasons, so that only left more sinister motivation. It shouldn’t have surprised him. It didn’t surprise him, technically; he’d predicted this would happen. In spite of her desire to make things better, she couldn’t help herself. He knew that about her. But it still felt like…
Didn’t matter, he thought forcefully, pushing down and away the sick feeling of betrayal. She needed an answer, and he gave it to her as dismissively as possible.
“I don’t know. Patient still hasn’t stabilized yet. I might need to stay.”
If she said something in response, he didn’t hear it. He’d hung up the phone before she could object. No doubt, she would find it rude, but the conversation wouldn’t get any better by continuing it.
He wasn’t exactly lying about his patient either. So far his team had just managed not to kill the woman, but she barely being alive was hardly an indication of success. At the rate her body was shutting down, she would be dead soon, which was another reason he had no interest in talking to Cuddy for the time being. Every second spent dealing with that mess was one he wasn’t using to solve his patient’s problems. Besides, there was no question where he was going later. When it came to Cuddy, he could not deny her a chance to explain. Although he doubted she’d be able to, he had never been able to ignore her. Because he loved her, he wanted her to be right. Because she loved him, he forgave her when she wasn’t. And it pained him to acknowledge that this would be no different, but it wouldn’t be. She would be wrong, and he would give her what she wanted anyway.
That fact rolled off of him with an ease that almost made him seem content with the situation. He wasn’t. But its predictable, stagnate nature made his relationship issues less pressing than his case. Cuddy wasn’t going anywhere; his patient might. So he had no trouble focusing on the latter. If anything, he welcomed the distraction, found comfort in the work. The solution didn’t come quickly, but his embrace of the puzzle made his observations sharper. He could tell. Today, he was better at his job. When he was miserable, he was good.
It didn’t surprise him then that he found a diagnosis by the end of the day. He waited around a while afterwards to make sure that he hadn’t missed something. It would be just his luck for his patient to crash, for there to be another complication, so he stayed behind until nine o’clock to see what would happen. A voice inside whispered that he was avoiding the inevitable, but he maintained that was not what he was doing. Not that it mattered much either way; his patient ended up remaining stable, so avoiding Cuddy or not, he now had to go home.
As he slowly walked through the parking garage, he found himself hoping that Cuddy had reconsidered her plan. All day he’d been avoiding thinking about it, but now the keen desire for her to have fixed this was impossible to ignore. Rationally he knew: it couldn’t all just go away; she couldn’t just undo what she’d set in motion, but that was precisely what he wanted. After a long day, it would simply be nice to go home and not have to fight with his girlfriend. He knew better than to think that would happen though.
Standing in front of his bike, he sighed, paused. He loved her. He loved Rachel. He would never be happier anywhere else. He repeated that to himself a few times - not because he had lost sight of that fact, but because inwardly, he railed against the question he didn’t want to ask. He could no longer avoid it though, and he found himself wondering, at what point, did he have to give up? He needed this so much, but when did he have to accept that Cuddy couldn’t - actually could not - give him what he wanted?
His fingers started to move to his pocket for a Vicodin on instinct. He didn’t have any on him, something he dearly regretted at that moment.
No.
No.
Taking Vicodin after Rachel ran across the parking lot had reminded him of how much he liked the drug. He hadn’t ever forgotten, of course. But that small taste renewed in him that insatiable desire for more. He was always mindful of what he had nearly lost because of it, but his addiction made it almost seem worth it. And right now, all he wanted was to descend blissfully into Vicodin’s throes. Taking on Cuddy’s insanity sober made him feel sick to his stomach.
He had no other choice though.
Avoiding her wasn’t an option. Getting high wasn’t one either. Alone, he wouldn’t have cared about giving in to temptation. He couldn’t do that to Cuddy however.
She had never demanded that he make a choice. She was far more understanding than he probably would have been if the situation were reversed. But he felt like he had to make a choice anyway: give up the Vicodin or give up her, because she deserved better than a junkie for a boyfriend. Regardless of what was going on between them, he couldn’t allow himself to put her through that.
He was aware, of course, that he wasn’t exactly telling the truth when he said that. There was a part of him that would think nothing of forfeiting his loyalty to Cuddy in order to stop the pain. No doubt he would regret it… but he would be powerless to stop himself from doing it at the time.
That was the thing though. If he could recognize his interest in sparing her from going through that, it meant that right now he didn’t need Vicodin. He could have this conversation without something to dull his senses.
That didn’t make him feel any better.
As he drove home, he tried to tell himself that it was late, that there was a good chance that Cuddy wasn’t even awake, that this argument could be put off for another day. That also wasn’t very effective in consoling him. But he clung to the possibility anyway out of cowardice.
To his disappointment, when he pulled up to the house, he could see the lights were still on in the living room.
Great.
He considered driving off, but his bike would have made his presence known. He considered leaving regardless and coming up with a lie to explain his disappearance, but Cuddy would know he was avoiding her. That fact didn’t bother him as much as the knowledge that escape wouldn’t help did. If he went back to his apartment, this conversation would happen eventually. And the thing was, it wasn’t to his benefit that they not talk about this. He was pissed - she was the one who should be looking for a way out of this argument, because she was the one who needed to apologize and make things right. He should have looked forward to being able to voice his complaint. Instead, he was hoping for silence. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.
She wasn’t going to change for him; she couldn’t change, so why bother? To fight with her? To be reminded in the most painful way possible that their relationship was reaching its breaking point?
He drew back from the thought as soon as he had it. Rationally, he could tell that he was getting worked up, not over nothing, but over something his own mind was inducing. Just as Cuddy herself was. Technically, it was all her fault. Her terror over this whole thing was making him twist with impatience and self-doubt. But that didn’t mean she was willing to let him go in order to avoid taking the next step in their relationship. He obviously wasn’t willing either, which meant that there was really only one way this would go. Before he’d thought he’d have to back off from being Rachel’s guardian, but that would irrevocably damage their relationship. So Cuddy would have to, some time, give him what he wanted. It was guaranteed.
… He hoped.
His mind circled back, pulled away from the relief he wanted. He had long since understood that there was nothing he could tell himself that would make him feel better. The only person who could do that was Cuddy, was the person who was currently unable to. And even then, even if she were to give him what he needed, after all of this, there was still a good chance that he wouldn’t believe her. The fact that she’d brought up his mother alone was… a serious sign that she didn’t understand what she was doing and that any kindness she offered him was an attempt to mollify him, nothing more.
Thinking of his mother instantly pushed him back into the mindset he’d been trying to escape. The only good part about the disgust he suddenly felt was that he no longer cared about the conversation he was about to have. He was irritated and now ready for a fight, should there need to be one.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Cuddy/House, Rachel
Author's Notes: This was written for paroulis for winning my auction at help_lisa. Since Gift of Screws was started mid-season 6, it's not canon with the direction the show took. As a result, I'd recommend reading that first if you haven't already.
Warning: This piece contains sexual situations. If this offends you, please do yourself a favor and turn away now..
Summary: House and Cuddy struggle to deal with the ramifications of their agreement to make him Rachel's legal guardian.
Previous Parts: Chapter One (Part One), Chapter One (Part Two), Chapter Two (Part One), Chapter Two (Part Two)
Disclaimer: Show isn't mine
Forgiveness had come in the coldest package possible. He hadn’t yelled at her once in the last four days. He was talking to her at least… but it wasn’t normal. He said only what he had to. There were a few light kisses when they were in front of Rachel, which she complained about in spite of the fact that it was being done for her benefit. What was going on between them would not be something Rachel would ever be aware of; they had decided this without needing to discuss it. But when she wasn’t around, Cuddy could see it all over his face: he had no desire to touch her.
There were no comments about her body at work or at home.
There were no mornings where she woke up with his arms around her and his head on her pillow.
There was no sex.
He wasn’t even giving her an opportunity to turn him on. At night he avoided coming to bed until she had fallen asleep. During the day, he had become an expert at skirting around her touch. Charts needed to be looked at, patients seen; Rachel needed her medicine and on and on. He had never been like that before. Even when they were fighting, they usually kept having sex. Instead of avoiding Cuddy, he was perfectly comfortable reliving the argument and all the reasons he thought she was wrong. This time was different.
It was as though he couldn’t bear even the slightest possibility of going through the fight again. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to worry; she had no intention of bringing it up, not when she had been incredibly stupid to do it in the first place. If she did that though, if she apologized for pushing him, that in and of itself would be her discussing the issue again. Or it wasn’t, but he would take it that way.
Since Saturday, she’d tried to think of a means to deliver an apology that would earn her his forgiveness. But there was nothing that would help. She’d thought about saying she was sorry for little grievances and mistakes he wouldn’t notice much less complain about. No, he would see through that. She’d considered leaving him a note in the bathroom. It would say something basic enough - it was never you - or - I’m sorry. They weren’t note writers however; if he saw a scrap of paper in the bathroom, he would either throw it away or not read it at all and put it on her nightstand under the assumption that she’d dropped it. The latter being unlikely, he would probably just read it, sneer, get angry with her for bringing it up, and then throw the note away.
He left her only silence and the constant fear that she would say something wrong to provoke him into drawing this hell out longer. It was making her sick. She had thrown up twice at work, when the day-to-day withdrew into the background and her mind became unable to distract her from what she had done. With the stress physically taking its toll on her, it was unappreciated. How could she be mad at him for it though?
The longer this went on, the more she could see the damage she had done the last two months. Ignoring the good things he did, holding his mistakes against him, forcing him to fear every possible complication for each action he took - she had done that. And if she were in his place now, being treated that way, she couldn’t be angry. She was just getting what she deserved.
That made it harder to fight the treatment she was getting. He wasn’t out of line to behave how he was, and the masochistic part of her felt that she should accept his ire with silence. She had a duty to him though, to make it better. Maybe she had earned this dynamic, but he had done nothing wrong. If she didn’t start making overtures to show her regret, he would believe she thought otherwise, which would only create more problems for them.
The morning of the fifth day since their fight, she decided to tackle that task over breakfast. She’d considered her first move carefully, knowing that he would be all that much harder to reach if she inadvertently upset him. She’d come up with what she felt was a good idea, but even so, she paused over her bowl of mixed fruit while trying to find the courage to say something. Her fork speared in a cube of pineapple, she thought she might get sick if she tried to chew it. Knowing how stupid it was, to be nervous about talking to House, she forced herself to speak up.
“Hey, Rachel. You know whose birthday’s coming up?”
Rachel looked up from her oatmeal and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. At first she shook her head but then stopped and said cautiously, “Mine?”
“Well, yes, eventually… but before that.” Cuddy pretended not to notice the way House had stopped scraping his bread noisily with butter (which he knew she hated) to look at her cautiously. But there was no ignoring him when he answered the riddle.
“She means me.”
There would have been more tension following the comment if not for Rachel’s excitement to diffuse the moment.
“Really?” Rachel nearly shrieked. “It’s your birfday?”
“Not today,” he explained, picking up his knife to massacre his toast once more. “But in a couple weeks.”
“Are you gonna be old?”
“I’m already old.”
Rachel smiled. “I know.”
He hid his amusement, or maybe he only vaguely took pleasure in the exchange, knowing that Cuddy had a point in bringing it up. She had to believe it was the latter, because he looked at her without any warmth in his eyes and said, “I’m assuming there’s more to this conversation.”
Cuddy nodded her head once. “Yes, there is. I was thinking we should do something this year. Considering it’s going to be a big day.”
“It’s just a birthday,” he said with a shrug. But he was being dense purposely, because he knew just as well as she did that his birthday was when they had agreed to file the guardianship papers and explain to Rachel what it would mean.
Since that day was not today, Cuddy didn’t correct him. Rachel, however, felt the need to protest. “But it’s your birfday. You should have a party and, and, cake and a doggie.”
As divided as they had been recently, both adults groaned. House responded first. “We’re not getting a dog.”
Cuddy was quick after him to remind Rachel, “What did we say, Rachel? What did we agree on?”
“We’re not getting a dog,” Rachel parroted glumly.
“And?”
“If I wanna see the doggie, I can’t ask for him no more.” Sadness quickly turned to anger. “This is stupid!”
Cuddy remained composed. “We’re going to go see the dog today, but I’m going to call the vet and cancel if this is how you’re -”
“Nooooo!”
“I know you would like a pet, honey, but it’s just not going to happen right now. Now, if you want to see the dog, we can do that. We will do that this afternoon after school. But I’m not going to keep repeating myself.”
Rachel looked like she wanted to respond, but House, clearly fed up with the conversation, didn’t let her say anything. “Can we return to the topic at hand and get this over with?”
“Yeah,” Cuddy answered. Although she wasn’t immune to his tone, she was eager to stop talking about the goddamn dog. “Specifics aside, I agree with Rachel. We should do something. I -”
“Not something. You obviously have something in mind.”
Fine, she thought. If he were going to push her, she would just have to say it. The suspicion in his eyes meant that he assumed her idea involved his mother, which made it all the more necessary to put the idea forward quickly. “My sister’s cabin. It -”
“Not interested. No offense, but Julia is -”
“Not going to be there,” she interrupted. “I want it to just be the three of us, spending time together.”
“We can’t do that here?”
She didn’t get to answer, because Rachel derailed the conversation to complain about going to school. But Cuddy wouldn’t let the topic drop before he’d gotten the explanation needed. After breakfast, while Rachel begrudgingly found her shoes, as House poured himself another cup of coffee, Cuddy broached the subject once again.
“I think we should go. It’s a nice place, and my sister won’t mind.”
His back having been turned to her, he slowly angled his body around to face her. He didn’t bother to hide the irritation he felt, and that made her think that she had come on too strong with the idea. She was insisting, she told herself. She was supposed to be making him feel like she wanted to do something for him, not that he was obligated to do this for her.
“I don’t mean it like that,” she said abruptly before he could even open his mouth to respond. “I -”
“Just want spend time with me,” he finished. The sentence was completed, however, with far more disdain than she would have. “That’s fine, great. I’m not opposed, but again, we can’t do that here? Without the hours of driving necessary to get to your sister’s house in the woods?”
Cuddy stifled a laugh. There was nothing funny about what he’d said, but in that moment, she could only think of how screwed up they were, how completely wrong this situation was.
To answer the question, she knew she could point out the likelihood of play dates and patients getting in the way of any private celebration. She could mention that, if he were here, Wilson would want to do something with him. In theory, that sounded fine, but in reality, Wilson would take House out to some sort of bar; and in between drinks, House would be made to feel guilty for having found some semblance of happiness while Wilson, the normal one, struggled to find someone. It wouldn’t be intentional. Wilson was screwed up, but he wouldn’t do this on purpose. It just tended to happen when the two men were alone together these days.
But none of that got to the point as succinctly as what Cuddy said: “Because we’re like this here.”
House looked at her as though he wanted to ask her if she thought location would make any difference. And if he did that, she knew she wouldn’t have any response to that, because he was right. It wasn’t the home causing their problems. He didn’t say that though, possibly because that fact wasn’t one either of them wanted to think about.
“Fine,” he said, relaxed, no enjoyment or resentment in the word. “That’s what we’ll do.”
Instinctively she hugged him. For just the briefest of seconds, victory had her forgetting that they weren’t getting along, and she found herself moving into his arms, head on his shoulder when she remembered. Her initial reaction would have been to back away from him, but inertia forced her to complete the act. And though it was odd to be close to him once more, to be in his personal space, with her cheek against his worn pajama t-shirt, the distinct scent of coffee and the slight smell of sweat all around her, she had no desire to pull away from him.
In kind, he wrapped an arm around her, a hand skimming along her ass. Their first act of spontaneous contact in days, it felt nice to be near him once more. Until he ruined it anyway.
“I forgot how wet you get when you get what you want,” he murmured as though she couldn’t hear when he knew full well that she could.
The sentiment bothered her (of course it did); this wasn’t a contest, and she certainly wasn’t looking to win any of their battles. But she was sure that he wouldn’t believe her if she said that, so she ignored that part of the comment and focused on the remaining aspect left to her.
“We haven’t had sex in days. It doesn’t take much,” she half-heartedly joked.
He was amused enough by the remark to pretend like he wasn’t irritated with her. “See, this is what I’ve been saying. Everyone assumes I’m the reason we have sex all the time, but -”
“‘Everyone’?” she asked, lifting her head off of his shoulder. “Who are you talking to about our sex life?”
He shrugged. “Anyone who will listen? Let’s see: Wilson, my team, the neighbors, although that one was kind of necessary cause -”
“You haven’t been able to update them for a while then.” It wasn’t exactly the smoothest way to introduce the problem, but it would do. She didn’t believe that he was discussing their sex life with anyone - well, Wilson maybe, but not anyone else, not seriously anyway. So she figured she might as well steer the conversation to something that actually mattered.
The transparency just amused House. “Really? That’s your seduction technique?”
“It’s just a statement of fact.”
“It’s a complaint,” he corrected.
“Yes.”
“Which you would like me to fix.”
With a sigh, she said, “Desperately.”
“Right now?”
She was already dressed for work, and she still had to drop Rachel off at school, so the answer had to be no. Had to be, but the answer she gave was, “Yes.”
“Not gonna happen.” He didn’t say it, because he knew she needed to leave in the next ten minutes if she wanted to get Rachel to school on time. He didn’t say it, because sex would leave her clothes rumpled and her hair frizzy and because for the rest of the day, Cuddy would look like she’d been fucked. He didn’t even say it, because, if they had sex now, it would be a quickie and not at all the lengthy make up sex she needed. He said it, because denying her would make her that much more interested in having sex; he wanted to drive her nuts with want of him.
There was no point in acting like he wouldn’t get exactly what he wanted.
She opened her mouth to protest anyway, but House quickly asked, “Don’t you think Rachel should have her shoes on by now?” It was a distraction but a successful one.
Cuddy paused, thought about it, decided the answer was yes. “That can’t be good.” She pulled away from House and went to investigate.
She found Rachel in her room, searching for something. “Are you ready?” Cuddy asked conversationally.
“I can’t find my shoes.”
“They should be in your closet.” But when Cuddy opened the door to where all of Rachel’s shoes were kept, there were no sneakers, sandals, or Mary Janes to be found. It was if the shoes had disappeared. Of course, they hadn’t. Understanding the situation immediately, Cuddy whirled around to give Rachel a stern look. “Where did you put them?”
“Nowheres,” Rachel lied. “They missing.”
Cuddy shook her head. “Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Rachel. This isn’t going to work. I know you hid your shoes, so I suggest you find a pair right now and put them on.” Her tone was lethal, but it didn’t have the desired effect until Cuddy added, “Do you want to go see the dog today?”
“Yes,” Rachel cried out, suddenly afraid that she wouldn’t be able to.
“Then get dressed. Now.”
The little girl ran into the hallway and into her bathroom. A pair of sneakers were produced from the bathtub and quickly thereafter velcroed shut on Rachel’s feet.
“Good. I think we’re ready to go then. Is your backpack in the car?”
“It’s on the couch.”
“Then let’s get it. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.”
Knowing that she was in trouble, Rachel didn’t waste time, but Cuddy could see the reluctance in her eyes.
That hesitation boiled over in the car. When they were about two minutes from the school, Rachel said, “I don’t feel good.”
“What’s wrong?” Cuddy assumed that everything was absolutely fine and that Rachel just didn’t want to go to school.
“My tummy hurts” came from the backseat with a whine.
But once they were in the parking lot and Cuddy had a chance to get a good look at Rachel, it was clear that wasn’t exactly the truth. Rachel had no fever, didn’t look pale or discomforted. Cuddy tested her blood sugar just to be sure there wasn’t anything else going on, but everything about Rachel pointed to her being physically fine.
That didn’t necessarily mean that Rachel was lying. It was possible, probable even, that she was so upset about going to school that her mind, under a lot of stress, was making her think she was unwell. Although he tried to hide all illness from her, House had suffered from conversion disorder in the past - usually when he was fighting with Wilson or Cuddy herself. Perhaps Rachel also had a somatoform disorder. It wouldn’t exactly be the oddest thing, especially since she was young and her ability to vocalize the anxiety school gave her was limited.
What the situation did mean, however, was that Rachel would have to go to school. It sounded cruel and definitely felt that way as Cuddy carried Rachel to the front door and forced her inside and into her classroom. Cuddy wished that she had the ability to take Rachel to work with her, that Rachel had never gone to this stupid school to begin with, that all of these problems could be undone. But none of that was possible. Cuddy couldn’t take her daughter to work; Rachel had enough wrong with her that she didn’t need to be exposed to all of the germs that lingered in the hospital. And Rachel had gone to this particular school, and now they would just have to deal with the ramifications of that idiotic choice.
Cuddy was sure the damage was done at this point. When fall came around and Rachel started going to her new school, was there really any chance of all this stopping? Would Rachel know that things would be different? Cuddy doubted it. It destroyed her to know that, but really, what evidence did she have to think otherwise? She had nothing.
Part of her had considered over the last few days whether keeping Rachel in school until summer was a wise idea. There were only a couple of weeks left, but it seemed like there was no benefit to taking Rachel to class every week day, forcing her every step of the way. Yet there weren’t any other options. Rachel couldn’t linger in the hospital all day. Cuddy couldn’t stay home. House might be able to take the time off, but he wouldn’t do well without the mental stimulation work provided. That wasn’t even addressing the fact that he would be using time off that he could probably think of better ways to spend. Since they had no nanny, no daytime babysitter, that limited their choices to Cuddy’s mother (Cuddy couldn’t handle that much consistent exposure to her mother), House’s mother (clearly not going to happen), and… that was about it. There were no other options. School was the only possible solution, unfortunately.
But maybe seeing the dog she’d helped rescue would cheer Rachel up. It was the one bit of hope Cuddy had left, even though she recognized that any happiness gained would be lost the second Rachel had to leave the dog once more. Still… it was something for Rachel to look forward to.
And when Cuddy picked Rachel up from school hours later, it seemed like the dog was enough to put her in a good mood. Normally, Rachel, filled with resentment, would trudge toward the car. Today she was practically jumping up and down as they walked back to where Cuddy had parked. Cuddy very pointedly held onto her hand, but that didn’t stop her daughter from hopping about with excitement.
“Are you ready to see the doggie?” Cuddy asked, assuming that was the cause. Rachel nodded her head enthusiastically. “What’d you do in school today? Anything fun?”
Surprisingly Rachel indicated yes again. “We learned to make paper chains, and we did math problems on the chalkboard, and everyone had to do one, and I got mine right.” She was proud, practically overcome with happiness.
Cuddy felt no differently. It wasn’t unheard of for Rachel to solve a math equation, but sometimes it took a little effort. That was hardly an issue. Rachel was five. Of course it would take time for her to learn the basic rules. But this was one of the first times Cuddy could see that Rachel found any joy in her education. Sure, she enjoyed recess and gym and fun activities like making a greenhouse in a balloon. That was different though. Those were things one did that in and of themselves created pleasure, whether something was learned or not. Math didn’t exactly fall into that category - and Cuddy said that as someone who had considerable talents in that field.
Understanding the magnitude of Rachel’s success, Cuddy stopped where she was in the parking lot. Her hand holding Rachel’s, as a result, she forced Rachel to stop as well. Cuddy crouched down, as best as her tight skirt would allow anyway, and said joyfully, “You did? That’s great! I am so proud of you.” She leaned forward and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Do you remember the math problem?”
“Uhhh, I think it was five plus four. It’s nine.”
“That’s right!” Cuddy exclaimed, grinning widely. “Good job.” She hugged Rachel close to her. “You are so smart, my smart little monkey.”
“Can we go see the puppy now?”
“Of course.” When Cuddy pulled away, it was hard to miss the flush of embarrassment on Rachel’s face. There was no reason for it, but Cuddy decided it would be best to tone down her reaction. Rachel knew she was proud, and that had to be enough. Standing up once more, she grabbed Rachel’s hand and guided her to the car.
An overwhelming sense of anticipation marked the short ride over. It was hard to believe a dog could create so much anxiety, but it was undeniable. Cuddy could feel the yearning from the backseat. That couldn’t be a good sign. She expected Rachel to be completely out of control by the time they entered the vet’s office.
In fact though, Rachel was calm. Quiet. She remained eager, but at the prospect of seeing the dog, she was focused, careful to stay out of the way of the adults as they drifted in and out of the waiting room to help other customers. It was not an intentional act. When Rachel tried to be good to get what she wanted, there was always a moment where she would try to assess how well her efforts were paying off. She wasn’t doing that now. She was too intent on seeing the dog.
After about ten minutes of waiting, someone approached them. “Mrs. Cuddy?” a young man asked. Cuddy nodded to indicate that she was the person he was looking for. “Come this way. We have an exam room with the dog inside already.”
Cuddy grabbed her purse and gestured for Rachel to walk in front of her. As they headed down a hallway to the exam room, Cuddy asked, “How’s the dog doing?”
“Excellent,” the man said. “We just examined him, to make sure that he would be in good enough condition to be seen, but actually, he’s recovered well. Real friendly too.”
“That’s good to hear.” It was a relief; if the dog had been ill tempered, Cuddy wasn’t sure how she would explain that to Rachel.
“Still, he has quite a few stitches left, so we’re trying to avoid exciting the dog too much.”
Cuddy understood the implications immediately and put it more plainly for her daughter. “Do you hear that, Rachel? That means you need to be very gentle with the dog, okay?”
“Okay.”
The man seemed a little doubtful that Rachel would listen, but he pushed open the door to the exam room to let Rachel and Cuddy in. The dog was already inside, not leashed to anything, but it showed no interest in running away. It was too busy lying on the ground, half asleep. (Nevertheless, the man closed the door behind them.)
Cuddy’s first thought on seeing the creature was just how frighteningly large he was. It probably weighed more than she did. Its dark grey coat marred with jagged pink and red lines where its skin had been ripped apart didn’t help make the dog look any friendlier. This was a far cry from the small dog Cuddy had had as a little girl.
“His appearance is shocking, I know,” the man admitted. “But he’s actually quite sweet and patient. We don’t even put a muzzle on him when we examine him, and clearly, he’s been through a lot.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you…”
“Ron,” he supplied.
“Thank you, Ron.”
The reassurance was clearly for her, as Rachel didn’t seem bothered by the dog’s appearance at all. She had yet to touch the animal, but she showed no signs of distress whatsoever. It seemed that if she was being careful at all, it was out of some sort of concern for the dog. Cuddy realized how unlikely that seemed. Rachel was five. As evidenced by her penchant for hitting people, she hadn’t exactly learned self-control yet. But here she was slowly creeping up to the dog, as though one wrong step might hurt him.
“Hi,” Rachel said quietly to the dog, who wagged his tail upon receiving attention. “Do you remember me?” As soon as she got close enough, the dog lifted its head to lick her hands. Then it got up to lick her face, and Cuddy could see on the stomach of the dog a stark white patch of fur that spread up to his chest. Two of its back toes were also white - but just the two, which made Cuddy smile.
With its thick pink tongue lapping at a giggling Rachel, the dog no longer seemed dangerous. Truth be told, it was pretty cute. Cuddy had to remind herself that nothing could come of this. Even though the dog was being gentle with Rachel and she in kind, it didn’t matter. They weren’t getting the dog.
Still… the animal and Rachel couldn’t have been sweeter together. The dog was bigger than Rachel and only somewhat aware of its size. As excited as he got to see her, he never jumped on her. He just tried to lean against her so that she could pet his side better. Rachel stumbled backwards beneath the weight. For a brief moment, Cuddy worried that she might hit the dog. She’d been working on trying to get Rachel to stop resorting to violence when she got upset, but so far, based on the last time she’d had friends over, Rachel hadn’t learned her lesson.
Fearing that she might react negatively to the dog, Cuddy stepped in as a precaution. “Oopsie. Careful there, doggie.” The dog’s ears perked up at the sound, and he took a step toward her. She reached out and gently patted his head, his short fur soft underneath the palm of her hand. “Are you okay, honey?”
Rachel stood back up straight. “Uh huh. He didn’t mean to.” And then she went back petting the dog, this time focusing her attention on the dog’s back. Sometimes, unintentionally, her hands would graze over a spot on the dog that had been sutured up. Each time she did, the animal cringed, clearly in pain. But it didn’t bark, growl, or even move away from her. Thank God, it showed no signs of wanting to bite her.
There was no need to correct her; whenever she made that mistake, Rachel apologized to the dog. Eventually however, Cuddy suggested, “Why don’t you pet him on the head? There aren’t as many stitches up here.”
“Okay.”
That ended up making everyone happier. Rachel could pet the dog and enjoy the feel of his wet, sandpapery tongue against her hand and elbow every now and then. And now, free of discomfort, the dog couldn’t stop wagging his tail so hard that his entire back side wiggled with the effort. As for Cuddy herself… well, it was impossible to look at the affection from and toward her daughter and feel nothing.
That wasn’t to say she didn’t try to be detached. Cute as it all was, it was not something Cuddy needed in her life every day for the next ten years. A dog was more than what she thought she could handle right now. She could barely balance work and Rachel. There was no way a pet could be added on top of that. She would have no help. All right, maybe that wasn’t completely true. Rachel could probably help feed the dog - but only if she were reminded. She could play with the dog, brush it, possibly, but having fun with the animal was never the issue. Who would walk the dog, clean up after it? Rachel was too young. House would be useless. That almost went without saying. Cuddy guessed they could always hire someone, but then what was the point of having a pet?
The dog sunk to the ground abruptly. The sudden movement pulled Cuddy from her thoughts and sent a jolt of panic through her. As a doctor, she had the natural desire to do something to help before realizing that she couldn’t. And then, just as impotence began to set in, the dog rolled over onto his back, so Rachel could rub his stark white belly.
“You’re silly, Chicken,” Rachel said with a giggle.
Cuddy wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take that comment. If the dog already had a name, there was no need to be concerned. But she didn’t think it did, and if Rachel were calling the dog “Chicken” and not a chicken, that didn’t bode well for what would happen when they went to leave.
Reluctantly Cuddy asked Ron, “Is that the dog’s name?” He looked at her as though she were silly for pretending she didn’t already know the answer. She sighed and turned her gaze back to her daughter. “Rachel, I don’t think we can name the -”
“But it’s his name,” Rachel interrupted. She was matter of fact about it, insistent but not in a way that suggested she was angling for a pet. Of course, she was. Or at least, she would. And she probably wasn’t consciously behaving now in order to get a pet, but Cuddy could recognize how carefully this needed to be played out. Sever the relationship too soon, and it would be scarring. Be too subtle, and Rachel might think she had a chance of owning the dog.
As Cuddy prepared herself for the inevitable, Rachel began to explain, “Well… he didn’t tell me or nothing, but it don’t matter. I think he looks like a… a Franklin, but I guess he could be a Toby or a Snoopy or something like that. But I think he needs a nickname. He hasta have one.” She leaned over to pet the dog again.
“Chicken?” Cuddy asked, trying hard not to scoff at the choice of a nickname. Honestly, Cuddy wasn’t sure Rachel knew what that meant, based on her selection. “Oh, Rachel, don’t do that,” she ordered when Rachel suddenly went to rub her face against the dog’s white belly. “That’s not good for your asthma.”
Rachel reluctantly complied. “It has to be Chicken.”
“Why?” Cuddy wasn’t sure why she was even bothering to humor her daughter.
Thankfully, the explanation was quick and to the point. “Cause I’m monkey, and Froggie’s froggie, so Chicken has to be Chicken. And House is House, but that doesn’t make sense, so I don’t know about that….”
It was difficult to explain the emotions Rachel’s words brought forth in Cuddy. That was unfortunate, because she would have to describe this moment to House eventually. But try as she might, she couldn’t articulate what she felt.
The comment was so childish and silly. If anyone else had said it, she would have to make an effort not to roll her eyes. She knew the comment shouldn’t mean anything. It did though - perhaps because seeing this dog was making her nostalgic for her the dog she’d once had, maybe because of this continued… issue with House. Regardless, she felt, above her own embarrassment and inability to comprehend why, certain of two things:
There had never been a possibility of House coming between her and Rachel. Whatever relationship he had forged with their child or would, it wouldn’t change how Rachel treated her. He had said so many times before - “Cuddy, you’re her mother” - but she hadn’t seen it before, the ways in which Rachel was like her, how Cuddy was shaping her daughter. Maybe she’d known, but she had taken it for granted, become so used to it that she no longer appreciated it. With that awful nickname though, there was now no denying that Rachel would always be hers. There had never been a reason to think otherwise.
But she had, even when House had tried to tell her otherwise, even when she’d had enough awareness to draw up the guardianship papers. Because… for some reason, she couldn’t forget the fear. She couldn’t move past it long enough to let House take them the rest of the way in becoming a family. He had never wanted a contest with her, but she would believe that again at some point.
Unless something changed.
And that was why she was certain that she needed the dog. Every time she would hear Rachel call the dog “Chicken,” every time Cuddy thought of the day they brought the animal into their lives, she would be reminded that she had no reason to fear House’s presence in their lives. She would be forced to remember.
But that would mean getting a dog, the very thing House had already told Rachel would never happen.
Loudly Cuddy sighed.
The phone call she was about to make to House would not be easy.
********************
When he heard his cell ring, he wanted to laugh at the situation but didn’t, because it wasn’t funny. It was too early for Cuddy to be at home. The plan had been for her to take Rachel to the vet’s to see the dog, and taking in to account the need for Rachel to pet and play with the creature for as long as possible, he had decided that they would still be there. Which meant that Cuddy wasn’t calling to tell him that things had gone well, the matter had been settled, etc. She was calling, because as he had quietly predicted, she had wimped out on telling Rachel no. She’d fallen in love with the animal herself or once again convinced herself that gaining Rachel’s affections was a contest that she had been losing - something along those lines. Of that he had no doubt. It was all very predictable.
Picking up the phone, he tried to keep his tone even. For now anyway. He wasn’t sure how he wanted to play this yet. “Let me guess. We’re getting a dog.”
She didn’t sound offended when she spoke (meaning he was right), but she didn’t sound happy either (meaning he was right and she hated that). “I didn’t say -”
“So I’m completely wrong?”
There was some hesitation, then, “No. No, I do think we should -”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She was clearly unsure whether to take that to mean that he was all right with her decision. He didn’t know that she was wrong for thinking that way. Truth be told, he didn’t fully understand how he was reacting to the news.
“This some sort of way to prove to her that you’re more….” He stopped mid-sentence, not liking how the words were coming out. He was being too indirect. “Is this to make me look bad?” he asked shortly.
Her answer was immediate. “No.”
“But you do realize that I told Rachel she couldn’t have a dog, and now you’re giving her exactly what she wants.”
It was obvious to House then that he had chosen his response. He was going with anger and accusation.
“It’s not like that, House.” When she scoffed, she added, “Just give me a chance to explain.”
“Pretty sure I already understand.”
“You don’t.”
“Then tell me this is because you fell in love with the dog, that you -”
“Just come home tonight. Okay? Don’t stay at the hospital or hide out in your apartment.”
She couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. She couldn’t say that she’d wanted the dog for personal reasons, so that only left more sinister motivation. It shouldn’t have surprised him. It didn’t surprise him, technically; he’d predicted this would happen. In spite of her desire to make things better, she couldn’t help herself. He knew that about her. But it still felt like…
Didn’t matter, he thought forcefully, pushing down and away the sick feeling of betrayal. She needed an answer, and he gave it to her as dismissively as possible.
“I don’t know. Patient still hasn’t stabilized yet. I might need to stay.”
If she said something in response, he didn’t hear it. He’d hung up the phone before she could object. No doubt, she would find it rude, but the conversation wouldn’t get any better by continuing it.
He wasn’t exactly lying about his patient either. So far his team had just managed not to kill the woman, but she barely being alive was hardly an indication of success. At the rate her body was shutting down, she would be dead soon, which was another reason he had no interest in talking to Cuddy for the time being. Every second spent dealing with that mess was one he wasn’t using to solve his patient’s problems. Besides, there was no question where he was going later. When it came to Cuddy, he could not deny her a chance to explain. Although he doubted she’d be able to, he had never been able to ignore her. Because he loved her, he wanted her to be right. Because she loved him, he forgave her when she wasn’t. And it pained him to acknowledge that this would be no different, but it wouldn’t be. She would be wrong, and he would give her what she wanted anyway.
That fact rolled off of him with an ease that almost made him seem content with the situation. He wasn’t. But its predictable, stagnate nature made his relationship issues less pressing than his case. Cuddy wasn’t going anywhere; his patient might. So he had no trouble focusing on the latter. If anything, he welcomed the distraction, found comfort in the work. The solution didn’t come quickly, but his embrace of the puzzle made his observations sharper. He could tell. Today, he was better at his job. When he was miserable, he was good.
It didn’t surprise him then that he found a diagnosis by the end of the day. He waited around a while afterwards to make sure that he hadn’t missed something. It would be just his luck for his patient to crash, for there to be another complication, so he stayed behind until nine o’clock to see what would happen. A voice inside whispered that he was avoiding the inevitable, but he maintained that was not what he was doing. Not that it mattered much either way; his patient ended up remaining stable, so avoiding Cuddy or not, he now had to go home.
As he slowly walked through the parking garage, he found himself hoping that Cuddy had reconsidered her plan. All day he’d been avoiding thinking about it, but now the keen desire for her to have fixed this was impossible to ignore. Rationally he knew: it couldn’t all just go away; she couldn’t just undo what she’d set in motion, but that was precisely what he wanted. After a long day, it would simply be nice to go home and not have to fight with his girlfriend. He knew better than to think that would happen though.
Standing in front of his bike, he sighed, paused. He loved her. He loved Rachel. He would never be happier anywhere else. He repeated that to himself a few times - not because he had lost sight of that fact, but because inwardly, he railed against the question he didn’t want to ask. He could no longer avoid it though, and he found himself wondering, at what point, did he have to give up? He needed this so much, but when did he have to accept that Cuddy couldn’t - actually could not - give him what he wanted?
His fingers started to move to his pocket for a Vicodin on instinct. He didn’t have any on him, something he dearly regretted at that moment.
No.
No.
Taking Vicodin after Rachel ran across the parking lot had reminded him of how much he liked the drug. He hadn’t ever forgotten, of course. But that small taste renewed in him that insatiable desire for more. He was always mindful of what he had nearly lost because of it, but his addiction made it almost seem worth it. And right now, all he wanted was to descend blissfully into Vicodin’s throes. Taking on Cuddy’s insanity sober made him feel sick to his stomach.
He had no other choice though.
Avoiding her wasn’t an option. Getting high wasn’t one either. Alone, he wouldn’t have cared about giving in to temptation. He couldn’t do that to Cuddy however.
She had never demanded that he make a choice. She was far more understanding than he probably would have been if the situation were reversed. But he felt like he had to make a choice anyway: give up the Vicodin or give up her, because she deserved better than a junkie for a boyfriend. Regardless of what was going on between them, he couldn’t allow himself to put her through that.
He was aware, of course, that he wasn’t exactly telling the truth when he said that. There was a part of him that would think nothing of forfeiting his loyalty to Cuddy in order to stop the pain. No doubt he would regret it… but he would be powerless to stop himself from doing it at the time.
That was the thing though. If he could recognize his interest in sparing her from going through that, it meant that right now he didn’t need Vicodin. He could have this conversation without something to dull his senses.
That didn’t make him feel any better.
As he drove home, he tried to tell himself that it was late, that there was a good chance that Cuddy wasn’t even awake, that this argument could be put off for another day. That also wasn’t very effective in consoling him. But he clung to the possibility anyway out of cowardice.
To his disappointment, when he pulled up to the house, he could see the lights were still on in the living room.
Great.
He considered driving off, but his bike would have made his presence known. He considered leaving regardless and coming up with a lie to explain his disappearance, but Cuddy would know he was avoiding her. That fact didn’t bother him as much as the knowledge that escape wouldn’t help did. If he went back to his apartment, this conversation would happen eventually. And the thing was, it wasn’t to his benefit that they not talk about this. He was pissed - she was the one who should be looking for a way out of this argument, because she was the one who needed to apologize and make things right. He should have looked forward to being able to voice his complaint. Instead, he was hoping for silence. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.
She wasn’t going to change for him; she couldn’t change, so why bother? To fight with her? To be reminded in the most painful way possible that their relationship was reaching its breaking point?
He drew back from the thought as soon as he had it. Rationally, he could tell that he was getting worked up, not over nothing, but over something his own mind was inducing. Just as Cuddy herself was. Technically, it was all her fault. Her terror over this whole thing was making him twist with impatience and self-doubt. But that didn’t mean she was willing to let him go in order to avoid taking the next step in their relationship. He obviously wasn’t willing either, which meant that there was really only one way this would go. Before he’d thought he’d have to back off from being Rachel’s guardian, but that would irrevocably damage their relationship. So Cuddy would have to, some time, give him what he wanted. It was guaranteed.
… He hoped.
His mind circled back, pulled away from the relief he wanted. He had long since understood that there was nothing he could tell himself that would make him feel better. The only person who could do that was Cuddy, was the person who was currently unable to. And even then, even if she were to give him what he needed, after all of this, there was still a good chance that he wouldn’t believe her. The fact that she’d brought up his mother alone was… a serious sign that she didn’t understand what she was doing and that any kindness she offered him was an attempt to mollify him, nothing more.
Thinking of his mother instantly pushed him back into the mindset he’d been trying to escape. The only good part about the disgust he suddenly felt was that he no longer cared about the conversation he was about to have. He was irritated and now ready for a fight, should there need to be one.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter