Gift of Screws, Chapter 18.1

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Eighteen, Part 1
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating:  NC-17 for sex
Characters:  House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note:  This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning:  This fic also contains sex.  If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary:  For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own it.


"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson

Finding Rachel was the easy part. In a small house, it was impossible for her to hide for very long. And given that she liked to choose the same places over and over, it wasn't difficult for Cuddy to locate her under the dining room table.

"Rachel," she said gently, crouching down so she could see her daughter. The little girl was huddled underneath one of the chairs. She had her chin tucked between her knees, and she looked completely guilty. "Will you come out please?"

Cuddy sounded nice about it, but her tone made it clear that the question was hardly a suggestion.

And yet Rachel didn't move.

"Come on," Cuddy insisted in a patient manner. "You can't hide under here all day."

Rachel licked her lips before hesitantly admitting, "Don't wanna get in trouble."

Cuddy wasn't surprised to hear the words come out of her daughter's mouth. Aside from vegetables, Scrappy Doo, and lemurs, being placed into time out was Rachel's least favorite thing. And when she knew she was in trouble, she almost always attempted to get out of it. By crying, by screaming, by apologizing or saying quietly that she'd understood what she'd done wrong - she was willing to do nearly anything to avoid being punished. No tactic was beneath her. Unfortunately for her, Cuddy usually refused to be moved.

Perhaps that was a bad thing. Maybe she would be a better mother were she willing to give her daughter some leeway when she screwed up. God only knew her own mother hadn't ever done that, and there was very little normal about that relationship. But then Cuddy had always insisted mentally that that was different. Her mother wasn't solely responsible for her upbringing. Arlene had had a husband she could push that off onto once in a while; she'd had the option to say wait until your father gets home or let him pick up the slack when she'd felt her relationship with Cuddy had deteriorated too much.

But who did Cuddy have to help with Rachel? House? He didn't care about what kind of person Rachel became. As long as she wasn't annoying him specifically, he was more than content to let her do whatever she wanted. And that left all of the responsibility on Cuddy's shoulders - whether she liked that or not.

Normally, she was… okay with being the sole parent to her child. There were moments where concern for her ability to guide her daughter seemed all consuming, instances when she was sure she was doing the wrong thing for everyone involved. And in those times, it was almost easy to wish for a partner to share the responsibility. But for the most part, she was content with her choices and the things she had to do as a result.

Even if it meant she was always the one handling Rachel's punishment.

Today though… she didn't have it in her. To be the bad cop, to correct her daughter and fight with her to time out - to do any of it seemed like too much. So… she wouldn't.

"You're not in trouble," Cuddy said sweetly. "Come out, honey."

Rachel didn't move at first. As though getting away with her crime hadn't even crossed her mind, she just sat there. An expectant look in her eyes, she was clearly waiting for her mother to change her mind.

But Cuddy didn't have any intention of doing that. And frankly, if she'd wanted to punish Rachel, she didn't need to trick her daughter into it. She wouldn't. That would be too pathetic a course of action for Cuddy to even consider.

How though could she explain that to her daughter?

"Rachel," she said after some time. "Mommy has had a bad day. And while I don't like that you jumped on the couch, I know you know not to do that. Right?"

Shame welled in Rachel's big, dark blue eyes, and she looked away.

She felt bad - like her belly was full of thousands of jellybeans that reached the back of her throat. She did know better. Mommy was always saying, "No jumping on the couch." Or on the bed or the dining room table or the bathroom sink like that one time. Rachel knew she wasn't supposed to do that stuff. She didn't want to say she did, cause then she would get in trouble and be forced to admit that she'd jumped on the couch cause she was mad at House.

Really, really, really, really, really mad at him.

So mad she just wanted to tilt her head back like Muppets always did and scream how much she hated him.

But she didn't. Well… she had, but she wouldn't do it again, cause Mommy would get mad. She didn't like it when anyone said they hated someone else, she said. That was what she always said. But Rachel believed that she just didn't like anyone saying that they hated House.

So it didn't matter if Rachel said something now. She could scream and cry all she wanted, but Mommy wouldn't listen. Or if she did, she would get mad - not only cause Rachel had admitted to jumping on the couch and knowing better than to do that, but also cause she said she hated House.

Knowing that, Rachel just said in response, "Yes."

"You're not going to do it again," Cuddy prompted.

"No. I won't."

Cuddy didn't believe her. She didn't think Rachel was lying, but Cuddy recognized that once again, her daughter was young. And no matter what she promised, sometimes couches were going to seem like good things to jump on.

But there was nothing to be done about that now. As long as Rachel meant what she was saying - and she certainly seemed to - that was all that mattered.

"All right," Cuddy said in a voice she forced to sound cheery. "Then that's all I need to hear."

Rachel scooted a little on the floor, but she didn't come out.

"Let's go," Cuddy encouraged, motioning for her to come closer. "Mommy wants to change and hear all about your day."

She must have sounded convincing enough, because Rachel slowly crawled out at that.

"There we go." Cuddy stood up before helping Rachel to her feet.

As she started to guide her daughter down the hallway, she asked, "What happened while I was gone?"

It was an intentionally open-ended question.

With Rachel, it was better to approach things that way. If you asked her what was wrong, sure, she would answer you. But she tended to leave out important details when she was upset. She would give you a certain amount of information, but there were times when she would finish her story, and Cuddy still didn't quite understand what had upset her daughter to begin with. And she'd learned that it was simply easier to give Rachel a wide birth to explain. At least, when that happened, there was always the chance that Rachel would reveal, if inadvertently, the important things she would have left out otherwise.

Or not.

"Nothing," Rachel grumbled in response.

But Cuddy didn't believe that. "Really? Nothing?" she asked doubtfully when they entered the master bedroom. Practically making a beeline for her bathroom (and more specifically, her toothbrush), she said to a trailing Rachel, "You just sat here all day. Doing nothing."

Rachel followed her into the bathroom, but she didn't respond. And Cuddy supposed that she should have anticipated that.

Reaching for her toothbrush, she reminded herself that, whatever the problem, Rachel needed undivided attention.

But as soon as she'd had the thought, Cuddy recoiled from how awful that sounded.

Of course, her daughter needed to be the center of her mother's universe when she was upset. Of course she wouldn't want to talk if she felt as though she were being ignored… an afterthought in her mother's eyes. And given how often Cuddy needed to handle work emergencies and how many moments she'd missed out on with Rachel, of course her daughter would wait until she could see that her mother cared. Obviously things would be that way. And Cuddy hated how her own thoughts made it seem like she had ever forgotten that fact.

Because she hadn't.

She just… found it easy - too easy really - to get caught up in the frenzied habit of multitasking and the fearful energy kissing John Kelley had created in her body. And transitioning away from "Dean of Medicine" to mother, from the woman who had cheated on her boyfriend to Mommy wasn't instantaneous.

But realizing Rachel couldn't possibly understand that, Cuddy forced herself to make that shift. She couldn't think about work or how kissing John would affect that. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted while she talked to her child. She just had to make Rachel the center of her complete attention.

Brushing her teeth as quickly as she could, Cuddy said afterwards, "Just give me a minute, honey." Rachel shot her a look as though she'd heard that before, and Cuddy knew she probably had - more times than either of them could count. And instantly she found herself apologizing. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I want to hear all about it." Yet, even as the words came out of her mouth, she found herself scrubbing the make up off her face with soap and her fingertips.

As always, she thought miserably, she was screwing this up. Inwardly she felt that her relationship with Rachel came above all else, but rationally, Cuddy could see that that didn't always come through with her actions. At least, she didn't think that Rachel was aware of it, based on how this conversation was going.

As if proving that point, Rachel swung one of the bathroom cabinet doors open and shut out of boredom. Actually, at that moment, she was practically hanging on the door and forcing it to hold all of her weight, so perhaps swung wasn't the right word for it. But whatever the terminology, one thing was clear: she didn't feel that her mother was paying proper attention to her. And Cuddy didn't have it in her to argue otherwise.

Instead, she apologized. "I'm sorry this is taking so long, honey." Rachel said nothing. "Why don't you go wait on the bed for me? All right?"

Rachel stomped out of the bathroom. And whether that was because she planned on listening or had gotten sick of waiting, Cuddy couldn't be sure. But she decided to act as though Rachel had listened anyway and hurried to finish washing her face and changing her clothes.

On the latter count, Cuddy realized it wasn't necessary to change. By some miracle, she'd avoided throwing up on herself (or in her car), so putting on a different outfit wasn't mandatory. Having kissed John though, she wanted to rid herself of any reminder of the incident. She didn't want to be in her home in the make up she'd worn, in the clothes she'd worn when she'd kissed him. As though those things had been tainted by that moment, she wished to free of them completely. So after Rachel stormed out of the room, Cuddy was quick to strip.

As she headed for the closet, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Rachel had, surprisingly enough, listened to her; she was on the bed as Cuddy had asked. Or rather, she was in the bed; buried beneath the covers, she was a lump among the sheets with just the tiniest bit of brown hair peeking out.

For the time being though, Cuddy would leave her there. Rachel was content where she was anyway, it seemed, so Cuddy headed towards her bureau. It only took her a couple seconds to settle on a thick cashmere sweater and black leggings that always left House staring at her ass for hours.

To be perfectly honest, normally that fact was enough to have her reaching for a different pair of pants. She loved how attracted he was to her; of course she did. But there was something about this particular set of pants that made him a drooling mess, and sometimes that was more hassle than it was worth. Today, however, it seemed right. If he could forgive her for what she'd allowed to happen, then this was the least she could do in return.

As she slipped the clothing on, she understood that there was probably something wrong with using her body as a… she didn't even know what the right term was. As a pacifier? As a "Thanks for not dumping me" gift? She didn't know the best terminology for what she was doing, just that maybe it wasn't a good idea.

Oh well, she thought dismissively. There was no going back now. She'd made her decision, and even if she wanted to change again, she understood Rachel wouldn't wait forever. So she didn't bother to pick out a different outfit (or even truly consider it) and instead headed back to her daughter.

"Now where did Rachel go?" Cuddy asked loudly, so Rachel would hear. Pretending not to notice the lump under the sheets, Cuddy said, "I told her wait on the bed for me. Where could she have gone?"

Giggles came from amongst the bed linens, but Rachel didn't say anything.

"Well," Cuddy said dramatically. She plopped down on the bed right next to Rachel's covered body. "I guess I'll have to sit here and wait and hope she comes here soon."

And then, as if she accidentally was doing it, Cuddy placed a hand on top of Rachel. "What's this? Why is there a lump in my bed?"

Muffled, Rachel laughed. "Mommy, it's me!"

"Me?" Cuddy pretended to be confused. "Who's 'Me'?"

Rachel kicked the covers off of her body. Her hair wild and messy, she said, throwing her hands in the air, "It's me. Rachel!"

Cuddy scrunched her nose up in confusion. "Rachel?" She shook her head. "Doesn't ring any bells."

"Mommy!" Rachel looped her arms around Cuddy's waist.

"Oh," she said, pretending to finally remember. "That Rachel. We're kind of related, right?"

"Mommy, you're silly."

Truthfully, Cuddy wasn't used to hearing that. Being a doctor - the boss - she couldn't remember the last time someone had actually thought she could qualify as silly. And it was nice to hear that maybe she did still have a sense of humor… even if it was coming from her five-year-old daughter.

"So," Cuddy said, abruptly changing the subject. Her fingers beginning to card through Rachel's hair, she asked, "Are you going to tell me what you did this morning?"

Rachel let her head fall into her mother's lap. "Um…." She rubbed her eyes a little as she tried to remember what had happened. "We went to the store."

"For your medicine?"

"Uh huh."

"That's good," Mommy said. But Rachel didn't agree.

"He made me hold his hand," she grumbled. Thinking about it now, she frowned. She didn't like being forced to do stuff, and she really didn't like it when the person making her do stuff she didn't want to do was House.

Mommy didn't get it though. "What do you mean, honey?"

"When we was -"

"Were."

"When we were crossing the street," Rachel explained.

"Oh. So he held your hand while you were walking in front of cars and that's why you're mad at -"

"No," Rachel interrupted loudly. That wasn't why she was mad. Okay, it had made her mad at first, but then House had bought her Froggie. "I don't like touching him," she explained. "But he bought me -"

Cuddy scoffed, which promptly shut Rachel up. That hadn't been her intention; to make her daughter too ashamed to continue with her story was not the goal. But Cuddy found it hard to keep quiet when she was faced with the likelihood of House having bribed Rachel to behave.

Admittedly, he didn't often do it. He barely paid enough attention to her to bribe her with any regularity. That fact almost made it worse though. Because if he'd been constantly doting on her, that would be one thing; at least in that scenario, he'd still be with her, interacting with her on a regular basis. But this… alternatively ignoring her and giving her gifts? Cuddy didn't like that. It sent the wrong message and, in her opinion, changed what could have been a nice gift into a very clear indication that he viewed Rachel as an annoyance.

Then again, he'd never pretended to see Rachel as anything other than that. She'd always been a nuisance in his eyes. And Cuddy didn't know how aware Rachel was of that fact. But if he kept behaving that way, Cuddy did know that her daughter would soon realize just how he felt; Rachel was getting to be that age where you began to understand more about the world, including that disappointment existed within it. And though House maintained that she was an idiot, no amount of idiocy would shield her from his blatant dislike for her.

"Mommy," Rachel whined suddenly, tugging at Cuddy's hand.

Cuddy blinked and glanced down at her daughter. "What?"

"You're not listening to me."

"Oh." The word existed her lips on an exhale, as she realized that she had, in fact, stopped listening. She was aware enough to know that Rachel hadn't actually been talking in those few moments of silence; she'd just stopped and waited expectantly for her mother to prompt her. "I'm sorry, baby. Keep talking. What did he buy you?"

Rachel rolled over a little on the bed. Her face now pressed against Cuddy's stomach, she said, "A monkey."

Cuddy gently lifted Rachel's head. "What did he buy you?" she asked again, not hearing the first time.

"A monkey," Rachel repeated.

"A monkey?" Cuddy smiled. "A monkey for my monkey?"

Rachel laughed some more. "You're funny."

Again, it was a compliment Cuddy wasn't used to receiving. And faced with it, she couldn't help but be taken aback for a moment. Silencing falling over it, it took her a few beats to pick up the conversation once more. "Did you thank House?"

Rachel made a look that said she was thinking.

Which said everything.

"Rachel, you know you need to thank people when they do something nice for you," Cuddy admonished.

Rachel shrugged. "I forgot."

"Well, when you see him next, will you please thank him?"

"No."

"No?" Cuddy asked. "Why not?"

"Because I hate him!"

"Rachel." Cuddy shook her head in dismay. She knew that House could be hard to deal with - just as she knew Rachel could be as well. But if there were one thing Cuddy had hoped for over the years, it had been - was - that those two incredibly difficult people could find something in common. Or, at least, she'd hoped that they would be able to build enough camaraderie that hatred and irritation weren't the defining emotions between them. Yet it seemed like for all of her efforts, they still did not like, much less relate to, one another.

Still, Cuddy couldn't help but admonish Rachel. "We don't say we hate people. That's not nice."

Rachel looked anything but sorry.

And that was because she wasn't sorry. Why should she feel bad for saying she hated House? He was the one who said he would read to her and then didn't. He was the one who ran away and hid in the bathroom and never came back out. He was the bad one.

"It's not nice to lie either," Rachel said snottily.

Cuddy thought immediately that she would regret asking this, but she did anyway. "What happened?"

"He lied." Rachel's lips were pursed into a deep frown. At that point, Cuddy couldn't be sure that House had lied, couldn't tell if there were actually legitimate reason for Rachel to be upset. But it was clear: Rachel was upset.

"All right," Cuddy said gently despite her confusion. She really had no idea what had happened, but she didn't want to make it seem as though she didn't believe her daughter. "I don't understand. What happened after he got you your monkey?"

"Uh…." Rachel wriggled a little as she recalled what had happened that morning. "We came back."

"Okay."

"Um… he made me a sandwich."

Cuddy smiled. "Good. Did you eat it like a good girl?" Rachel nodded her head. "And you took your medicine?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm glad." Leaning down, Cuddy planted a soft kiss on her daughter's cheek. "What did you do after that?"

"Watched TV. It was boring." Cuddy inclined her heard to show that she was listening. Rachel continued, "I didn't want to watch anymore, cause it was stupid and I didn't want to watch it. So House said he would read me a story."

Inwardly, Cuddy tried to piece together a sequence of events for the day. Going to the store and coming back was pretty clear, of course, but other parts of what Rachel was saying just didn't make sense. After all, House agreeing to read to her? In what universe would that happen?

Cuddy supposed it might happen if House were annoyed and simply eager to shut Rachel up. But surely there were easier ways to do that? Right? In her mind, the answer was a resounding yes, so clearly she must have heard something wrong.

"He said he would read to you?"

"Cause I was talking to him too much," Rachel said, unknowingly providing her mother with an explanation for House's behavior.

Still Cuddy felt the need to say, "You weren't talking too much. Maybe he just wanted to read you a story."

"He didn't read me a story." Anger came through with each syllable spoken. Disappointment, if it were there, was so far buried that Cuddy didn't hear it. "He said he would, and I got the story, and then he didn't read to me."

Even for House, that was odd. Reading to Rachel had a fair amount of strangeness in and of itself, yes. But if he'd decided to do that - even if it was only to shut her up - there was no reason, it seemed, as to why he wouldn't follow through with that.

"Did the telephone ring?"

"Nope."

Cuddy searched for another explanation. "Was this right before Mommy came home?"

"No! He said he would and then he went away. He went to the bathroom."

"Well, maybe he needed to use the -"

"No. He didn't! He just lied. Cause he's a liar. And he lies," Rachel insisted angrily.

Cuddy let her rant. Normally, she would have been quick to stop Rachel, to stifle the awful words she was expressing. But right now, Cuddy didn't care much about that. She was too focused on the reason behind House's behavior.

"He didn't say anything to you?"

"No."

She was hesitant to ask her follow up question, but she didn't feel as though she had a choice. "And you didn't say or do anything to -"

"It's not my fault!" Rachel screamed, shooting up off the bed.

"Shh," Cuddy said calmly. "Don't yell at me. I'm not blaming you. Don't raise your voice at me."

It wasn't stern. She wasn't going for admonishment in that instant. Really, all she was trying to do was quiet Rachel down, so they could figure out what had happened. But Rachel didn't take her words that way.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Cuddy smiled sympathetically. "It's okay." She patted the bed. "Sit back down with Mommy." Once Rachel complied, Cuddy said simply, "I don't know why House didn't read to you."

"Cause he's a turd," Rachel supplied.

And with that pathetic insult, Cuddy ran out of patience. "Rachel, you need to stop."

"But -"

"No, listen to me." Her voice was calm but firm. "I know you're upset. I know you're mad. But sometimes people change their minds, and we don't always get what we want."

Rachel glowered. "But -""

"Listen, Rachel," Cuddy said more insistently. "I know you're disappointed, but you can't be angry like this."

"Yes, I can." Her arms folded across her chest, Rachel was defiant.

"No. You're not going to behave this way. You're going to be a nice little girl."

Rachel shook her head. "No, I'm not."

And it was precisely moments like this one where Cuddy wished she had a partner to parent with. Because here they'd been having a fairly nice conversation, and now things were about to get heated. The calm discussion they'd had was about to be over with, the fight about to begin, and Cuddy thought it would have been nice to have someone to send Rachel to for that.

But she didn't.

There was no one else.

And that meant that the only person to challenge Rachel was Cuddy herself.

"Yes," she said sternly, easily sliding into the roll of boss. "You are. I didn't teach you to be nasty. I taught you to be a nice little girl." Rachel shot her a dirty look that said the efficacy of those lessons was doubtful. "So you're going to calm down. You're going to apologize to House for -"

"What? No!"

"Oh, yes, you are," Cuddy said matter of factly. "You've been shouting at the top of your lungs how much you hate him. And I have no doubt that he's heard you say those mean things."

"So?"

"So you're going to apologize."

Rachel looked like she swallowed something sour. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. You've said some very not nice things since I've been home, and you know better than to do that," Cuddy told her. "So you can either apologize now, or you can spend time in time out and then apologize."

The threat of time out was what did it.

"Fine."

"All right. Come on," Cuddy said standing up. It was better for everyone if Rachel apologized as soon as possible.

Of course, there was a chance House had no idea what was going on. Cuddy doubted it, because it was in his nature to know things he didn't need to know. But there was the possibility that he hadn't heard Rachel.

And yet that didn't matter to Cuddy. Whether he'd heard or not was almost irrelevant to at this point. Because either way, until Rachel was forced to let go of her anger, she would make things unbearable. Not unlike House, when she was upset, the entire world had to know about it. She was at varying intervals (again, like House) rude and sullen, never leaving anyone in doubt of how she felt. And if that happened now, then it wouldn't matter that House didn't know what was going on.

He would figure it out.

Then there would be two immature people for Cuddy to contend with in her own home.

On the other hand, if Cuddy forced everyone to apologize and move on, she thought she could save them all a lot of pain. And if that meant pushing Rachel to say she was sorry, then that was what was going to happen.

Still, Rachel seemed reluctant to follow through with the plan. She didn't dare remain on the bed, of course. She knew better than to defy her mother. But Cuddy could tell she didn't want to behave either.

Rachel slowly dragged herself off the bed, and as though her feet were made of cement, she was now trudging behind her mother.

Cuddy was tempted to say something but didn't. She would have preferred Rachel to move faster, sure. But at this point, mentioning it would have felt like nitpicking. It would have made Cuddy feel like her mother, and she hated when she caught herself behaving like that. So she decided to avoid the comparison all together and kept her mouth shut.

Unfortunately it became almost immediately apparent that Rachel would take advantage of this. Perhaps emboldened by her mother's silence, Rachel started to walk even slower. It should have taken her mere seconds to get off the bed and leave the bedroom, but she was determined, it seemed, to take as long as possible. And by the time they actually made it to the living room, she barely even pretended as though she were going to apologize.

Instead of looking for House, she seemed eager to look for everything but him. And when her eyes fell on a book lying in the middle of the room, she moved toward it and not the sounds coming from the kitchen.

"Rachel," Cuddy started to warn.

But the little girl simply reached down and picked up the book.

To be honest, as irritated as she was becoming, Cuddy couldn't help but notice the book in her daughter's hands. The passing thought that she hadn't really seen it before came to mind unbidden, but she didn't think much of it. At the moment, that was truly the least of her concerns. And she was about to order Rachel to put the book down, when she handed it to her.

"See?" Rachel asked, pressing the colorful book into her mother's hands.

Cuddy didn't. She tried to understand what Rachel was trying to tell her, but she didn't see.

Not at all.

But she tried. Rather than automatically say she didn't get it, Cuddy did her best to figure it out.

She glanced down at the book in her hands. Nothing immediately jumped out at her.

Except for the title.

But then again, it was hard to miss Everybody Poops written in a disturbing olive green color.

Once more Cuddy couldn't help but think she'd never seen this book before. And with that came the question: if she hadn't purchased it, where the hell had it come from?

All right, that sounded a little dramatic.

The fact of the matter was that Cuddy didn't really care how it had ended up in her home. Given the way Rachel had accumulated books over the years, it was probably safe to say that someone had given it to her as a gift. Julia or Arlene, Wilson or someone hoping to manipulate Cuddy for whatever reason - the possibilities were endless as to who might have given it to Rachel. And Cuddy didn't really care either way who had purchased the book. But the question entered her mind nonetheless.

And when she opened the book, she hadn't intended to learn who had bought Everybody Poops. She wasn't even sure why she opened it up, other than maybe to see if she could figure out what Rachel was talking about.

But there it was: the answer to her question.

In bright red lettering was Kutner's name.

All of a sudden, it wasn't so hard to understand why House had been unable to read to Rachel.

He never talked about what had happened.

Ever.

At the time, she had tried to get him to open up about Kutner and how that had made him feel, but House had stubbornly refused. And that didn't surprise her.

It had never been in House's nature to willingly discuss anything about that difficult and dark time. Sometimes he would allude to it, choosing to carefully reveal a little tidbit of information. For the most part though, he didn't talk about it. As though it had never happened, he didn't discuss it.

But Cuddy had never believed those wounds had healed. His silence had never fooled her into thinking he had fully dealt with that awful chunk of time. So it didn't surprise her that he would get upset upon seeing Kutner's name in the book.

Granted, she was getting ahead of herself. She didn't know for sure that House had seen the name. She didn't know much of anything from his perspective, as he had conveniently left that out when she'd come home. In theory though, it made sense.

It was a possibility.

In fact, at this point, she suspected that it was what had occurred. She was willing to give herself some leeway, so she wouldn't be completely blindsided if proven wrong. But truthfully, she felt that she knew what had happened.

When it came to books, Rachel had a specific way of being read to. She liked being able to see and savor every page. Cuddy had come to believe that this was her daughter's clever way of avoiding bedtime and extending what little playtime they had together, as Rachel was obsessed with following this particular method. Skip a page and she got upset; make things up to speed the plot along and Rachel always seemed to somehow know that was what her mother was doing. And just because House was the one reading the story didn't mean Rachel would want things done any differently. So chances were… House had seen Kutner's name.

Instantly Cuddy felt a pang of guilt hit her. If that had happened, what had she done? Follow it up with a confession that she'd kissed another man - that was what she had managed to do.

Foolishly she'd thought she couldn't feel worse than she already did about kissing John. But if House had been reeling already from seeing Kutner's name, she had added onto that pain. And fearing that that was exactly what she'd done, Cuddy felt her guilt grow exponentially.

Her stomach rolled with realization. If she'd been nauseous before, it was nothing compared to how she sick she felt in that second.

But what could she do?

She'd screwed up - again - and she felt awful about that, but with claustrophobia-creating clarity, she knew she couldn't do anything about that now. Rachel's eyes were wide and totally on her, and even if Cuddy wanted to make things better, how was she going to do that with an audience? How was she supposed to approach that matter with her daughter around?

Cuddy knew she couldn't. Even if she knew exactly what she wanted to say or how to make all of this better (and it went without saying that she didn't), she couldn't say anything in front of Rachel. Rachel didn't need to know about it, and House would be angry if she did. Under no circumstances would he want her to hear about any of it. So Cuddy understood that she couldn't say anything about it.

Really, all she could do was deal with the small matters at hand. She could address the real problem later, but right now, she needed to make Rachel apologize. At least then, superficially, things would be better.

And knowing that, Cuddy glanced down at her daughter. "Rachel, we don't have time for this." She started to set the book down on the couch, but Rachel reached out to stop her.

"No. You don't understand," she whined.

Cuddy refused to get upset. "He didn't read to you," she said in a calm voice.

Immediately it was apparent that that was the point Rachel had been trying to make. The look of relief on her tiny face screamed loudly that she was happy Cuddy understood. Shoving the book into her hands had been, evidently, Rachel's way of saying, "See, he didn't read to me."

Cuddy wasn't sure how she was supposed to know that by sight, but she didn't question it either.

"I know," she told Rachel. "I believe you. He didn't read the story. But that does not excuse the things you've been shouting."

Rachel pouted. "He doesn't care."

"I bet you that's not true."

Cuddy really would, she thought. If he had heard what Rachel said, he would be unhappy. He would never admit it, because saying that he was hurt would mean he was saying that he cared whether or not she liked him. And in his mind, that was blasphemy, because he clearly didn't want to care.

Maybe he didn't even really. They were operating in so many shades of gray that Cuddy was never comfortable making definitive statements about how he felt or why he behaved the way he did. It seemed like if he were upset, it would mean he cared on some level. But maybe he didn't. Maybe it was like, if he were saddened by Rachel's comments at all, it was because he knew it would create questions about their relationship in Cuddy's mind.

At this point, Cuddy sort of suspected that this was the more likely scenario.

Either way though, it all amounted to the same thing, right? It all meant that if he'd heard Rachel, he wouldn't be happy.

"You need to apologize," Cuddy said for what felt like the hundredth time.

Rachel wasn't ready to give up the fight though. Clearly having realized that every argument she'd made hadn't worked so far, she tossed out a new tactic. "He's gonna be mad," she complained with a hint of forced fear in the words.

Never mind that she had said not one minute before that House didn't care. The idea that he would be mad was ridiculous to Cuddy.

"He's not going to be mad."

But Rachel didn't look convinced. Actually, the more Cuddy looked at her, the more Rachel seemed genuinely concerned.

She was nibbling on her lower lip, her gaze cast to a spot on the floor next to Cuddy. Perhaps she really hadn't thought about House's reaction before. But upon being told that he would care about the things she'd said, Rachel was clearly starting to think about what might happen if that were true.

And that hadn't been Cuddy's intention at all. She'd wanted her daughter to realize how hurtful her words could have been, not frighten her.

Sighing Cuddy reached forward and smoothed Rachel's hair down with her hand. "All you have to do is apologize, honey. If you do that, I know he'll forgive you."

Rachel didn't seem convinced.

"It'll be fine."

But Cuddy was almost sure it wouldn't be the second they entered the kitchen. Having followed the sounds coming from it, they'd found House rather easily. Yet the second she saw him, she could tell that this wasn't going to go according to plan.

He wasn't doing anything wrong per se. He was standing in front of the stove, cooking something though she had explicitly told him not to do that. But he wasn't doing anything that said he was angry.

And yet…

Cuddy knew instinctively that things weren't quite right. There was just something about the way he didn't look over at them or say anything that felt off to her. No, those things didn't automatically spell out trouble, but she just sensed it.

Even as she proceeded with her plan, she understood something wasn't right.

"Rachel," she prompted quietly. "I think you have something to say."

Instantly, Rachel tried to run away and squeeze through Cuddy's legs. But Cuddy was too quick and easily caught her.

"No," Cuddy admonished. "You're not done yet."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that House had frozen in place. Before he'd been stirring something in a pot, not doing much but mulling around nonetheless. Now he wasn't moving at all, and it was obvious that he was listening to every word she was telling Rachel.

"Go on," Cuddy told her hastily. She didn't want him to realize just how forced this apology was, but that seemed inevitable. Which meant that really the best she could hope for was to not make it so obviously coerced.

Rachel didn't seem to share that concern.

Bitterly she turned around. Her footsteps fell loudly, as though she had no problem with House hearing how put out she was. It didn't matter that only a few minutes before she'd been afraid of making him angry; as of this particular moment, she wasn't acting as though she thought she needed to apologize.

Cuddy suspected that it was probably a defense mechanism on her part: Rachel feared House being cruel, so she would take the first jab at him. But at this point, there was no telling how true that suspicion really was. And Cuddy knew that, no matter the reason for Rachel's behavior, it had to stop.

Crouching down so that she was at Rachel's level, Cuddy asked her in a quiet but firm voice, "Do you want to go to time out?" Rachel shook her head. "Then stop acting this way and behave."

Rachel's lips turned downward into a deep frown, but she knew better than to argue. Cuddy's tone had left no room for that.

"Fine," Rachel muttered before turning to look at House once more. "I'm sorry I said I hated you," she said in a voice that didn't sound honest in the least.

For his part, he knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth. Kids were predictable that way, and Rachel was the most predictable of them all. He'd heard her screaming how much she hated him when he'd first come in from the garage with Cuddy. If he'd been offended at all then, it had been because he'd known they'd have to go through the fake apologies and make up. It had not been because he was hurt over what Rachel was saying.

Really, it hadn't.

The clearer he tried to make that point in his head the less believable it sounded, but he was sure it was the truth. He didn't care that Rachel hated him. If she wanted to ignore every nice thing he'd ever done for her and tried to do for her today, he couldn't stop her.

And he definitely wasn't going to beg her to do otherwise.

Cuddy would want him to. It didn't matter how much he was obviously trying; she always chose to judge him the second he set limits for himself. In her mind, he should have been willing to do anything to make Rachel love him.

But he wasn't.

He had learned early in life that the rejection that hurt the most was the kind that came from the people you were supposed to be closest to. And he had spent an inordinate amount of time in his adulthood trying to ward himself off from those feelings of inadequacy. He couldn't change that for Rachel, for Cuddy, just because he or she wanted him to.

Besides, wasn't there something to be said for Rachel meeting him halfway? He could grovel as much as Cuddy wanted him to, but what did it really matter if Rachel never had to show any affection for him? Sure, she was a kid; he got that. But did that really exempt her from any sort of effort on her part?

No doubt, Cuddy would say that, by forcing her daughter to apologize, she was making Rachel meet him halfway. It hardly felt like that though. She could barely apologize to him while he was expected to be kind to her no matter what, and it definitely didn't feel like they were meeting in the middle.

And House could admit to himself that that sounded incredibly childish. But nevertheless he still felt that he shouldn't be the only one trying to make this relationship happen. She should want it too.

Even if he hadn't believed that though, he still would have found it impossible to accept her apology at that moment. Because screw everything else; Rachel's inability to apologize now meant that she wasn't sorry at all for saying what she said. She didn't feel bad for saying that she hated him.

The way she was speaking, she didn't feel bad at all.

Because she really did hate him.

She must have.

There was no other explanation.

And if she felt that way, he didn't think there was any reason for him to accept her apology. After all, if she couldn't even pretend to be sorry, then why the hell did he need to pretend like he didn't know that?

House didn't think there was a reason.

Even as Cuddy anxiously waited for him to respond, he didn't believe he needed to say anything in return.

"House," she said then, her voice leading. "Don't you have something to say to Rachel?"

He pretended not to hear the question. The answer was an obvious no, which was why it didn't need to be said. Satisfied with his silence, he refocused his attention on the soup cooking in front of him.

Cuddy had said she wasn't hungry, and he'd believed her. Stress usually had an appetite-suppressing effect on her, and he didn't think kissing that douche bag would be any different for her. (Hell, that would make anyone not want to eat.) Nevertheless, it was important that she eat.

House didn't mean to be the creepy, overbearing boyfriend, nor did he mean to portray her as the starving girl who needed to be saved. He just felt that it was important for her to take care of herself… which did make him sound creepy and awful, admittedly. But there wasn't a better way for him to put it. Regardless of everything else, he loved her, and he didn't like it when stress forced her to go hungry. And even though it was slightly difficult in that moment to want to care for her, House focused on cooking anyway.

Unsurprisingly, no one else appreciated the act of kindness.

Cuddy prompted him again. "House?"

But she was too late. Rachel had already figured out that things weren't going to go the way she wanted them to. Even if House had wanted to say, "Apology accepted," she would have known it was a lie.

Immediately, she whipped around to face her mother. "You lied!" she screamed, her voice sounding as though she were on the verge of tears.

Cuddy hadn't been expecting that, because she seemed shocked when she said, "Rachel."

"You said he wouldn't be mad, and he's mad!"

With those words screeched loudly, she ran out of the kitchen.

He expected Cuddy to follow suit, but he was wrong about that. She stayed with him.

"What are you doing?" she asked after a moment of silence. The question was posed calmly, though it was absolutely clear that she didn't approve of how he'd handled things.

But he chose to act as though he didn't understand what she was talking about. "Making you lunch," he said casually.

She was taken aback by his answer. He'd taken her question more literally than she'd intended, but even putting that aside, Cuddy was surprised by what he said.

"You're making me lunch?"

He nodded his head. "Specifically a spiced carrot-apple soup with -"

"I told you I wasn't hungry," she said in even tones. She was hardly annoyed by his behavior, but at that moment, there was something incredibly sad about his inability to do what she wanted. That he would refuse to accept Rachel's apology but cook a meal Cuddy had said she never wanted… it just felt completely backwards and utterly depressing.

"I know," House replied, picking up the immersion blender on the counter top. "But you should eat something." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I was listening to what you said." She must have looked doubtful, because he followed that up with an insistent, "I was."

Stepping closer to the bubbling pot, she replied conversationally, "So you just decided to ignore -"

"Not at all. But you didn't eat a lot at breakfast, and you threw up, and it's going to be a while before dinner. And I get that you can go all day on a bowl of fruit, but that's not healthy, and it shows." He'd turned on the blender, and the last few words came out louder and harsher than she hoped he'd intended. She couldn't be sure, but she hoped that he wasn't angry.

Not because she would feel bad, but because it was ridiculous for him to be upset over something she couldn't control.

"If you're referring to my weight," she said tersely once he'd turned the blender off.

"I am."

Instantly, she felt as though she had to be defensive. It wasn't her fault that her appetite seemed to disappear in times of stress. It certainly wasn't her fault that stress seemed to be all around her. "I can't do anything about that."

House set the immersion blender in the sink and looked at her. "I'm not blaming you."

She surmised that that was probably true. It seemed like he was holding her accountable, but rationally, she could hear that there was no accusation in his tone. And yet she couldn't stop herself from snapping, "But you thought it'd be a good idea to bring it up today, when I don't have, I don't know, a hundred other things going on."

"You're acting like there's something to discuss," he said, loudly cracking fresh pepper over the pot. "There isn't."

She shook her head. "You -"

"You accused me of ignoring what you wanted," House interrupted. He tried to keep his budding irritation out of his voice. He didn't want to start a fight; that hadn't been his intention at all. "I was explaining what I was doing. I'm not asking you to do anything. Eat the soup or don't. Doesn't matter," he said gruffly.

Part of him foolishly expected her to apologize. Whether for assuming the worst in him or for putting him in this situation all together, he didn't know. But at that moment, he had expected her to say something contrite.

She didn't though. Instead, she acted like she was doing him a favor when she said, "Fine. Pour some in a mug."

And frankly, that would have irritated him further if the mug part didn't gross him out so much. "A mug?"

"Yeah."

"You're going to drink it?" His face screwed up in disgust.

"Uh huh."

He wanted to point out that that was gross. The soup might have been pureed, but like yogurt and pudding, it was meant to be eaten. Drinking it was just… nasty. But by a narrow margin, he resisted saying that aloud. "If that's what you want," he said diplomatically instead.

Without another word, he grabbed a coffee cup out of the cupboard. It killed him to scoop the bright orange soup into it, but he quietly did so. There'd been enough drama already that it seemed completely unnecessary to get in a fight over soup.

Cuddy must have felt the same way, because she was quick to take a sip as soon as he handed her the long, thin mug to her. "This is good," she admitted as she swallowed. "Thank you."

She leaned towards him and gave him a soft peck on the lips.

"Eat it before it gets cold," he murmured against her mouth.

She pulled away but didn't drink anymore. The cup cradled tightly in her hands, she just fidgeted. Glancing down at it before back at him, she asked cautiously, "Are you doing this because of what I did?"

House felt his brow wrinkle in confusion.

Absolutely, he was clear on the what-she-did part. That piece of the question could only refer to one thing: her kiss with John Kelley. Even though she'd admitted herself that he had kissed her, House knew without a doubt that that was what she was referring to. Of all the things she'd done today, that was the only action worth any discussion. But the rest… he didn't get that.

"You think I made you soup, because another guy kissed you?" he asked in disbelief. "Yeah, that's exactly -"

"Not the soup," she interrupted in frustration. She looked away for a moment. "Rachel," she said eventually.

"No," he answered immediately.

But Cuddy clearly didn't believe him.

"No," he repeated more emphatically.

As suspicious as the timing might have seemed, his issue with Rachel had nothing to do with what had happened to Cuddy. Frankly, if he'd let the revelation about John affect him at all, House knew it would have swayed him in the other direction; he would have been nicer to Rachel, more of the doormat Cuddy seemed to desperately want him to be. Because if John's actions had made House realize anything, it was just how important staying with Cuddy was.

But she couldn't see that. Shaking her head a little, she said, "You refused to talk to her, and I'm supposed to believe that the two aren't related at all." She spoke as though she were testing the voracity of that theory out. And the way her tone shifted from curious to doubtful instantly spoke to how likely she thought that possibility was.

He shrugged. "Hard to believe, maybe, but it is possible."

She set the mug of soup down on to the counter top. "Possible, but usually the simplest theory is the right one."

"I'm mad at you, so I'm gonna treat the kid like crap and make you soup?" He smirked. "If by simple, you mean stupid -"

"Okay," she admitted hesitantly. "Then what's the issue?" She threw her hands in the air. "If this has nothing to do with me, what's the problem?"

House rocked on the back of his heels at the question. His leg stung from the change in weight distribution, but it was a nuisance that he barely noticed; what she was asking of him felt far heavier than the burden in his right thigh at that moment. Because what she wanted to know was something he couldn't even begin to explain.

How was he supposed to tell her that, while he understood her need for him to bond with Rachel, he couldn't stand her penchant for ignoring how he felt?

He didn't know. It sounded so stupid and selfish - yes, selfish - that he didn't know what to say to Cuddy.

So he lied. "There's no problem."

Cuddy must have realized that it wasn't true. But she also didn't seem to care about the lie, not if it meant she could twist his arm into getting what she wanted. "Then you can go talk to her."

"I can," he said, agreeing with her. "Am I going to? No."

She scoffed. "Why not?"

He didn't know how to answer the question. Any attempt at discussing the root of the problem would be unsuccessful. Of that he was sure.

Cuddy liked to act as though she knew exactly what she wanted when it came to House's relationship with Rachel, but he knew otherwise. Some days (like today) she wanted them to get along at all costs; she didn't care what he had to do to make that happen. She didn't pay attention to how much of an effort he had to put in to make Rachel warm up to him. Cuddy just looked for results.

No matter what it cost him.

No matter how much it encouraged Rachel to think she could say or do anything to him.

Other days she got angry when he made the effort; she thought he was spoiling Rachel or overstepping his bounds or... whatever. The only thing that seemed consistent was that Cuddy didn't know what she wanted of him - other than total and complete submission to what she felt was best on that given day.

But he didn't dare tell her that.

Inherently he understood her ambivalence. He wasn't exactly filled with clarity when it came to Rachel either. But for all of their sakes, he felt that Cuddy needed to make up her damn mind. Until she did, there was no point in him taking any sort of initiative.

Again though, he couldn't answer her question by saying any of this out loud. It was reason enough for him not to talk to Rachel, but Cuddy wouldn't comprehend what he was trying to tell her. She would either get mad and spew some crap about how she was trying to protect Rachel or ignore the point altogether, because it was easier for her that way.

And in House's mind, this was far too important for the point to get lost.

So he offered the easiest excuse there was. "She didn't apologize."

Cuddy laughed and picked up her soup once more. After taking a long sip, she said, "Of course, she did."

"And she sounded so sincere."

He expected her to deny it, but instead she said, "Well, obviously not."

Maybe it was wrong, but Cuddy couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "She didn't mean it… just like she didn't mean any of the things she was screaming earlier."

It clearly wasn't enough for him though. "She seemed pretty convincing to me."

She had to hand it to him: he nearly succeeded in making her think that he didn't care. The way he spoke was so blasé; it was almost enough to convince her that he wasn't hurting.

But there was something about his bravado that was forced and out of place. No matter how genuine he tried to make it sound, his voice didn't match the sadness in his eyes.

As unlikely as it seemed, he was upset, Cuddy realized. He'd not only heard Rachel screaming how much she hated him, he'd also been hurt by what she'd said.

And without even thinking, within a split second, Cuddy found herself saying, "Oh, baby."

It was the worst thing she could have said.

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them fiercely. It was the complete opposite of what he would want to hear, and because of that, he would never let her even begin to broach the topic of Kutner. She'd screwed up so badly.

Maybe that was understandable though. When it came to consoling, she was used to dealing with Rachel, who needed sympathy to be as pronounced and lavish as possible. Out of habit, Cuddy had done the same here.

But House was not like Rachel. When he needed support, he needed it to be subtle, quiet. He would not want this.

And he made that immediately apparent.

"Oh, shut up."

Cuddy took a step forward to hug him. He backed up in response, and she didn't make any further attempt at holding him.

"She didn't mean it," Cuddy repeated. "You can't take it personally."

He sneered. Though he refused to admit that it bothered him at all, he couldn't help but say, "Well, that just makes it all better then."

"Of course not," she said softly. "But if this is bothering you that much, you should talk to her about what she said."

He shook his head. "No."

"House, she's five. She doesn't know -"

"Then you should teach her," he barked.

Continue on to the rest of the chapter