Gift of Screws, Chapter 19.2
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Nineteen, Part Two
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he
wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 (Part 1), Chapter 18 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
He was too afraid to look back and watch Cuddy come outside. But he didn’t need to; he could feel the heat radiating from the glare aimed at him. He could hear her shut the door loudly.
Involuntarily stiffening, he waited for her to say something to him. Or rather, every fiber of his being anticipated her screeching.
However, she simply came and stood by him. She didn’t speak at all. Oh, she was furious. Under no circumstances could he take her silence for calmness. That would have been a grave mistake on his part.
Which was why he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry.”
“You could have told me,” she said in a low, irritated voice.
There was a dangerous edge to her tone and underneath that, a hint of panic he thought he heard. It was not hard then to imagine that she’d feared the worst when she’d been unable to find Rachel. Maybe the idea - that Rachel had run away - hadn’t fully coalesced in Cuddy’s mind. But there was no denying that the thought had niggled in the back of her consciousness, and her anger was the product of that unbearable idea.
“I couldn’t,” he disagreed, trying to be as even keeled as he could be while telling her that she was wrong. “If I’d told you, you would have either made her come back inside or you wouldn’t, and then Rachel would be glad you’d let her play.”
A smirk played on the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks pink from the cold, he could see the air she exhaled when she scoffed. “This is about getting credit?”
He turned his head to look at her more carefully. “I don’t think you’d disagree that I need -”
“You still could have told me.”
“No,” he insisted. House paused before sighing. “Look, I would have told you if I could have. It’s not….”
He could hear how inadequate his words sounded. But when he reached out to touch her, she shot him a look that made him pull his hand back.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you or… scare you.”
Her hair whipped about in the wind as she forcefully met his gaze with her own. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Either way. It wasn’t my plan to pull one over on you. But she would have made it all about you if you were involved.” House knew how childish that sounded, so he explained further. “It would have become about what you did, how you let her go out.” He sensed the objection on the tip of her tongue and hastily added, “And there’s nothing wrong with that. But she’s not in doubt about how you feel about her.”
This time when he reached for her, she didn’t resist being pulled into his embrace. By no means had she moved on. She was still waiting for a full explanation and wouldn’t forgive or forget until he had given her one.
If she’d allowed him to wrap his arms around her at all, it had more to do with the freezing temperatures than anything else.
“All right,” she said through chattering teeth. As she laid her head down on his chest, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of his coat. God only knew her own jacket wasn’t doing much to ward off the chill in the air. “I’m listening.”
“You were right,” he admitted, his hands moving up and down her back to warm her up. “I screwed up. I’ve been… hoping you would take care of this, so I wouldn’t have to.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She could feel him bristle at her dry tone, and that struck her as odd. The remark hadn’t been intended as an accusation. She hadn’t said it in the hopes of hurting him. But he was reacting like she’d been doing something other than offering a quick quip. And that was anything but normal for him.
Pulling back a little, she looked up at him. “I didn’t -”
He let go of her, so that he could wave her off. In all honesty, she wished he hadn’t done that. His body heat had been a nice way of warding off the cold, and now she had no protection against the wind.
But all thoughts of the weather were promptly when he said, “In my head, it made sense to stay out of it. I don’t know.” He shook his head as though what he was saying wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. “Look,” he said after a moment, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m not good with kids - we both know that.”
“I -”
“You said it yourself.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Cuddy insisted as speedily as her lips could form the words. “I wasn’t -”
"I thought if I didn't do anything, I could avoid hurting her. I thought it would be better for everyone that way; you wouldn't think I was using her to get to you," he admitted carefully. As much as he knew this deserved an explanation, it was hard to go through his train of thought when he could see, in his periphery, Rachel.
She wasn't paying attention at all to him. Had she, she would have noticed that her mother had come outside. That Rachel hadn't come running over here like an obedient dog who'd realized it had been caught doing something naughty meant that she hadn't looked over this way. And given the way her gaze was trained on the snow in front of her, it wasn't hard to believe that her focus was elsewhere.
However, House knew that at some point she would either find good snow and come running back or wouldn't find any and come running back anyway. And when she did, he didn't want her to hear any of this conversation.
"But the only thing worse than having you think that is making you think that I don't want this," he said, looking at Cuddy intently. "I want this to work too." His body shifted in discomfort. "More than anything."
He could see in her posture that he had done it; he'd earned her forgiveness. Those words spoken, her anger, which had been so prominent before, melted away. Her features softened, and an understanding, warm smile replaced the cold smirk she'd donned only moments ago.
"I love you," he added. He supposed he was campaigning too hard by tossing in that line, especially considering he'd already clearly resolved the argument. But he also knew that it was a fact that couldn't hurt him.
"I love you too."
She looked like she was about to kiss him, which was never a bad thing. Yet she didn’t even get a chance to take more than a step towards him. Predictably it was at that moment that Rachel came running back.
“I finded one!” she screamed, carrying a snowball that was nearly half the size House had told her to get. “It’s huge!”
Her obvious delight disappeared the second she saw Cuddy.
Stopping in her tracks, Rachel asked seriously, “Am I in trouble?”
“Lucky for you,” Cuddy answered in a voice that bordered on stern. “House has convinced me that you’ve earned a break -”
“Yay!”
“However, if you don’t have your inhaler….”
How she planned on ending that sentence, House would never know. At that moment, while they were talking about Rachel’s inhaler, he felt the strange weight of it in his jeans’ pocket. He figured he must have forgotten to take it back out after their trip to the store.
“I got it,” he said, pulling it out for Cuddy to see.
She was obviously unimpressed. Turning her attention back to Rachel, she asked, “Did you ask him if he had it?” Rachel hesitated then shook her head. “Rachel, you know you need to -”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” House interrupted. He understood why Cuddy would be concerned; he knew that it was important for Rachel to carry her rescue inhaler - or to make sure someone nearby had one - when she was going outside in winter. But he hadn’t brought Rachel out here for her mother to nag her. The last thing he wanted was for his efforts to be forgotten because of a petty fight. “She knows. I know - I knew, so it’s not an issue.”
Before Cuddy could even protest, he told Rachel, “That’s not big enough. It needs to be twice as big.”
“Okay,” she replied hurriedly. She ran off as fast as she could go in the snow. Obviously she wasn’t going to wait around for her mother to stop her.
Which left Cuddy with no other option than to turn her irritation on to him.
Glaring at him, she said, “Don’t do that.”
“What’s that?” he asked snidely. “Stop you from ruining what could otherwise be an enjoyable experience?”
She clenched her jaw. “Well I apologize for bringing common sense into the equation, but Rachel cannot afford to forget -”
“Let’s pretend this isn’t my first day on the job,” he said knowingly. “Let’s assume for a second that I get what’s at stake and have lived here long enough to know when the thing you think is bothering you isn’t the thing that’s bothering you.”
Cuddy brushed falling snow off her cheeks. She was sure he would take the act to mean she was unnerved by his assessment, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. She had no idea what he meant, which made it difficult to be offended, upset, or anything else.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“House, I have no clue what you’re talking about. This isn’t an act.”
His eyes roamed over her body as he openly looked for some tell that she was lying. When he couldn’t find one, because she wasn’t lying, he asked, “You think it’s a coincidence that you’re obsessing and overreacting -”
“I’m not overreacting to anything,” she said calmly.
“Overreacting to every slight -”
“Rachel not knowing if her inhaler was nearby is not slight,” Cuddy snapped louder than she wanted.
Both she and House glanced over to Rachel then to make sure she hadn’t heard. It was clear she hadn’t; she was feebly trying to pack more snow together - and failing.
“Relax,” he said, pulling Cuddy’s attention back to him. “Like I said, I know what’s at stake. However, you’re unnecessarily getting agitated and working yourself into a frenzy over things that don’t require that level of hysteria.”
She glowered. “I’m not hysterical.”
He nodded his head once. “Not usually. But you are today. You are now. That’s not coincidental.”
It killed her to have to admit it, but she still had no idea what he was trying to say. True, there was a part of her that seemed to instantly understand that his accusation was an offensive one. But he was being so vague, never giving her a reason why her behavior was predictable or intention, that she didn’t get it.
He opened his mouth, thankfully (or maybe not given what she was sure he would say) to explain further. He didn’t have a chance to say anything, however.
Before he could, Cuddy felt a tug on her coat. “Mommy.”
Rachel was by her side. The snowball that had been in her hand must have disintegrated, or perhaps she’d set it down, because she didn’t have anything with her now.
“I have to pee. Now.”
The urgency in her voice left no question in Cuddy’s mind as to how badly her daughter needed to use the bathroom. It was clear that Rachel had held off as long as she could, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Okay,” Cuddy said immediately. “Let’s get inside.”
She didn’t give Rachel the chance to take a single step; not trusting her daughter’s speed, Cuddy reached down and picked her up. By the time she turned around, House had already opened the front door for them.
“Thank you.”
But that gratitude was lost in the rush to undress Rachel. Wordlessly Cuddy set Rachel down in the hallway as House closed the door behind them. And then without even saying so, both he and Cuddy went about stripping Rachel of her winter clothes.
Their hands worked in a frenzied pace, removing mittens, scarf, jacket, and boots. But it seemingly wasn’t happening fast enough for Rachel. “Mommy, I have to -”
“Just a couple more seconds,” Cuddy said, pulling down Rachel’s snowsuit.
“I can’t wait.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.”
Rachel let out a high-pitched whine. “Hurry.”
It was unnecessary for her to say that; within seconds she was freed completely from her winter attire, and immediately she sprinted off down the hallway.
Surrounded by fleece and puffy pants, Cuddy looked to House. But while she was exasperated, he seemed amused.
"Is it your turn to get undressed, little girl?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
It was a ridiculous proposition. They were standing in the hallway in their winter coats. Rachel was probably somewhere between the hall and the bathroom, peeing all over the floor. Mentally, already Cuddy was prepared to clean urine off of tile, but here he was, acting as though now were the right time to throw her a line like that.
Then again it must have been, because in spite of herself, she found herself chuckling. The smile on her face felt foreign, and she eagerly gripped onto his forearm as he moved closer to her. "I only need to take my coat off," she said teasingly, as he started to undo the buttons on her coat.
His mouth brushing against her ear, he whispered hoarsely, "That's not exactly true."
Her jacket slipped off her shoulders. And though she should have been worried about the white wool falling on the floor, where it could easily pick up dirt, she didn't think about that at all. Her focus was entirely on him - or more specifically on his mouth.
Her hands moving to cup his cheeks, she pulled him into a deep kiss. His lips meeting hers with equal passion, she sighed into him. This was what she needed right now, more than anything. His kiss, his lips, his tongue - all of it working against her own to create heat between them - it was all she could have wanted in that moment.
But in typical House fashion, he was determined to give her more. His fingers curling under the hem of her sweater, his fingertips slowly meandered towards her breast. Her skin was warm to the touch, and he took his time, letting his palm brush against the flat plane of her stomach.
And that was where it ended.
Where it had to end.
Because it was right as he reached the lacy bottom of her bra, that Rachel shouted, "Mommy!"
Reluctantly Cuddy pulled away from him. Sighing she looked at him apologetically. "I have to see what she wants."
He shrugged like it was no big deal, but she knew that he had to have been as frustrated as she was. Of course, that was his own fault. He had to have known, just as she had, that this would happen. So as she left him there, she refused to feel bad.
Besides, was there any doubt in either of their minds that they would have sex again - and soon?
It might have been annoying to have to stop, but they would have other chances. At least, that was what she insisted on telling herself.
But as she came across Rachel, any and all thought of sex was promptly forgotten.
Rachel was crying. She was sitting on the toilet, which meant that she’d at least made it there. But Cuddy could also see that her pants were still on.
Rachel didn't have to say anything. No explanation was necessary. It was obvious that she had waited too long to say something and had made the choice to pee in her pants to avoid having an accident on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, perhaps sensing that Cuddy had figured out what had happened.
Stepping further into the bathroom, Cuddy tried to console her. “It’s okay.” She leaned down and kissed Rachel on the forehead. Running her fingers through Rachel’s hair, she repeated, “It’s okay.”
Rachel remained unconvinced and seemingly inconsolable. “I didn’t - I thought….” And then her sobs seemed to get even louder when she said, “I just wanted my snowman.”
Cuddy stepped away and shifted toward the bathtub. Her intentions had been to wait closer to tonight’s party to give Rachel a bath. Understanding that last minute messes were hardly uncommon, she’d hoped to put off getting Rachel clean until Cuddy was sure she couldn’t get dirty again. But that plan was gone now; Rachel had literally pissed all over it.
It was a thought that would have been amusing if not for the mess Cuddy now faced.
She stopped the tub and turned on the faucet. Water loudly rushing into the basin, she turned back to Rachel. “I’m going to go get something to put your clothes in, and then we’ll clean you up. You need to stay here.”
Rachel nodded her head but say nothing.
“I mean it, honey, just stay where you are. Don’t get up.” Cuddy doubted she would go anywhere. But perhaps in an attempt to clean up her accident, she might go to take off her pants, and Cuddy was sure that would make things worse. “Don’t get in the tub until I get back.”
She headed to the bathroom door to leave, but Rachel grabbed hold of her hand. “Don’t tell House,” she pleaded.
Cuddy was sure that he would not have cared either way about what had happened to Rachel. Even if he were feeling particularly arrogant, he would still barely be able to muster a comment. In her experience, Cuddy knew that House had never been close to Rachel. But he’d never been intentionally and unnecessarily cruel either. Rachel was worried about what he would say if he knew, but the fact was he would never say anything.
“He’s not going to care, baby. He -”
“No,” Rachel muttered. “Don’t want him know,” she said, leaving out the to in her sentence.
Cuddy rubbed her daughter’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m not going to say anything to him. I’m just going to get a hamper to put your clothes in, all right? That’s all.”
The words weren’t enough insurance; Rachel’s grip on her remained fierce, her pleading eyes wild with desperation.
“Rachel, it’s okay,” Cuddy said, as she slowly worked at freeing herself. “I’ll be right back.”
She moved out of the way before Rachel had a chance to grab her again. Briefly Cuddy worried that Rachel would respond by getting up off the toilet seat, doing precisely what Cuddy wanted to avoid.
But Rachel remained where she was. She didn't look happy, but she didn't move.
"I'll be right back," Cuddy repeated before heading out of the bathroom.
She was quick in retrieving Rachel's clothes hamper. Rachel might have been worried her mother would tell House, but Cuddy wasn't thinking about that at all. Her focus was solely on cleaning up the mess in front of her and worry about everything else later.
Of course, even if she wanted to tell him, he was nowhere in sight. Cuddy could only assume that that meant he'd gone into hiding in their bedroom or his office. He'd done his nice act for the day, and he was done - clearly.
Heading back to the bathroom with Rachel's hamper in hand, Cuddy sighed at that knowledge. That was precisely what she hated about this situation with House. He could be kind and attentive one moment and then... when he was done, he was done. He disappeared without comment, without pretending as though he'd ever cared at all.
She wouldn't say that he wasn't trying. He had made it clear that he was, and she could appreciate the effort he'd gone to this weekend. But... sometimes, like right now, it struck her that he was merely going through the motions.
As she pushed open the bathroom door though, she supposed there was nothing to be done about that now.
"See?" she asked an anxious Rachel who thankfully hadn't moved. "I came right back."
It didn't seem to make a difference. Rachel didn’t seem relieved at all. But helping her ease out of her urine-soaked clothing, Cuddy realized slowly that her daughter’s mood had everything to do with being wet. Because the second she was freed of her pants and underwear, she seemed a lot happier.
As with all things involving this weekend, her good mood didn’t last however. She’d only been in the tub a few minutes when she asked, “Can we go back outside?”
Cuddy reluctantly shook her head. “You need to stay clean for the party tonight.”
“I don’t want to go to a party.”
“You have to go. You were invited.”
Rachel pouted. “Why can’t I stay with Nana?”
Scooping water into a cup, Cuddy said, “Tip your head back.” Rachel complied. “Nana’s busy.”
As Cuddy wet her daughter’s hair, Rachel asked, “Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Stealing souls” was Cuddy’s frustrated reply.
“I don’t want to go. I want to build a snowman.”
Cuddy fought the urge to roll her eyes. If there was one thing Rachel had made clear, it was what she wanted and didn’t want right now. It didn’t need to be said again. But instead of pointing that out, Cuddy simply began shampooing her hair.
“I understand what you want,” she said tersely. “But you have to go to this, and you’re taking a bath now. So we’re not going back outside today.”
Perhaps having sensed that whining wasn’t going to get her anywhere, Rachel asked, “Please?” Her voice was even not shrill, though there was no mistaking the question for anything other than the last ditch effort that it clearly was.
"Some other time," Cuddy said calmly. "Winter’s not over. You have plenty of time to make a snowman.”
Rachel knew what that meant: Mommy wasn’t going to change her mind so there was no point in arguing. If she was lucky, maybe she wouldn’t have school tomorrow, and she could make a snowman then. But Rachel wasn’t hopeful. Cause of her asthma, she rarely got to play outside in the snow as it was, and Mommy hated the snow; House didn’t, but Rachel knew he didn’t like playing with her necessarily. And if it was icy, then that was hard on his leg, so he wouldn’t want to go outside. And even if he did, now that she had peed her pants, no one would ever want to take her out again. They probably thought she would just pee in her pants again if they did.
“I’m never going to get a snowman,” she said sadly, realizing how awful but true that was.
Mommy told her, “It’s just one day, monkey. There’s going to be more snow and plenty of chances for you to play outside.”
Rachel didn’t believe that. Everyone always made promises and plans, but she’d been around long enough to know that work or getting sick or something else always got in the way.
But she couldn't say that out loud. Adults could; they could say whatever they wanted but a kid? No. When you did that and you were young, everyone just assumed you needed a nap or were grumpy cause you didn't get what you wanted. So she just said, "I hate this."
Cuddy didn't reply at first. She didn't know what to say. Her daughter was upset that she couldn't go outside. There was no way to console her - no other way anyway. Cuddy had said they could go out some other time; she'd pointed out that there would be plenty of snow for them to play in later. There was nothing else to say.
Knowing that, she silently combed conditioner through Rachel's tangled hair. Every now and then, her fingers would snag in a particularly tight snarl, and Rachel would complain.
"That hurts!"
Delicately untangling the strands of hair, Cuddy said, "I'm sorry. Your hair's messy from being in that hat."
Rachel had nothing to say to that, and she became quiet once more. There was no doubt in Cuddy's mind that Rachel was still irritated about not being able to go outside. Not unlike House, she tended to hold disappointments and grudges for absurd amounts of time. In all likelihood, she would hold this in for days, bringing it up at odd moments to complain.
But for now, she seemed... not content but resigned to what was happening. And maybe it was just the hot water and the feel of her mother's fingers through her hair, but Rachel was slowly starting to droop. She stayed awake the entire time, watching Cuddy as she ran the washcloth along the length of her body. But it was clear that she was beginning to fall prey to exhaustion.
Cuddy supposed that made sense. Rachel's school had "quiet time" every day. Even if the kids weren't tired, they had to lay on their little mat on the middle of the floor, and Rachel was used to that routine, so much so that she still napped even when she didn't have school. Other parents had told Cuddy that their children no longer slept in the afternoon, but Rachel still went down for at least an hour after lunch on most days.
And frankly, Cuddy had never been happier for the reprieve than she was right now. Well, all right, maybe she'd been happier when Rachel had been a teething toddler. But this particular moment was a close second to that. Admittedly, Rachel wasn't doing anything wrong. She'd been... resistant to nearly everything Cuddy had tried to accomplish today, but she wasn't being bad.
Cuddy wanted the break though.
This entire weekend felt as though she'd been running from one crisis to the other, barely attempting to manage one problem before she had to rush off to another. The D.E.A. investigating the hospital, House and Rachel's relationship, John Kelley, this party that was looming over her head... it had just been one thing right after the other. And Cuddy felt as though she couldn't even breathe now without something else going wrong.
At least if she could get Rachel into bed for a little while, Cuddy could have some time to herself. Even if some other problem crept up (and frankly, it was safe to assume one would), she wouldn’t have to worry about Rachel getting dirty for a while.
That probably shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did to Cuddy’s ears, but she couldn’t help it. If it was one less thing she had to be concerned about, that was all that mattered. And so, although Rachel protested feebly, Cuddy put her in bed after her bath. It took only a few minutes before Rachel was fast asleep, the warm water and now her soft sheets lulling her to sleep quickly.
But it was funny, Cuddy thought as she closed Rachel’s door behind her. This was one less thing to worry about, and that meant that she should have felt relieved.
She didn’t.
She felt frantic.
Suddenly House’s words came back to her, the sentiments echoing in her head. He’d said her behavior hadn’t been a coincidence.
He’d been right.
Without even thinking, she headed back towards the bathroom and grabbed the hamper full of dirty clothes. Doing laundry was hardly something she wanted to do. Yet she found herself heading straight for the washer and dryer in the basement anyway.
As though her body refused to relax for even a moment, she started washing Rachel's clothes.
It didn't matter that she had a housekeeper to do this. It didn't matter that she was tired, exhausted from last night's fitful sleep and everything bad that had happened today. She felt as though she were unable to stop. The need to continue, to busy herself seemed almost consuming.
And again, she was reminded that House had been right.
She’d been obsessing over the smallest details, occupying herself with them to the exclusion of everything else. He’d seen it before she had, but now there was no denying that he’d been right all along.
When doing laundry wasn’t enough to distract her from that fact, Cuddy felt compelled to seek him out.
He wasn’t hard to find. Like Rachel, he seemed to have a few places he liked to disappear to in the house, and he never strayed from that. So it was hardly surprising to see him sitting on the couch in his office, his feet propped up on his coffee table.
He was reading something in his hand; she couldn’t tell what, because he had the pages folded over the cover of the magazine or journal he was reading. Glasses dangled precariously on the bridge of his nose over the chicken pox scar she occasionally liked to touch when he was sleeping. He had a finger resting against his lips, and he was clearly deep in thought - so much so that he didn’t even look in her direction when she came in the room.
Truthfully Cuddy didn’t know if she wanted him to say anything or not. They were in an okay place at that moment, and she was half-convinced any sort of conversation would ruin the delicate balance. But she was here now; she had to do something. He might not have been paying much attention to her, but surely that would change if she turned around and walked away. He would notice that and seize on the oddity like a dog with a bone.
Without any other option, she quietly joined him on the couch. He still didn’t glance in her direction, even as she pulled her legs onto the sofa. But as she laid her head down in his lap, she was content to be ignored.
Anxiety filled her with an itching urge to do something, anything. But lying against House, his fingers eventually carding through her hair, she found it easier to resist surrounding herself with busy work. And for a brief couple of minutes, she relaxed into him. She let herself be consumed by the feeling of his warm hand on her and the soft sound of him turning a page every now and then.
That peace didn’t last long though. As she lie there, she couldn’t help but start to think of all the things she should be doing. And the more she tried to push away those thoughts, the more inescapable they became. Rachel’s clothes needed to be put in the dryer; she should pick out the tie House would wear tonight; she should wash the floors and make sure all of the winter clothes Rachel had been wearing were put away….
She should be doing something.
And, perhaps because he was the closest distraction, Cuddy found herself saying, “You were right.”
His hand settled on her shoulder, but he didn’t speak right away. If anything, it took him a moment to look down at her and say, “Given how true that is, you’re going to need to be a little bit more specific.”
Rolling onto her back so she could look at him, she wasn’t surprised to see that he was being serious. She scoffed in irritation. “You think now’s the right time to act like an ass?”
“Am I really being an ass in pointing out that I am often right?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s not going to make me sound like less of an asshole to say I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She gritted her teeth but managed to explain, “You said my behavior wasn’t a coincidence.”
He inhaled loudly as understanding hit him. Taking his hand off her, he removed his glasses and set them aside. “You’re surprised I know something about the woman I live with and have seen every day for years?”
She shook her head.
“You’re mad then,” he deduced, assuming that if she weren’t surprised, she was agitated that he had realized what was going on first.
“No.”
It was apparent that she was telling the truth. If only because she had no reason to lie, he believed her when she said she wasn’t mad. But then that left him with predicament of not knowing what it was she did feel.
She wasn’t surprised, wasn’t angry; she certainly wasn’t going to be happy that he’d recognized a behavior in her before she had. But that hardly narrowed down the possibilities before him.
He couldn't ask. Tempting though it was to put the question out there, he couldn't ask what the hell she was thinking. That never went over that well, and he didn't feel like getting into a fight over it.
It went without saying that there was a good chance that they would get into an argument anyway. But he was willing to try avoiding one if he could.
And House figured that the best way to do that was to be as obtuse and general in his reaction as he could be. Cover all bases, and there would be a chance he'd hit something she wanted or needed him to say.
“A lot’s happened this weekend,” he said as an admittedly lame opener. “Your Type A personality malfunctioning was bound to happen.”
She blinked and looked away from him. He watched her intently, careful to take in every hesitant movement in her body - the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
House latched onto the admittance instantly. Whether she’d intentionally given him an opening or not, he had struck something within her. And he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by.
“I’m not surprised,” he told her calmly. “You respond to problems by trying to fix them.”
“Which is a horrible quality to have,” she replied with sarcasm laced in every word.
“Of course not. But you obsess over small details and fixate on making everything perfect.” She looked at him as though he had said something insulting. It wasn’t, but given how he tended to deride her need for perfection, he could see why she would hear his words spoken in the most negative of ways. “When things aren’t just right, you’re not happy. You try to make it better, but sometimes that doesn’t work. Things don’t go the way you want them, you….” He tried to think of the right word he wanted to say. “Hoard the control you do have.”
He shrugged. “It was only a matter of time.”
“You make it sound like I’m crazy.”
“No.” That was the last thing he wanted her to think he thought if he wanted to avoid a fight. “If it weren’t for you, Rachel and I’d probably walk out the house without pants on twice a week and eat jelly beans and rat poison for dinner.” Pausing for a moment, he felt compelled to add, “And when I say Rachel and I, I mean mainly Rachel.”
“Of course. You don’t need me at all” was her sarcastic reply.
She could have easily come across as offended. But he could see the small upturn of her lips, and he knew she wasn’t upset.
“Obviously not,” he said, playing along with the sentiment. “Once Chase fully transitions into a woman, you and I are so done.”
“Chase doesn’t have my ass.”
“Or your affinity for naughty sex. So you have nothing to worry about.”
She stifled a laugh. “I was so concerned.”
“That’s ridiculous to you,” he said knowingly.
She looked at him like she thought he was an idiot. “As attractive as he is, I’m not worried.”
“But you are worried about John Kelley?”
His point had the effect he wanted. Because even though it was obvious she was about to get defensive, he could see understanding slowly seep in.
“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly.
“You didn’t have to.”
She sat up, suddenly agitated. “You are so arrogant. You get one little detail right, and you assume -”
“Yeah, it’s not really two separate thoughts,” he interrupted. “I knew you were going to react the way you did - are - because if you didn’t have something else to focus on, you’d think about kissing him.”
The truth in that could be read all over her face. Just mentioning what had happened drained all of the color from her cheeks. And her voice was low - dangerous when she said, “I told you not to bring -”
“I’m not bringing it up to make you feel guilty. I’m bringing it up, because it’s the reason why that stick up your ass is -”
“We’re not talking about this,” she announced, standing up as she uttered the hasty words.
He didn’t believe her for a second.
It didn't even make sense; her words when taken at face value were at odds with everything she had done up to this point. If she hadn't wanted to talk about what had happened, she wouldn't have told him that that asshole had kissed her. If she hadn't wanted to discuss it, she wouldn't have come to him now. She certainly wouldn't have allowed the conversation to get this far, anyway.
No, House didn't think she was lying. She wasn't. Cuddy was just... unable to assess her own needs at that point. She was so focused on that bastard's kiss and what it might mean for their relationship - as House had said - that she couldn't see her own ridiculousness.
Her words were as far from the truth as one could get.
But she didn't know that.
And yet he realized that he would never be able to convince her of that. Right now, she was too upset to listen to anything he had to say. So he could only tell her, "Okay. We won't talk about it."
House reached for his glasses and slipped them back on. Picking up the forgotten journal, he began to read once more. It would drive Cuddy nuts to see him do that (as her frustrated groan attested to). But it was all he could do in this situation. She wasn't ready for the conversation, and maybe he had approached the matter too aggressively, making her even more gun shy.
Whatever the circumstances, she needed a break, and he was willing to give her one. Frankly, he thought as she stormed off, it would only take twenty minutes at most. She would go do laundry or clean a bathroom or dust random surfaces in the house. All the while though, his words would eat away at her. She would consider everything he'd said, would want to brush them off as stupid and inaccurate, but she would be unable to. At some point while folding clothes or scrubbing a toilet or dusting a picture frame, she would recognize that he hadn't been wrong.
And then she would come to him again.
This time though, House was determined to be prepared.
He'd expected this conversation to creep up, but he had been arrogant, as she had accused. He'd assumed that he would be able to reason with her without any real effort on his part.
At best that had been wishful thinking. To believe that she was in a position to hear him out, to think that logic alone would guide her to the truth... yeah, that had been stupid.
It was obvious that that would take more effort on his part. He would have to reason with her, yes, but he would need something to aid him along. He would need to lull her into a place where her own insanity would shut up long enough for her to listen.
And while he didn't assume anymore that that would be an easy task, he did think it was straight forward.
As soon as she was out of sight, he got to work. He didn't have much time to prepare himself. If she was as consumed with anxiety as she seemed to be, he wouldn't have all that long to set up. So he quickly set his glasses and journal aside once more and started preparation.
Quietly he headed for the linen closet. The lack of whining in the house meant that Rachel was down for a nap, and Cuddy was nowhere to be seen, but he tried to keep his own noise down. The last thing he wanted was for his plan to be thwarted because of cranky Cuddys.
Pulling the door to the closet open, he carefully plucked out the thick electric blanket that they rarely used. Carrying it to the bedroom, he immediately went about spreading the blanket out on the bed. The bulky blanket was a hassle to deal with, especially when he had to waste time untangling the plug, which had become knotted. But he knew it was necessary to have the bed warmed. Cuddy was in such a neurotic, bitchy place that she would never get naked without the assurance that she wouldn't get cold.
Sure, there was a wrinkled cashmere throw at the bottom of the bed. It would be perfectly reasonable for a person to assume that that alone would be enough. But Cuddy was in a place that was so far from perfectly reasonable, and he wasn't going to take the chance. Besides, she could use the cashmere blanket to cover up with, he figured.
As soon as the bed was made to his liking, he stalked towards the bathroom. Not that she ever remembered to use them, but House knew she kept candles in the cabinets under the sink. Throwing the doors open, he yanked as many candles out as he could carry.
Perhaps this was going too far. That was what he thought as he strategically placed the candles around the room - along her dresser, on the night stands. Cuddy liked romance, but under these circumstances, he wasn't sure how she would react. Plopping the last candle down with a thunk, he considered that she wouldn't like it. In fact, the second she saw the display, she would assume that he was hoping to get laid and would probably react negatively.
In his head, he could hear her accusing him of using the experience with John as foreplay.
It was an insane thought, but that was precisely why House felt it was likely she would think it.
So he would need something to silence the lambs, he realized. And he knew just what that something would be.
Slipping out of the bedroom, he headed towards the kitchen. He needed matches, which he easily found in a drawer. But he also needed the mug he saw her holding earlier. He looked around the room for a bit but didn't see it. Eventually finding the mug sitting on the dining room table, he was pleased that it was still full of tea.
That would save him some time, he thought, as he microwaved it to get it hot once more. At least he didn't have to make more for her and risk her hearing the kettle whistling. Then again, if he'd made it from scratch, he wouldn't have nearly burned the flesh off his hands, he thought as he too eagerly reached for the hot mug in the microwave.
He hissed in pain when the porcelain cup rubbed against his palms. Forcing himself to wait a few seconds, he reminded himself that he needed to be calm. There was a time issue, yes, and he needed to be mindful of that. But none of his plans would work if she came into the room and felt his own frantic energy. If he weren't calm, she would never be, and nothing he said would ever register in her mind.
Taking a relaxing breath, he reached for the mug once more. This time he could handle the heat radiating off the cup. Long fingers curving around it, he cautiously made his way back to the bedroom. His limp made it more challenging to balance the mug, but he had learned over the years how to handle the uneven movement as best he could.
As soon as he was in the bedroom, he tossed the matches on to the bed. He could light the candles in a moment. He couldn't wait to do this, or Cuddy would know.
Heading back to the bathroom once more, mug in hand, he opened the medicine cabinet. His eyes roamed over the various prescriptions for the right one. The general agreed-upon arrangement was to separate the drugs by who they were for and, thanks to Cuddy's insanity, by alphabetical order. But try as she might to convince him otherwise, House never really followed her organization. As a result, his prescriptions were mixed in with hers, a bottle of Vicodin she let him keep in the house lying messily underneath her birth control.
His gaze seemed to fix itself on the Vicodin. He wasn't looking for that, but his body didn't seem to recognize that fact. As though his being could sense the close proximity of his favorite drug, he couldn't stop staring at it. And even when he reminded himself that he didn't need it, even as he told himself that that wasn't why he was here, he could feel his thigh twinge painfully.
Like it was longing for the Vicodin.
But it was that very pain that pulled him out of his trance.
Sometimes the Vicodin was a necessity; sometimes, no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of it, the pain was too great for him to ignore, and he would reach for the drug then. Now was not one of those times. And if Cuddy let him keep it here, it wasn't because she trusted him to know the difference between when he needed and when he merely wanted. It was because she didn’t trust him, because she felt it was easier to control his addiction by keeping it in plain sight.
If she'd forbidden it, she had realized that it would be easy for him to keep a secret stash in his office, in his car, in his apartment. It would be simple for him to take the drug elsewhere and never let her know what he had done. So she'd allowed the Vicodin in their home to keep an eye on him.
And, as it always did, that irritated him. He didn't like being watched over, being treated like her child. But he also knew, as he always reminded himself, that he had to play by the rules she'd set out for him. In this case at least, he had to. Sneaking Vicodin behind her back, throwing a fit over being unable to do what he wanted when he wanted... it would just prove her right. It would only convince her that her reservations were more than founded.
He supposed they were and that, maybe more than anything, he did what she wanted, because he didn't want Vicodin to come between him and her. That thought reminding him of what was at stake, it forced his focus back on the matter at hand.
His search renewed, he found the bottle of Lorazapam she sometimes dipped into. As he opened the bottle, he recognized that it would do him no good to give her a full dose. There was still the stupid party he'd agreed to go to tonight, and she would absolutely rip his dick off if she missed it, because he'd drugged her. A half pill would do though.
Using the bottom of the bottle, he crushed one of the tiny white pills in half. Then he used the bottle to mash the half he was going to dose her with against the sink. When it was a fine powder, he brushed it into the mug of hot tea. He practically burned his finger to stir the Lorazapam into the liquid, but it would be a little obvious what he was doing if there were milky white chunks floating on top of the amber-colored tea.
Placing the leftover Lorazapam back in the bottle and the bottle back on the shelf, he closed the medicine cabinet. Doing so, he caught himself smiling in the bathroom mirror - grinning really. Instantly he forced his features to look less amused at his own ability to deceive. If she came in and saw him looking like that, she'd immediately know something was going on. She was already going to be suspicious; anything that could be perceived as nice from him at the moment was something she would question.
He wasn't going to make that any easier for her.
Heading to the bedroom once more, he placed her cup on her side of the nightstand. Grabbing the matches off the bed, he started lighting the candles around the room.
And that was what he was doing when she barged in the room. With resignation in her voice, she said, "All right. Fine. You're...." He wasn't looking at her, but he could tell by the way that her sentence trailed off: she was noticing the room. As predicted, she instantly became suspicious. "What are you doing?"
He finished lighting all of the candles before he answered. "You've had a bad day. I haven't exactly helped," he said honestly.
"And you think seducing me right now is what is going to help me." She sounded equal parts disgusted and irritated.
"I'm not interested in having sex with you," he admitted, as he walked past her. Closing the bedroom door and locking it, he heard how untrue the sentiment was. So he corrected himself. "Well, no more interested than usual."
Finally looking at her, he could see that the comment wasn't making her feel any better. He was screwing this up; he could tell, and he knew that he needed to fix it or lose the opportunity forever.
"I'm not trying to have sex with you," he told her in all honesty. "I just thought... you're tense and unhappy, and you need to relax."
The way he spoke, she believed him. He didn't seem like he was lying to her. But she still didn't understand. "I don't -"
"A massage," he supplied.
"Oh."
That had been the last thing she was expecting.
She'd been in the middle of switching the laundry from the washer to the dryer when she'd realized that he'd been right. Again. As hard as it was to admit it, she'd been trying to avoid thinking about John Kelley, about kissing him. All of this pent up energy had been a means to escape it, but nothing she did was enough. No matter how hard she tried, she kept remembering what had happened: his taste, the way he had felt against her mouth, his tongue on her teeth. And in doing so, yes, she couldn't help but fear for the state of her relationship with House.
She'd come here to admit that he was right, to get the reassurance that she could feel herself craving. Being in a position of need, she'd expected House to make her beg for it. Especially after she'd been so dismissive earlier.
She hadn't anticipated him being so giving.
That he was... seemed to be too good to be true.
"You want to give me a massage," she said slowly, incredulously.
Again he sounded honest when he explained. "I'm trying to make you feel better." She could tell that he was trying to avoid sounding condescending, but she didn't really feel as though he was succeeding. "I want you to listen to what I have to say, but that's not going to happen until you're calm enough."
She folded her arms across her chest. "And if I don't agree?"
"Then you don't agree," he said with a shrug. "You don't want a massage? Fine."
Disagreeing seemed to be the one thing that mattered to her. He was being calm and logical, but in her, she felt as though her salvation could only come from telling him how wrong he was. And that made absolutely no sense, not even to her, the person having the thought.
Perhaps he sensed her conflict, because he said then, "It's just a massage. It doesn't have to mean something."
It didn't feel like that, not to her. She felt so desperate to maintain control over herself that any concession about anything felt like a physical blow. But rationally she knew - knew - that telling him no would just remind both of them how right he was about all of this. And he might not be smug now about that, but he would be at some point.
She wasn't going to let that happen.
"Fine," she conceded, like she was doing him a favor.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he
wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 (Part 1), Chapter 18 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
He was too afraid to look back and watch Cuddy come outside. But he didn’t need to; he could feel the heat radiating from the glare aimed at him. He could hear her shut the door loudly.
Involuntarily stiffening, he waited for her to say something to him. Or rather, every fiber of his being anticipated her screeching.
However, she simply came and stood by him. She didn’t speak at all. Oh, she was furious. Under no circumstances could he take her silence for calmness. That would have been a grave mistake on his part.
Which was why he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry.”
“You could have told me,” she said in a low, irritated voice.
There was a dangerous edge to her tone and underneath that, a hint of panic he thought he heard. It was not hard then to imagine that she’d feared the worst when she’d been unable to find Rachel. Maybe the idea - that Rachel had run away - hadn’t fully coalesced in Cuddy’s mind. But there was no denying that the thought had niggled in the back of her consciousness, and her anger was the product of that unbearable idea.
“I couldn’t,” he disagreed, trying to be as even keeled as he could be while telling her that she was wrong. “If I’d told you, you would have either made her come back inside or you wouldn’t, and then Rachel would be glad you’d let her play.”
A smirk played on the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks pink from the cold, he could see the air she exhaled when she scoffed. “This is about getting credit?”
He turned his head to look at her more carefully. “I don’t think you’d disagree that I need -”
“You still could have told me.”
“No,” he insisted. House paused before sighing. “Look, I would have told you if I could have. It’s not….”
He could hear how inadequate his words sounded. But when he reached out to touch her, she shot him a look that made him pull his hand back.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you or… scare you.”
Her hair whipped about in the wind as she forcefully met his gaze with her own. “I wasn’t scared.”
“Either way. It wasn’t my plan to pull one over on you. But she would have made it all about you if you were involved.” House knew how childish that sounded, so he explained further. “It would have become about what you did, how you let her go out.” He sensed the objection on the tip of her tongue and hastily added, “And there’s nothing wrong with that. But she’s not in doubt about how you feel about her.”
This time when he reached for her, she didn’t resist being pulled into his embrace. By no means had she moved on. She was still waiting for a full explanation and wouldn’t forgive or forget until he had given her one.
If she’d allowed him to wrap his arms around her at all, it had more to do with the freezing temperatures than anything else.
“All right,” she said through chattering teeth. As she laid her head down on his chest, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of his coat. God only knew her own jacket wasn’t doing much to ward off the chill in the air. “I’m listening.”
“You were right,” he admitted, his hands moving up and down her back to warm her up. “I screwed up. I’ve been… hoping you would take care of this, so I wouldn’t have to.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She could feel him bristle at her dry tone, and that struck her as odd. The remark hadn’t been intended as an accusation. She hadn’t said it in the hopes of hurting him. But he was reacting like she’d been doing something other than offering a quick quip. And that was anything but normal for him.
Pulling back a little, she looked up at him. “I didn’t -”
He let go of her, so that he could wave her off. In all honesty, she wished he hadn’t done that. His body heat had been a nice way of warding off the cold, and now she had no protection against the wind.
But all thoughts of the weather were promptly when he said, “In my head, it made sense to stay out of it. I don’t know.” He shook his head as though what he was saying wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. “Look,” he said after a moment, frustration creeping into his voice. “I’m not good with kids - we both know that.”
“I -”
“You said it yourself.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Cuddy insisted as speedily as her lips could form the words. “I wasn’t -”
"I thought if I didn't do anything, I could avoid hurting her. I thought it would be better for everyone that way; you wouldn't think I was using her to get to you," he admitted carefully. As much as he knew this deserved an explanation, it was hard to go through his train of thought when he could see, in his periphery, Rachel.
She wasn't paying attention at all to him. Had she, she would have noticed that her mother had come outside. That Rachel hadn't come running over here like an obedient dog who'd realized it had been caught doing something naughty meant that she hadn't looked over this way. And given the way her gaze was trained on the snow in front of her, it wasn't hard to believe that her focus was elsewhere.
However, House knew that at some point she would either find good snow and come running back or wouldn't find any and come running back anyway. And when she did, he didn't want her to hear any of this conversation.
"But the only thing worse than having you think that is making you think that I don't want this," he said, looking at Cuddy intently. "I want this to work too." His body shifted in discomfort. "More than anything."
He could see in her posture that he had done it; he'd earned her forgiveness. Those words spoken, her anger, which had been so prominent before, melted away. Her features softened, and an understanding, warm smile replaced the cold smirk she'd donned only moments ago.
"I love you," he added. He supposed he was campaigning too hard by tossing in that line, especially considering he'd already clearly resolved the argument. But he also knew that it was a fact that couldn't hurt him.
"I love you too."
She looked like she was about to kiss him, which was never a bad thing. Yet she didn’t even get a chance to take more than a step towards him. Predictably it was at that moment that Rachel came running back.
“I finded one!” she screamed, carrying a snowball that was nearly half the size House had told her to get. “It’s huge!”
Her obvious delight disappeared the second she saw Cuddy.
Stopping in her tracks, Rachel asked seriously, “Am I in trouble?”
“Lucky for you,” Cuddy answered in a voice that bordered on stern. “House has convinced me that you’ve earned a break -”
“Yay!”
“However, if you don’t have your inhaler….”
How she planned on ending that sentence, House would never know. At that moment, while they were talking about Rachel’s inhaler, he felt the strange weight of it in his jeans’ pocket. He figured he must have forgotten to take it back out after their trip to the store.
“I got it,” he said, pulling it out for Cuddy to see.
She was obviously unimpressed. Turning her attention back to Rachel, she asked, “Did you ask him if he had it?” Rachel hesitated then shook her head. “Rachel, you know you need to -”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” House interrupted. He understood why Cuddy would be concerned; he knew that it was important for Rachel to carry her rescue inhaler - or to make sure someone nearby had one - when she was going outside in winter. But he hadn’t brought Rachel out here for her mother to nag her. The last thing he wanted was for his efforts to be forgotten because of a petty fight. “She knows. I know - I knew, so it’s not an issue.”
Before Cuddy could even protest, he told Rachel, “That’s not big enough. It needs to be twice as big.”
“Okay,” she replied hurriedly. She ran off as fast as she could go in the snow. Obviously she wasn’t going to wait around for her mother to stop her.
Which left Cuddy with no other option than to turn her irritation on to him.
Glaring at him, she said, “Don’t do that.”
“What’s that?” he asked snidely. “Stop you from ruining what could otherwise be an enjoyable experience?”
She clenched her jaw. “Well I apologize for bringing common sense into the equation, but Rachel cannot afford to forget -”
“Let’s pretend this isn’t my first day on the job,” he said knowingly. “Let’s assume for a second that I get what’s at stake and have lived here long enough to know when the thing you think is bothering you isn’t the thing that’s bothering you.”
Cuddy brushed falling snow off her cheeks. She was sure he would take the act to mean she was unnerved by his assessment, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. She had no idea what he meant, which made it difficult to be offended, upset, or anything else.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“House, I have no clue what you’re talking about. This isn’t an act.”
His eyes roamed over her body as he openly looked for some tell that she was lying. When he couldn’t find one, because she wasn’t lying, he asked, “You think it’s a coincidence that you’re obsessing and overreacting -”
“I’m not overreacting to anything,” she said calmly.
“Overreacting to every slight -”
“Rachel not knowing if her inhaler was nearby is not slight,” Cuddy snapped louder than she wanted.
Both she and House glanced over to Rachel then to make sure she hadn’t heard. It was clear she hadn’t; she was feebly trying to pack more snow together - and failing.
“Relax,” he said, pulling Cuddy’s attention back to him. “Like I said, I know what’s at stake. However, you’re unnecessarily getting agitated and working yourself into a frenzy over things that don’t require that level of hysteria.”
She glowered. “I’m not hysterical.”
He nodded his head once. “Not usually. But you are today. You are now. That’s not coincidental.”
It killed her to have to admit it, but she still had no idea what he was trying to say. True, there was a part of her that seemed to instantly understand that his accusation was an offensive one. But he was being so vague, never giving her a reason why her behavior was predictable or intention, that she didn’t get it.
He opened his mouth, thankfully (or maybe not given what she was sure he would say) to explain further. He didn’t have a chance to say anything, however.
Before he could, Cuddy felt a tug on her coat. “Mommy.”
Rachel was by her side. The snowball that had been in her hand must have disintegrated, or perhaps she’d set it down, because she didn’t have anything with her now.
“I have to pee. Now.”
The urgency in her voice left no question in Cuddy’s mind as to how badly her daughter needed to use the bathroom. It was clear that Rachel had held off as long as she could, and she couldn’t wait any longer.
“Okay,” Cuddy said immediately. “Let’s get inside.”
She didn’t give Rachel the chance to take a single step; not trusting her daughter’s speed, Cuddy reached down and picked her up. By the time she turned around, House had already opened the front door for them.
“Thank you.”
But that gratitude was lost in the rush to undress Rachel. Wordlessly Cuddy set Rachel down in the hallway as House closed the door behind them. And then without even saying so, both he and Cuddy went about stripping Rachel of her winter clothes.
Their hands worked in a frenzied pace, removing mittens, scarf, jacket, and boots. But it seemingly wasn’t happening fast enough for Rachel. “Mommy, I have to -”
“Just a couple more seconds,” Cuddy said, pulling down Rachel’s snowsuit.
“I can’t wait.”
“Well, you’re going to have to.”
Rachel let out a high-pitched whine. “Hurry.”
It was unnecessary for her to say that; within seconds she was freed completely from her winter attire, and immediately she sprinted off down the hallway.
Surrounded by fleece and puffy pants, Cuddy looked to House. But while she was exasperated, he seemed amused.
"Is it your turn to get undressed, little girl?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
It was a ridiculous proposition. They were standing in the hallway in their winter coats. Rachel was probably somewhere between the hall and the bathroom, peeing all over the floor. Mentally, already Cuddy was prepared to clean urine off of tile, but here he was, acting as though now were the right time to throw her a line like that.
Then again it must have been, because in spite of herself, she found herself chuckling. The smile on her face felt foreign, and she eagerly gripped onto his forearm as he moved closer to her. "I only need to take my coat off," she said teasingly, as he started to undo the buttons on her coat.
His mouth brushing against her ear, he whispered hoarsely, "That's not exactly true."
Her jacket slipped off her shoulders. And though she should have been worried about the white wool falling on the floor, where it could easily pick up dirt, she didn't think about that at all. Her focus was entirely on him - or more specifically on his mouth.
Her hands moving to cup his cheeks, she pulled him into a deep kiss. His lips meeting hers with equal passion, she sighed into him. This was what she needed right now, more than anything. His kiss, his lips, his tongue - all of it working against her own to create heat between them - it was all she could have wanted in that moment.
But in typical House fashion, he was determined to give her more. His fingers curling under the hem of her sweater, his fingertips slowly meandered towards her breast. Her skin was warm to the touch, and he took his time, letting his palm brush against the flat plane of her stomach.
And that was where it ended.
Where it had to end.
Because it was right as he reached the lacy bottom of her bra, that Rachel shouted, "Mommy!"
Reluctantly Cuddy pulled away from him. Sighing she looked at him apologetically. "I have to see what she wants."
He shrugged like it was no big deal, but she knew that he had to have been as frustrated as she was. Of course, that was his own fault. He had to have known, just as she had, that this would happen. So as she left him there, she refused to feel bad.
Besides, was there any doubt in either of their minds that they would have sex again - and soon?
It might have been annoying to have to stop, but they would have other chances. At least, that was what she insisted on telling herself.
But as she came across Rachel, any and all thought of sex was promptly forgotten.
Rachel was crying. She was sitting on the toilet, which meant that she’d at least made it there. But Cuddy could also see that her pants were still on.
Rachel didn't have to say anything. No explanation was necessary. It was obvious that she had waited too long to say something and had made the choice to pee in her pants to avoid having an accident on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, perhaps sensing that Cuddy had figured out what had happened.
Stepping further into the bathroom, Cuddy tried to console her. “It’s okay.” She leaned down and kissed Rachel on the forehead. Running her fingers through Rachel’s hair, she repeated, “It’s okay.”
Rachel remained unconvinced and seemingly inconsolable. “I didn’t - I thought….” And then her sobs seemed to get even louder when she said, “I just wanted my snowman.”
Cuddy stepped away and shifted toward the bathtub. Her intentions had been to wait closer to tonight’s party to give Rachel a bath. Understanding that last minute messes were hardly uncommon, she’d hoped to put off getting Rachel clean until Cuddy was sure she couldn’t get dirty again. But that plan was gone now; Rachel had literally pissed all over it.
It was a thought that would have been amusing if not for the mess Cuddy now faced.
She stopped the tub and turned on the faucet. Water loudly rushing into the basin, she turned back to Rachel. “I’m going to go get something to put your clothes in, and then we’ll clean you up. You need to stay here.”
Rachel nodded her head but say nothing.
“I mean it, honey, just stay where you are. Don’t get up.” Cuddy doubted she would go anywhere. But perhaps in an attempt to clean up her accident, she might go to take off her pants, and Cuddy was sure that would make things worse. “Don’t get in the tub until I get back.”
She headed to the bathroom door to leave, but Rachel grabbed hold of her hand. “Don’t tell House,” she pleaded.
Cuddy was sure that he would not have cared either way about what had happened to Rachel. Even if he were feeling particularly arrogant, he would still barely be able to muster a comment. In her experience, Cuddy knew that House had never been close to Rachel. But he’d never been intentionally and unnecessarily cruel either. Rachel was worried about what he would say if he knew, but the fact was he would never say anything.
“He’s not going to care, baby. He -”
“No,” Rachel muttered. “Don’t want him know,” she said, leaving out the to in her sentence.
Cuddy rubbed her daughter’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m not going to say anything to him. I’m just going to get a hamper to put your clothes in, all right? That’s all.”
The words weren’t enough insurance; Rachel’s grip on her remained fierce, her pleading eyes wild with desperation.
“Rachel, it’s okay,” Cuddy said, as she slowly worked at freeing herself. “I’ll be right back.”
She moved out of the way before Rachel had a chance to grab her again. Briefly Cuddy worried that Rachel would respond by getting up off the toilet seat, doing precisely what Cuddy wanted to avoid.
But Rachel remained where she was. She didn't look happy, but she didn't move.
"I'll be right back," Cuddy repeated before heading out of the bathroom.
She was quick in retrieving Rachel's clothes hamper. Rachel might have been worried her mother would tell House, but Cuddy wasn't thinking about that at all. Her focus was solely on cleaning up the mess in front of her and worry about everything else later.
Of course, even if she wanted to tell him, he was nowhere in sight. Cuddy could only assume that that meant he'd gone into hiding in their bedroom or his office. He'd done his nice act for the day, and he was done - clearly.
Heading back to the bathroom with Rachel's hamper in hand, Cuddy sighed at that knowledge. That was precisely what she hated about this situation with House. He could be kind and attentive one moment and then... when he was done, he was done. He disappeared without comment, without pretending as though he'd ever cared at all.
She wouldn't say that he wasn't trying. He had made it clear that he was, and she could appreciate the effort he'd gone to this weekend. But... sometimes, like right now, it struck her that he was merely going through the motions.
As she pushed open the bathroom door though, she supposed there was nothing to be done about that now.
"See?" she asked an anxious Rachel who thankfully hadn't moved. "I came right back."
It didn't seem to make a difference. Rachel didn’t seem relieved at all. But helping her ease out of her urine-soaked clothing, Cuddy realized slowly that her daughter’s mood had everything to do with being wet. Because the second she was freed of her pants and underwear, she seemed a lot happier.
As with all things involving this weekend, her good mood didn’t last however. She’d only been in the tub a few minutes when she asked, “Can we go back outside?”
Cuddy reluctantly shook her head. “You need to stay clean for the party tonight.”
“I don’t want to go to a party.”
“You have to go. You were invited.”
Rachel pouted. “Why can’t I stay with Nana?”
Scooping water into a cup, Cuddy said, “Tip your head back.” Rachel complied. “Nana’s busy.”
As Cuddy wet her daughter’s hair, Rachel asked, “Doing what?”
“I don’t know. Stealing souls” was Cuddy’s frustrated reply.
“I don’t want to go. I want to build a snowman.”
Cuddy fought the urge to roll her eyes. If there was one thing Rachel had made clear, it was what she wanted and didn’t want right now. It didn’t need to be said again. But instead of pointing that out, Cuddy simply began shampooing her hair.
“I understand what you want,” she said tersely. “But you have to go to this, and you’re taking a bath now. So we’re not going back outside today.”
Perhaps having sensed that whining wasn’t going to get her anywhere, Rachel asked, “Please?” Her voice was even not shrill, though there was no mistaking the question for anything other than the last ditch effort that it clearly was.
"Some other time," Cuddy said calmly. "Winter’s not over. You have plenty of time to make a snowman.”
Rachel knew what that meant: Mommy wasn’t going to change her mind so there was no point in arguing. If she was lucky, maybe she wouldn’t have school tomorrow, and she could make a snowman then. But Rachel wasn’t hopeful. Cause of her asthma, she rarely got to play outside in the snow as it was, and Mommy hated the snow; House didn’t, but Rachel knew he didn’t like playing with her necessarily. And if it was icy, then that was hard on his leg, so he wouldn’t want to go outside. And even if he did, now that she had peed her pants, no one would ever want to take her out again. They probably thought she would just pee in her pants again if they did.
“I’m never going to get a snowman,” she said sadly, realizing how awful but true that was.
Mommy told her, “It’s just one day, monkey. There’s going to be more snow and plenty of chances for you to play outside.”
Rachel didn’t believe that. Everyone always made promises and plans, but she’d been around long enough to know that work or getting sick or something else always got in the way.
But she couldn't say that out loud. Adults could; they could say whatever they wanted but a kid? No. When you did that and you were young, everyone just assumed you needed a nap or were grumpy cause you didn't get what you wanted. So she just said, "I hate this."
Cuddy didn't reply at first. She didn't know what to say. Her daughter was upset that she couldn't go outside. There was no way to console her - no other way anyway. Cuddy had said they could go out some other time; she'd pointed out that there would be plenty of snow for them to play in later. There was nothing else to say.
Knowing that, she silently combed conditioner through Rachel's tangled hair. Every now and then, her fingers would snag in a particularly tight snarl, and Rachel would complain.
"That hurts!"
Delicately untangling the strands of hair, Cuddy said, "I'm sorry. Your hair's messy from being in that hat."
Rachel had nothing to say to that, and she became quiet once more. There was no doubt in Cuddy's mind that Rachel was still irritated about not being able to go outside. Not unlike House, she tended to hold disappointments and grudges for absurd amounts of time. In all likelihood, she would hold this in for days, bringing it up at odd moments to complain.
But for now, she seemed... not content but resigned to what was happening. And maybe it was just the hot water and the feel of her mother's fingers through her hair, but Rachel was slowly starting to droop. She stayed awake the entire time, watching Cuddy as she ran the washcloth along the length of her body. But it was clear that she was beginning to fall prey to exhaustion.
Cuddy supposed that made sense. Rachel's school had "quiet time" every day. Even if the kids weren't tired, they had to lay on their little mat on the middle of the floor, and Rachel was used to that routine, so much so that she still napped even when she didn't have school. Other parents had told Cuddy that their children no longer slept in the afternoon, but Rachel still went down for at least an hour after lunch on most days.
And frankly, Cuddy had never been happier for the reprieve than she was right now. Well, all right, maybe she'd been happier when Rachel had been a teething toddler. But this particular moment was a close second to that. Admittedly, Rachel wasn't doing anything wrong. She'd been... resistant to nearly everything Cuddy had tried to accomplish today, but she wasn't being bad.
Cuddy wanted the break though.
This entire weekend felt as though she'd been running from one crisis to the other, barely attempting to manage one problem before she had to rush off to another. The D.E.A. investigating the hospital, House and Rachel's relationship, John Kelley, this party that was looming over her head... it had just been one thing right after the other. And Cuddy felt as though she couldn't even breathe now without something else going wrong.
At least if she could get Rachel into bed for a little while, Cuddy could have some time to herself. Even if some other problem crept up (and frankly, it was safe to assume one would), she wouldn’t have to worry about Rachel getting dirty for a while.
That probably shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did to Cuddy’s ears, but she couldn’t help it. If it was one less thing she had to be concerned about, that was all that mattered. And so, although Rachel protested feebly, Cuddy put her in bed after her bath. It took only a few minutes before Rachel was fast asleep, the warm water and now her soft sheets lulling her to sleep quickly.
But it was funny, Cuddy thought as she closed Rachel’s door behind her. This was one less thing to worry about, and that meant that she should have felt relieved.
She didn’t.
She felt frantic.
Suddenly House’s words came back to her, the sentiments echoing in her head. He’d said her behavior hadn’t been a coincidence.
He’d been right.
Without even thinking, she headed back towards the bathroom and grabbed the hamper full of dirty clothes. Doing laundry was hardly something she wanted to do. Yet she found herself heading straight for the washer and dryer in the basement anyway.
As though her body refused to relax for even a moment, she started washing Rachel's clothes.
It didn't matter that she had a housekeeper to do this. It didn't matter that she was tired, exhausted from last night's fitful sleep and everything bad that had happened today. She felt as though she were unable to stop. The need to continue, to busy herself seemed almost consuming.
And again, she was reminded that House had been right.
She’d been obsessing over the smallest details, occupying herself with them to the exclusion of everything else. He’d seen it before she had, but now there was no denying that he’d been right all along.
When doing laundry wasn’t enough to distract her from that fact, Cuddy felt compelled to seek him out.
He wasn’t hard to find. Like Rachel, he seemed to have a few places he liked to disappear to in the house, and he never strayed from that. So it was hardly surprising to see him sitting on the couch in his office, his feet propped up on his coffee table.
He was reading something in his hand; she couldn’t tell what, because he had the pages folded over the cover of the magazine or journal he was reading. Glasses dangled precariously on the bridge of his nose over the chicken pox scar she occasionally liked to touch when he was sleeping. He had a finger resting against his lips, and he was clearly deep in thought - so much so that he didn’t even look in her direction when she came in the room.
Truthfully Cuddy didn’t know if she wanted him to say anything or not. They were in an okay place at that moment, and she was half-convinced any sort of conversation would ruin the delicate balance. But she was here now; she had to do something. He might not have been paying much attention to her, but surely that would change if she turned around and walked away. He would notice that and seize on the oddity like a dog with a bone.
Without any other option, she quietly joined him on the couch. He still didn’t glance in her direction, even as she pulled her legs onto the sofa. But as she laid her head down in his lap, she was content to be ignored.
Anxiety filled her with an itching urge to do something, anything. But lying against House, his fingers eventually carding through her hair, she found it easier to resist surrounding herself with busy work. And for a brief couple of minutes, she relaxed into him. She let herself be consumed by the feeling of his warm hand on her and the soft sound of him turning a page every now and then.
That peace didn’t last long though. As she lie there, she couldn’t help but start to think of all the things she should be doing. And the more she tried to push away those thoughts, the more inescapable they became. Rachel’s clothes needed to be put in the dryer; she should pick out the tie House would wear tonight; she should wash the floors and make sure all of the winter clothes Rachel had been wearing were put away….
She should be doing something.
And, perhaps because he was the closest distraction, Cuddy found herself saying, “You were right.”
His hand settled on her shoulder, but he didn’t speak right away. If anything, it took him a moment to look down at her and say, “Given how true that is, you’re going to need to be a little bit more specific.”
Rolling onto her back so she could look at him, she wasn’t surprised to see that he was being serious. She scoffed in irritation. “You think now’s the right time to act like an ass?”
“Am I really being an ass in pointing out that I am often right?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s not going to make me sound like less of an asshole to say I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She gritted her teeth but managed to explain, “You said my behavior wasn’t a coincidence.”
He inhaled loudly as understanding hit him. Taking his hand off her, he removed his glasses and set them aside. “You’re surprised I know something about the woman I live with and have seen every day for years?”
She shook her head.
“You’re mad then,” he deduced, assuming that if she weren’t surprised, she was agitated that he had realized what was going on first.
“No.”
It was apparent that she was telling the truth. If only because she had no reason to lie, he believed her when she said she wasn’t mad. But then that left him with predicament of not knowing what it was she did feel.
She wasn’t surprised, wasn’t angry; she certainly wasn’t going to be happy that he’d recognized a behavior in her before she had. But that hardly narrowed down the possibilities before him.
He couldn't ask. Tempting though it was to put the question out there, he couldn't ask what the hell she was thinking. That never went over that well, and he didn't feel like getting into a fight over it.
It went without saying that there was a good chance that they would get into an argument anyway. But he was willing to try avoiding one if he could.
And House figured that the best way to do that was to be as obtuse and general in his reaction as he could be. Cover all bases, and there would be a chance he'd hit something she wanted or needed him to say.
“A lot’s happened this weekend,” he said as an admittedly lame opener. “Your Type A personality malfunctioning was bound to happen.”
She blinked and looked away from him. He watched her intently, careful to take in every hesitant movement in her body - the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
House latched onto the admittance instantly. Whether she’d intentionally given him an opening or not, he had struck something within her. And he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass him by.
“I’m not surprised,” he told her calmly. “You respond to problems by trying to fix them.”
“Which is a horrible quality to have,” she replied with sarcasm laced in every word.
“Of course not. But you obsess over small details and fixate on making everything perfect.” She looked at him as though he had said something insulting. It wasn’t, but given how he tended to deride her need for perfection, he could see why she would hear his words spoken in the most negative of ways. “When things aren’t just right, you’re not happy. You try to make it better, but sometimes that doesn’t work. Things don’t go the way you want them, you….” He tried to think of the right word he wanted to say. “Hoard the control you do have.”
He shrugged. “It was only a matter of time.”
“You make it sound like I’m crazy.”
“No.” That was the last thing he wanted her to think he thought if he wanted to avoid a fight. “If it weren’t for you, Rachel and I’d probably walk out the house without pants on twice a week and eat jelly beans and rat poison for dinner.” Pausing for a moment, he felt compelled to add, “And when I say Rachel and I, I mean mainly Rachel.”
“Of course. You don’t need me at all” was her sarcastic reply.
She could have easily come across as offended. But he could see the small upturn of her lips, and he knew she wasn’t upset.
“Obviously not,” he said, playing along with the sentiment. “Once Chase fully transitions into a woman, you and I are so done.”
“Chase doesn’t have my ass.”
“Or your affinity for naughty sex. So you have nothing to worry about.”
She stifled a laugh. “I was so concerned.”
“That’s ridiculous to you,” he said knowingly.
She looked at him like she thought he was an idiot. “As attractive as he is, I’m not worried.”
“But you are worried about John Kelley?”
His point had the effect he wanted. Because even though it was obvious she was about to get defensive, he could see understanding slowly seep in.
“I didn’t say that,” she said quickly.
“You didn’t have to.”
She sat up, suddenly agitated. “You are so arrogant. You get one little detail right, and you assume -”
“Yeah, it’s not really two separate thoughts,” he interrupted. “I knew you were going to react the way you did - are - because if you didn’t have something else to focus on, you’d think about kissing him.”
The truth in that could be read all over her face. Just mentioning what had happened drained all of the color from her cheeks. And her voice was low - dangerous when she said, “I told you not to bring -”
“I’m not bringing it up to make you feel guilty. I’m bringing it up, because it’s the reason why that stick up your ass is -”
“We’re not talking about this,” she announced, standing up as she uttered the hasty words.
He didn’t believe her for a second.
It didn't even make sense; her words when taken at face value were at odds with everything she had done up to this point. If she hadn't wanted to talk about what had happened, she wouldn't have told him that that asshole had kissed her. If she hadn't wanted to discuss it, she wouldn't have come to him now. She certainly wouldn't have allowed the conversation to get this far, anyway.
No, House didn't think she was lying. She wasn't. Cuddy was just... unable to assess her own needs at that point. She was so focused on that bastard's kiss and what it might mean for their relationship - as House had said - that she couldn't see her own ridiculousness.
Her words were as far from the truth as one could get.
But she didn't know that.
And yet he realized that he would never be able to convince her of that. Right now, she was too upset to listen to anything he had to say. So he could only tell her, "Okay. We won't talk about it."
House reached for his glasses and slipped them back on. Picking up the forgotten journal, he began to read once more. It would drive Cuddy nuts to see him do that (as her frustrated groan attested to). But it was all he could do in this situation. She wasn't ready for the conversation, and maybe he had approached the matter too aggressively, making her even more gun shy.
Whatever the circumstances, she needed a break, and he was willing to give her one. Frankly, he thought as she stormed off, it would only take twenty minutes at most. She would go do laundry or clean a bathroom or dust random surfaces in the house. All the while though, his words would eat away at her. She would consider everything he'd said, would want to brush them off as stupid and inaccurate, but she would be unable to. At some point while folding clothes or scrubbing a toilet or dusting a picture frame, she would recognize that he hadn't been wrong.
And then she would come to him again.
This time though, House was determined to be prepared.
He'd expected this conversation to creep up, but he had been arrogant, as she had accused. He'd assumed that he would be able to reason with her without any real effort on his part.
At best that had been wishful thinking. To believe that she was in a position to hear him out, to think that logic alone would guide her to the truth... yeah, that had been stupid.
It was obvious that that would take more effort on his part. He would have to reason with her, yes, but he would need something to aid him along. He would need to lull her into a place where her own insanity would shut up long enough for her to listen.
And while he didn't assume anymore that that would be an easy task, he did think it was straight forward.
As soon as she was out of sight, he got to work. He didn't have much time to prepare himself. If she was as consumed with anxiety as she seemed to be, he wouldn't have all that long to set up. So he quickly set his glasses and journal aside once more and started preparation.
Quietly he headed for the linen closet. The lack of whining in the house meant that Rachel was down for a nap, and Cuddy was nowhere to be seen, but he tried to keep his own noise down. The last thing he wanted was for his plan to be thwarted because of cranky Cuddys.
Pulling the door to the closet open, he carefully plucked out the thick electric blanket that they rarely used. Carrying it to the bedroom, he immediately went about spreading the blanket out on the bed. The bulky blanket was a hassle to deal with, especially when he had to waste time untangling the plug, which had become knotted. But he knew it was necessary to have the bed warmed. Cuddy was in such a neurotic, bitchy place that she would never get naked without the assurance that she wouldn't get cold.
Sure, there was a wrinkled cashmere throw at the bottom of the bed. It would be perfectly reasonable for a person to assume that that alone would be enough. But Cuddy was in a place that was so far from perfectly reasonable, and he wasn't going to take the chance. Besides, she could use the cashmere blanket to cover up with, he figured.
As soon as the bed was made to his liking, he stalked towards the bathroom. Not that she ever remembered to use them, but House knew she kept candles in the cabinets under the sink. Throwing the doors open, he yanked as many candles out as he could carry.
Perhaps this was going too far. That was what he thought as he strategically placed the candles around the room - along her dresser, on the night stands. Cuddy liked romance, but under these circumstances, he wasn't sure how she would react. Plopping the last candle down with a thunk, he considered that she wouldn't like it. In fact, the second she saw the display, she would assume that he was hoping to get laid and would probably react negatively.
In his head, he could hear her accusing him of using the experience with John as foreplay.
It was an insane thought, but that was precisely why House felt it was likely she would think it.
So he would need something to silence the lambs, he realized. And he knew just what that something would be.
Slipping out of the bedroom, he headed towards the kitchen. He needed matches, which he easily found in a drawer. But he also needed the mug he saw her holding earlier. He looked around the room for a bit but didn't see it. Eventually finding the mug sitting on the dining room table, he was pleased that it was still full of tea.
That would save him some time, he thought, as he microwaved it to get it hot once more. At least he didn't have to make more for her and risk her hearing the kettle whistling. Then again, if he'd made it from scratch, he wouldn't have nearly burned the flesh off his hands, he thought as he too eagerly reached for the hot mug in the microwave.
He hissed in pain when the porcelain cup rubbed against his palms. Forcing himself to wait a few seconds, he reminded himself that he needed to be calm. There was a time issue, yes, and he needed to be mindful of that. But none of his plans would work if she came into the room and felt his own frantic energy. If he weren't calm, she would never be, and nothing he said would ever register in her mind.
Taking a relaxing breath, he reached for the mug once more. This time he could handle the heat radiating off the cup. Long fingers curving around it, he cautiously made his way back to the bedroom. His limp made it more challenging to balance the mug, but he had learned over the years how to handle the uneven movement as best he could.
As soon as he was in the bedroom, he tossed the matches on to the bed. He could light the candles in a moment. He couldn't wait to do this, or Cuddy would know.
Heading back to the bathroom once more, mug in hand, he opened the medicine cabinet. His eyes roamed over the various prescriptions for the right one. The general agreed-upon arrangement was to separate the drugs by who they were for and, thanks to Cuddy's insanity, by alphabetical order. But try as she might to convince him otherwise, House never really followed her organization. As a result, his prescriptions were mixed in with hers, a bottle of Vicodin she let him keep in the house lying messily underneath her birth control.
His gaze seemed to fix itself on the Vicodin. He wasn't looking for that, but his body didn't seem to recognize that fact. As though his being could sense the close proximity of his favorite drug, he couldn't stop staring at it. And even when he reminded himself that he didn't need it, even as he told himself that that wasn't why he was here, he could feel his thigh twinge painfully.
Like it was longing for the Vicodin.
But it was that very pain that pulled him out of his trance.
Sometimes the Vicodin was a necessity; sometimes, no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of it, the pain was too great for him to ignore, and he would reach for the drug then. Now was not one of those times. And if Cuddy let him keep it here, it wasn't because she trusted him to know the difference between when he needed and when he merely wanted. It was because she didn’t trust him, because she felt it was easier to control his addiction by keeping it in plain sight.
If she'd forbidden it, she had realized that it would be easy for him to keep a secret stash in his office, in his car, in his apartment. It would be simple for him to take the drug elsewhere and never let her know what he had done. So she'd allowed the Vicodin in their home to keep an eye on him.
And, as it always did, that irritated him. He didn't like being watched over, being treated like her child. But he also knew, as he always reminded himself, that he had to play by the rules she'd set out for him. In this case at least, he had to. Sneaking Vicodin behind her back, throwing a fit over being unable to do what he wanted when he wanted... it would just prove her right. It would only convince her that her reservations were more than founded.
He supposed they were and that, maybe more than anything, he did what she wanted, because he didn't want Vicodin to come between him and her. That thought reminding him of what was at stake, it forced his focus back on the matter at hand.
His search renewed, he found the bottle of Lorazapam she sometimes dipped into. As he opened the bottle, he recognized that it would do him no good to give her a full dose. There was still the stupid party he'd agreed to go to tonight, and she would absolutely rip his dick off if she missed it, because he'd drugged her. A half pill would do though.
Using the bottom of the bottle, he crushed one of the tiny white pills in half. Then he used the bottle to mash the half he was going to dose her with against the sink. When it was a fine powder, he brushed it into the mug of hot tea. He practically burned his finger to stir the Lorazapam into the liquid, but it would be a little obvious what he was doing if there were milky white chunks floating on top of the amber-colored tea.
Placing the leftover Lorazapam back in the bottle and the bottle back on the shelf, he closed the medicine cabinet. Doing so, he caught himself smiling in the bathroom mirror - grinning really. Instantly he forced his features to look less amused at his own ability to deceive. If she came in and saw him looking like that, she'd immediately know something was going on. She was already going to be suspicious; anything that could be perceived as nice from him at the moment was something she would question.
He wasn't going to make that any easier for her.
Heading to the bedroom once more, he placed her cup on her side of the nightstand. Grabbing the matches off the bed, he started lighting the candles around the room.
And that was what he was doing when she barged in the room. With resignation in her voice, she said, "All right. Fine. You're...." He wasn't looking at her, but he could tell by the way that her sentence trailed off: she was noticing the room. As predicted, she instantly became suspicious. "What are you doing?"
He finished lighting all of the candles before he answered. "You've had a bad day. I haven't exactly helped," he said honestly.
"And you think seducing me right now is what is going to help me." She sounded equal parts disgusted and irritated.
"I'm not interested in having sex with you," he admitted, as he walked past her. Closing the bedroom door and locking it, he heard how untrue the sentiment was. So he corrected himself. "Well, no more interested than usual."
Finally looking at her, he could see that the comment wasn't making her feel any better. He was screwing this up; he could tell, and he knew that he needed to fix it or lose the opportunity forever.
"I'm not trying to have sex with you," he told her in all honesty. "I just thought... you're tense and unhappy, and you need to relax."
The way he spoke, she believed him. He didn't seem like he was lying to her. But she still didn't understand. "I don't -"
"A massage," he supplied.
"Oh."
That had been the last thing she was expecting.
She'd been in the middle of switching the laundry from the washer to the dryer when she'd realized that he'd been right. Again. As hard as it was to admit it, she'd been trying to avoid thinking about John Kelley, about kissing him. All of this pent up energy had been a means to escape it, but nothing she did was enough. No matter how hard she tried, she kept remembering what had happened: his taste, the way he had felt against her mouth, his tongue on her teeth. And in doing so, yes, she couldn't help but fear for the state of her relationship with House.
She'd come here to admit that he was right, to get the reassurance that she could feel herself craving. Being in a position of need, she'd expected House to make her beg for it. Especially after she'd been so dismissive earlier.
She hadn't anticipated him being so giving.
That he was... seemed to be too good to be true.
"You want to give me a massage," she said slowly, incredulously.
Again he sounded honest when he explained. "I'm trying to make you feel better." She could tell that he was trying to avoid sounding condescending, but she didn't really feel as though he was succeeding. "I want you to listen to what I have to say, but that's not going to happen until you're calm enough."
She folded her arms across her chest. "And if I don't agree?"
"Then you don't agree," he said with a shrug. "You don't want a massage? Fine."
Disagreeing seemed to be the one thing that mattered to her. He was being calm and logical, but in her, she felt as though her salvation could only come from telling him how wrong he was. And that made absolutely no sense, not even to her, the person having the thought.
Perhaps he sensed her conflict, because he said then, "It's just a massage. It doesn't have to mean something."
It didn't feel like that, not to her. She felt so desperate to maintain control over herself that any concession about anything felt like a physical blow. But rationally she knew - knew - that telling him no would just remind both of them how right he was about all of this. And he might not be smug now about that, but he would be at some point.
She wasn't going to let that happen.
"Fine," she conceded, like she was doing him a favor.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter