Gift of Screws, Chapter 21.2
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Twenty One, 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. This chapter has a mention of animal cruelty that occurred in the past.
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), Chapter 19 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 3), Chapter 19 (Part 4), Chapter 20 (Part 1), Chapter 20 (Part 2), Chapter 21 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
His hand slid up her body, his fingers reaching for her chin. His thumb brushing underneath her lower lip, he forced her to look at him then. Predictably, she felt that familiar pull, that need for him. Her stomach fluttering with electricity, it took everything she had not to lean forward and kiss him right then and there.
And that was probably a good thing, because he said in a voice that left no room for discussion, “You’re not getting laid now. I could fuck you. But why would I want to when I can leave you thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you later?”
She refused to back down. “That’s fine,” she told him, bluffing. “If you want to wait to see what I have on underneath -”
“Unless you’re smuggling a really hot hooker under your dress, I gotta tell you: I don’t care.” Her disbelief must have shown, because he added, “I’m sure what you have on is pretty. But if you think, at this point, I’m even going to glance at it before ripping it off you, you’re out of your mind.”
He had her beat. Mentally he prepared for her to fight him, but the fact was: he’d bested her thoroughly.
Not wanting to lose momentum, he pushed onward before she probably even had a chance to realize what had happened.
“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I said many things to you, but I -”
“In the shower. You said you’d leave my come on you all day if that was what I wanted. So everyone would know who you belonged to.”
That was what she'd said. The memory for him was foggy on account of the fact that she'd had one finger in his ass, another hand on his dick, and the need to come ruling his entire body. But she had said something along those lines - he knew. And there was a good chance that she hadn't really meant it when she'd said it; trying to get him to watch Rachel and get him off might have been her motivation for saying it at the time. He, however, had latched onto the idea and wasn't willing to put it to bed without seeing it through. She might have been facetious, but he wasn't going to assume that.
"Yeah," she agreed slowly, as though her recollection of the moment was just as vague as his. "I guess I said that." She sounded neither interested in nor against the idea.
He went with it. “So then here’s what I want you to be aware of for the rest of the party,” he told her in a deep voice, leaning in so that his lips were practically on hers. “I don’t care who you fucked. When we get home, you’re going to be mine,” he snarled. “In every way imaginable. Including that way.”
She didn’t say anything. But the almost imperceptible nod of her head let him know that she was more than game for anything he had in mind.
“That dress is going to look so good with a pearl necklace,” he said promisingly.
The confusion crossing her face, she started to say, “I don’t get it.”
But by then he’d let go of her. Pulling away from her, he stood up slowly. “Just think about it,” he told her calmly. She seemed reluctant then to say or do anything. She looked at him expectantly, like he was going to elaborate further, do something to keep this moment going.
However, House felt that he had said all that he needed to. For the rest of the evening, at any moment, when there was a slight lull in the conversation, she would think back to this discussion. She would recall his words and wonder what he had intended for her. And the less he explained, the more curious she would be, he thought. So he had no other choice than to end the conversation now.
“Come on,” he said reaching for her. His hand clasping around her wrist, he pulled her up off the couch. “Time to get back to the party.”
“Since when do you care about -”
“Since I have a good feeling that this is going to drive you nuts.”
As she slipped her feet back into her heels, she smirked a little. “I know you think that’s how this is going to work, but -”
“It’s not?” he asked doubtfully. “You expect me to believe that?”
By the smug look on her face, he could tell that she did. “I might think about it every once in a while,” she admitted. “But I’m built for delayed gratification. You, on the other hand…. You can’t handle being bored. You hate being polite and making small conversation, which these parties are based on.”
“And yet you invited me.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“Not really.”
“Fine,” he said giving in. “But you’re already dying for me to screw your brains out. You’ve proved as much. And it’s going to be a long time before you -”
“That’s true. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does.”
“House, the fact is: I can handle waiting until after the party. This is work for me, which means I have plenty of ways to keep my mind occupied. You don’t have that, because nothing anyone tells you is going to interest you. So. Anything you just said is going to affect you ten times more than it will me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well. I guess we’ll see who’s begging to leave by the end of the night.” She nearly sauntered toward the door. He didn’t even have time to consider whether or not she was right about any of it before she wrenched the door open. Turning to look at him once more, she said with a smile, “Here’s a hint: it’s going to be you.”
“It might have been,” he conceded. “But now that you’ve gone and made it a game, I can guarantee that it’s not going to be me.”
She didn’t back down from the challenge. “We’ll see.”
“We will.”
“Have fun at the party, dear.”
He stuck his tongue out at her retreating form, but it didn’t help. The second she was gone, he realized:
She was right.
She had so much ass to kiss and metaphorical dick to suck that her mind would only momentarily think about the actual dick she’d be sucking later on. He wasn’t wrong; that would get to her; she would be extremely eager by the end of the night.
But he would be desperate long before then.
Because what the hell did he have to do this evening? Talk to donors?
Cuddy wasn’t wrong to suggest that that wouldn’t keep his mind occupied. She was wrong to think that that scenario would even possibly occur; no one talked to him at work parties. Well okay, Cuddy and Wilson and maybe a team member or two engaged him, but they were the only ones who put up with him for more than a minute. Everyone else avoided him or only talked to him out of necessity. At no point did they stick around longer than required, entering casual conversation born out of mutual interests. If they spoke to him at all, it was about work. And when work was done, they were gone. Which left him with… what exactly?
Rachel? Right, he told himself bitterly, because what he’d really wanted to do today was dress up to play babysitter.
Leaving the office, House slowly made his way back toward the party. He had no idea why he was even bothering; the next couple hours would be just as miserable with company as it would be if he spent the entire time in Wells’s office alone. There was absolutely no point opening himself up to the thirty seconds of small talk he’d be forced to suffer through if he rejoined the party.
As he passed the room where the kids were being held, he heard some of the children shrilly making plans for a game of hide and go seek. They were nominating Rachel to be the seeker, and mentally House wished them luck with that; the house was so big, and Rachel was so dumb that they’d be fortunate if they were ever found.
Then again, who was the idiot here? At least she was having fun with her friends. What did he have?
The second he reentered the party, he had the answer to that question. Because it was at that moment that he saw Cuddy across the room; she was talking to some random donor, her hand on his forearm, and he understood where he’d get his fun from this evening. House suddenly knew: he couldn’t lessen his own desire for the night to end. But he could absolutely torment her with the details of his plans.
They couldn’t leave now, couldn’t get away with going home early even. And so there was only one way to proceed - make the evening as miserable for her as it already was for him.
Grabbing two glasses of champagne off a server’s tray, he understood the game he was playing was dangerous. There were so many people standing around in conversation, so many who could hear him say all sorts of dirty things to her. And they weren’t just random nobodies. Well, they were, but they were the nobodies they both worked with and for. The house staff who were wandering around the grounds with trays of hors d’oeuvres and an assortment of booze wouldn’t care about anything he said. But everyone else? Yeah, that could create some trouble.
House was unconcerned. If there were potential for problems, that just meant he had to get creative. It didn’t mean he had to abandon plans altogether.
Carefully, he carried two flutes of champagne by the stems. It was difficult balancing the glasses in one hand while managing a cane in the other. But he was patient with it, never going faster than necessary. That of course meant the donor Cuddy was talking to saw him coming from a mile away - and therefore had a chance to make a hasty retreat long before he was at her side. That didn’t deter him.
“Champagne?” he asked, gently uttering the word nearly her shoulder. The act would go unnoticed by others but not Cuddy, who would recognize the intimacy in his closeness immediately.
She turned to him in surprise. “Thank you,” she said coolly, taking the glass from his hand.
“I was thinking,” he told her, closing the distance she’d somehow managed to put between them.
“Hmm?” The noise was muffled by the flute she was drinking from. Swallowing she asked, “What’s that?”
“You were right. This is gonna be bad for me, so the only thing for me to do is make it just as bad for you.”
She pulled the glass away from her mouth. “What does that mean, House?”
In a low voice, he propositioned her. “You wanna know the first thing I’m going to do to you when I get you home?”
She raised an eyebrow. A retort was quickly forming in her brain, but she never had a chance to say anything. Wells, who was about twenty feet, called for her, and since it was his party, that was all that mattered. Which was why House was surprised that she held up a finger as if to tell the other man to give her a moment.
“Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” House taunted.
She wasn’t fazed by the comment. “You want to play this game?”
“If I didn’t, it probably was a mistake to -”
“Fine.” She finished her champagne before handing him the empty glass. “Bring it on. Just remember I can do this.”
She started to walk away, and he thought her point was a stupid one. What was she saying? That she could leave whenever he tried to talk to her about this? But as she brushed past him, he realized that that wasn’t her point at all. Because as she slipped past him, she let her hand slide between them. Her body blocked the action from prying eyes, but he could feel her cupping his dick through his pants.
She squeezed him a few times, her palm tracing the length of him as best as she could given the circumstances.
It took all he had not to gasp, not to drop the glasses in his hand. Telling himself that he couldn’t let anyone - especially Cuddy - know that this was happening or getting to him, he tried to will himself not to respond. But his cock hardening in her hand, it was to no avail.
And then she let him go.
“If you’re looking for something to do,” she suggested, ignoring the soft whine he made. “Maybe you should go check on Rachel.”
Victorious she left him at half-mast and with a vague desire to kill her.
It was one thing for him to mess with her; it was okay, because no one would ever know if she were turned on. The same could not be said for him, and while he didn’t care that someone might see the way his pants were beginning to tent, he also didn’t care to feel like a thirteen-year-old boy with a rush of hormones and no outlet for it again.
Yes, he thought as he drank his own champagne, she was definitely going to get it tonight - in every way he could think of. If it was dirty, kinky - hell, outright deranged - he was going to put it on the list of things they needed to do, ways they needed to fuck this evening.
Of course, he couldn’t even begin to name much less think about any of those sick proclivities he would thrust upon Cuddy tonight. The goal right now was to get his dick under control, and that surely wasn’t going to happen if he thought about any of that.
In fact he thought then, Cuddy’s suggestion, that he go check up on Rachel, was probably a good one. Nothing killed an erection like a kid.
He felt it said a lot about his current surroundings that that was the bright spot of this party. But finishing his glass of champagne, he decided to make his way towards the children’s room anyway.
As he set the empty flutes down though, he heard the sound of children. Their shrill laughs audible above the din of chatter and classical music being played, his attention instantly went to the kids. They were all bundled up in their winter coats and headed towards the front door.
Instinctively he glanced towards Cuddy. She would want to know, would want to stop Rachel from going outside. But Cuddy was deep in conversation, busy keeping Sanford Wells, another man, and a woman enthralled in whatever story she was telling. It would be difficult for House to get her attention. Even if could (and that would take some effort), he knew Cuddy wouldn’t be happy that he’d interrupted her. She wouldn’t say anything, not then anyway. But days from now, weeks, maybe even a year from now, when it suited her to bring it up, she would remind him of the time he couldn’t even stop Rachel from going outside.
Wanting to avoid that, House had no choice but to step towards the sea of children. He scanned the crowd, hoping that he could spot the kid in question. But Rachel didn’t pop out of the swarm. Getting closer to them, he watched the children as they funneled out of the front door; he thought he might have missed her in the few seconds he’d been looking in Cuddy’s direction. Still, there was no Rachel.
On the one hand, he supposed he was relieved. If she’d tried to go outside, he would have had to fight to keep her in, and whether he’d succeeded or not, Rachel and Cuddy would both be pissed at him. Rachel would be angry that he’d tried to keep her inside, and Cuddy would be annoyed that he hadn’t superhumanly known Rachel was going to try to escape.
But, he thought, forcing himself to refocus his attention, none of that had happened. It wasn’t even a possibility.
She hadn't gone outside, hadn't as far as he could tell even tried. As such it was stupid for him to get bogged down in hypotheticals. To be irritated by something that hadn't even occurred was reaching a new height of stupidity. And wanting to avoid that, he wrenched his mind from those thoughts. Instead telling himself that the important thing to take from this was that Rachel wasn't here, he wondered where she had gone.
Figuring that he should check the children's room, he made his way through that part of the Wells mansion once more. When he was about twenty feet down the hallway, he heard another adult behind him, telling the kids to stay inside, that they would eat soon. Assuming any of the kids listened to the woman, House knew the children would be flooding this area of the home once more quickly. It should have gone without saying that he didn't have the patience for that, so he picked up his pace and hurried towards the playroom.
When he got there, the mahogany door was closed. Additionally, he couldn't hear anything coming from the room... which couldn't have been a good sign. Rachel was either doing something wrong in that room, or she'd disappeared to another part of the house, which would also technically be wrong.
Reluctantly, House pushed the door open to see which. His eyes instantly scanned the room for something askew - crayon on the walls, marker on the sofa cushions, a broken lamp, something. But there was nothing, he thought.
And then that was when he heard it.
Coming from the closet was her voice, her threat. Her teeth gritted, she barked, “If you guys don’t let me out, I’m gonna bite you. And then I’m gonna spit your chunks out and I’m gonna -”
She stopped talking when he unlocked the door and wrenched it open. Out of habit, he took in her appearance. Her cheeks were red with anger, her mouth turned downward into a deep frown. There was some redness to her eyes, though he couldn’t tell if she’d been crying. And her fists were also splotched crimson - with blood.
“That yours?” he asked pointing to her bloody hands. She shook her head, but seemingly surprised, she didn’t say anything. “So… is there a dead body I need to be aware of?”
“No.”
He was at a crossroads. He could make the kid tell him who she’d obviously gotten into a fight with… or he could wash her hands off so there was no proof of what happened. Of course, it was likely that Rachel’s punching bag would run to its parents and complain, and in that case, Cuddy would absolutely believe the other child. In a way then, it didn’t matter what he did. But House decided to go with his latter option anyway; Rachel would probably get in trouble no matter what, but at least if she were clean, she wouldn’t seem quite so feral.
“Come on,” he said calmly. “Let’s wash you off.”
Without a complaint, she scrambled out of the closet and followed him. In his estimation she seemed glad to be free, and he knew then, as if he hadn’t before, that she hadn’t entered the small space willingly. Maybe a couple minutes ago, there’d been the possibility that she’d accidentally locked herself in there. It had been an unlikely scenario, but he hadn’t been quick to discount the idea. Now though, he knew she’d either been forced or tricked into the closet.
Still he had to ask the question. Though he didn’t really want to do it - or care what her answer was - when they finally found a bathroom, he asked her, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled, holding her hands out for him to clean. She was too short to reach the stream of warm water, so he bent down and picked her up. One arm curled around her waist, he awkwardly washed the drying blood off of her.
Truth be told, while he didn’t care what had occurred, he felt compelled to get an answer. That Rachel was the most interesting thing about this party said it all, he believed.
As he reached for the soap with one hand, he repeated her words back to her. "Nothing?" He saw her guilty gaze reflected in the mirror. "You don't have a single scratch on you." Gently scrubbing along her knuckles, he could see that she had been uninjured in this fight. There were no cuts, no gashes to explain the blood. If she were bleeding elsewhere, instinct would force her to push her palms into the wound; she would not - as no one would - press her own knuckles into her injury. "So unless you have stigmata, which I doubt Mommy's going to believe, you were in a fight with someone."
Rachel looked down into the sink as though she were tempted to snake down the drain the same way the blood had. But she didn't admit to anything.
"Fine," he said calmly. "You don't want to tell me? That's fine." Giving her hands one final rinse, he then set her back down on the ground. "But I'm sure the kid you hit isn't going to be as quiet."
He thought that threat would mean something. He thought that the possibility of getting in trouble would result in a confession. But when he turned off the faucet and then turned to look at her, he could see that she wasn't the least bit fearful of getting in trouble. And he knew then that he had missed something.
Quickly he broke the problem down. She'd hit another kid; they'd locked her in a closet. No matter how events had occurred, it was clear that there was no love lost between any of the children involved. But if you didn't like someone, the possibility of getting them in trouble should have been all the motivation you needed. It was one thing when you liked the person you were fighting; then maybe you didn't want to brag about the argument you'd just had. If you hated that person though... well, why wouldn't you tell the world? Especially if Rachel had thrown the first punch, why wasn't this other kid saying something? And if the other kid had been the instigator, why wasn't Rachel saying anything?
Questions bloomed in his mind, synapses sprouting and straining for light hungrily, as though understanding were as much nourishment as anything else. Had Rachel threatened the other kids? He felt that that was probably a given, considering she had no problem hitting any of them and, even when beat, yelling at them through the closet that she would bite them. But in the end, she'd ended up in the closet, so the other children had more than proved that she wasn't as much of a threat as she'd hoped to be. So if they weren't complaining to their parents, maybe it was because... they knew they'd beaten her.
But then that didn't exactly explain her behavior.
His mind toyed with the shame idea some more. Either her punching bags were too ashamed to confess what had happened or something else had occurred to keep her quiet. Looking at her though intently, he couldn’t decipher anything - just that she would have to say something, someone would have to speak, in order for him to get any answers.
"You're not going to tell me what happened?" he asked calmly.
"No."
"But I let you out of the closet."
"So," she said snottily.
"So... it's only fair. I saved you." The last sentence came out without much conviction. He wanted to truly believe it, but it was hard to make it sound like he'd performed a heroic deed when he'd done anything but that. He'd let her out of a closet, and that wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. And even if it were, he'd only done it to avoid running into trouble with Cuddy later on. Which meant that his act of heroism was more an act of cowardice than anything else, and while he tried to tell himself Rachel didn't know that, it was still hard to sound convincing.
Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep talking. "Without me, you'd still be in there. So, really, it's only right that you tell me the truth."
"When the Prince rescues the Princess, he asks for a kiss not the truth," Rachel pointed out in a way that almost seemed... hostile.
"Yeah, well, as tempting as that is," he said sarcastically. "I'd rather not get arrested. So a version of events I can use to defend you to the po po would be nice."
She hesitated, but when she spoke, it was clear he hadn’t gotten through. "Nothing happened." He was about to press her once more for information, the thought of which was made all the more ridiculous by the fact that they were in the bathroom. But he didn't get a chance to say anything. Before he could, she said to him glumly, "I want Mommy."
It was the right card to play. Admittedly, that was rarely the wrong move to make, to ask for her mother when she was upset. In this particular scenario, House would have almost preferred the opportunity to grill her some more. But when she was asking for Cuddy, he couldn't deny her what she wanted.
"Fine."
As he guided her down the hallway though, he felt some form of reluctance flutter through his body. He didn't understand why until he'd successfully brought Rachel into the party. The little girl rushing toward her mother, he knew, just as Rachel had gotten too far for him to stop, why. Even before Rachel had wrapped her arms around her mother's bare leg, he anticipated the moment where Cuddy, busy with work, would notice... and be irritated.
And there was nothing he could do now to stop it.
Rachel hurried towards her mother -- just narrowly missing a server carrying around a tray of canapés. From this distance, House couldn't hear her when she buried her face into Cuddy's leg. But he knew instinctively what she was saying. She was asking for her mother.
The look of surprise on Cuddy's face was impossible to miss, even though he was standing off to the side and could only see a small sliver of her features. He could just make out her flustered expression at being interrupted, couldn't hear but could see the hurried apology towards the man she was talking to. The other man, eager to give Cuddy her space, promptly stepped away, and House knew that, having been knee deep in her hustle, Cuddy wouldn't take to that kindly. An awkward pause in the other man's gait suggested that she was trying to keep him there, to tell him that this would only take a few seconds. But when the donor kept walking, it was clear Cuddy had failed.
And unprepared for Rachel's interruption, Cuddy similarly failed to handle her own child. The second they were free from the other man's presence, House could see Cuddy leaning over. Again, there was no way he could hear what was being said, but he knew. She was reminding Rachel not to interrupt; she was asking why Rachel wasn't playing with her friends, and before the kid could even answer, Cuddy was telling Rachel to go back to the playroom. From the way Rachel clenched her fists, it was clear she wasn't interested in going back without a fight. By the way Cuddy leaned down further, the stern look plain on her face, it was just as clear that she wasn't going to tolerate any whining right now.
Part of House expected Rachel to stomp her way back through the large room, down the hallway, and into the playroom she'd just come from. But that was why he wasn't surprised Cuddy looked up at that moment and sought out his gaze. Because just as he anticipated that Rachel would behave a certain way, so did Cuddy. And it was clear in their shared glance, which must have lasted a fraction of a second, that he was going to be the one responsible for taking her back.
Inwardly he cringed at the idea. Outwardly, he calmly made his way to his family. Long before he got there, he could hear Rachel whining quietly, "I don't wanna."
"It's just for a little while longer."
"I'm hungry, and I don't want to wear my tights anymore, and -”
"House."
Rachel shut up when he came to stand next to her. He doubted she was embarrassed. She'd complained to and in front of him enough that it was normal, acceptable even in her mind to keep whining when he was around. He wished she weren't so comfortable, but he knew her silence then had more to do with the blood on her hands than any sense of pride she might have possessed.
Cuddy noticed none of this. She simply seemed relieved to see him. "Would you please take her back to -”
"I don't wanna go back."
"Rachel," she warned. Turning her attention back to him, she asked, "Will you?"
He couldn't say no. If he had, it wouldn't have mattered. Just as Rachel had to do what her mother wanted, so too was he at the whims of his girlfriend. These social events were meant to be parties, but for Cuddy they never were; they were business. Beneath the glossy veneer of frivolity - the neatly crafted jokes and planned stories she told everyone - there was a seriousness to Cuddy, a single-minded dedication to securing and maintaining relationships with the people in the room.
House understood that. She kissed ass to secure her job, to protect his job. She put a smile on her face so that he wouldn't have to. And if she were doing that much for their future, then it seemed fair that he be her wingman, that he take care of secondary problems for her when they arose. It was appropriate for him to handle Rachel. It was.
That didn't necessarily make Rachel wrangling a desired activity on his part.
But what could he say?
"Yeah," he said after a second. Cuddy seemed relieved, so much so that she didn't notice the daggers Rachel was shooting in his direction.
"Thank you." Cuddy leaned forward as though she were going to kiss him on the cheek. But the second she started to move, she clearly thought better of it. Forcing herself to stay away from him, she turned her attention back to Rachel. "We're going to be eating soon. I promise." Rachel wasn't convinced. "But for now, you're going to go with House."
As a wingman, he must have been an incompetent one in Cuddy's mind. Practically shoving him in Rachel's face, Cuddy, it seemed, didn't trust him to know when to step in on his own. As she patted him on the back - like Rachel didn't know who "House" was - he fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"All right," Cuddy said quietly, in almost an apologetic manner. "I have to go talk to some people now. You're going to stay with House like a good girl for Mommy, right?"
She didn't stick around long enough for Rachel to answer. House couldn't fault her for that. The chances of Rachel behaving were, at this point, slim. And no matter what she said, the likelihood was that she wouldn't stick with him. Which was why he was almost surprised that she did, in fact, do as she was told.
He tried taking her back to the playroom. But the other kids, having been forced back inside, were in the room once more. And Rachel had no interest in being with them. That was what she'd said, like that too - "I don't want to play with them."
Under normal circumstances House would have been agitated by her sudden preference to follow him everywhere. He would have said that she didn't need to take her mother's instructions quite so literally... which she really did seem to be doing. But tonight he valued her company.
Well, that might have been overstating it. He didn't exactly enjoy trying to keep a five year old occupied during what was officially the most boring Purim party ever. However, he was willing to tolerate her presence. Because every second she was with him was another opportunity to figure out what had happened.
Of course, she seemed so intent on not talking that all those opportunities were wasted. After wandering around, they settled down on an opulent settee strategically placed along one of the long corridors. Both not so secretly waiting for this event to be over, they were practically counting down the minutes. They talked a little as they lounged. But no matter how often he tried to channel her complaining into a conversation about her fight, she managed to avoid answering his questions.
When she did it for what felt like the thousandth time, he decided to ask her just once more. After that, he thought, he would just leave it alone, leave her alone. If she didn’t want to say anything, then… he would let her. The puzzle be damned; it just wasn’t worth the frustration.
“You know,” he told her in a casual voice. “I don’t care that you got in a fight.”
She didn’t believe him. That much was obvious. Or… maybe she did, because her response was, “Still tell Mommy.”
“No.” And that was the truth. He wasn’t going to tell Cuddy. “Your mother’s got enough to deal with. I’m not gonna say anything to her.”
The set in Rachel’s shoulders seemed to ease a little at that. Maybe she didn’t believe him completely, but just the idea that he would keep any confession to himself made her feel a tiny bit better.
Seeing that, he thought what he really needed to do was put her further at ease. If she knew she wasn’t going to get in trouble, perhaps that would make her more open to talk.
“Like I said, I don’t care that you got into a fight. I’d like to know why, but it’s not going to bother me that you hit someone.”
It had an effect. He could see it. But some vestige of reluctance remained. House wasn’t sure what to do about that. If she was going to stubbornly cling to secrecy, he didn’t think he’d be able to convince her to do otherwise.
Still, motivated by his increasing curiosity, he evaluated his methods thus far. He'd tried outright asking her; he'd vaguely threatened her with what would happen if Cuddy found out about the fight. He'd tried to be nice and understanding. So far, none of it had worked.
Examining how he'd behaved though, he could see an underlying variable found in each of the options he'd explored up to this point. He'd tried many approaches, but what he hadn't done was strive for... some sort of bond. He'd asked the question, attempted to make her feel safe. But in all of that, he'd remained a blank canvas, a cardboard cutout for her to talk to. He hadn't humanized himself, made it seem like he could relate to her.
Then again, he wasn't sure that he could. When he didn't know what had gone on, it was hard to say, "Oh, I know what you're going through, child. Let me make it all better." He supposed though that striking out in that direction couldn't hurt. What was the worse that could happen? She didn’t talk to him some more?
"I get it. Someone says something; you want to fight back. When I was seven," he told Rachel as he randomly picked a childhood fight that had stuck with him through the years. "I had a friend. Doug. He tried to tell me that no matter how high a cat fell, it would always land on its feet. I knew he was wrong, and we got in a big fight about it, and he punched me before we took his cat up to the water tower nearby and....”
House’s voice trailed off as he noticed Rachel’s eyes becoming wider and wider at his tale. Cuddy refused to get a pet, but Rachel still wanted one anyway, and clearly telling a five year old about that time he’d killed his friend’s cat was… not a good choice. So he left out the part where the cat had broken its back on one of the supports of the water tower and died when it hit the ground.
Yeah, he thought. This was an awful story to tell.
“Well,” House said eventually. “Then he punched me again."
But even though he hadn’t uttered the words, Rachel seemed to have understood. “You killed a cat!”
“No,” he lied. “No. No, I did not. Doug got mad cause he thought I lied to him. That’s why he hit me. The cat it was fine. It ran home and… spent the rest of its days sleeping in the sunshine and drinking warm milk.”
Rachel looked relieved, and as a result, he couldn’t help but think that he did too.
“People fight,” House said with a casual shrug. “Doesn’t mean you’re bad. Doesn’t mean anything necessarily. But if something happened -”
“You’re gonna tell Mommy.” She pouted at the possibility.
But he thought she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. Putting it simply, he denied it. “I don’t care about telling your mother.” She bristled next to him. “I don’t. Whether she finds out or not… that’s not a concern of mine right now.” Then when he thought that maybe her defenses had been weakened, he trotted out his biggest lie of all. “I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”
He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t like he didn’t care. He just wasn’t asking because he cared. That made it okay… not that he really felt that way when she finally spilled.
“George said I was fat,” she said with anger filling her tiny features. “And then Nevaeh said Mommy must hate me cause she’s pretty and I’m not.”
“You’re going to listen to someone named Nevaeh?” House asked, as though the idea of doing that were completely idiotic. “That’s not even a name.”
“I didn’t,” Rachel explained. “I punched her. Then they says play hide and seek, and they say I have to be the seeker and then they locked-ed me in the closet.”
As she fell into sad silence, he realized suddenly what his problem had been the whole time. It had not been that he couldn’t get Rachel to talk. It had been, was going to be, that he had no idea how to fix her problem. He’d put himself in a position to help, but the truth was he had no clue what to do to make her feel better. He had no idea what to say.
None.
And unfortunately for him, she was looking to him for some sort of comfort.
But it was at that second, when it seemed he was going to have to form some sort of response, that Cuddy stumbled upon them. She seemed, once again, a little flustered, like she’d been looking for them for a while.
“There you guys are,” she said almost breathlessly.
Rachel was standing in seconds, instantly rushing towards her mother for a hug. Unlike before, this time Cuddy welcomed her daughter’s embrace. “I’ve been trying to find you two to tell you that they’re getting ready to serve dinner.”
“Great,” House muttered.
Smoothing Rachel’s hair down, Cuddy said to him, “It’s not that bad.” And then to both of them she added, “I promise it’ll be over soon, and then we can go home, all right?”
Her words did not provide him with any relief. By his account, they were nowhere near ready to leave. Dinner would be an affair, the long, drawn out kind that ate up so much of the evening that, by the time it was finished, you were hungry all over again. And considering how much time and effort had probably gone into getting this party in order, House felt that they would all be forced to sit through numerous toasts and ceremonies of a sort to lend regality to a festivity that was, in theory, all about getting drunk. Well, okay, there was more to Purim than that, but that would have been his chosen method of celebration. Chances of that happening here though were slim to none, and as a result, he wasn’t mollified by Cuddy’s promises.
Rachel, on the other hand, was too ignorant to agree with his assessment. She seemed convinced that this night would in fact end soon. And because of that, she had no problem skipping in front of her mother as they all headed towards the dining room.
But Rachel’s good mood abruptly ended the second Cuddy tried to guide her to the area where the children were eating.
“I wanna sit with you,” Rachel whined.
Cuddy shook her head. “No, you’re supposed to sit with your friends in the kitchen.”
“No.”
“Yes, I checked. You have a place card and everything. So -”
“I’m not gonna,” Rachel said with a stamp of the foot.
“You don’t have a choice.”
House was not surprised that the little girl would look to him for support. After what she’d told him, he understood that he was supposed to be the one to step in. Of course, he wasn’t “allowed” to tell Cuddy the truth about what had happened, but it was expected (according to a five year old’s expectations anyway) that he say something.
But he wasn’t good at coming up with an excuse on his feet like that. He wasn’t an idiot, no, but he was so far out of his league here. That was the problem. Because if the issue had been convincing Cuddy that they should have sex right then and there, he had dozens of reasons he could roll off the tip of his tongue. Why Rachel should be allowed to sit with them though? Yeah, he didn’t have much material there.
He tried however.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “I don’t think anyone’s going to care that -”
“That’s not the point,” Cuddy said tersely.
“No,” he replied with bitterness in his voice. She was right: that wasn’t the point. But he knew what was. “The point is to have a tug of war match with your daughter over -”
“Rachel,” she said, turning towards her daughter again. Her finger pointing in the direction of the overly designed kitchen where the children were being served, she ordered, “Go sit down and eat your dinner.”
House could see his mistake then. He’d taunted his girlfriend, made this as much him versus her as it was Rachel versus Cuddy. And in doing so, he had inadvertently guaranteed that Cuddy would never see reason. She would stubbornly disagree with them both, because the alternative - that he was being the logical, relaxed person in the relationship - was unacceptable. For all of her words that she needed him to step up, once again her actions suggested to him that she didn’t want that at all.
As much as Rachel had wanted him to step in, Cuddy had wanted him to stay out, to let her handle this. And by not following her cues, he had ensured Rachel would be sitting at that table.
With the other kids who had called her fat and locked her in a closet.
And the thing that bothered him the most was not that that was going to happen. Rachel was a tough kid who could handle a dinner with people she hated. If he’d thought otherwise, he would have absolutely broken his implicit promise to her, to keep that fight with the other children a secret. He would have told Cuddy even though he knew Rachel would hate him for it.
But in that case, doing that would have forced him to confront his greatest agitator at the moment: it didn’t matter what he said or did. If he’d said something to Cuddy, she wouldn’t believe him. Or she would, but she would dismiss what he was saying; she would continue with whatever choice she’d predetermined was the best one.
That was what bothered him.
It wasn’t a new problem, no. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way this weekend, today even. But each and every time he thought about it, it made him angry. When it came to Rachel, Cuddy would find some way to punish him for his efforts or lack thereof. He could play any hand he wanted, and Cuddy would always find some reason as to why it wasn’t the right one.
He didn’t know if she was just too focused on work right now to deny herself this old habit of hers. He wanted to believe that it was just the situation they were in, but he feared that wasn’t the truth.
No, he thought as he headed towards the dinner table with her. It was wrong to think that it was the party that created this behavior in her. There was no denying she was more unbearable tonight than usual, sure. But this wasn’t an isolated event.
She was withholding in the same way she had for years.
And it didn’t matter how many conversations they had, how many massages he gave her, how many instances of reaching out to Rachel there were. It would never be enough for Cuddy.
He almost laughed then. Earlier in the evening, he’d been wondering how he’d be able to make it through this party without ripping her clothes off and taking her right then and there. Now he knew how to control himself.
Now he worried he really would never want her again.
Continue on to the next part
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. This chapter has a mention of animal cruelty that occurred in the past.
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), Chapter 19 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 3), Chapter 19 (Part 4), Chapter 20 (Part 1), Chapter 20 (Part 2), Chapter 21 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
His hand slid up her body, his fingers reaching for her chin. His thumb brushing underneath her lower lip, he forced her to look at him then. Predictably, she felt that familiar pull, that need for him. Her stomach fluttering with electricity, it took everything she had not to lean forward and kiss him right then and there.
And that was probably a good thing, because he said in a voice that left no room for discussion, “You’re not getting laid now. I could fuck you. But why would I want to when I can leave you thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you later?”
She refused to back down. “That’s fine,” she told him, bluffing. “If you want to wait to see what I have on underneath -”
“Unless you’re smuggling a really hot hooker under your dress, I gotta tell you: I don’t care.” Her disbelief must have shown, because he added, “I’m sure what you have on is pretty. But if you think, at this point, I’m even going to glance at it before ripping it off you, you’re out of your mind.”
He had her beat. Mentally he prepared for her to fight him, but the fact was: he’d bested her thoroughly.
Not wanting to lose momentum, he pushed onward before she probably even had a chance to realize what had happened.
“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I said many things to you, but I -”
“In the shower. You said you’d leave my come on you all day if that was what I wanted. So everyone would know who you belonged to.”
That was what she'd said. The memory for him was foggy on account of the fact that she'd had one finger in his ass, another hand on his dick, and the need to come ruling his entire body. But she had said something along those lines - he knew. And there was a good chance that she hadn't really meant it when she'd said it; trying to get him to watch Rachel and get him off might have been her motivation for saying it at the time. He, however, had latched onto the idea and wasn't willing to put it to bed without seeing it through. She might have been facetious, but he wasn't going to assume that.
"Yeah," she agreed slowly, as though her recollection of the moment was just as vague as his. "I guess I said that." She sounded neither interested in nor against the idea.
He went with it. “So then here’s what I want you to be aware of for the rest of the party,” he told her in a deep voice, leaning in so that his lips were practically on hers. “I don’t care who you fucked. When we get home, you’re going to be mine,” he snarled. “In every way imaginable. Including that way.”
She didn’t say anything. But the almost imperceptible nod of her head let him know that she was more than game for anything he had in mind.
“That dress is going to look so good with a pearl necklace,” he said promisingly.
The confusion crossing her face, she started to say, “I don’t get it.”
But by then he’d let go of her. Pulling away from her, he stood up slowly. “Just think about it,” he told her calmly. She seemed reluctant then to say or do anything. She looked at him expectantly, like he was going to elaborate further, do something to keep this moment going.
However, House felt that he had said all that he needed to. For the rest of the evening, at any moment, when there was a slight lull in the conversation, she would think back to this discussion. She would recall his words and wonder what he had intended for her. And the less he explained, the more curious she would be, he thought. So he had no other choice than to end the conversation now.
“Come on,” he said reaching for her. His hand clasping around her wrist, he pulled her up off the couch. “Time to get back to the party.”
“Since when do you care about -”
“Since I have a good feeling that this is going to drive you nuts.”
As she slipped her feet back into her heels, she smirked a little. “I know you think that’s how this is going to work, but -”
“It’s not?” he asked doubtfully. “You expect me to believe that?”
By the smug look on her face, he could tell that she did. “I might think about it every once in a while,” she admitted. “But I’m built for delayed gratification. You, on the other hand…. You can’t handle being bored. You hate being polite and making small conversation, which these parties are based on.”
“And yet you invited me.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“Not really.”
“Fine,” he said giving in. “But you’re already dying for me to screw your brains out. You’ve proved as much. And it’s going to be a long time before you -”
“That’s true. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does.”
“House, the fact is: I can handle waiting until after the party. This is work for me, which means I have plenty of ways to keep my mind occupied. You don’t have that, because nothing anyone tells you is going to interest you. So. Anything you just said is going to affect you ten times more than it will me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well. I guess we’ll see who’s begging to leave by the end of the night.” She nearly sauntered toward the door. He didn’t even have time to consider whether or not she was right about any of it before she wrenched the door open. Turning to look at him once more, she said with a smile, “Here’s a hint: it’s going to be you.”
“It might have been,” he conceded. “But now that you’ve gone and made it a game, I can guarantee that it’s not going to be me.”
She didn’t back down from the challenge. “We’ll see.”
“We will.”
“Have fun at the party, dear.”
He stuck his tongue out at her retreating form, but it didn’t help. The second she was gone, he realized:
She was right.
She had so much ass to kiss and metaphorical dick to suck that her mind would only momentarily think about the actual dick she’d be sucking later on. He wasn’t wrong; that would get to her; she would be extremely eager by the end of the night.
But he would be desperate long before then.
Because what the hell did he have to do this evening? Talk to donors?
Cuddy wasn’t wrong to suggest that that wouldn’t keep his mind occupied. She was wrong to think that that scenario would even possibly occur; no one talked to him at work parties. Well okay, Cuddy and Wilson and maybe a team member or two engaged him, but they were the only ones who put up with him for more than a minute. Everyone else avoided him or only talked to him out of necessity. At no point did they stick around longer than required, entering casual conversation born out of mutual interests. If they spoke to him at all, it was about work. And when work was done, they were gone. Which left him with… what exactly?
Rachel? Right, he told himself bitterly, because what he’d really wanted to do today was dress up to play babysitter.
Leaving the office, House slowly made his way back toward the party. He had no idea why he was even bothering; the next couple hours would be just as miserable with company as it would be if he spent the entire time in Wells’s office alone. There was absolutely no point opening himself up to the thirty seconds of small talk he’d be forced to suffer through if he rejoined the party.
As he passed the room where the kids were being held, he heard some of the children shrilly making plans for a game of hide and go seek. They were nominating Rachel to be the seeker, and mentally House wished them luck with that; the house was so big, and Rachel was so dumb that they’d be fortunate if they were ever found.
Then again, who was the idiot here? At least she was having fun with her friends. What did he have?
The second he reentered the party, he had the answer to that question. Because it was at that moment that he saw Cuddy across the room; she was talking to some random donor, her hand on his forearm, and he understood where he’d get his fun from this evening. House suddenly knew: he couldn’t lessen his own desire for the night to end. But he could absolutely torment her with the details of his plans.
They couldn’t leave now, couldn’t get away with going home early even. And so there was only one way to proceed - make the evening as miserable for her as it already was for him.
Grabbing two glasses of champagne off a server’s tray, he understood the game he was playing was dangerous. There were so many people standing around in conversation, so many who could hear him say all sorts of dirty things to her. And they weren’t just random nobodies. Well, they were, but they were the nobodies they both worked with and for. The house staff who were wandering around the grounds with trays of hors d’oeuvres and an assortment of booze wouldn’t care about anything he said. But everyone else? Yeah, that could create some trouble.
House was unconcerned. If there were potential for problems, that just meant he had to get creative. It didn’t mean he had to abandon plans altogether.
Carefully, he carried two flutes of champagne by the stems. It was difficult balancing the glasses in one hand while managing a cane in the other. But he was patient with it, never going faster than necessary. That of course meant the donor Cuddy was talking to saw him coming from a mile away - and therefore had a chance to make a hasty retreat long before he was at her side. That didn’t deter him.
“Champagne?” he asked, gently uttering the word nearly her shoulder. The act would go unnoticed by others but not Cuddy, who would recognize the intimacy in his closeness immediately.
She turned to him in surprise. “Thank you,” she said coolly, taking the glass from his hand.
“I was thinking,” he told her, closing the distance she’d somehow managed to put between them.
“Hmm?” The noise was muffled by the flute she was drinking from. Swallowing she asked, “What’s that?”
“You were right. This is gonna be bad for me, so the only thing for me to do is make it just as bad for you.”
She pulled the glass away from her mouth. “What does that mean, House?”
In a low voice, he propositioned her. “You wanna know the first thing I’m going to do to you when I get you home?”
She raised an eyebrow. A retort was quickly forming in her brain, but she never had a chance to say anything. Wells, who was about twenty feet, called for her, and since it was his party, that was all that mattered. Which was why House was surprised that she held up a finger as if to tell the other man to give her a moment.
“Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting,” House taunted.
She wasn’t fazed by the comment. “You want to play this game?”
“If I didn’t, it probably was a mistake to -”
“Fine.” She finished her champagne before handing him the empty glass. “Bring it on. Just remember I can do this.”
She started to walk away, and he thought her point was a stupid one. What was she saying? That she could leave whenever he tried to talk to her about this? But as she brushed past him, he realized that that wasn’t her point at all. Because as she slipped past him, she let her hand slide between them. Her body blocked the action from prying eyes, but he could feel her cupping his dick through his pants.
She squeezed him a few times, her palm tracing the length of him as best as she could given the circumstances.
It took all he had not to gasp, not to drop the glasses in his hand. Telling himself that he couldn’t let anyone - especially Cuddy - know that this was happening or getting to him, he tried to will himself not to respond. But his cock hardening in her hand, it was to no avail.
And then she let him go.
“If you’re looking for something to do,” she suggested, ignoring the soft whine he made. “Maybe you should go check on Rachel.”
Victorious she left him at half-mast and with a vague desire to kill her.
It was one thing for him to mess with her; it was okay, because no one would ever know if she were turned on. The same could not be said for him, and while he didn’t care that someone might see the way his pants were beginning to tent, he also didn’t care to feel like a thirteen-year-old boy with a rush of hormones and no outlet for it again.
Yes, he thought as he drank his own champagne, she was definitely going to get it tonight - in every way he could think of. If it was dirty, kinky - hell, outright deranged - he was going to put it on the list of things they needed to do, ways they needed to fuck this evening.
Of course, he couldn’t even begin to name much less think about any of those sick proclivities he would thrust upon Cuddy tonight. The goal right now was to get his dick under control, and that surely wasn’t going to happen if he thought about any of that.
In fact he thought then, Cuddy’s suggestion, that he go check up on Rachel, was probably a good one. Nothing killed an erection like a kid.
He felt it said a lot about his current surroundings that that was the bright spot of this party. But finishing his glass of champagne, he decided to make his way towards the children’s room anyway.
As he set the empty flutes down though, he heard the sound of children. Their shrill laughs audible above the din of chatter and classical music being played, his attention instantly went to the kids. They were all bundled up in their winter coats and headed towards the front door.
Instinctively he glanced towards Cuddy. She would want to know, would want to stop Rachel from going outside. But Cuddy was deep in conversation, busy keeping Sanford Wells, another man, and a woman enthralled in whatever story she was telling. It would be difficult for House to get her attention. Even if could (and that would take some effort), he knew Cuddy wouldn’t be happy that he’d interrupted her. She wouldn’t say anything, not then anyway. But days from now, weeks, maybe even a year from now, when it suited her to bring it up, she would remind him of the time he couldn’t even stop Rachel from going outside.
Wanting to avoid that, House had no choice but to step towards the sea of children. He scanned the crowd, hoping that he could spot the kid in question. But Rachel didn’t pop out of the swarm. Getting closer to them, he watched the children as they funneled out of the front door; he thought he might have missed her in the few seconds he’d been looking in Cuddy’s direction. Still, there was no Rachel.
On the one hand, he supposed he was relieved. If she’d tried to go outside, he would have had to fight to keep her in, and whether he’d succeeded or not, Rachel and Cuddy would both be pissed at him. Rachel would be angry that he’d tried to keep her inside, and Cuddy would be annoyed that he hadn’t superhumanly known Rachel was going to try to escape.
But, he thought, forcing himself to refocus his attention, none of that had happened. It wasn’t even a possibility.
She hadn't gone outside, hadn't as far as he could tell even tried. As such it was stupid for him to get bogged down in hypotheticals. To be irritated by something that hadn't even occurred was reaching a new height of stupidity. And wanting to avoid that, he wrenched his mind from those thoughts. Instead telling himself that the important thing to take from this was that Rachel wasn't here, he wondered where she had gone.
Figuring that he should check the children's room, he made his way through that part of the Wells mansion once more. When he was about twenty feet down the hallway, he heard another adult behind him, telling the kids to stay inside, that they would eat soon. Assuming any of the kids listened to the woman, House knew the children would be flooding this area of the home once more quickly. It should have gone without saying that he didn't have the patience for that, so he picked up his pace and hurried towards the playroom.
When he got there, the mahogany door was closed. Additionally, he couldn't hear anything coming from the room... which couldn't have been a good sign. Rachel was either doing something wrong in that room, or she'd disappeared to another part of the house, which would also technically be wrong.
Reluctantly, House pushed the door open to see which. His eyes instantly scanned the room for something askew - crayon on the walls, marker on the sofa cushions, a broken lamp, something. But there was nothing, he thought.
And then that was when he heard it.
Coming from the closet was her voice, her threat. Her teeth gritted, she barked, “If you guys don’t let me out, I’m gonna bite you. And then I’m gonna spit your chunks out and I’m gonna -”
She stopped talking when he unlocked the door and wrenched it open. Out of habit, he took in her appearance. Her cheeks were red with anger, her mouth turned downward into a deep frown. There was some redness to her eyes, though he couldn’t tell if she’d been crying. And her fists were also splotched crimson - with blood.
“That yours?” he asked pointing to her bloody hands. She shook her head, but seemingly surprised, she didn’t say anything. “So… is there a dead body I need to be aware of?”
“No.”
He was at a crossroads. He could make the kid tell him who she’d obviously gotten into a fight with… or he could wash her hands off so there was no proof of what happened. Of course, it was likely that Rachel’s punching bag would run to its parents and complain, and in that case, Cuddy would absolutely believe the other child. In a way then, it didn’t matter what he did. But House decided to go with his latter option anyway; Rachel would probably get in trouble no matter what, but at least if she were clean, she wouldn’t seem quite so feral.
“Come on,” he said calmly. “Let’s wash you off.”
Without a complaint, she scrambled out of the closet and followed him. In his estimation she seemed glad to be free, and he knew then, as if he hadn’t before, that she hadn’t entered the small space willingly. Maybe a couple minutes ago, there’d been the possibility that she’d accidentally locked herself in there. It had been an unlikely scenario, but he hadn’t been quick to discount the idea. Now though, he knew she’d either been forced or tricked into the closet.
Still he had to ask the question. Though he didn’t really want to do it - or care what her answer was - when they finally found a bathroom, he asked her, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled, holding her hands out for him to clean. She was too short to reach the stream of warm water, so he bent down and picked her up. One arm curled around her waist, he awkwardly washed the drying blood off of her.
Truth be told, while he didn’t care what had occurred, he felt compelled to get an answer. That Rachel was the most interesting thing about this party said it all, he believed.
As he reached for the soap with one hand, he repeated her words back to her. "Nothing?" He saw her guilty gaze reflected in the mirror. "You don't have a single scratch on you." Gently scrubbing along her knuckles, he could see that she had been uninjured in this fight. There were no cuts, no gashes to explain the blood. If she were bleeding elsewhere, instinct would force her to push her palms into the wound; she would not - as no one would - press her own knuckles into her injury. "So unless you have stigmata, which I doubt Mommy's going to believe, you were in a fight with someone."
Rachel looked down into the sink as though she were tempted to snake down the drain the same way the blood had. But she didn't admit to anything.
"Fine," he said calmly. "You don't want to tell me? That's fine." Giving her hands one final rinse, he then set her back down on the ground. "But I'm sure the kid you hit isn't going to be as quiet."
He thought that threat would mean something. He thought that the possibility of getting in trouble would result in a confession. But when he turned off the faucet and then turned to look at her, he could see that she wasn't the least bit fearful of getting in trouble. And he knew then that he had missed something.
Quickly he broke the problem down. She'd hit another kid; they'd locked her in a closet. No matter how events had occurred, it was clear that there was no love lost between any of the children involved. But if you didn't like someone, the possibility of getting them in trouble should have been all the motivation you needed. It was one thing when you liked the person you were fighting; then maybe you didn't want to brag about the argument you'd just had. If you hated that person though... well, why wouldn't you tell the world? Especially if Rachel had thrown the first punch, why wasn't this other kid saying something? And if the other kid had been the instigator, why wasn't Rachel saying anything?
Questions bloomed in his mind, synapses sprouting and straining for light hungrily, as though understanding were as much nourishment as anything else. Had Rachel threatened the other kids? He felt that that was probably a given, considering she had no problem hitting any of them and, even when beat, yelling at them through the closet that she would bite them. But in the end, she'd ended up in the closet, so the other children had more than proved that she wasn't as much of a threat as she'd hoped to be. So if they weren't complaining to their parents, maybe it was because... they knew they'd beaten her.
But then that didn't exactly explain her behavior.
His mind toyed with the shame idea some more. Either her punching bags were too ashamed to confess what had happened or something else had occurred to keep her quiet. Looking at her though intently, he couldn’t decipher anything - just that she would have to say something, someone would have to speak, in order for him to get any answers.
"You're not going to tell me what happened?" he asked calmly.
"No."
"But I let you out of the closet."
"So," she said snottily.
"So... it's only fair. I saved you." The last sentence came out without much conviction. He wanted to truly believe it, but it was hard to make it sound like he'd performed a heroic deed when he'd done anything but that. He'd let her out of a closet, and that wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. And even if it were, he'd only done it to avoid running into trouble with Cuddy later on. Which meant that his act of heroism was more an act of cowardice than anything else, and while he tried to tell himself Rachel didn't know that, it was still hard to sound convincing.
Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep talking. "Without me, you'd still be in there. So, really, it's only right that you tell me the truth."
"When the Prince rescues the Princess, he asks for a kiss not the truth," Rachel pointed out in a way that almost seemed... hostile.
"Yeah, well, as tempting as that is," he said sarcastically. "I'd rather not get arrested. So a version of events I can use to defend you to the po po would be nice."
She hesitated, but when she spoke, it was clear he hadn’t gotten through. "Nothing happened." He was about to press her once more for information, the thought of which was made all the more ridiculous by the fact that they were in the bathroom. But he didn't get a chance to say anything. Before he could, she said to him glumly, "I want Mommy."
It was the right card to play. Admittedly, that was rarely the wrong move to make, to ask for her mother when she was upset. In this particular scenario, House would have almost preferred the opportunity to grill her some more. But when she was asking for Cuddy, he couldn't deny her what she wanted.
"Fine."
As he guided her down the hallway though, he felt some form of reluctance flutter through his body. He didn't understand why until he'd successfully brought Rachel into the party. The little girl rushing toward her mother, he knew, just as Rachel had gotten too far for him to stop, why. Even before Rachel had wrapped her arms around her mother's bare leg, he anticipated the moment where Cuddy, busy with work, would notice... and be irritated.
And there was nothing he could do now to stop it.
Rachel hurried towards her mother -- just narrowly missing a server carrying around a tray of canapés. From this distance, House couldn't hear her when she buried her face into Cuddy's leg. But he knew instinctively what she was saying. She was asking for her mother.
The look of surprise on Cuddy's face was impossible to miss, even though he was standing off to the side and could only see a small sliver of her features. He could just make out her flustered expression at being interrupted, couldn't hear but could see the hurried apology towards the man she was talking to. The other man, eager to give Cuddy her space, promptly stepped away, and House knew that, having been knee deep in her hustle, Cuddy wouldn't take to that kindly. An awkward pause in the other man's gait suggested that she was trying to keep him there, to tell him that this would only take a few seconds. But when the donor kept walking, it was clear Cuddy had failed.
And unprepared for Rachel's interruption, Cuddy similarly failed to handle her own child. The second they were free from the other man's presence, House could see Cuddy leaning over. Again, there was no way he could hear what was being said, but he knew. She was reminding Rachel not to interrupt; she was asking why Rachel wasn't playing with her friends, and before the kid could even answer, Cuddy was telling Rachel to go back to the playroom. From the way Rachel clenched her fists, it was clear she wasn't interested in going back without a fight. By the way Cuddy leaned down further, the stern look plain on her face, it was just as clear that she wasn't going to tolerate any whining right now.
Part of House expected Rachel to stomp her way back through the large room, down the hallway, and into the playroom she'd just come from. But that was why he wasn't surprised Cuddy looked up at that moment and sought out his gaze. Because just as he anticipated that Rachel would behave a certain way, so did Cuddy. And it was clear in their shared glance, which must have lasted a fraction of a second, that he was going to be the one responsible for taking her back.
Inwardly he cringed at the idea. Outwardly, he calmly made his way to his family. Long before he got there, he could hear Rachel whining quietly, "I don't wanna."
"It's just for a little while longer."
"I'm hungry, and I don't want to wear my tights anymore, and -”
"House."
Rachel shut up when he came to stand next to her. He doubted she was embarrassed. She'd complained to and in front of him enough that it was normal, acceptable even in her mind to keep whining when he was around. He wished she weren't so comfortable, but he knew her silence then had more to do with the blood on her hands than any sense of pride she might have possessed.
Cuddy noticed none of this. She simply seemed relieved to see him. "Would you please take her back to -”
"I don't wanna go back."
"Rachel," she warned. Turning her attention back to him, she asked, "Will you?"
He couldn't say no. If he had, it wouldn't have mattered. Just as Rachel had to do what her mother wanted, so too was he at the whims of his girlfriend. These social events were meant to be parties, but for Cuddy they never were; they were business. Beneath the glossy veneer of frivolity - the neatly crafted jokes and planned stories she told everyone - there was a seriousness to Cuddy, a single-minded dedication to securing and maintaining relationships with the people in the room.
House understood that. She kissed ass to secure her job, to protect his job. She put a smile on her face so that he wouldn't have to. And if she were doing that much for their future, then it seemed fair that he be her wingman, that he take care of secondary problems for her when they arose. It was appropriate for him to handle Rachel. It was.
That didn't necessarily make Rachel wrangling a desired activity on his part.
But what could he say?
"Yeah," he said after a second. Cuddy seemed relieved, so much so that she didn't notice the daggers Rachel was shooting in his direction.
"Thank you." Cuddy leaned forward as though she were going to kiss him on the cheek. But the second she started to move, she clearly thought better of it. Forcing herself to stay away from him, she turned her attention back to Rachel. "We're going to be eating soon. I promise." Rachel wasn't convinced. "But for now, you're going to go with House."
As a wingman, he must have been an incompetent one in Cuddy's mind. Practically shoving him in Rachel's face, Cuddy, it seemed, didn't trust him to know when to step in on his own. As she patted him on the back - like Rachel didn't know who "House" was - he fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"All right," Cuddy said quietly, in almost an apologetic manner. "I have to go talk to some people now. You're going to stay with House like a good girl for Mommy, right?"
She didn't stick around long enough for Rachel to answer. House couldn't fault her for that. The chances of Rachel behaving were, at this point, slim. And no matter what she said, the likelihood was that she wouldn't stick with him. Which was why he was almost surprised that she did, in fact, do as she was told.
He tried taking her back to the playroom. But the other kids, having been forced back inside, were in the room once more. And Rachel had no interest in being with them. That was what she'd said, like that too - "I don't want to play with them."
Under normal circumstances House would have been agitated by her sudden preference to follow him everywhere. He would have said that she didn't need to take her mother's instructions quite so literally... which she really did seem to be doing. But tonight he valued her company.
Well, that might have been overstating it. He didn't exactly enjoy trying to keep a five year old occupied during what was officially the most boring Purim party ever. However, he was willing to tolerate her presence. Because every second she was with him was another opportunity to figure out what had happened.
Of course, she seemed so intent on not talking that all those opportunities were wasted. After wandering around, they settled down on an opulent settee strategically placed along one of the long corridors. Both not so secretly waiting for this event to be over, they were practically counting down the minutes. They talked a little as they lounged. But no matter how often he tried to channel her complaining into a conversation about her fight, she managed to avoid answering his questions.
When she did it for what felt like the thousandth time, he decided to ask her just once more. After that, he thought, he would just leave it alone, leave her alone. If she didn’t want to say anything, then… he would let her. The puzzle be damned; it just wasn’t worth the frustration.
“You know,” he told her in a casual voice. “I don’t care that you got in a fight.”
She didn’t believe him. That much was obvious. Or… maybe she did, because her response was, “Still tell Mommy.”
“No.” And that was the truth. He wasn’t going to tell Cuddy. “Your mother’s got enough to deal with. I’m not gonna say anything to her.”
The set in Rachel’s shoulders seemed to ease a little at that. Maybe she didn’t believe him completely, but just the idea that he would keep any confession to himself made her feel a tiny bit better.
Seeing that, he thought what he really needed to do was put her further at ease. If she knew she wasn’t going to get in trouble, perhaps that would make her more open to talk.
“Like I said, I don’t care that you got into a fight. I’d like to know why, but it’s not going to bother me that you hit someone.”
It had an effect. He could see it. But some vestige of reluctance remained. House wasn’t sure what to do about that. If she was going to stubbornly cling to secrecy, he didn’t think he’d be able to convince her to do otherwise.
Still, motivated by his increasing curiosity, he evaluated his methods thus far. He'd tried outright asking her; he'd vaguely threatened her with what would happen if Cuddy found out about the fight. He'd tried to be nice and understanding. So far, none of it had worked.
Examining how he'd behaved though, he could see an underlying variable found in each of the options he'd explored up to this point. He'd tried many approaches, but what he hadn't done was strive for... some sort of bond. He'd asked the question, attempted to make her feel safe. But in all of that, he'd remained a blank canvas, a cardboard cutout for her to talk to. He hadn't humanized himself, made it seem like he could relate to her.
Then again, he wasn't sure that he could. When he didn't know what had gone on, it was hard to say, "Oh, I know what you're going through, child. Let me make it all better." He supposed though that striking out in that direction couldn't hurt. What was the worse that could happen? She didn’t talk to him some more?
"I get it. Someone says something; you want to fight back. When I was seven," he told Rachel as he randomly picked a childhood fight that had stuck with him through the years. "I had a friend. Doug. He tried to tell me that no matter how high a cat fell, it would always land on its feet. I knew he was wrong, and we got in a big fight about it, and he punched me before we took his cat up to the water tower nearby and....”
House’s voice trailed off as he noticed Rachel’s eyes becoming wider and wider at his tale. Cuddy refused to get a pet, but Rachel still wanted one anyway, and clearly telling a five year old about that time he’d killed his friend’s cat was… not a good choice. So he left out the part where the cat had broken its back on one of the supports of the water tower and died when it hit the ground.
Yeah, he thought. This was an awful story to tell.
“Well,” House said eventually. “Then he punched me again."
But even though he hadn’t uttered the words, Rachel seemed to have understood. “You killed a cat!”
“No,” he lied. “No. No, I did not. Doug got mad cause he thought I lied to him. That’s why he hit me. The cat it was fine. It ran home and… spent the rest of its days sleeping in the sunshine and drinking warm milk.”
Rachel looked relieved, and as a result, he couldn’t help but think that he did too.
“People fight,” House said with a casual shrug. “Doesn’t mean you’re bad. Doesn’t mean anything necessarily. But if something happened -”
“You’re gonna tell Mommy.” She pouted at the possibility.
But he thought she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. Putting it simply, he denied it. “I don’t care about telling your mother.” She bristled next to him. “I don’t. Whether she finds out or not… that’s not a concern of mine right now.” Then when he thought that maybe her defenses had been weakened, he trotted out his biggest lie of all. “I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”
He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t like he didn’t care. He just wasn’t asking because he cared. That made it okay… not that he really felt that way when she finally spilled.
“George said I was fat,” she said with anger filling her tiny features. “And then Nevaeh said Mommy must hate me cause she’s pretty and I’m not.”
“You’re going to listen to someone named Nevaeh?” House asked, as though the idea of doing that were completely idiotic. “That’s not even a name.”
“I didn’t,” Rachel explained. “I punched her. Then they says play hide and seek, and they say I have to be the seeker and then they locked-ed me in the closet.”
As she fell into sad silence, he realized suddenly what his problem had been the whole time. It had not been that he couldn’t get Rachel to talk. It had been, was going to be, that he had no idea how to fix her problem. He’d put himself in a position to help, but the truth was he had no clue what to do to make her feel better. He had no idea what to say.
None.
And unfortunately for him, she was looking to him for some sort of comfort.
But it was at that second, when it seemed he was going to have to form some sort of response, that Cuddy stumbled upon them. She seemed, once again, a little flustered, like she’d been looking for them for a while.
“There you guys are,” she said almost breathlessly.
Rachel was standing in seconds, instantly rushing towards her mother for a hug. Unlike before, this time Cuddy welcomed her daughter’s embrace. “I’ve been trying to find you two to tell you that they’re getting ready to serve dinner.”
“Great,” House muttered.
Smoothing Rachel’s hair down, Cuddy said to him, “It’s not that bad.” And then to both of them she added, “I promise it’ll be over soon, and then we can go home, all right?”
Her words did not provide him with any relief. By his account, they were nowhere near ready to leave. Dinner would be an affair, the long, drawn out kind that ate up so much of the evening that, by the time it was finished, you were hungry all over again. And considering how much time and effort had probably gone into getting this party in order, House felt that they would all be forced to sit through numerous toasts and ceremonies of a sort to lend regality to a festivity that was, in theory, all about getting drunk. Well, okay, there was more to Purim than that, but that would have been his chosen method of celebration. Chances of that happening here though were slim to none, and as a result, he wasn’t mollified by Cuddy’s promises.
Rachel, on the other hand, was too ignorant to agree with his assessment. She seemed convinced that this night would in fact end soon. And because of that, she had no problem skipping in front of her mother as they all headed towards the dining room.
But Rachel’s good mood abruptly ended the second Cuddy tried to guide her to the area where the children were eating.
“I wanna sit with you,” Rachel whined.
Cuddy shook her head. “No, you’re supposed to sit with your friends in the kitchen.”
“No.”
“Yes, I checked. You have a place card and everything. So -”
“I’m not gonna,” Rachel said with a stamp of the foot.
“You don’t have a choice.”
House was not surprised that the little girl would look to him for support. After what she’d told him, he understood that he was supposed to be the one to step in. Of course, he wasn’t “allowed” to tell Cuddy the truth about what had happened, but it was expected (according to a five year old’s expectations anyway) that he say something.
But he wasn’t good at coming up with an excuse on his feet like that. He wasn’t an idiot, no, but he was so far out of his league here. That was the problem. Because if the issue had been convincing Cuddy that they should have sex right then and there, he had dozens of reasons he could roll off the tip of his tongue. Why Rachel should be allowed to sit with them though? Yeah, he didn’t have much material there.
He tried however.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “I don’t think anyone’s going to care that -”
“That’s not the point,” Cuddy said tersely.
“No,” he replied with bitterness in his voice. She was right: that wasn’t the point. But he knew what was. “The point is to have a tug of war match with your daughter over -”
“Rachel,” she said, turning towards her daughter again. Her finger pointing in the direction of the overly designed kitchen where the children were being served, she ordered, “Go sit down and eat your dinner.”
House could see his mistake then. He’d taunted his girlfriend, made this as much him versus her as it was Rachel versus Cuddy. And in doing so, he had inadvertently guaranteed that Cuddy would never see reason. She would stubbornly disagree with them both, because the alternative - that he was being the logical, relaxed person in the relationship - was unacceptable. For all of her words that she needed him to step up, once again her actions suggested to him that she didn’t want that at all.
As much as Rachel had wanted him to step in, Cuddy had wanted him to stay out, to let her handle this. And by not following her cues, he had ensured Rachel would be sitting at that table.
With the other kids who had called her fat and locked her in a closet.
And the thing that bothered him the most was not that that was going to happen. Rachel was a tough kid who could handle a dinner with people she hated. If he’d thought otherwise, he would have absolutely broken his implicit promise to her, to keep that fight with the other children a secret. He would have told Cuddy even though he knew Rachel would hate him for it.
But in that case, doing that would have forced him to confront his greatest agitator at the moment: it didn’t matter what he said or did. If he’d said something to Cuddy, she wouldn’t believe him. Or she would, but she would dismiss what he was saying; she would continue with whatever choice she’d predetermined was the best one.
That was what bothered him.
It wasn’t a new problem, no. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way this weekend, today even. But each and every time he thought about it, it made him angry. When it came to Rachel, Cuddy would find some way to punish him for his efforts or lack thereof. He could play any hand he wanted, and Cuddy would always find some reason as to why it wasn’t the right one.
He didn’t know if she was just too focused on work right now to deny herself this old habit of hers. He wanted to believe that it was just the situation they were in, but he feared that wasn’t the truth.
No, he thought as he headed towards the dinner table with her. It was wrong to think that it was the party that created this behavior in her. There was no denying she was more unbearable tonight than usual, sure. But this wasn’t an isolated event.
She was withholding in the same way she had for years.
And it didn’t matter how many conversations they had, how many massages he gave her, how many instances of reaching out to Rachel there were. It would never be enough for Cuddy.
He almost laughed then. Earlier in the evening, he’d been wondering how he’d be able to make it through this party without ripping her clothes off and taking her right then and there. Now he knew how to control himself.
Now he worried he really would never want her again.
Continue on to the next part