Gift of Screws, Chapter 22.1
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Twenty Two, Part One
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), Chapter 19 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 3), Chapter 19 (Part 4), Chapter 20 (Part 1), Chapter 20 (Part 2), Chapter 21 (Part 1), Chapter 21 (Part 2)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson
She sensed a change in him immediately. Cool accusatory eyes met her gaze as Rachel stomped off, his way of saying, “You screwed that up.” The words never left his mouth, but Cuddy could see the temptation in his features, knew that, if they were in any other situation, he would say something.
For the life of her, she couldn't understand why he was upset.
True, these events, when he attended, always bred animosity, a bit of resentment and frustration for having been made to go. She'd expected that; that was why she'd purchased the lingerie she was currently wearing: because he would need something to look forward to. As childish as it seemed to need to bribe him for good behavior, it was necessary, and she had done it without complaint. But feeling the heat of his discontent, she was no longer sure that the crotchless, cupless wonder she was wearing would be enough for him.
She wasn't sure anything would be enough.
He did not take her hand when she held it out for him. He did not speak to her, barely even looked at her when they headed to the dining room. When she asked him what was wrong, he merely shrugged and continued on to the table.
They were seated next to each other, at the end, as far from the host and hostess as they could possibly be. But that unlike House's behavior did not surprise her; when he was with her, when it was known he was coming anyway, he was always placed on an end, as far from human contact as possible. And if he looked dismayed then, she knew it was because he didn't want to sit with her and for no other reason.
As they took their seats, she leaned over to him. Her voice a whisper, she told him calmly, "Whatever your problem is -”
"I don't have a problem."
She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. Under no circumstances had she been convinced; the surly quality to his voice made it obvious if not understandable that there was absolutely something wrong. But in those few words, it had also become clear that he had no intention of telling her, that he planned to sit there silently - like a child would - for the rest of the evening.
Cuddy wouldn't lie; it bothered her. It did. Something had happened, something she would have to address sooner or later. And the fact that he didn't even want to talk about it made her all the more concerned. Because when he didn't talk, it meant that his problem was greater than a simple apology, bigger than thirty seconds of consolation could solve. He wasn't saying anything now, affording her that much dignity to keep their personal issues limited to their home. But in a way, that just made it even worse.
This wasn't about John Kelley or Sanford Wells. He'd had no problem discussing her love life earlier. Sometimes House liked to get offended by something after the fact, surprise her with newfound anger. But that wasn't the case here. She could tell. He would have said something if it were about John or Sanford; given that one of the men was twenty feet from him, he would have done something.
Instead House was quiet, eerily so. He sipped from his wine, placed his napkin on his lap all without a word, without even a glance in her direction. But the undercurrent of those actions was one of disapproval, one of disgust. She could feel it.
And that was truly saying something, considering it was hard to sense much of anything other than the glowing hatred radiating from Arianne Wells’s direction. Her husband was currently offering a toast, the same toast he always gave about perseverance in the lifeblood of Jews, in the blood of those sitting at the table with him. But oblivious to her husband’s words, Arianne was giving Cuddy a different message altogether with that glare of hers.
Then again, Cuddy guessed the word, blood, wasn’t entirely absent from this unspoken conversation either.
She refused to let it bother her though. Arianne had assumed the worst in her for years, more than a decade even, and if Cuddy had let that get to her every time an accusation, said or otherwise, was made, she would have never been able to do anything else. Out of necessity, she’d developed a thick skin, distanced herself from her association with Wells - so much so that not even House had been able to predict a past between them. Required, Cuddy had forged ahead and would continue to do so.
But she’d just thought that when Sanford Wells’s speech took an unexpected turn. He was at the part where he talked about his own ancestry, how they had been forced from Spain, left Morocco decades after, and settled in the United Kingdom without knowing anyone. It was, he said, as he always did, a testament to his family, living up to that legacy, that he should enter a profession that was not always welcoming to black men, especially black men in positions of power. And he was at that moment where he then turned the toast to the successes of his fellow diners when he changed course.
He started talking about his wife, something he never did. Darkly Cuddy thought he avoided mentioning his spouse, because every year, said spouse changed. Nevertheless she was intrigued by the shift in pattern, and so she was fully focused on his speech when he said it.
“This year,” he explained in a thoughtful manner. “I think I am even more attuned to the legacy my family, the Jewish people, have created - died for - for me. As I contemplate the examples that were set for us, I can only hope that Arianne and I will be able to provide the same for our own child who will be born….”
His voice trailed off though only in Cuddy’s head. She could see his lips still moving, could, in a vague way, hear his continued speaking buzzing in the back of her mind like a fluorescent light bulb in dire need of changing before it blew. The specifics of what he said escaped her; the specifics did not matter. Her gaze trained on Wells and his wife, it was easy to see then - why hadn’t she seen it before? - Arianne was pregnant. She glowed; they both did, smiled knowingly at one another as though a secret lingered between them, something only the two of them knew.
There was no secret, of course. The truth had been revealed, and everyone now knew that they were having a baby. But looking at the happy couple, Cuddy felt a sense of exclusion in the moment nonetheless.
Rationally she knew that was how it should be. This pregnancy wasn’t happening to her, wasn’t occurring in her family. She was looking in on a private moment between Wells and Arianne, and it was only right for her to feel like an outsider at the dinner table.
But was that what was really happening? Cuddy thought the answer was no. Maybe in some small part, she was reacting to the subtle display of intimacy in front of her. The fact of the matter though was that that dynamic barely penetrated Cuddy’s daze. She could recognize it in a reasoned way, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t even really think it.
Really, there was only one thought flitting through her mind, one fact that seemed to plague her, weigh her down as Sanford finished his toast. Arianne was pregnant. This woman who had made so many awful assumptions about her, the person who lacked so much decency, who didn’t have a maternal bone within her was pregnant.
And the silent refrain that came with that, though Cuddy tried her best not to think it, was: And she was not.
She had never been, not really, the voice thought, pushing through every defense she possessed. Pregnancy had been a state she’d briefly experienced, a small taste of something she would never fully enjoy. In spite of all her wishes, there was a longing that came with the thought. The desire for… not a different path; she couldn’t imagine life without her daughter, without things being as they were. She couldn’t picture herself with two children, with House being the biological father of him or her - or with someone else being the father.
As much as part of her longed to have had that experience, the events that would have had to take place were ones she wasn't interested in. She would have liked to have been pregnant, but... she didn't.
She didn't.
Thinking that and then settling into the salad course made her feel ridiculous. But what other choices did she have? Her mind traitorously took her there, forced her to consider the “what if” she generally refused to let herself ponder. Her job forced her stay where she was, to hold her glass high during the toast and act like she was both happy and unaffected by this announcement.
She was unaffected, she told herself. No matter how nice it would have been to be inducted into that part of motherhood, to know what it felt like to have your child grow and move within you... it wasn't something she needed to chase. It wasn't something she needed to be complete. There was the slight tinge of betrayal, that the world should give a viper like Arianne a child, but if Cuddy felt sick then, it was because she knew her own path to motherhood had been - was - just as meaningful. And if she felt awful, it was because these thoughts made it seem like she needed to be convinced of her love for Rachel and that just wasn't the case.
She loved Rachel, as fully and indescribably and terribly as she would have if she had ever successfully been pregnant. Of that Cuddy had no doubts.
But when Rachel slipped into the dining room, a sour expression on her face, Cuddy thought that maybe her daughter did have some doubts of her own. Because as Rachel carefully made her way to her, Cuddy could see the hatred, the dissatisfaction, in her daughter's eyes. It wasn't genuine in any way. To be sure, Rachel probably thought at that moment that she really did hate her mother, really did have a reason to be irate. Being sent to eat with her friends for some inexplicable reason was enough to make her feel as though her mother were against her. But it was the kind of momentary irritation that only a child could have… although Cuddy was tempted to reconsider that with every glance she made in House’s direction.
And at least Rachel had enough love for her to head straight for her and bury her face in her mother’s lap. She had enough forgiveness for some affection whereas House could barely look at her. Who was really being less mature in this scenario, she thought dryly.
Shifting away from the table, Cuddy ignored him. Instead she leaned down a little so that she could hear Rachel over the multiple conversations that had started to take place around them.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Rachel lifted her face off of Cuddy’s thighs. “I wanna go home,” she said practically on the verge of tears.
For the life of her, Cuddy couldn’t understand why. This might have been a boring event for a child. Okay, it was an awful way for a five year old to spend her evening. But it wasn’t worth crying over, and if Rachel were about to do so, the only reasonable cause for that was she thought throwing a fit would get her home sooner.
What Rachel didn’t realize was that there was absolutely no chance of that plan succeeding.
Nevertheless, Cuddy tried to be sympathetic. These parties were never fun, and even if she thought differently, antagonism wasn’t going to work here. Rachel needed sympathy.
“I know,” Cuddy said gently. “Just a little while longer, all right?”
“No. I want to go home now.” Rachel was firm, but she was still quiet, thankfully. The only attraction she seemed to attract at that point was House’s.
“You need to eat your dinner,” Cuddy told her.
“I did.”
“Really?” she asked doubtfully. “So if I go check, your plate’s going to be empty?”
Rachel nodded her head. It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t wanted to sit with stinky Nevaeh and stupid, poopy pants George and Tyler to eat dinner. By the time she’d been forced to, one of the other kids, Dustin, had decided to play a prank on her and feed her dinner to one of the dogs. At least that was what they said - they’d fed her food to the dogs (although Rachel didn’t think there were any dogs here), because she was so fat she didn’t need to eat.
They was wrong. She did need to eat cause of her blood sugar. But they were so dumb they would never get that, and if she asked for more food, they would just tease her even more. And then Mommy would make her clean her plate, and they would oink like they was pigs, because she was fat, or they would moo cause she was a cow, and asking for a new dinner just wasn’t worth it.
As soon as they went home, she would say something, so she wouldn’t get sick. But she wouldn’t say a peep until then. Nobody was gonna make fun of her anymore. Not tonight anyway. And it was easy to convince Mommy, because the plate was technically empty, so it wasn’t a lie to say that it was.
“All right,” Cuddy said after a moment. “Can you be quiet while….”
The question went unfinished. The second House leaned down and picked Rachel up, there was no point in saying anything else. He’d made the decision for all of them, leaving Cuddy nowhere to go with her words. Whether Rachel planned on being quiet or not, she was in House’s lap, snuggled into the lapels of his suit; there was no incentive to behave now, because she’d already gotten what she wanted.
Frustrated Cuddy chose to ignore them both. This was just what he liked to do, she told herself. He had no idea how to reach out to Rachel on his own, no clue how to bond with her, so he spoiled her. He gave her whatever she wanted without complaint or hesitation, pitted himself against Cuddy so that he looked good by comparison. He couldn’t help himself.
No matter how many times she tried to tell him he didn’t need to do that, that Rachel would eventually like him whether he spoiled her or not, he refused to believe that. Granted, listening had never been his strong suit. Neither had change. And for that very reason, Cuddy tried to be as patient as she could be.
She was losing patience.
But she had already said something once today. Reiterate the point too often, and he would stop even trying to pay attention. Her insistence would lead to accusations of nagging, and then he would purposely do whatever he wanted to annoy her further. He couldn’t help himself there either. So Cuddy chose once more to bite her tongue, to ignore the problem that she saw staring at her in the face.
In some ways, that was almost easy. Rachel had gotten what she’d wanted, and she was quiet as a result. House spent the rest of the evening watching her, which meant that Cuddy didn’t have to worry about either of them getting into trouble. And that allowed her to focus on the job she had to do - wooing donors with an ease she didn’t feel in her marrow.
On the surface, everything was going fine. They laughed at her jokes, lapped up the little tidbits of administrative life that she shared with them. She returned the behavior in kind - pretended to be amused at the stories they told, faked enjoying their senses of humor. But as the party progressed, the hours ticked by ever so slowly, Cuddy found herself devoid of any real amusement.
The fact that there was always a long stretch between dinner and dessert and then the end of the party only made it worse; the feeling that she would have to keep the façade up for the rest of the night made her that more desperate for the evening to end.
Impatience was not something she meant to dabble in. She’d set herself up for a long evening. Before the party, she had told herself that she would have to overcome a lot, meet several people’s high expectations for her before she could even think about leaving. Though this was the last thing she’d wanted to do, it was necessary at this point. Once the D.E.A. started to investigate the hospital thoroughly, she needed it to already be perfectly clear that no one could do the job she did on a daily basis.
Perhaps sensing she had reached that point - or gotten as close to it as she ever would - she felt herself itching to leave. Again, she’d wanted to go longer, but thanks to John and Arianne and House and everything else, Cuddy knew she had reached her limit. And now all she wanted to do was go home, so that she could strip herself of the veneer that suggested to the world that everything was okay.
Nothing was okay.
It hadn’t been all day, of course. But the more she tried to pretend like she had everything under control, the more obvious it was becoming that she didn’t. John had kissed her, and even if House forgave her for that, she still had to deal with the memory of it. And then there was Arianne and her pregnancy and the hospital’s current troubles and the fact that Rachel and House both seemed at times angry with her for reasons Cuddy didn’t understand and… their problems seemed to be never ending.
But instead of being home with her family, protecting them, she was here. At first relying on work had been instinctual. Now it just felt like she was avoiding her own life and the problems teeming within it. Each conversation more forced than the last, she made it another hour, a full seventy-five minutes after dinner concluded to be precise, before she begged off.
Wells was understanding thankfully. She could see his desire to point out that, if there were ever a time to stick the party out, that time was now. Although he said he understood, that he was sad she had to go, what he really wanted to say was, “Are you sure that’s the right choice to make?”
It was an unspoken question created from a need to protect. Over the years, their relationship had cooled to the point where they appeared to be mere acquaintances. But every now and then, a lingering feeling or two would bubble to the surface. If right now was one of those times, she thought it was because she had succeeded in her plan to appear competent. Because if he’d believed she weren’t an asset to the hospital, he would have let her go without hesitation. At the moment though, he was subtly trying to keep her there. And if he let her leave at all, it wasn’t because he thought she was a hindrance, but because she told him Rachel had school in the morning.
Apparently newfound fatherhood made him more sympathetic to her responsibilities as a mother. For that reason alone, Cuddy thought Arianne becoming pregnant was a good development. But she kept that to herself, not interested in speaking to the other women, much less give her an opportunity to insult her.
Finding House instead, Cuddy was surprised to see Rachel asleep on his lap. The pair were sitting on the same chaise they had been lounging on earlier, but this time, Rachel was curled into him.
For a brief second, Cuddy paused at the sight. She wanted them to be close; she had fought for that. And it was nice to see them like this.
But there was also a slight pang that came with seeing them together as they were. The closer they became, the less reliant Rachel became on Cuddy herself. And maybe it was ugly to want her baby to stay her baby, but sometimes Cuddy felt sick at the idea of sharing her daughter, letting her become closer to and dependent on someone else.
She didn’t think she did a good job of hiding it then.
Certainly it would explain why, when she asked if he’d given Rachel her insulin, he was quick to snap.
“No. I didn’t,” he said in a way that made it obviously a lie. “I thought it’d just be fun to see what happened if I let her -”
“We’re leaving,” she told him, hoping that that news would ease some of his agitation.
It did, but then it also seemed to leave him confused. An eyebrow cocked, he asked, “Because of what I said?”
“Because it’s late and I want to go home.” Leaning down, she began to slowly pull Rachel into her arms. Cuddy tried to be as gentle as she could be, so that Rachel wouldn’t wake up. But the shifting caused by Cuddy picking her up roused Rachel enough so that she whined a little. “It’s okay,” Cuddy told her, holding her close. Her daughter’s face burying in her shoulder, she said in a soothing voice, “Mama’s got you.”
House watched the scene impassively, but he didn’t stand up to leave. Wanting to go and being allowed to go were two different things in Cuddy’s mind. He wasn’t going to get up until he knew he was free and clear to escape.
Cuddy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I already said goodbye for you.”
“Okay.” He tried to act like that wasn’t a concern of his. Having her acknowledge it and so readily made him feel like a child being consoled, made him feel shamefully predictable. He reached for his cane but tried not to seem too impressed by her words.
The act wasn’t particularly convincing, he thought, because Cuddy seemed to be even more irritated than she had been.
“I’m going to get our coats. When you’re finished playing games, you can join us.” She turned away and started to walk off.
Then he didn’t hesitate to join her. She’d correctly deduced his motives, what he was doing. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Even though he didn’t like being exposed, fighting that fact would just make it all the more obvious. Having been caught, he could really only admit defeat and move on; denying it would merely prolong his presence at this party.
Sighing he stood up. His thigh ached as he took long strides to work the tension out of his muscles. Rachel had fallen asleep at least a half hour ago, and he’d been trapped on the small sofa by her body and the knowledge that he’d have to deal with the other guests if he tried to get up. Now he was stiff, his gait reflective of that.
It didn’t help that he knew he was poised for a fight. His entire body tense with anticipation, he found it impossible to ease the soreness in his leg. He tried, but every moment seemed to remind him of the argument they were going to have.
It didn’t matter that they worked together to get Rachel into her coat or that he then helped Cuddy down the icy driveway so she wouldn’t fall with the kid in her arms. None of that made a difference.
Not for him.
Maybe Cuddy, under the delusion that he was agitated from the party, thought this brief reprieve from fighting meant something. But he knew better, because he knew that all of this was precisely the problem. Every day they managed to have moments like this, instances where they came together to care for Rachel. And every day those times went ignored or unappreciated by Cuddy.
If she weren’t going to place any meaning in those moments, why should he do any different?
Well, he wasn’t going to. If nothing they did together made her more trusting, then he wasn’t going to let those same events quell his anger. Cuddy was oblivious, of course. He knew she wasn't so dense as to be completely unaware of his mood. But every time their eyes met, it was impossible to miss the hope in her gaze; it was easy to see that, in spite of everything, she thought nothing bad would come of it. They would go home and put Rachel to bed and make love and call it a night as though everything were just fine. He didn't bother suggesting she was wrong about that.
She would know the truth soon enough.
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), Chapter 19 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 3), Chapter 19 (Part 4), Chapter 20 (Part 1), Chapter 20 (Part 2), Chapter 21 (Part 1), Chapter 21 (Part 2)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson
She sensed a change in him immediately. Cool accusatory eyes met her gaze as Rachel stomped off, his way of saying, “You screwed that up.” The words never left his mouth, but Cuddy could see the temptation in his features, knew that, if they were in any other situation, he would say something.
For the life of her, she couldn't understand why he was upset.
True, these events, when he attended, always bred animosity, a bit of resentment and frustration for having been made to go. She'd expected that; that was why she'd purchased the lingerie she was currently wearing: because he would need something to look forward to. As childish as it seemed to need to bribe him for good behavior, it was necessary, and she had done it without complaint. But feeling the heat of his discontent, she was no longer sure that the crotchless, cupless wonder she was wearing would be enough for him.
She wasn't sure anything would be enough.
He did not take her hand when she held it out for him. He did not speak to her, barely even looked at her when they headed to the dining room. When she asked him what was wrong, he merely shrugged and continued on to the table.
They were seated next to each other, at the end, as far from the host and hostess as they could possibly be. But that unlike House's behavior did not surprise her; when he was with her, when it was known he was coming anyway, he was always placed on an end, as far from human contact as possible. And if he looked dismayed then, she knew it was because he didn't want to sit with her and for no other reason.
As they took their seats, she leaned over to him. Her voice a whisper, she told him calmly, "Whatever your problem is -”
"I don't have a problem."
She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. Under no circumstances had she been convinced; the surly quality to his voice made it obvious if not understandable that there was absolutely something wrong. But in those few words, it had also become clear that he had no intention of telling her, that he planned to sit there silently - like a child would - for the rest of the evening.
Cuddy wouldn't lie; it bothered her. It did. Something had happened, something she would have to address sooner or later. And the fact that he didn't even want to talk about it made her all the more concerned. Because when he didn't talk, it meant that his problem was greater than a simple apology, bigger than thirty seconds of consolation could solve. He wasn't saying anything now, affording her that much dignity to keep their personal issues limited to their home. But in a way, that just made it even worse.
This wasn't about John Kelley or Sanford Wells. He'd had no problem discussing her love life earlier. Sometimes House liked to get offended by something after the fact, surprise her with newfound anger. But that wasn't the case here. She could tell. He would have said something if it were about John or Sanford; given that one of the men was twenty feet from him, he would have done something.
Instead House was quiet, eerily so. He sipped from his wine, placed his napkin on his lap all without a word, without even a glance in her direction. But the undercurrent of those actions was one of disapproval, one of disgust. She could feel it.
And that was truly saying something, considering it was hard to sense much of anything other than the glowing hatred radiating from Arianne Wells’s direction. Her husband was currently offering a toast, the same toast he always gave about perseverance in the lifeblood of Jews, in the blood of those sitting at the table with him. But oblivious to her husband’s words, Arianne was giving Cuddy a different message altogether with that glare of hers.
Then again, Cuddy guessed the word, blood, wasn’t entirely absent from this unspoken conversation either.
She refused to let it bother her though. Arianne had assumed the worst in her for years, more than a decade even, and if Cuddy had let that get to her every time an accusation, said or otherwise, was made, she would have never been able to do anything else. Out of necessity, she’d developed a thick skin, distanced herself from her association with Wells - so much so that not even House had been able to predict a past between them. Required, Cuddy had forged ahead and would continue to do so.
But she’d just thought that when Sanford Wells’s speech took an unexpected turn. He was at the part where he talked about his own ancestry, how they had been forced from Spain, left Morocco decades after, and settled in the United Kingdom without knowing anyone. It was, he said, as he always did, a testament to his family, living up to that legacy, that he should enter a profession that was not always welcoming to black men, especially black men in positions of power. And he was at that moment where he then turned the toast to the successes of his fellow diners when he changed course.
He started talking about his wife, something he never did. Darkly Cuddy thought he avoided mentioning his spouse, because every year, said spouse changed. Nevertheless she was intrigued by the shift in pattern, and so she was fully focused on his speech when he said it.
“This year,” he explained in a thoughtful manner. “I think I am even more attuned to the legacy my family, the Jewish people, have created - died for - for me. As I contemplate the examples that were set for us, I can only hope that Arianne and I will be able to provide the same for our own child who will be born….”
His voice trailed off though only in Cuddy’s head. She could see his lips still moving, could, in a vague way, hear his continued speaking buzzing in the back of her mind like a fluorescent light bulb in dire need of changing before it blew. The specifics of what he said escaped her; the specifics did not matter. Her gaze trained on Wells and his wife, it was easy to see then - why hadn’t she seen it before? - Arianne was pregnant. She glowed; they both did, smiled knowingly at one another as though a secret lingered between them, something only the two of them knew.
There was no secret, of course. The truth had been revealed, and everyone now knew that they were having a baby. But looking at the happy couple, Cuddy felt a sense of exclusion in the moment nonetheless.
Rationally she knew that was how it should be. This pregnancy wasn’t happening to her, wasn’t occurring in her family. She was looking in on a private moment between Wells and Arianne, and it was only right for her to feel like an outsider at the dinner table.
But was that what was really happening? Cuddy thought the answer was no. Maybe in some small part, she was reacting to the subtle display of intimacy in front of her. The fact of the matter though was that that dynamic barely penetrated Cuddy’s daze. She could recognize it in a reasoned way, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t even really think it.
Really, there was only one thought flitting through her mind, one fact that seemed to plague her, weigh her down as Sanford finished his toast. Arianne was pregnant. This woman who had made so many awful assumptions about her, the person who lacked so much decency, who didn’t have a maternal bone within her was pregnant.
And the silent refrain that came with that, though Cuddy tried her best not to think it, was: And she was not.
She had never been, not really, the voice thought, pushing through every defense she possessed. Pregnancy had been a state she’d briefly experienced, a small taste of something she would never fully enjoy. In spite of all her wishes, there was a longing that came with the thought. The desire for… not a different path; she couldn’t imagine life without her daughter, without things being as they were. She couldn’t picture herself with two children, with House being the biological father of him or her - or with someone else being the father.
As much as part of her longed to have had that experience, the events that would have had to take place were ones she wasn't interested in. She would have liked to have been pregnant, but... she didn't.
She didn't.
Thinking that and then settling into the salad course made her feel ridiculous. But what other choices did she have? Her mind traitorously took her there, forced her to consider the “what if” she generally refused to let herself ponder. Her job forced her stay where she was, to hold her glass high during the toast and act like she was both happy and unaffected by this announcement.
She was unaffected, she told herself. No matter how nice it would have been to be inducted into that part of motherhood, to know what it felt like to have your child grow and move within you... it wasn't something she needed to chase. It wasn't something she needed to be complete. There was the slight tinge of betrayal, that the world should give a viper like Arianne a child, but if Cuddy felt sick then, it was because she knew her own path to motherhood had been - was - just as meaningful. And if she felt awful, it was because these thoughts made it seem like she needed to be convinced of her love for Rachel and that just wasn't the case.
She loved Rachel, as fully and indescribably and terribly as she would have if she had ever successfully been pregnant. Of that Cuddy had no doubts.
But when Rachel slipped into the dining room, a sour expression on her face, Cuddy thought that maybe her daughter did have some doubts of her own. Because as Rachel carefully made her way to her, Cuddy could see the hatred, the dissatisfaction, in her daughter's eyes. It wasn't genuine in any way. To be sure, Rachel probably thought at that moment that she really did hate her mother, really did have a reason to be irate. Being sent to eat with her friends for some inexplicable reason was enough to make her feel as though her mother were against her. But it was the kind of momentary irritation that only a child could have… although Cuddy was tempted to reconsider that with every glance she made in House’s direction.
And at least Rachel had enough love for her to head straight for her and bury her face in her mother’s lap. She had enough forgiveness for some affection whereas House could barely look at her. Who was really being less mature in this scenario, she thought dryly.
Shifting away from the table, Cuddy ignored him. Instead she leaned down a little so that she could hear Rachel over the multiple conversations that had started to take place around them.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Rachel lifted her face off of Cuddy’s thighs. “I wanna go home,” she said practically on the verge of tears.
For the life of her, Cuddy couldn’t understand why. This might have been a boring event for a child. Okay, it was an awful way for a five year old to spend her evening. But it wasn’t worth crying over, and if Rachel were about to do so, the only reasonable cause for that was she thought throwing a fit would get her home sooner.
What Rachel didn’t realize was that there was absolutely no chance of that plan succeeding.
Nevertheless, Cuddy tried to be sympathetic. These parties were never fun, and even if she thought differently, antagonism wasn’t going to work here. Rachel needed sympathy.
“I know,” Cuddy said gently. “Just a little while longer, all right?”
“No. I want to go home now.” Rachel was firm, but she was still quiet, thankfully. The only attraction she seemed to attract at that point was House’s.
“You need to eat your dinner,” Cuddy told her.
“I did.”
“Really?” she asked doubtfully. “So if I go check, your plate’s going to be empty?”
Rachel nodded her head. It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t wanted to sit with stinky Nevaeh and stupid, poopy pants George and Tyler to eat dinner. By the time she’d been forced to, one of the other kids, Dustin, had decided to play a prank on her and feed her dinner to one of the dogs. At least that was what they said - they’d fed her food to the dogs (although Rachel didn’t think there were any dogs here), because she was so fat she didn’t need to eat.
They was wrong. She did need to eat cause of her blood sugar. But they were so dumb they would never get that, and if she asked for more food, they would just tease her even more. And then Mommy would make her clean her plate, and they would oink like they was pigs, because she was fat, or they would moo cause she was a cow, and asking for a new dinner just wasn’t worth it.
As soon as they went home, she would say something, so she wouldn’t get sick. But she wouldn’t say a peep until then. Nobody was gonna make fun of her anymore. Not tonight anyway. And it was easy to convince Mommy, because the plate was technically empty, so it wasn’t a lie to say that it was.
“All right,” Cuddy said after a moment. “Can you be quiet while….”
The question went unfinished. The second House leaned down and picked Rachel up, there was no point in saying anything else. He’d made the decision for all of them, leaving Cuddy nowhere to go with her words. Whether Rachel planned on being quiet or not, she was in House’s lap, snuggled into the lapels of his suit; there was no incentive to behave now, because she’d already gotten what she wanted.
Frustrated Cuddy chose to ignore them both. This was just what he liked to do, she told herself. He had no idea how to reach out to Rachel on his own, no clue how to bond with her, so he spoiled her. He gave her whatever she wanted without complaint or hesitation, pitted himself against Cuddy so that he looked good by comparison. He couldn’t help himself.
No matter how many times she tried to tell him he didn’t need to do that, that Rachel would eventually like him whether he spoiled her or not, he refused to believe that. Granted, listening had never been his strong suit. Neither had change. And for that very reason, Cuddy tried to be as patient as she could be.
She was losing patience.
But she had already said something once today. Reiterate the point too often, and he would stop even trying to pay attention. Her insistence would lead to accusations of nagging, and then he would purposely do whatever he wanted to annoy her further. He couldn’t help himself there either. So Cuddy chose once more to bite her tongue, to ignore the problem that she saw staring at her in the face.
In some ways, that was almost easy. Rachel had gotten what she’d wanted, and she was quiet as a result. House spent the rest of the evening watching her, which meant that Cuddy didn’t have to worry about either of them getting into trouble. And that allowed her to focus on the job she had to do - wooing donors with an ease she didn’t feel in her marrow.
On the surface, everything was going fine. They laughed at her jokes, lapped up the little tidbits of administrative life that she shared with them. She returned the behavior in kind - pretended to be amused at the stories they told, faked enjoying their senses of humor. But as the party progressed, the hours ticked by ever so slowly, Cuddy found herself devoid of any real amusement.
The fact that there was always a long stretch between dinner and dessert and then the end of the party only made it worse; the feeling that she would have to keep the façade up for the rest of the night made her that more desperate for the evening to end.
Impatience was not something she meant to dabble in. She’d set herself up for a long evening. Before the party, she had told herself that she would have to overcome a lot, meet several people’s high expectations for her before she could even think about leaving. Though this was the last thing she’d wanted to do, it was necessary at this point. Once the D.E.A. started to investigate the hospital thoroughly, she needed it to already be perfectly clear that no one could do the job she did on a daily basis.
Perhaps sensing she had reached that point - or gotten as close to it as she ever would - she felt herself itching to leave. Again, she’d wanted to go longer, but thanks to John and Arianne and House and everything else, Cuddy knew she had reached her limit. And now all she wanted to do was go home, so that she could strip herself of the veneer that suggested to the world that everything was okay.
Nothing was okay.
It hadn’t been all day, of course. But the more she tried to pretend like she had everything under control, the more obvious it was becoming that she didn’t. John had kissed her, and even if House forgave her for that, she still had to deal with the memory of it. And then there was Arianne and her pregnancy and the hospital’s current troubles and the fact that Rachel and House both seemed at times angry with her for reasons Cuddy didn’t understand and… their problems seemed to be never ending.
But instead of being home with her family, protecting them, she was here. At first relying on work had been instinctual. Now it just felt like she was avoiding her own life and the problems teeming within it. Each conversation more forced than the last, she made it another hour, a full seventy-five minutes after dinner concluded to be precise, before she begged off.
Wells was understanding thankfully. She could see his desire to point out that, if there were ever a time to stick the party out, that time was now. Although he said he understood, that he was sad she had to go, what he really wanted to say was, “Are you sure that’s the right choice to make?”
It was an unspoken question created from a need to protect. Over the years, their relationship had cooled to the point where they appeared to be mere acquaintances. But every now and then, a lingering feeling or two would bubble to the surface. If right now was one of those times, she thought it was because she had succeeded in her plan to appear competent. Because if he’d believed she weren’t an asset to the hospital, he would have let her go without hesitation. At the moment though, he was subtly trying to keep her there. And if he let her leave at all, it wasn’t because he thought she was a hindrance, but because she told him Rachel had school in the morning.
Apparently newfound fatherhood made him more sympathetic to her responsibilities as a mother. For that reason alone, Cuddy thought Arianne becoming pregnant was a good development. But she kept that to herself, not interested in speaking to the other women, much less give her an opportunity to insult her.
Finding House instead, Cuddy was surprised to see Rachel asleep on his lap. The pair were sitting on the same chaise they had been lounging on earlier, but this time, Rachel was curled into him.
For a brief second, Cuddy paused at the sight. She wanted them to be close; she had fought for that. And it was nice to see them like this.
But there was also a slight pang that came with seeing them together as they were. The closer they became, the less reliant Rachel became on Cuddy herself. And maybe it was ugly to want her baby to stay her baby, but sometimes Cuddy felt sick at the idea of sharing her daughter, letting her become closer to and dependent on someone else.
She didn’t think she did a good job of hiding it then.
Certainly it would explain why, when she asked if he’d given Rachel her insulin, he was quick to snap.
“No. I didn’t,” he said in a way that made it obviously a lie. “I thought it’d just be fun to see what happened if I let her -”
“We’re leaving,” she told him, hoping that that news would ease some of his agitation.
It did, but then it also seemed to leave him confused. An eyebrow cocked, he asked, “Because of what I said?”
“Because it’s late and I want to go home.” Leaning down, she began to slowly pull Rachel into her arms. Cuddy tried to be as gentle as she could be, so that Rachel wouldn’t wake up. But the shifting caused by Cuddy picking her up roused Rachel enough so that she whined a little. “It’s okay,” Cuddy told her, holding her close. Her daughter’s face burying in her shoulder, she said in a soothing voice, “Mama’s got you.”
House watched the scene impassively, but he didn’t stand up to leave. Wanting to go and being allowed to go were two different things in Cuddy’s mind. He wasn’t going to get up until he knew he was free and clear to escape.
Cuddy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I already said goodbye for you.”
“Okay.” He tried to act like that wasn’t a concern of his. Having her acknowledge it and so readily made him feel like a child being consoled, made him feel shamefully predictable. He reached for his cane but tried not to seem too impressed by her words.
The act wasn’t particularly convincing, he thought, because Cuddy seemed to be even more irritated than she had been.
“I’m going to get our coats. When you’re finished playing games, you can join us.” She turned away and started to walk off.
Then he didn’t hesitate to join her. She’d correctly deduced his motives, what he was doing. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Even though he didn’t like being exposed, fighting that fact would just make it all the more obvious. Having been caught, he could really only admit defeat and move on; denying it would merely prolong his presence at this party.
Sighing he stood up. His thigh ached as he took long strides to work the tension out of his muscles. Rachel had fallen asleep at least a half hour ago, and he’d been trapped on the small sofa by her body and the knowledge that he’d have to deal with the other guests if he tried to get up. Now he was stiff, his gait reflective of that.
It didn’t help that he knew he was poised for a fight. His entire body tense with anticipation, he found it impossible to ease the soreness in his leg. He tried, but every moment seemed to remind him of the argument they were going to have.
It didn’t matter that they worked together to get Rachel into her coat or that he then helped Cuddy down the icy driveway so she wouldn’t fall with the kid in her arms. None of that made a difference.
Not for him.
Maybe Cuddy, under the delusion that he was agitated from the party, thought this brief reprieve from fighting meant something. But he knew better, because he knew that all of this was precisely the problem. Every day they managed to have moments like this, instances where they came together to care for Rachel. And every day those times went ignored or unappreciated by Cuddy.
If she weren’t going to place any meaning in those moments, why should he do any different?
Well, he wasn’t going to. If nothing they did together made her more trusting, then he wasn’t going to let those same events quell his anger. Cuddy was oblivious, of course. He knew she wasn't so dense as to be completely unaware of his mood. But every time their eyes met, it was impossible to miss the hope in her gaze; it was easy to see that, in spite of everything, she thought nothing bad would come of it. They would go home and put Rachel to bed and make love and call it a night as though everything were just fine. He didn't bother suggesting she was wrong about that.
She would know the truth soon enough.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter