Gift of Screws, Chapter 25.2
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Twenty Five, Part Two
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy
Author's Note: This piece takes place in the future when Rachel is five; House and Cuddy are in an established relationship.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
Summary: For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he
wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18 (Part 1), Chapter 18 (Part 2), Chapter 19 (Part 1), 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), Chapter 22 (Part 1), Chapter 22 (Part 2), Chapter 23 (Part 1), Chapter 23 (Part 2), Chapter 24 (Part 1), Chapter 24 (Part 2), Chapter 25 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Rachel’s nose scrunched up as she tried to remember. “Um… don’t eat the cookie dough?”
“Well, that too.”
She thought some more. “I don’t remember.”
Cuddy nodded her head in understanding. “I said to you, there will always be people who don’t like you - or me or House or whoever - for whatever reason. You can’t pay attention to them. There are plenty of kids out there who would love to be your friend. You don’t need to have friends who are mean to you. Ever. And you shouldn’t listen to what anyone -”
“So I don’t have to listen to you when you say eat my carrots,” Rachel interrupted in a voice that was deliberately sweet.
There was a hopeful quality to the words, as though she wanted to believe ignoring her mother could be allowed based on what Cuddy was saying. It wasn’t.
"If I tell you to eat your vegetables, you need to listen to me," Cuddy said calmly. "I'm your mommy. You're supposed to listen to me."
"Do you always listen to your Mommy?"
It was not a curious question. One that was purposely aimed her way, it was asked to point out her hypocrisy.
"No," she admitted uncomfortably. "But Nana isn't like most mothers. Nana is... a handful." That was the nice way of describing Arlene, the words Cuddy usually used to describe her mother. "I would listen to her if she...." No, Cuddy thought; she didn't want to finish that thought. Nothing good could come from doing so. Somehow, uttering those words would inevitably mean her mother would hear them. Somehow she would know what Cuddy had said, and she wanted to avoid that. "You have to listen to me, Rachel," Cuddy finished.
“Okay… but at some point, I don’t have to -”
“You’re being very naughty, aren’t you?” she said with a smile. Fingers on her daughter’s stomach, she started to tickle her. Rachel squealed and squirmed, legs kicking in the air as she shrieked with laughter.
Cuddy didn’t tickle her for long. The point was to help Rachel wind down and go to sleep - not egg her on. But if Cuddy had been concerned that her daughter would be livened up by her actions, she was wrong. As Rachel started to calm down, her giggles tapering off, it was clear that the last reserves of energy inside of her had been used.
Beginning to fall asleep, she didn’t respond when Cuddy said, “I love you so much.” The little girl unconscious within minutes, it wasn’t even clear that she had heard her mother.
But Cuddy hoped that the sentiment was one Rachel understood was the truth. It bothered Cuddy to think that a group of children could make Rachel think differently about or at least question all of the love surrounding her.
Then again, as she stood up to leave, Cuddy couldn’t help but wonder if she deserved the doubt. She loved Rachel; it was obvious to her that she did. But… how many nights had Cuddy depended on Marina when she was still alive? How many little events had she missed over the years? How many times had she been working when Rachel had needed her?
Cuddy couldn’t even estimate the number there were so many instances. And part of her was okay with that. She didn’t work, because she had to. Certainly the income helped, but she did her job, because she loved doing it. Maybe that wasn’t the case right now, but once all of this garbage with the D.E.A. passed, she would remember the reasons she kept doing this thankless task years after she’d first taken the job. For that reason, she didn’t regret all those moments when someone else had had to watch Rachel. She wouldn’t have done anything differently, not really.
Of course there was guilt; there was always guilt. But it had always been the right decision for her, to continue working as she had before she’d had Rachel.
After all was said and done, Cuddy didn't even doubt that truth now. It was the right choice for all of them. But it bothered her to think that someone else might use Cuddy's choices against Rachel, that someone - a child no less - would wield Cuddy's career as a weapon against a five year old. And knowing that she would in all likelihood go into work tomorrow, she regretted her choice to tell Rachel that she would stay with her tomorrow if that were necessary. Because if Rachel weren't feeling well and Cuddy left her with House, it might seem to Rachel like a confirmation of everything the other children had told her.
But... what could she do about that now? Wake her daughter up and tell her that she'd lied? Not go into work when the hospital needed her? She knew she couldn't do any of that. For better or worse, she was stuck on this path now; there was no turning back.
That must have been the underlying theme for all of her choices, she thought bleakly. No matter what she did today, every decision seemed to be wrought with a certain amount of... conclusion. As though once chosen, her option killed all other avenues of behavior, she was stuck with a singular path the second she took the first step. She supposed she could back out of handing House the papers. She'd had her lawyer draft them; she wasn't required to use them. And yet she knew that wasn't really the case. Because if she kept the documents to herself, House would find them and confront her, or she would eventually change her mind and hand them to him anyway. Either way, it didn't seem like she could back out of what she'd started.
Part of her wished she could. As she tentatively took steps towards House, a voice inside of her whispered that there was always a way out; he was tired, wouldn't look through her briefcase tonight; she could shred the papers before he saw them; she could lock the papers away in a desk drawer somewhere until she was sure this was what she wanted. She had gone to her lawyer ignorant of the extent to which Rachel would be affected.
Of course, Cuddy had known that Rachel would be impacted one way or another. But she hadn't considered that, as she’d sat in that lawyer’s office, her daughter was confessing things to House; she hadn’t thought that there’d been much of a relationship there, as evidenced by all of the fights and times Rachel had proclaimed to hate him. She hadn’t realized… just how complicated all of this would be. She hadn’t seen how reckless she was being, and now it felt like she was walking to her doom by seeing this through.
Again though, she knew there was no turning back. She had set this in motion. Though not well thought out, it was something she couldn’t ignore. She had to finish what she’d started. Without answers, she would just keep returning to this point. She would keep having these fights with House; he wouldn’t let the matter drop no matter how much he wanted. He’d found a point to make and would make it over and over, even if secretly he knew he shouldn’t. And Rachel would suffer in the meantime, unsure if she should trust House, unsure if she should dislike him.
Cuddy didn’t want that for her daughter.
That was what she told her herself, as she stepped into the living room once more. Instantly confronted with House’s gaze on her, she immediately felt the thought slip from her mind.
He’d woken up at some point. She could tell that much. Glasses and book gone, he’d moved, changed directions on the sofa. Now he could see her as she walked into the room - not that it mattered.
They said nothing. They looked at one another, their expressions filled with all of the things they needed to talk about. But she kept silent and so did he. As though neither were prepared for the conversation they would eventually have, they gazed at one another but didn’t speak.
Yet things were said. One of his arms outstretching to his side, he was inviting her to join him. He didn’t need to actually ask her. Regardless of where they were personally, she welcomed the offer immediately. They would have to talk eventually, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up with him. She needed it.
Closing the distance between them, she didn’t ask if he was sure that he was okay with this. They had had a lot of miscommunication this weekend, but she hadn’t misread his behavior; he was allowing her to lie down with him. Never mind that, at this point, she would have found herself there anyway. Even if he hadn’t extended the invitation, she would have wanted to be in his arms. But that desire didn’t have her hallucinating what wasn’t here.
His hands on her sides, he helped guide her onto the couch, eased her down on top of him. She hadn’t imagined that. His legs shifting so she could rest without hurting him, she hadn’t deluded that either. And when she rested her head on his chest, the comfort it provided her was undoubtedly real. He was warm against her and soft, his arms wrapping around her as though they hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours fighting.
Her eyes fluttered shut. She stilled. She looked, in his opinion, calmer than she had all weekend long - a realization that sent another wave of guilt fluttering through his stomach.
He had been terrible this weekend. That was what he’d thought all day. He had helped the world push her to her limit, a mental space she had undoubtedly reached. This morning had made that abundantly clear. She had been given more than she could handle, and he had played a part in that.
Feeling her sigh against him, he regretted that more than ever. House knew he hadn’t been wrong with his opinions; he was right to say that Cuddy had missed a lot when it came to Rachel this weekend. He was right to believe that Cuddy needed to clarify what she wanted from him, that he needed a larger place in Rachel’s life. But he had taken the worst approach imaginable.
He had screwed up.
How much more successful he would have been if he had eased her into his revelations - that was all he could think of. It would have gone so much better if he’d just… slowly shown her what he’d been wanting, if he’d taken his time to calmly explain what it was he needed from her.
Instead, he’d gone for being blunt. He’d relied on the brutal honesty that had served him well time and time again, and fueled by frustration, he’d barreled through her misgivings, failing to pay attention to her needs. Entering histrionic territory, he had accomplished nothing - and worse, made it unlikely that she would ever be able to hear what it was that he’d been trying to say.
Admittedly he had no intention of backing down. House would not let this go. Having said the words aloud, he understood there was no going back.
There was no taking the words back.
She’d taken offense; she’d rejected everything he had tried to tell her. But she had heard enough to push him on the matter. He hadn’t taken the right approach, but that wouldn’t mean Cuddy would drop the subject.
He’d been thinking about that too today. Regardless of what he wanted, she would demand a conversation tonight. He was content with that, would make sure that he didn’t lose control again this evening. However, he wasn’t going to be the one to say something first. He had done that the night before, and that hadn’t turned out well for him. So he was satisfied to wait, happy to just hold her.
To have her in his arms… he needed that as much as anything. To feel her against him, to have that warmth between them, and know that there was no relationship that had ever meant as much as this was necessary for him in that moment. The reminder was important. It reinforced in him why he was bothering with any of this, told him that the stress of the weekend hadn’t completely undone what they’d spent years trying to create.
House could only hope she felt the same way.
Within a few minutes, he thought that that seemed to be the case. Although he was sure she had a lot on her mind, she didn’t say a word. If anything she seemed just as content as he was to stay there in the silence, their bodies pressed together in a gentle embrace.
That gave him hope.
He would never deny that her reaction had been partially his fault. He wouldn’t. Accepting responsibility, however, didn’t prevent him from hoping she’d calmed down at work. Frankly, knowing he’d made her that way was the only thing keeping him from being furious. She’d been so irate and afraid and irrational last night that he had feared how things might go if she remained that way today. But with her on top of him, he could see that she had had enough time to at least recognize the need to change her behavior. And it gave him the slightest bit of encouragement to know that she wasn’t on the rampage still.
Of course, he knew better than to assume she would stay this way. She was calm now, but one wrong move, and he could provoke her back into last night’s mindset. He didn’t mean to make her sound crazy; she wasn’t. He didn’t intend for her to seem like a wild animal capable of violence if he pushed her too far; she could hurt him, but she wouldn’t. She had more control than his words gave her credit for. He was aware of his inaccurate characterization, knew how offensive it was on some level. But that didn’t change his overall belief: that thoughtlessly, he could take her back to that mental space. Whatever control or calm she had achieved, it was wrong to take advantage of that, to assume it would last. If making her sound insane was the price he had to pay for reinforcing that knowledge in his head, he was okay with that.
He would do anything to avoid a repeat of last night.
For a moment, that seemed possible. His hands were warm on her back. Running the length of her spine, his fingertips traced the lines of her body. He could feel that she was relaxed beneath him, her muscles no longer tense as they had been this morning. She was calm but not asleep. One of her palms flat on his chest, she wasn’t stroking him as he was her. But the love in the touch did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.
Her head shifted a little. Her cheek rubbing against his t-shirt, the movement was enough for him to angle his head down; he wanted to see her, wanted to look at her… and found himself somehow kissing her instead.
Their lips had found their way to one another. They moved together in a soft kiss. If this morning had wrought cold passion from them, this now was the opposite. There was heat between them, an overwhelming sense of love without need. His hand cupped her cheek, her fingers twisting in his shirt, but there was no urgency.
It wouldn’t lead to sex. He thought they were both aware of that. His dick being soft enough to sell toilet paper, he assumed it was obvious where this wasn’t headed.
Their hands petted and stroked but without ever dipping beneath the clothing. Their tongues met but without the sense that there was more to have, to do. They were simply kissing, touching, partaking in the comfort the other provided all the while knowing that there was no expectation for more.
Truthfully, that fact was the true source of reassurance. More than the kissing, the physical touch, it was knowing that they were on the same page. They were finally there.
All weekend long they’d been out of sync. He’d forced the truth from her about the party, and then they’d manipulated one another to get what they wanted. When he’d been reluctant to watch Rachel, Cuddy had ignored him. When she’d told him on Saturday night that sex would not provide the comfort he’d needed, he hadn’t listened. And his words had fallen on equally deaf ears multiple times in the last twenty-four hours. It had simply been never ending.
The truly disturbing part? When they’d worked together well this weekend, it had been because they were trying to cover up their disjointedness. Last night, as Rachel had suffered on the bathroom floor, they’d done their best to take care of her, to cover up the anger between them. They’d worked as one, effective and without issue, but it had been…
A lie.
Unbeknownst to Rachel, they’d been fighting. The image they’d managed to project had been anything but real, and the seamlessness of that had been a slap in the face. It had said to him that they could be the perfect couple, a team, but only as a cover, as something that hid the dysfunctional, unhappy relationship underneath.
Truth be told, House could take the dysfunctional label. He was under no illusions about the normalcy of their family. They were… complicated, screwed up, nowhere near average. On their own, they had problems. Together, there were times when the clash of personalities was so great it felt like they had no business being with one another. Usually though those moments were rare, typically reserved for the instances when work refused to stay there and came home with them. And when they did happen, as awful as it was, as much as it could have made him question in the moment their rightness for one another, it always passed.
But this weekend had made him reconsider that. They’d always been dysfunctional, but this was the first time it had felt like the misery was never going to end.
He wasn’t sure they were finally on the other side of things. He knew Cuddy would want to discuss what had happened, and even if he did his best, he couldn’t necessarily prevent a fight from occurring. This could have merely been a small break from the heartache and stress they seemed buried under. If that were true though, he thought it was even more of a reason to treasure this tiny reprieve.
And yet he knew he could not relish in the moment for much longer. The more he kissed her, the weaker his resolve became. There was no expectation of sex, nor did he think it was a good idea to even try to get into her pants. But the longer his lips were on hers, the more he touched her, the more his body started to get other ideas.
He didn’t really want more. But, and this was perhaps out of habit, he could feel his control slipping. The fingers stroking her spine started to slip beneath the hem of her pants. Instead of enjoying the warmth of her body, he began to think about her breasts specifically and how they were pushed up against his chest. The heated effect instantaneous, he abruptly pulled away from her.
Her lips somehow managed to reach his once more, though briefly, as he tried to put as much distance as possible between her eager mouth and his body.
“You don’t have to stop,” she said with a pout. Clearly she was content to take things further.
“Careful,” he told her wryly. “Keep doing that, and you’re going to have to put out - and I know how much you hate doing that.”
“Definitely don’t want that to happen,” she responded with an equally facetious tone.
He could see though that she didn’t necessarily realize his seriousness. She’d taken his light words as being nothing more than a joke. And though she wasn’t trying to kiss him, he wanted to make sure she didn’t make a move.
“I think we could use a break,” he said simply. “If you want to get laid, you’re gonna have to buzz one out yourself.”
“Then you should probably get your hand off my ass.”
Called on it, he noticed then that his body had continued to respond to her in spite of himself. Without even knowing it, he’d slipped his hand under her pajama pants, fingers gripping her ass possessively. Quickly he rectified the situation.
Meanwhile, she changed the topic. Having destroyed the moment, he supposed she was ready to move on to other things. “Did you eat dinner?”
He shook his head. Whether or not she saw that though he didn’t know. She’d already closed her eyes and laid her head down on his chest once more. “No,” he said, wanting to avoid any confusion. He’d been too busy with Rachel to even consider feeding himself, and then he’d fallen asleep. But explaining that would shift the conversation to the kid; he’d be opening a door, a way out of the discussion they were on the cusp of having, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t really want to address what had happened, but he knew it was unavoidable. And delaying the inevitable was the last thing he was interested in. The sooner they talked, the better, he felt. “You want something?”
The pause she took to answer told him that she hadn’t eaten recently. Mentally weighing the worth of taking the time to make dinner or order something, she was probably hungry - just not necessarily hungry enough to do anything about it.
“Just order something, I guess,” she mumbled eventually.
“Pizza?”
“That’s fine.”
He struggled to reach behind him and grab the cell phone he’d placed on the end table hours ago. Cuddy’s weight on top of him didn’t help, but eventually he got a hold of it. “What do you want on it?”
“I don’t care.”
House doubted that. If history were any indication, she would say she didn’t care and then interrupt as he ordered to say all of the things she didn’t want on her pizza. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that, when she said she had no preference, he always became determined to prove she did by making the nastiest combinations possible so that she had to speak up. But as always, he chose to ignore that fact. Today though he had no interest in pushing her buttons much less upsetting their tentative balance by making any unnecessary accusations.
Choosing to dial the number without another word, he was relieved when she didn’t interrupt him. It probably helped that he ordered what she normally liked or would have wanted on the pie. But again, he had no desire to aggravate her. And if this small moment of action went well, he was grateful - whatever the reason.
When he hung up, she asked quietly, “Will they deliver?”
He made a noise indicating they would. “You might have to flash the delivery boy as a tip for -”
“I don’t think I can move,” she said slowly, the words slurring a little.
“Tired?” His fingers running through her hair, he could feel her nod her head.
It was a small act, not intended to draw the guilt out of him. But it was doing that. Simply feeling the exhaustion within her, he was overwhelmed with the knowledge that he could have behaved differently, better. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that he could have fixed everything; he slept with Cuddy, but he was not her. Yet he understood, maybe now more than ever, the part he had played in her misery. He could have made some things better, and he hadn’t. He had chosen not to.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, the words coming out in a rush. He hadn’t meant to utter the apology so quickly. In his head, he’d planned to be smoother about it, to make it seem like this wasn’t as difficult as it was. Having said it though, he couldn’t take the apology back. It was out there.
Cuddy looked up at him in confusion. “What?” She shook her head as though she didn’t understand what he was saying. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
It wasn’t hard to see that she meant the question she was asking. Under different circumstances he might believe that she was saying the words to force him to fully acknowledge what he had done, to make the apology really hurt him. But what he saw in her eyes was genuine confusion. He had no other option than to explain.
“I’ve just been thinking,” he said with a slight shrug. “It’s been a… bad weekend, and I wasn’t making things better for you. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
“I don’t understand.”
And she didn’t. She was the one who was supposed to be apologizing, the one who should have been leading the conversation. House had beaten her to the punch.
“After you left this morning, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept thinking about Saturday night and -”
“Saturday night?” she interrupted, more confused than ever. “I don’t - what happened -”
“This.” His thumb lightly stroked the sensitive spot on her neck where he had bit her a little too roughly. An instant reminder of what had happened, she thought it said something about the last few days that she had forgotten all about it.
“It’s fine,” she told him honestly. She didn’t exactly have the right to be angry about something she could barely remember occurring at all.
But he didn’t seem to agree. “It’s not. You didn’t want -”
“Didn’t want?” She scoffed loudly at the words. “What exactly do you think happened?”
It was impossible to miss the shame in his eyes. The meaning perfectly clear, he didn’t need to say what he believed had taken place. She wasn’t even sure he could voice the words, the idea that he had… God, she could barely even think what it was that he was implying.
“I feel like I forced -”
“Forced?”
“Pushed,” he amended quickly. “You didn’t -”
“You’re an idiot.” The intensity in her tone shut him up as fast as he had put forth the idea. Whether he believed her or not or simply felt too ashamed to continue speaking was unclear. But Cuddy wasn’t going to take any chances. “I was not -”
“You hesitated.”
She rolled her eyes. “House. You were… confused. You didn’t know how to deal with what Rachel had said to you. And I knew that having sex wasn’t going to make that any better.”
“Which is why you hesitated,” he said, as though all of this should have been quite obvious to her.
“Yes. Because I thought it was necessary to say that it wouldn’t comfort you.”
He looked away, sighed, and then glanced back at her. “I didn’t listen to you.”
“And that’s so new for me,” she said sarcastically. “You usually always listen to -”
“Why are you making this so difficult?”
His frustration was barely suppressed. Hints of it in every syllable, it wouldn’t be long before the feeling was blatant. And that was the last thing she wanted, because she was sick of the fighting. She didn’t want to keep arguing over the dumbest things. She wanted to apologize and make up with him and put those papers in his hand to see what he would do. But that last bit seemed like it would never happen, couldn’t because they were too busy going over things that should have caused no problems with them to begin with.
“Listen to me,” she told him. She tried her best to remain calm. Hands gently resting on his shoulders, she said reassuringly, “When you have bad ideas, you know that I take great pleasure in telling you how bad they are.”
“Maybe, but -”
“Sex wasn’t going to help, and I told you that. You couldn’t hear that - do not interrupt me,” she warned. “Which is fine. We had sex, and while I can honestly say it wasn’t the best use of five minutes of my time -”
“Hey!”
“I don’t regret it either.” She purposely ignored his outrage. “I didn’t feel pressured. I didn’t say no. It was what you thought you needed, and I willingly gave you that.”
“Did you?”
“You’re pitiful.” He didn’t deny it. “Give me some credit. We’ve been fighting for the last day. I’m pretty capable of telling you no when I don’t want to do something.”
There was no counterargument right away. For that reason, she thought she must have convinced him a tiny bit, because if he didn’t believe her at all, he would have retorted instantly. Instead he sat silently, quietly contemplating her words.
She seized the opportunity. “You needed that,” she told him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Just like I needed you this morning. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe. Maybe not with that,” he admitted eventually. “But I keep thinking I didn’t do enough to….” His voice faltered and gave way to silence. As if he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, he pursed his lips together and said nothing.
Part of her wanted to speak up, but she remained quiet. She was hesitant at that moment to push him. He was trying to say something, convey something she admittedly didn’t understand. And she worried that if she prodded him for more, he would, out of frustration, shut down. Or he would say what he was thinking, but he would say it in that way… where the seriousness of the point was overshadowed by the cruelty in his tone. There was a good chance she had earned any and all vitriol he sent her way. But accepting that with aplomb in the moment would surely never happen. Reacting before she could stop herself, she would push them back into a fight. Since she didn’t want that, she had no choice but to wait patiently.
After a few moments of peace, that effort on her part paid off.
“I just… asked a lot of you this weekend.”
“That’s okay. I don’t -”
“You needed me to help you, and I wasn’t - I let my own… issues get in the way.” He stumbled over the words, but once the sentiment was uttered, it was easier to continue. “I asked a lot from you, burdened you with too much. And then I got angry with you when you didn’t have any faith in me and -”
“House, I trust you.”
A lesser man would have made a pained sound at the obvious lie. But the past twenty-four hours had in a way made him numb to the reality of the situation. It hurt; of course it hurt. At the same time though, he knew that her distrust was inherently his fault. And not that that made the situation any easier for him, but he was determined to keep that pain to himself. If she were to ever trust him, it needed to be the result of a choice she made.
Last night, he had tried to bully her into realization. Tonight he knew that that would never work. And if it did, he would never be happy, because he would always know that he had had to force her to give him what he wanted. Maybe it was tempting to do that anyway, to do anything to get the results he needed. But this wasn’t work; this wasn’t a test he needed, a diagnosis he wanted. This was his life - their life. Bulldozing his way through her resistance would only make her resent him in the end.
If he had thought about it yesterday, he would have known that from the beginning and acted differently. Having not thought at all about her, he had made demands, something she had never been happy to respond to. And all he could do was try to avoid making the same mistakes again; she might have been willing to forgive the first few times, but she would inevitably become fed up if he kept creating the same problems.
Unfortunately for him, his silence, which she must have believed to be intentional, seemed to make her think he was calling her a liar.
“I do,” she insisted.
Ironically it was that conviction that compelled him to respond. Before he might have been able to let the moment slide; hearing her speak with such a lack of awareness though… that provoked him.
“Yeah, you trust me,” he said bitterly, the words escaping him before he could even try to stop himself. “Just not with Rachel, right?”
Her lips parted in surprise. Mouth slightly agape, it was clear that she hadn’t expected the anger. And they were in agreement on that, because he hadn’t anticipated that response either. But his shock quickly gave way to an urgent need to protect himself.
Whether he’d intended to say what he had didn’t matter. The fact that he had now ruined the moment for both of them did. He’d upset their tentative peace, and now… Cuddy would punish him for the mistake.
Within seconds he had his defenses raised. If she reacted in anger, he needed to be ready for that; he needed to ensure that he didn’t make his mistake worse by escalating the frustration in the room. Whatever she said, he knew he just… had to take it, accept it. One of them would have to get them back on track. Since he’d been the one to screw up, he had to be the one to fix it.
But her reaction was one he had no defense for. Rather than yell at him, Cuddy chose to… he didn’t even know what to call it. Description beyond his capabilities, he was too shocked by her patience to give her response the proper wording.
Pulling away from him a little, she said calmly, “We need to talk about that. I’m not trying to pretend like we don’t. But I don’t want to discuss that until you understand I don’t blame you for anything that happened Saturday. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Clearly he didn’t believe her. He didn’t say she was lying, but he obviously wasn’t going to accept the truth simply because she said it. That much was apparent to her.
Out of frustration, she was tempted to give up. She knew though that she couldn’t. If they just moved right into the larger problem at hand, part of him, she felt, would hold onto that guilt that he had inside of him. At least, if she were in his position, she wouldn’t eagerly be able to accept the change in topic.
For that reason, she couldn’t move forward; she couldn’t apologize for her own mistakes until he understood that his part in all of this had been…
Minimal.
The more he apologized, the more she could see: she’d created this issue. If she’d just pretended to listen to what he’d said last night, she could have avoided this fight. Not indefinitely, but maybe… she would have been able to spare all of them this conversation tonight.
No, she thought instantly, changing her mind. There would have been a fight. Even if she’d reacted to his pronouncements as best as she could, it still wouldn’t have been enough for him. She didn’t believe that he had been pushy Saturday night, but she had no doubt that he would have been when it came to his claims last night. No matter what she’d done, he would have demanded more from her than she could have ever given him. A fight would have happened either way.
And she wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. Was he earnest with his words, in his claims of love for her daughter? Or was he just trying to needle her for some reason she couldn’t understand? Perhaps, she thought, he was toying with her, because she had relied on him so much this weekend.
Whatever the reason, a fight had been - was still - inevitable. Perhaps he had been less guilty than she; he was certainly making her feel guiltier by apologizing. But he hadn’t been blameless.
At that moment, a voice inside of her whispered, “Let him feel bad. Let him think he did something wrong.”
What would that accomplish though?
They were in a terrible place. He was apologizing for things he hadn’t done; she wasn’t apologizing for her mistakes. She was trying to reassure him. He didn’t believe her, and through it all, it felt like they were avoiding the things that had led them to this space to begin with. Worse still, when he’d mentioned Rachel, Cuddy hadn’t jumped on that opportunity; the words that would address their problems were ones she was afraid to utter. Nothing was right, but she was too scared to try to fix any of it. And again, she had to wonder what she was trying to accomplish by letting such fears rule her.
But that was all she could do - passively question her behavior. There was no time for bone-deep inspection. His gaze on her, she didn’t have the option to reflect on her actions, not now.
“All right. Fine,” she capitulated under the heat of his questioning look. “It would have been wonderful if I didn’t have to hold your hand all weekend long.”
“I know,” he said looking away.
“On the other hand, neither of us could have predicted everything else that happened, so it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.” She was speaking in clipped tones, her agitation apparent. Knowing that the mood between them was pretty much ruined, she pulled away from him then. Slowly she peeled herself off of him. Although she would have liked to stay exactly where she had been, the dropping temperature between them made that position no longer comfortable. The closeness no longer desirable, she took a seat across from him on the coffee table.
The behavior would not go unnoticed by House, just as her tone of voice wouldn’t. She would let him overanalyze it later.
“And Saturday night?” she continued. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it - and wouldn’t have if you hadn’t mentioned it.” Even if things had gone all right on Sunday, she believed that would have still been the case. Sex was currency, equally taken and given when needed or wanted, and she had at no point felt forced, would never feel that way when it came to that evening. That he suspected otherwise made it abundantly clear just how out of sync they were with one another.
“I don’t care about that,” she told him honestly. “And it’s odd to me that we’re going back to this now when any fight we could have had over that should have happened -”
“Oh I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize my reaction had to take place within a certain time frame.”
“Of course. It’s just surprising to me.” As soon as she said the words, she started to get an idea why. “It’s like you don’t want to talk about what happened last night.”
“Yeah. I’m totally trying to avoid that, which is why I brought it up a couple minutes ago and you still haven’t addressed the -”
“Because we were still talking about Saturday,” she snapped. For someone who was so upset for pushing her, he was certainly doing his best to avoid learning his lesson. “But if you want to move on to Sunday night, that’s fine. Let’s talk about that.”
He looked unhappy. He swallowed hard, as though he were trying to bite back whatever remark was running through his mind. “We need to talk about it,” he agreed in a firm but not unkind voice. “But if you’re going to be upset, we shouldn’t -”
“I’m fine,” she said hastily, undermining her words with her behavior. “I can handle a conversation,” she added, forcing herself then to sound nicer than she felt.
“I’m not saying you can’t. I know we can talk about this now. But you’re tired and -”
“No.” She shook her head. Although what he was saying made sense, she would not put this off any longer. His offer was tempting, but avoiding this would be unhelpful. All that time not talking would be unproductively spent considering what to say when they did have this conversation. And she didn’t have the time for that, not this week. “I want to do this now. I don’t want to put it off indefinitely and worry about what will happen or not happen and spend all of that time in the meantime fighting, because we need to talk about it and haven’t.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want.” She could tell he was trying to be nice, respectful of her decision.
“It is. I don’t want to think about this tomorrow morning.”
At first it seemed like he agreed with her. “That would be nice.” Then he added, “But I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Well… maybe not. But we need to talk about it.”
“We do. I just don’t want to fight.”
“We’re not going to fight.”
He couldn’t have looked more incredulous if he tried. “So this conversation is going to take place in a fantasy land you’ve -”
“I’m being serious. I can’t deal with an argument, so I’m not going to -”
“Then we’re going to need some ground rules,” he suggested. “Because otherwise you know that’s where we’re going to end up.”
“Fine. Don’t interrupt me. That can be the first rule.”
She was being snide, but he took her tone well. With a shrug, he said, “Okay. Now one of my own.” He didn’t say anything, just beckoned her to him with the repeated curl of his index finger.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. Come here.” He patted his chest as though that were supposed to be enticing.
“You sure you want me that close to you?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why? You plan on hitting me?” She didn’t have a chance to answer. “Cause it’s okay if you are. I always did have a fantasy about you as a dominatrix.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said standing up. As she crawled back on top of him, she mentioned, “I thought you hated this.”
“No. You being on top of me is a guaranteed positive. But if you’re going to be on top of me, usually I tend to think there are better things for you to do.” In a conspiring voice, he explained, “Things that involve my penis.”
Her laugh was muffled by the t-shirt her face was pressed into.
But even as she enjoyed the comment, she started to realize why he had drawn her closer. It was easy to get lost in his body heat, to be reassured by his touch. Lying with him, she found it hard to remember why she’d felt such anxiety all day. Obviously she had not forgotten entirely, but in his arms, she was reminded why she put up with all of the nonsense.
She loved him; she really did.
That didn’t make things any less complicated. If anything the closeness served as a reiteration: she needed answers. Easy as it might have been to be lulled by the security he was providing, for her, it mainly egged her on. She wanted nothing more than to relax into him and call it a night. But if Rachel was an issue they couldn’t overcome… Cuddy thought it was better to know that now. There’d be less heartache in the long run.
“You okay?” House asked, perhaps taking note of her prolonged silence.
“Yeah,” she said though her heart wasn’t really in it.
“Cause we don’t have to talk about this.”
“I already said I was okay to have this conversation.”
“I know.” His hands rubbing her back in circles, he was obviously trying to keep her calm. “I don’t doubt your ability to barrel through your exhaustion any more than I doubt Wilson’s ability to find the neediest vagina in a ten mile radius.”
In that instant, she couldn’t have been more tired of circling around the conversation. They’d gone over whether they should talk; they’d set up rules - actual rules - or at least attempted to. Looking back at it now, she thought it was avoidance keeping them from broaching the subject.
She could have possibly gone along with that for far longer. But bringing up Wilson in that way was so ridiculous that it shocked her back into reality. It made her see that they couldn’t keep avoiding this. And if House was starting to talk about Wilson’s sex life, they really needed to discuss their real problems, as the alternative was not something she wanted to contemplate.
Not even a little bit.
Admittedly it was tempting - almost. She knew the words she had to say, knew what she and House were on the cusp of, and the fear of it made part of her stubbornly wish to stave off reality for a little while longer.
As it was, the heart of the matter seemed difficult to get to. All avenues were equally less than ideal in her eyes. Words needed to be said, but her tongue and lips and voice couldn’t work together to create the perfect sentence. No matter how hard she tried, there just wasn’t a way she saw to broach the subject with even a hint of grace.
Maybe she had earned that. She’d been out of control last night, ready to lash out at any moment. If she saw no good path to take, she supposed it was the natural consequence of burning bridges.
So…the only option she had was to latch onto the first set of words she could find and go with it.
“I’m not exhausted,” she said. “Well, I am, but I’d rather do this than not, because I know you deserve an apology, and I don’t want you to think I’m not aware of how insane I’ve been.”
She’d admitted it, but the truth didn’t seem to have any effect on House. He didn’t look pleased, didn’t seem relieved that she had said what they both knew. On the other hand, he wasn’t outraged either. There was no sign that he disagreed with her whatsoever. In fact, he probably did agree that she had been crazed last night. And if he believed that, then his behavior now could only mean that he wanted more from her. He expected her to continue.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you last night. You were trying to be helpful, and I wasn’t able to see that, I guess.”
He was torn deciding how to react. She wasn’t downplaying her behavior; nevertheless part of him wanted to rub her mistake in. As much as she was admitting it, a piece of him still felt like it wasn’t enough. From her perspective, she could probably see how terrible she had behaved. But she could never know how it had felt for him. To try to be supportive and then to have that effort rejected, derided, or outright ignored - that was something she might recognize, but she would never know how it felt.
True, he had by and large accepted his role in her reaction. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, deny that he had contributed to her stress. That didn’t make her behavior any easier for him to take. And part of him had been willing to pretend like it hadn’t hurt. Now that she was trying to apologize though, that side of him longed for some sort of justice.
But he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t above childishness, but even for him, this would be too much. She hadn’t had any trouble forgiving him just minutes ago when he’d confessed his guilt. Obviously, she didn’t have a problem with his behavior, which made forgiveness that much easier. And in that way, their positions were different. Yet House knew he couldn’t act any differently than she had. She hadn’t been angry about that one particular thing, but how many times over the years had he pissed her off? How many times had she forgiven him? The answer was “too many to count.”
Even if that weren’t the case, House reminded himself that this was just the beginning of the conversation. An apology alone was not going to fix all of their problems, which meant they had plenty more to talk about. If he were to make her work hard for it right out of the gate, there was a good chance she would become exasperated. Resentful of his resentment, she would make the rest of their discussion all the harder to get through.
Since that was the last thing he wanted, he chose to be kind, understanding. The decision right, it nonetheless felt awkward to accept the apology without a word. At least it felt weird under these circumstances. Given what they were talking about, it didn’t seem right to let her get away with her callousness, her selfishness.
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), Chapter 22 (Part 1), Chapter 22 (Part 2), Chapter 23 (Part 1), Chapter 23 (Part 2), Chapter 24 (Part 1), Chapter 24 (Part 2), Chapter 25 (Part 1)
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Rachel’s nose scrunched up as she tried to remember. “Um… don’t eat the cookie dough?”
“Well, that too.”
She thought some more. “I don’t remember.”
Cuddy nodded her head in understanding. “I said to you, there will always be people who don’t like you - or me or House or whoever - for whatever reason. You can’t pay attention to them. There are plenty of kids out there who would love to be your friend. You don’t need to have friends who are mean to you. Ever. And you shouldn’t listen to what anyone -”
“So I don’t have to listen to you when you say eat my carrots,” Rachel interrupted in a voice that was deliberately sweet.
There was a hopeful quality to the words, as though she wanted to believe ignoring her mother could be allowed based on what Cuddy was saying. It wasn’t.
"If I tell you to eat your vegetables, you need to listen to me," Cuddy said calmly. "I'm your mommy. You're supposed to listen to me."
"Do you always listen to your Mommy?"
It was not a curious question. One that was purposely aimed her way, it was asked to point out her hypocrisy.
"No," she admitted uncomfortably. "But Nana isn't like most mothers. Nana is... a handful." That was the nice way of describing Arlene, the words Cuddy usually used to describe her mother. "I would listen to her if she...." No, Cuddy thought; she didn't want to finish that thought. Nothing good could come from doing so. Somehow, uttering those words would inevitably mean her mother would hear them. Somehow she would know what Cuddy had said, and she wanted to avoid that. "You have to listen to me, Rachel," Cuddy finished.
“Okay… but at some point, I don’t have to -”
“You’re being very naughty, aren’t you?” she said with a smile. Fingers on her daughter’s stomach, she started to tickle her. Rachel squealed and squirmed, legs kicking in the air as she shrieked with laughter.
Cuddy didn’t tickle her for long. The point was to help Rachel wind down and go to sleep - not egg her on. But if Cuddy had been concerned that her daughter would be livened up by her actions, she was wrong. As Rachel started to calm down, her giggles tapering off, it was clear that the last reserves of energy inside of her had been used.
Beginning to fall asleep, she didn’t respond when Cuddy said, “I love you so much.” The little girl unconscious within minutes, it wasn’t even clear that she had heard her mother.
But Cuddy hoped that the sentiment was one Rachel understood was the truth. It bothered Cuddy to think that a group of children could make Rachel think differently about or at least question all of the love surrounding her.
Then again, as she stood up to leave, Cuddy couldn’t help but wonder if she deserved the doubt. She loved Rachel; it was obvious to her that she did. But… how many nights had Cuddy depended on Marina when she was still alive? How many little events had she missed over the years? How many times had she been working when Rachel had needed her?
Cuddy couldn’t even estimate the number there were so many instances. And part of her was okay with that. She didn’t work, because she had to. Certainly the income helped, but she did her job, because she loved doing it. Maybe that wasn’t the case right now, but once all of this garbage with the D.E.A. passed, she would remember the reasons she kept doing this thankless task years after she’d first taken the job. For that reason, she didn’t regret all those moments when someone else had had to watch Rachel. She wouldn’t have done anything differently, not really.
Of course there was guilt; there was always guilt. But it had always been the right decision for her, to continue working as she had before she’d had Rachel.
After all was said and done, Cuddy didn't even doubt that truth now. It was the right choice for all of them. But it bothered her to think that someone else might use Cuddy's choices against Rachel, that someone - a child no less - would wield Cuddy's career as a weapon against a five year old. And knowing that she would in all likelihood go into work tomorrow, she regretted her choice to tell Rachel that she would stay with her tomorrow if that were necessary. Because if Rachel weren't feeling well and Cuddy left her with House, it might seem to Rachel like a confirmation of everything the other children had told her.
But... what could she do about that now? Wake her daughter up and tell her that she'd lied? Not go into work when the hospital needed her? She knew she couldn't do any of that. For better or worse, she was stuck on this path now; there was no turning back.
That must have been the underlying theme for all of her choices, she thought bleakly. No matter what she did today, every decision seemed to be wrought with a certain amount of... conclusion. As though once chosen, her option killed all other avenues of behavior, she was stuck with a singular path the second she took the first step. She supposed she could back out of handing House the papers. She'd had her lawyer draft them; she wasn't required to use them. And yet she knew that wasn't really the case. Because if she kept the documents to herself, House would find them and confront her, or she would eventually change her mind and hand them to him anyway. Either way, it didn't seem like she could back out of what she'd started.
Part of her wished she could. As she tentatively took steps towards House, a voice inside of her whispered that there was always a way out; he was tired, wouldn't look through her briefcase tonight; she could shred the papers before he saw them; she could lock the papers away in a desk drawer somewhere until she was sure this was what she wanted. She had gone to her lawyer ignorant of the extent to which Rachel would be affected.
Of course, Cuddy had known that Rachel would be impacted one way or another. But she hadn't considered that, as she’d sat in that lawyer’s office, her daughter was confessing things to House; she hadn’t thought that there’d been much of a relationship there, as evidenced by all of the fights and times Rachel had proclaimed to hate him. She hadn’t realized… just how complicated all of this would be. She hadn’t seen how reckless she was being, and now it felt like she was walking to her doom by seeing this through.
Again though, she knew there was no turning back. She had set this in motion. Though not well thought out, it was something she couldn’t ignore. She had to finish what she’d started. Without answers, she would just keep returning to this point. She would keep having these fights with House; he wouldn’t let the matter drop no matter how much he wanted. He’d found a point to make and would make it over and over, even if secretly he knew he shouldn’t. And Rachel would suffer in the meantime, unsure if she should trust House, unsure if she should dislike him.
Cuddy didn’t want that for her daughter.
That was what she told her herself, as she stepped into the living room once more. Instantly confronted with House’s gaze on her, she immediately felt the thought slip from her mind.
He’d woken up at some point. She could tell that much. Glasses and book gone, he’d moved, changed directions on the sofa. Now he could see her as she walked into the room - not that it mattered.
They said nothing. They looked at one another, their expressions filled with all of the things they needed to talk about. But she kept silent and so did he. As though neither were prepared for the conversation they would eventually have, they gazed at one another but didn’t speak.
Yet things were said. One of his arms outstretching to his side, he was inviting her to join him. He didn’t need to actually ask her. Regardless of where they were personally, she welcomed the offer immediately. They would have to talk eventually, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up with him. She needed it.
Closing the distance between them, she didn’t ask if he was sure that he was okay with this. They had had a lot of miscommunication this weekend, but she hadn’t misread his behavior; he was allowing her to lie down with him. Never mind that, at this point, she would have found herself there anyway. Even if he hadn’t extended the invitation, she would have wanted to be in his arms. But that desire didn’t have her hallucinating what wasn’t here.
His hands on her sides, he helped guide her onto the couch, eased her down on top of him. She hadn’t imagined that. His legs shifting so she could rest without hurting him, she hadn’t deluded that either. And when she rested her head on his chest, the comfort it provided her was undoubtedly real. He was warm against her and soft, his arms wrapping around her as though they hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours fighting.
Her eyes fluttered shut. She stilled. She looked, in his opinion, calmer than she had all weekend long - a realization that sent another wave of guilt fluttering through his stomach.
He had been terrible this weekend. That was what he’d thought all day. He had helped the world push her to her limit, a mental space she had undoubtedly reached. This morning had made that abundantly clear. She had been given more than she could handle, and he had played a part in that.
Feeling her sigh against him, he regretted that more than ever. House knew he hadn’t been wrong with his opinions; he was right to say that Cuddy had missed a lot when it came to Rachel this weekend. He was right to believe that Cuddy needed to clarify what she wanted from him, that he needed a larger place in Rachel’s life. But he had taken the worst approach imaginable.
He had screwed up.
How much more successful he would have been if he had eased her into his revelations - that was all he could think of. It would have gone so much better if he’d just… slowly shown her what he’d been wanting, if he’d taken his time to calmly explain what it was he needed from her.
Instead, he’d gone for being blunt. He’d relied on the brutal honesty that had served him well time and time again, and fueled by frustration, he’d barreled through her misgivings, failing to pay attention to her needs. Entering histrionic territory, he had accomplished nothing - and worse, made it unlikely that she would ever be able to hear what it was that he’d been trying to say.
Admittedly he had no intention of backing down. House would not let this go. Having said the words aloud, he understood there was no going back.
There was no taking the words back.
She’d taken offense; she’d rejected everything he had tried to tell her. But she had heard enough to push him on the matter. He hadn’t taken the right approach, but that wouldn’t mean Cuddy would drop the subject.
He’d been thinking about that too today. Regardless of what he wanted, she would demand a conversation tonight. He was content with that, would make sure that he didn’t lose control again this evening. However, he wasn’t going to be the one to say something first. He had done that the night before, and that hadn’t turned out well for him. So he was satisfied to wait, happy to just hold her.
To have her in his arms… he needed that as much as anything. To feel her against him, to have that warmth between them, and know that there was no relationship that had ever meant as much as this was necessary for him in that moment. The reminder was important. It reinforced in him why he was bothering with any of this, told him that the stress of the weekend hadn’t completely undone what they’d spent years trying to create.
House could only hope she felt the same way.
Within a few minutes, he thought that that seemed to be the case. Although he was sure she had a lot on her mind, she didn’t say a word. If anything she seemed just as content as he was to stay there in the silence, their bodies pressed together in a gentle embrace.
That gave him hope.
He would never deny that her reaction had been partially his fault. He wouldn’t. Accepting responsibility, however, didn’t prevent him from hoping she’d calmed down at work. Frankly, knowing he’d made her that way was the only thing keeping him from being furious. She’d been so irate and afraid and irrational last night that he had feared how things might go if she remained that way today. But with her on top of him, he could see that she had had enough time to at least recognize the need to change her behavior. And it gave him the slightest bit of encouragement to know that she wasn’t on the rampage still.
Of course, he knew better than to assume she would stay this way. She was calm now, but one wrong move, and he could provoke her back into last night’s mindset. He didn’t mean to make her sound crazy; she wasn’t. He didn’t intend for her to seem like a wild animal capable of violence if he pushed her too far; she could hurt him, but she wouldn’t. She had more control than his words gave her credit for. He was aware of his inaccurate characterization, knew how offensive it was on some level. But that didn’t change his overall belief: that thoughtlessly, he could take her back to that mental space. Whatever control or calm she had achieved, it was wrong to take advantage of that, to assume it would last. If making her sound insane was the price he had to pay for reinforcing that knowledge in his head, he was okay with that.
He would do anything to avoid a repeat of last night.
For a moment, that seemed possible. His hands were warm on her back. Running the length of her spine, his fingertips traced the lines of her body. He could feel that she was relaxed beneath him, her muscles no longer tense as they had been this morning. She was calm but not asleep. One of her palms flat on his chest, she wasn’t stroking him as he was her. But the love in the touch did not go unnoticed or unappreciated.
Her head shifted a little. Her cheek rubbing against his t-shirt, the movement was enough for him to angle his head down; he wanted to see her, wanted to look at her… and found himself somehow kissing her instead.
Their lips had found their way to one another. They moved together in a soft kiss. If this morning had wrought cold passion from them, this now was the opposite. There was heat between them, an overwhelming sense of love without need. His hand cupped her cheek, her fingers twisting in his shirt, but there was no urgency.
It wouldn’t lead to sex. He thought they were both aware of that. His dick being soft enough to sell toilet paper, he assumed it was obvious where this wasn’t headed.
Their hands petted and stroked but without ever dipping beneath the clothing. Their tongues met but without the sense that there was more to have, to do. They were simply kissing, touching, partaking in the comfort the other provided all the while knowing that there was no expectation for more.
Truthfully, that fact was the true source of reassurance. More than the kissing, the physical touch, it was knowing that they were on the same page. They were finally there.
All weekend long they’d been out of sync. He’d forced the truth from her about the party, and then they’d manipulated one another to get what they wanted. When he’d been reluctant to watch Rachel, Cuddy had ignored him. When she’d told him on Saturday night that sex would not provide the comfort he’d needed, he hadn’t listened. And his words had fallen on equally deaf ears multiple times in the last twenty-four hours. It had simply been never ending.
The truly disturbing part? When they’d worked together well this weekend, it had been because they were trying to cover up their disjointedness. Last night, as Rachel had suffered on the bathroom floor, they’d done their best to take care of her, to cover up the anger between them. They’d worked as one, effective and without issue, but it had been…
A lie.
Unbeknownst to Rachel, they’d been fighting. The image they’d managed to project had been anything but real, and the seamlessness of that had been a slap in the face. It had said to him that they could be the perfect couple, a team, but only as a cover, as something that hid the dysfunctional, unhappy relationship underneath.
Truth be told, House could take the dysfunctional label. He was under no illusions about the normalcy of their family. They were… complicated, screwed up, nowhere near average. On their own, they had problems. Together, there were times when the clash of personalities was so great it felt like they had no business being with one another. Usually though those moments were rare, typically reserved for the instances when work refused to stay there and came home with them. And when they did happen, as awful as it was, as much as it could have made him question in the moment their rightness for one another, it always passed.
But this weekend had made him reconsider that. They’d always been dysfunctional, but this was the first time it had felt like the misery was never going to end.
He wasn’t sure they were finally on the other side of things. He knew Cuddy would want to discuss what had happened, and even if he did his best, he couldn’t necessarily prevent a fight from occurring. This could have merely been a small break from the heartache and stress they seemed buried under. If that were true though, he thought it was even more of a reason to treasure this tiny reprieve.
And yet he knew he could not relish in the moment for much longer. The more he kissed her, the weaker his resolve became. There was no expectation of sex, nor did he think it was a good idea to even try to get into her pants. But the longer his lips were on hers, the more he touched her, the more his body started to get other ideas.
He didn’t really want more. But, and this was perhaps out of habit, he could feel his control slipping. The fingers stroking her spine started to slip beneath the hem of her pants. Instead of enjoying the warmth of her body, he began to think about her breasts specifically and how they were pushed up against his chest. The heated effect instantaneous, he abruptly pulled away from her.
Her lips somehow managed to reach his once more, though briefly, as he tried to put as much distance as possible between her eager mouth and his body.
“You don’t have to stop,” she said with a pout. Clearly she was content to take things further.
“Careful,” he told her wryly. “Keep doing that, and you’re going to have to put out - and I know how much you hate doing that.”
“Definitely don’t want that to happen,” she responded with an equally facetious tone.
He could see though that she didn’t necessarily realize his seriousness. She’d taken his light words as being nothing more than a joke. And though she wasn’t trying to kiss him, he wanted to make sure she didn’t make a move.
“I think we could use a break,” he said simply. “If you want to get laid, you’re gonna have to buzz one out yourself.”
“Then you should probably get your hand off my ass.”
Called on it, he noticed then that his body had continued to respond to her in spite of himself. Without even knowing it, he’d slipped his hand under her pajama pants, fingers gripping her ass possessively. Quickly he rectified the situation.
Meanwhile, she changed the topic. Having destroyed the moment, he supposed she was ready to move on to other things. “Did you eat dinner?”
He shook his head. Whether or not she saw that though he didn’t know. She’d already closed her eyes and laid her head down on his chest once more. “No,” he said, wanting to avoid any confusion. He’d been too busy with Rachel to even consider feeding himself, and then he’d fallen asleep. But explaining that would shift the conversation to the kid; he’d be opening a door, a way out of the discussion they were on the cusp of having, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t really want to address what had happened, but he knew it was unavoidable. And delaying the inevitable was the last thing he was interested in. The sooner they talked, the better, he felt. “You want something?”
The pause she took to answer told him that she hadn’t eaten recently. Mentally weighing the worth of taking the time to make dinner or order something, she was probably hungry - just not necessarily hungry enough to do anything about it.
“Just order something, I guess,” she mumbled eventually.
“Pizza?”
“That’s fine.”
He struggled to reach behind him and grab the cell phone he’d placed on the end table hours ago. Cuddy’s weight on top of him didn’t help, but eventually he got a hold of it. “What do you want on it?”
“I don’t care.”
House doubted that. If history were any indication, she would say she didn’t care and then interrupt as he ordered to say all of the things she didn’t want on her pizza. Of course, that might have had something to do with the fact that, when she said she had no preference, he always became determined to prove she did by making the nastiest combinations possible so that she had to speak up. But as always, he chose to ignore that fact. Today though he had no interest in pushing her buttons much less upsetting their tentative balance by making any unnecessary accusations.
Choosing to dial the number without another word, he was relieved when she didn’t interrupt him. It probably helped that he ordered what she normally liked or would have wanted on the pie. But again, he had no desire to aggravate her. And if this small moment of action went well, he was grateful - whatever the reason.
When he hung up, she asked quietly, “Will they deliver?”
He made a noise indicating they would. “You might have to flash the delivery boy as a tip for -”
“I don’t think I can move,” she said slowly, the words slurring a little.
“Tired?” His fingers running through her hair, he could feel her nod her head.
It was a small act, not intended to draw the guilt out of him. But it was doing that. Simply feeling the exhaustion within her, he was overwhelmed with the knowledge that he could have behaved differently, better. He wasn’t delusional enough to think that he could have fixed everything; he slept with Cuddy, but he was not her. Yet he understood, maybe now more than ever, the part he had played in her misery. He could have made some things better, and he hadn’t. He had chosen not to.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, the words coming out in a rush. He hadn’t meant to utter the apology so quickly. In his head, he’d planned to be smoother about it, to make it seem like this wasn’t as difficult as it was. Having said it though, he couldn’t take the apology back. It was out there.
Cuddy looked up at him in confusion. “What?” She shook her head as though she didn’t understand what he was saying. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
It wasn’t hard to see that she meant the question she was asking. Under different circumstances he might believe that she was saying the words to force him to fully acknowledge what he had done, to make the apology really hurt him. But what he saw in her eyes was genuine confusion. He had no other option than to explain.
“I’ve just been thinking,” he said with a slight shrug. “It’s been a… bad weekend, and I wasn’t making things better for you. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”
“I don’t understand.”
And she didn’t. She was the one who was supposed to be apologizing, the one who should have been leading the conversation. House had beaten her to the punch.
“After you left this morning, I couldn’t go back to sleep. I kept thinking about Saturday night and -”
“Saturday night?” she interrupted, more confused than ever. “I don’t - what happened -”
“This.” His thumb lightly stroked the sensitive spot on her neck where he had bit her a little too roughly. An instant reminder of what had happened, she thought it said something about the last few days that she had forgotten all about it.
“It’s fine,” she told him honestly. She didn’t exactly have the right to be angry about something she could barely remember occurring at all.
But he didn’t seem to agree. “It’s not. You didn’t want -”
“Didn’t want?” She scoffed loudly at the words. “What exactly do you think happened?”
It was impossible to miss the shame in his eyes. The meaning perfectly clear, he didn’t need to say what he believed had taken place. She wasn’t even sure he could voice the words, the idea that he had… God, she could barely even think what it was that he was implying.
“I feel like I forced -”
“Forced?”
“Pushed,” he amended quickly. “You didn’t -”
“You’re an idiot.” The intensity in her tone shut him up as fast as he had put forth the idea. Whether he believed her or not or simply felt too ashamed to continue speaking was unclear. But Cuddy wasn’t going to take any chances. “I was not -”
“You hesitated.”
She rolled her eyes. “House. You were… confused. You didn’t know how to deal with what Rachel had said to you. And I knew that having sex wasn’t going to make that any better.”
“Which is why you hesitated,” he said, as though all of this should have been quite obvious to her.
“Yes. Because I thought it was necessary to say that it wouldn’t comfort you.”
He looked away, sighed, and then glanced back at her. “I didn’t listen to you.”
“And that’s so new for me,” she said sarcastically. “You usually always listen to -”
“Why are you making this so difficult?”
His frustration was barely suppressed. Hints of it in every syllable, it wouldn’t be long before the feeling was blatant. And that was the last thing she wanted, because she was sick of the fighting. She didn’t want to keep arguing over the dumbest things. She wanted to apologize and make up with him and put those papers in his hand to see what he would do. But that last bit seemed like it would never happen, couldn’t because they were too busy going over things that should have caused no problems with them to begin with.
“Listen to me,” she told him. She tried her best to remain calm. Hands gently resting on his shoulders, she said reassuringly, “When you have bad ideas, you know that I take great pleasure in telling you how bad they are.”
“Maybe, but -”
“Sex wasn’t going to help, and I told you that. You couldn’t hear that - do not interrupt me,” she warned. “Which is fine. We had sex, and while I can honestly say it wasn’t the best use of five minutes of my time -”
“Hey!”
“I don’t regret it either.” She purposely ignored his outrage. “I didn’t feel pressured. I didn’t say no. It was what you thought you needed, and I willingly gave you that.”
“Did you?”
“You’re pitiful.” He didn’t deny it. “Give me some credit. We’ve been fighting for the last day. I’m pretty capable of telling you no when I don’t want to do something.”
There was no counterargument right away. For that reason, she thought she must have convinced him a tiny bit, because if he didn’t believe her at all, he would have retorted instantly. Instead he sat silently, quietly contemplating her words.
She seized the opportunity. “You needed that,” she told him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Just like I needed you this morning. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe. Maybe not with that,” he admitted eventually. “But I keep thinking I didn’t do enough to….” His voice faltered and gave way to silence. As if he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, he pursed his lips together and said nothing.
Part of her wanted to speak up, but she remained quiet. She was hesitant at that moment to push him. He was trying to say something, convey something she admittedly didn’t understand. And she worried that if she prodded him for more, he would, out of frustration, shut down. Or he would say what he was thinking, but he would say it in that way… where the seriousness of the point was overshadowed by the cruelty in his tone. There was a good chance she had earned any and all vitriol he sent her way. But accepting that with aplomb in the moment would surely never happen. Reacting before she could stop herself, she would push them back into a fight. Since she didn’t want that, she had no choice but to wait patiently.
After a few moments of peace, that effort on her part paid off.
“I just… asked a lot of you this weekend.”
“That’s okay. I don’t -”
“You needed me to help you, and I wasn’t - I let my own… issues get in the way.” He stumbled over the words, but once the sentiment was uttered, it was easier to continue. “I asked a lot from you, burdened you with too much. And then I got angry with you when you didn’t have any faith in me and -”
“House, I trust you.”
A lesser man would have made a pained sound at the obvious lie. But the past twenty-four hours had in a way made him numb to the reality of the situation. It hurt; of course it hurt. At the same time though, he knew that her distrust was inherently his fault. And not that that made the situation any easier for him, but he was determined to keep that pain to himself. If she were to ever trust him, it needed to be the result of a choice she made.
Last night, he had tried to bully her into realization. Tonight he knew that that would never work. And if it did, he would never be happy, because he would always know that he had had to force her to give him what he wanted. Maybe it was tempting to do that anyway, to do anything to get the results he needed. But this wasn’t work; this wasn’t a test he needed, a diagnosis he wanted. This was his life - their life. Bulldozing his way through her resistance would only make her resent him in the end.
If he had thought about it yesterday, he would have known that from the beginning and acted differently. Having not thought at all about her, he had made demands, something she had never been happy to respond to. And all he could do was try to avoid making the same mistakes again; she might have been willing to forgive the first few times, but she would inevitably become fed up if he kept creating the same problems.
Unfortunately for him, his silence, which she must have believed to be intentional, seemed to make her think he was calling her a liar.
“I do,” she insisted.
Ironically it was that conviction that compelled him to respond. Before he might have been able to let the moment slide; hearing her speak with such a lack of awareness though… that provoked him.
“Yeah, you trust me,” he said bitterly, the words escaping him before he could even try to stop himself. “Just not with Rachel, right?”
Her lips parted in surprise. Mouth slightly agape, it was clear that she hadn’t expected the anger. And they were in agreement on that, because he hadn’t anticipated that response either. But his shock quickly gave way to an urgent need to protect himself.
Whether he’d intended to say what he had didn’t matter. The fact that he had now ruined the moment for both of them did. He’d upset their tentative peace, and now… Cuddy would punish him for the mistake.
Within seconds he had his defenses raised. If she reacted in anger, he needed to be ready for that; he needed to ensure that he didn’t make his mistake worse by escalating the frustration in the room. Whatever she said, he knew he just… had to take it, accept it. One of them would have to get them back on track. Since he’d been the one to screw up, he had to be the one to fix it.
But her reaction was one he had no defense for. Rather than yell at him, Cuddy chose to… he didn’t even know what to call it. Description beyond his capabilities, he was too shocked by her patience to give her response the proper wording.
Pulling away from him a little, she said calmly, “We need to talk about that. I’m not trying to pretend like we don’t. But I don’t want to discuss that until you understand I don’t blame you for anything that happened Saturday. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Clearly he didn’t believe her. He didn’t say she was lying, but he obviously wasn’t going to accept the truth simply because she said it. That much was apparent to her.
Out of frustration, she was tempted to give up. She knew though that she couldn’t. If they just moved right into the larger problem at hand, part of him, she felt, would hold onto that guilt that he had inside of him. At least, if she were in his position, she wouldn’t eagerly be able to accept the change in topic.
For that reason, she couldn’t move forward; she couldn’t apologize for her own mistakes until he understood that his part in all of this had been…
Minimal.
The more he apologized, the more she could see: she’d created this issue. If she’d just pretended to listen to what he’d said last night, she could have avoided this fight. Not indefinitely, but maybe… she would have been able to spare all of them this conversation tonight.
No, she thought instantly, changing her mind. There would have been a fight. Even if she’d reacted to his pronouncements as best as she could, it still wouldn’t have been enough for him. She didn’t believe that he had been pushy Saturday night, but she had no doubt that he would have been when it came to his claims last night. No matter what she’d done, he would have demanded more from her than she could have ever given him. A fight would have happened either way.
And she wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. Was he earnest with his words, in his claims of love for her daughter? Or was he just trying to needle her for some reason she couldn’t understand? Perhaps, she thought, he was toying with her, because she had relied on him so much this weekend.
Whatever the reason, a fight had been - was still - inevitable. Perhaps he had been less guilty than she; he was certainly making her feel guiltier by apologizing. But he hadn’t been blameless.
At that moment, a voice inside of her whispered, “Let him feel bad. Let him think he did something wrong.”
What would that accomplish though?
They were in a terrible place. He was apologizing for things he hadn’t done; she wasn’t apologizing for her mistakes. She was trying to reassure him. He didn’t believe her, and through it all, it felt like they were avoiding the things that had led them to this space to begin with. Worse still, when he’d mentioned Rachel, Cuddy hadn’t jumped on that opportunity; the words that would address their problems were ones she was afraid to utter. Nothing was right, but she was too scared to try to fix any of it. And again, she had to wonder what she was trying to accomplish by letting such fears rule her.
But that was all she could do - passively question her behavior. There was no time for bone-deep inspection. His gaze on her, she didn’t have the option to reflect on her actions, not now.
“All right. Fine,” she capitulated under the heat of his questioning look. “It would have been wonderful if I didn’t have to hold your hand all weekend long.”
“I know,” he said looking away.
“On the other hand, neither of us could have predicted everything else that happened, so it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you.” She was speaking in clipped tones, her agitation apparent. Knowing that the mood between them was pretty much ruined, she pulled away from him then. Slowly she peeled herself off of him. Although she would have liked to stay exactly where she had been, the dropping temperature between them made that position no longer comfortable. The closeness no longer desirable, she took a seat across from him on the coffee table.
The behavior would not go unnoticed by House, just as her tone of voice wouldn’t. She would let him overanalyze it later.
“And Saturday night?” she continued. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it - and wouldn’t have if you hadn’t mentioned it.” Even if things had gone all right on Sunday, she believed that would have still been the case. Sex was currency, equally taken and given when needed or wanted, and she had at no point felt forced, would never feel that way when it came to that evening. That he suspected otherwise made it abundantly clear just how out of sync they were with one another.
“I don’t care about that,” she told him honestly. “And it’s odd to me that we’re going back to this now when any fight we could have had over that should have happened -”
“Oh I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize my reaction had to take place within a certain time frame.”
“Of course. It’s just surprising to me.” As soon as she said the words, she started to get an idea why. “It’s like you don’t want to talk about what happened last night.”
“Yeah. I’m totally trying to avoid that, which is why I brought it up a couple minutes ago and you still haven’t addressed the -”
“Because we were still talking about Saturday,” she snapped. For someone who was so upset for pushing her, he was certainly doing his best to avoid learning his lesson. “But if you want to move on to Sunday night, that’s fine. Let’s talk about that.”
He looked unhappy. He swallowed hard, as though he were trying to bite back whatever remark was running through his mind. “We need to talk about it,” he agreed in a firm but not unkind voice. “But if you’re going to be upset, we shouldn’t -”
“I’m fine,” she said hastily, undermining her words with her behavior. “I can handle a conversation,” she added, forcing herself then to sound nicer than she felt.
“I’m not saying you can’t. I know we can talk about this now. But you’re tired and -”
“No.” She shook her head. Although what he was saying made sense, she would not put this off any longer. His offer was tempting, but avoiding this would be unhelpful. All that time not talking would be unproductively spent considering what to say when they did have this conversation. And she didn’t have the time for that, not this week. “I want to do this now. I don’t want to put it off indefinitely and worry about what will happen or not happen and spend all of that time in the meantime fighting, because we need to talk about it and haven’t.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want.” She could tell he was trying to be nice, respectful of her decision.
“It is. I don’t want to think about this tomorrow morning.”
At first it seemed like he agreed with her. “That would be nice.” Then he added, “But I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Well… maybe not. But we need to talk about it.”
“We do. I just don’t want to fight.”
“We’re not going to fight.”
He couldn’t have looked more incredulous if he tried. “So this conversation is going to take place in a fantasy land you’ve -”
“I’m being serious. I can’t deal with an argument, so I’m not going to -”
“Then we’re going to need some ground rules,” he suggested. “Because otherwise you know that’s where we’re going to end up.”
“Fine. Don’t interrupt me. That can be the first rule.”
She was being snide, but he took her tone well. With a shrug, he said, “Okay. Now one of my own.” He didn’t say anything, just beckoned her to him with the repeated curl of his index finger.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Of course I do. Come here.” He patted his chest as though that were supposed to be enticing.
“You sure you want me that close to you?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Why? You plan on hitting me?” She didn’t have a chance to answer. “Cause it’s okay if you are. I always did have a fantasy about you as a dominatrix.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said standing up. As she crawled back on top of him, she mentioned, “I thought you hated this.”
“No. You being on top of me is a guaranteed positive. But if you’re going to be on top of me, usually I tend to think there are better things for you to do.” In a conspiring voice, he explained, “Things that involve my penis.”
Her laugh was muffled by the t-shirt her face was pressed into.
But even as she enjoyed the comment, she started to realize why he had drawn her closer. It was easy to get lost in his body heat, to be reassured by his touch. Lying with him, she found it hard to remember why she’d felt such anxiety all day. Obviously she had not forgotten entirely, but in his arms, she was reminded why she put up with all of the nonsense.
She loved him; she really did.
That didn’t make things any less complicated. If anything the closeness served as a reiteration: she needed answers. Easy as it might have been to be lulled by the security he was providing, for her, it mainly egged her on. She wanted nothing more than to relax into him and call it a night. But if Rachel was an issue they couldn’t overcome… Cuddy thought it was better to know that now. There’d be less heartache in the long run.
“You okay?” House asked, perhaps taking note of her prolonged silence.
“Yeah,” she said though her heart wasn’t really in it.
“Cause we don’t have to talk about this.”
“I already said I was okay to have this conversation.”
“I know.” His hands rubbing her back in circles, he was obviously trying to keep her calm. “I don’t doubt your ability to barrel through your exhaustion any more than I doubt Wilson’s ability to find the neediest vagina in a ten mile radius.”
In that instant, she couldn’t have been more tired of circling around the conversation. They’d gone over whether they should talk; they’d set up rules - actual rules - or at least attempted to. Looking back at it now, she thought it was avoidance keeping them from broaching the subject.
She could have possibly gone along with that for far longer. But bringing up Wilson in that way was so ridiculous that it shocked her back into reality. It made her see that they couldn’t keep avoiding this. And if House was starting to talk about Wilson’s sex life, they really needed to discuss their real problems, as the alternative was not something she wanted to contemplate.
Not even a little bit.
Admittedly it was tempting - almost. She knew the words she had to say, knew what she and House were on the cusp of, and the fear of it made part of her stubbornly wish to stave off reality for a little while longer.
As it was, the heart of the matter seemed difficult to get to. All avenues were equally less than ideal in her eyes. Words needed to be said, but her tongue and lips and voice couldn’t work together to create the perfect sentence. No matter how hard she tried, there just wasn’t a way she saw to broach the subject with even a hint of grace.
Maybe she had earned that. She’d been out of control last night, ready to lash out at any moment. If she saw no good path to take, she supposed it was the natural consequence of burning bridges.
So…the only option she had was to latch onto the first set of words she could find and go with it.
“I’m not exhausted,” she said. “Well, I am, but I’d rather do this than not, because I know you deserve an apology, and I don’t want you to think I’m not aware of how insane I’ve been.”
She’d admitted it, but the truth didn’t seem to have any effect on House. He didn’t look pleased, didn’t seem relieved that she had said what they both knew. On the other hand, he wasn’t outraged either. There was no sign that he disagreed with her whatsoever. In fact, he probably did agree that she had been crazed last night. And if he believed that, then his behavior now could only mean that he wanted more from her. He expected her to continue.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you last night. You were trying to be helpful, and I wasn’t able to see that, I guess.”
He was torn deciding how to react. She wasn’t downplaying her behavior; nevertheless part of him wanted to rub her mistake in. As much as she was admitting it, a piece of him still felt like it wasn’t enough. From her perspective, she could probably see how terrible she had behaved. But she could never know how it had felt for him. To try to be supportive and then to have that effort rejected, derided, or outright ignored - that was something she might recognize, but she would never know how it felt.
True, he had by and large accepted his role in her reaction. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, deny that he had contributed to her stress. That didn’t make her behavior any easier for him to take. And part of him had been willing to pretend like it hadn’t hurt. Now that she was trying to apologize though, that side of him longed for some sort of justice.
But he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t above childishness, but even for him, this would be too much. She hadn’t had any trouble forgiving him just minutes ago when he’d confessed his guilt. Obviously, she didn’t have a problem with his behavior, which made forgiveness that much easier. And in that way, their positions were different. Yet House knew he couldn’t act any differently than she had. She hadn’t been angry about that one particular thing, but how many times over the years had he pissed her off? How many times had she forgiven him? The answer was “too many to count.”
Even if that weren’t the case, House reminded himself that this was just the beginning of the conversation. An apology alone was not going to fix all of their problems, which meant they had plenty more to talk about. If he were to make her work hard for it right out of the gate, there was a good chance she would become exasperated. Resentful of his resentment, she would make the rest of their discussion all the harder to get through.
Since that was the last thing he wanted, he chose to be kind, understanding. The decision right, it nonetheless felt awkward to accept the apology without a word. At least it felt weird under these circumstances. Given what they were talking about, it didn’t seem right to let her get away with her callousness, her selfishness.
Continue on to the rest of the chapter