Twenty Moments of a life Never Lived, Part Three

[lieueitak]

Title: Twenty Moments of a life Never Lived, Part Three
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Cuddy, House, Joy Cuddy - some House/Cuddy moments
Summary: How Joy Cuddy would have changed them both. A series of vignettes exploring Cuddy as a mother and how all of this affects House who is anything but ready for a baby in his life.
Author's Notes: This fic will be a series of vignettes, some moments more tightly related than others. They are thematically related, not necessarily chronologically so; the first section, a real moment, sets up the other five fake moments in the chapter. Thank you to my beta, Olly, for helping me and encouraging me to finish this.
Previous Chapters: Part One, Part Two
Disclaimer: I don't own it.


In the back of her mind, Cuddy knew that, by now, House was getting anxious. He’d been itching for her approval before Joy had even been born, and although she’d agreed to go back to work, she hadn’t done that yet. And that, no doubt was upsetting to someone as big a baby as House.

But, of course, leaving right now was hard, if not impossible, to do. Her maternity staff had just wheeled Joy into the room, and Cuddy was too besotted to go back to work. The unbelievably small child clean, the vernix having been gently washed from her body, Joy was wrapped in a white, pink, and blue blanket. A matching pink knit hat on her head, it covered the brownish hair dusting the soft curves of her skull.

There were still traces of eye ointment all around her eyelids, and were Cuddy to look beneath the blanket, she’d see where they’d pricked Joy on the foot for blood. Those two things the only proof that she’d had any sort of medical intervention, the events of the last hour seemed like nothing more than a distant memory.

Especially considering that the little girl who had been so hesitant to cry now seemed more than eager to do it. She’d been quiet when they’d washed her, only slightly fussy when they’d begun to clean around the umbilical area. But the minute she’d received vitamin K, she’d proved her lungs had been plenty developed to use.

Even now, the tiny infant - no, Cuddy thought; this was her daughter, and she should start thinking of her as such. So she mentally corrected herself: even now, her daughter was teetering on the brink of bursting into loud sobs. Little cries escaping her diminutive mouth, she squirmed in the hospital-issue bassinet.

The rudimentary cribs of plastic and stainless steel a familiar sight to Cuddy, she wondered how many times she’d passed them in her job. Standing over her little baby now, she wondered how many times she’d come into the maternity ward craving a child of her own.

Too many to count, she realized. That feeling one that had radiated from within her body, it was one that had, for years, suffocated any whispers of happiness. All thoughts inside her head about how cliché a forty-something, single woman wanting a baby was extinguished by this desperate yearning, she’d learned to live with it.

And when the IVF had failed - or she had failed to continue with it, anyway, that feeling was one she’d assumed would be a part of her life until she died. The loneliness almost a companion in her life, it was something she was all too eager to part with.

It was something, Cuddy realized happily, that she would never feel again.

Because hanging on the side of the impersonal bassinet was the plaque of information she’d already memorized; included were height, weight, sex, but it was the name that mattered the most.

It was seeing Cuddy on there in black ink that reaffirmed what she already knew: this was her child.

That fact one Joy already seemed to know, the little girl already seemed to react to her mother’s touch. In an attempt to soothe, Cuddy had begun to rub circles on the infant’s stomach. The pads of her fingers moving around in a distinct pattern, she could tell it was working. The noises the baby was making were beginning to change from agitated to something slightly more assured; hungry she couldn’t be completely silent.

Which was fine with Cuddy. Joy’s cries too new to be resented even in the slightest, the sound was one she couldn’t help but smile at.

“You look deranged.”

Rolling her eyes, Cuddy turned her head back toward the maternity ward’s entrance. Standing in the doorway was House. Irritation in his eyes and on every other feature she could see, it wasn’t hard to guess his mood right now. Nor was it hard to realize that she would have to tread this conversation carefully, because it could quickly turn into a noisy fight that would upset all of the newborns.

“I’m not deranged,” she explained calmly. “I’m happy. There’s a difference.”

As he walked towards her, he let out a grunt, a sound muffled by the back of his throat that said, “I don’t believe you.”

Not that she was in any mood to convince.

Her attention already returning to Joy, Cuddy didn’t look at him again until he reminded her, “You were supposed to be saying goodbye.”

One of her palms lightly caressing her daughter’s face, Cuddy told him, “Only you would find that an easy thing to do.”

“Right,” he said sarcastically, nodding his head. “It must be unbelievably difficult for you to step away from the thing that craps and cries every two hours in order to -”

“She’s a baby, not a thing, and considering I’ve kept you employed for a decade, I wouldn’t complain about my attachment to people whose main activities are pooping and whining.” Her voice was icy, a smirk spreading across her face as she looked at him.

The scowl not unexpected, House pointed out, “Yeah, well, at least I’ve mastered complex tasks like supporting my own head.”

She smiled. “Considering the size of your head, that is an accomplishment.”

He had no response to that, at least not one he planned on sharing with her anyway. His mouth might have been closed, but, his jaw twitching at odd intervals, Cuddy had no doubt that he had plenty to say on the matter. Her gaze automatically shifting back toward Joy, she couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever be okay with this.

So she asked, “Is this how it’s going to be for the rest of our lives, House? You resenting me for trying to be happy and punishing me by pointing out every way I’d fail as a mother?”

“Well, I’d contemplated getting the twit a pair of booties,” he said sardonically. “But -”

Her attention and palms off of the baby now, Cuddy turned to House. One of her hands resting insistently on his forearm, she told him firmly, “Stop it. You’re not going to get me to change my mind. Ever. So you might as well just be happy for me.”

His gaze momentarily cast down to her touch. The look in his eyes one she couldn’t quite understand, it was with caution that she waited for his response. Because, while she wasn’t afraid he would hurt her physically, Cuddy wasn’t exactly sure what she could expect from him. Something devastatingly harmful or sweet equally was likely, so she had no idea how to prepare herself.

But really, she didn’t need to, because all he said was, “Are you finally done?” His head cocked in explanation to Joy.

Cuddy sighed. As much as she wanted to tell him no, she knew she couldn’t. Work calling to her in a way she couldn’t ignore, she had no choice but to do what he wanted. Her lips turning into a slight frown, she said, “Yeah. Lets go.”

Of course, House had other ideas. Leaning down toward the plastic and steel bassinet, he suddenly spoke quietly, almost apologetically. “Sorry, kid.” His voice slowly becoming infused with sarcastic tones, he explained, “Mommy’s other baby needs her now.”

He pulled back then; standing straight up once more, he caught sight of her raised eyebrow and defended himself, “I meant the hospital, Angelina Jolie, not me.”

“Okay,” she said unconvinced, as they turned to leave the maternity ward.

Her steps slower than normal to accommodate him, she was close enough to hear him mutter, “Get one kid, think you have to mother everybody else.”

The comment was clearly made to get a reaction from her.

But instead, Cuddy chose to ignore it. Because he was looking for a fight, looking for a reason to point out just how bad a decision adopting Joy was. So she stayed silent; if she didn’t play the game, she reasoned, he would eventually get bored and move onto something else.

Then again, she thought almost immediately, she had no idea how long it would take for him to become bored. And considering he still enjoyed tormenting her years after he’d started, somehow she thought that he could keep this going until Joy was well into adulthood. The possible future one she didn’t want for her child, Cuddy realized this needed to stop.

But how?

Her mind turning as quickly as the elevator moved, she only had one idea: a bet.

It wasn’t the most inventive plan. Truthfully it wasn’t a very good one either. But if she could give him something else to focus on, give him a reason to look at Joy as something other than the person who ruined everything, it would be worth it.

As the elevator dropped lower, she turned to him and asked, “Think her eyes will change colors?”

He shot her a look that was an interesting mix of irritation and confusion. “I don’t know. Does evil ever change?” he asked, pretending to be philosophical.

Swallowing the “apparently not” she was dying to say, Cuddy tried to remain calm. Tersely she said, “She’s a little girl, not evil, and I thought you might be opportunistic enough to realize there are any number of things we could bet -”

“I did,” House told her arrogantly. “That’s why Kutner and I are taking bets on how long it’ll take you to change your mind.”

His completely insensitive admission made her heart sink, made her want to hit him and cry all at the same time.

After everything that had happened, after every painful and lengthy step she had taken to become a mother, House still didn’t see it. He didn’t see that having Joy, even in this short period of time, had made her happier than she had ever been. He didn’t see that betting on it - as though it were some sort of fad she’d get over by month’s end - hurt. And Cuddy realized that, even if he did understand what he was doing, he clearly didn’t care, because…

She wasn’t a mother in his eyes.

Menotropin injections, egg retrieval, and sperm donors; IVF and miscarriages; interviews and home inspections that had unearthed every mistake, every issue, and nearly every sexual experience she’d ever had for the sole sake of being judged - none of it was enough for him. He’d seen her with Joy, but House hadn’t understood.

So Cuddy would make it clear.

Angling her body so that she could look directly at him, she told him firmly, “Joy is my daughter. I’m not going to change my mind. I will never change my mind.” Arms folded across her chest, she said, “Nothing is going to change that -”

“Everything is going to change,” he interrupted, not interested, apparently, in the rest of what she had to say. “Everything, Cuddy.”

At that moment, the elevator binged poignantly. The doors sliding open, Cuddy was eager to escape the metal confines. Hand on the doorframe, she told him gravely, honestly, “I hope so.”

Turning she started to walk away from him. The sound of his uneven steps behind her filling her ears, it was not enough of a distraction to stop her from thinking:

This day wasn’t going to get any easier.

XI. Nine Years Old

Wearing a set of pink and purple polka dot flannel pajamas, Joy sat on the edge of the bed. Bobbing up and down, she fidgeted tiredly on top of the mattress. She’d been that way since Cuddy could remember - unable to concentrate or sit still when she was exhausted.

And under any other circumstances Cuddy had learned to adjust to that. Even when it meant, on stormy nights, getting an elbow in the side or a stray hand accidentally hitting her when her frightened daughter curled up in bed with her, Cuddy had accepted it. But right now, with her fingers knuckle deep in blonde curls, she couldn’t help but find herself becoming irritated.

“Joy, if you don’t sit still, the braids won’t be straight.” Not that it mattered, Cuddy supposed; she was doing her daughter’s hair now, right before bedtime, on the nine year old’s request. And after a night of all the tossing and turning Joy did, the two side braids Cuddy was putting in would be gone, their elastic confines easily slipping over the strands, by morning.

Of course, knowing this, Joy didn’t listen. Fidgeting some more, she whined, “Why can’t we celebrate Christmas?”

The question was not a new one. Having been asked it every December since Joy had been five, Cuddy had long since gotten used to it. “Because we’re Jewish,” she replied tiredly, offering the same explanation she’d always given. “And stop moving.”

Bouncing up and down some more and somewhere between tears and a tantrum, Joy said in a high-pitched voice, “But I want Santa to bring me presents! Santa’s not not Jewish! Why can’t he come?”

“Sweetheart, Santa celebrates Christmas. We don’t,” Cuddy tried to explain as gently as possible. As she finished putting in the last bit of the braid, she added, “Besides, you know that Santa Claus isn’t real.”

Her blonde locks slipping through Cuddy’s fingers, Joy spun around angrily. “Yes, he is,” she argued, hands balling into fists. “He just doesn’t come here cause he knows you don’t believe in him.”

Nodding her head slowly, Cuddy conceded, “You might be right about that. But,” she added more cheerily. “Right now, it’s time for bed.”

Not unlike a puffer fish, her daughter quickly deflated. Her outrage quickly fleeing (not that it ever lasted), Joy said seriously, as she rubbed her eyes, “Okay... But, Mommy, I really think we should do the Christmas thing.”

She sounded so adult in that moment that Cuddy had to hide her smile in the palm of her hand.

Scrambling towards the head of the bed, Joy grabbed her stuffed dog, named Ogilvy, off of the floor. The battered tan and cream corgi the only stuffed animal the blonde refused to go without, it had been a gift from House.

Well, gift wasn’t the right word; Joy liked to believe that that was what it was, but it certainly wasn’t a present. Confronting House about it, Cuddy had learned that he’d stolen it from a patient, stolen it in a bizarre attempt to make the child tell the truth about what had happened. Not that that ever happened, the little kid dying before he’d ever had a chance to explain what he’d done wrong. And when that had happened, House had been left with the stuffed animal. The dog a reminder of what had happened, he’d tossed it in the trashcan… where Joy found and retrieved it.

Now, after many, many, many trips in the washing machine, Ogilvy was her favorite thing in the world. The little girl refused to go anywhere without it, just as she refused to believe that it was anything other than a present from House. And watching her daughter burrow under the blankets with stuffed dog tucked under her armpit, Cuddy didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

“Mommy,” Joy whined, “You’re not listening to me.”

Moving to tuck her daughter in, Cuddy replied, “Yes, I am. You want to celebrate Christmas.”

“Uh huh. Because you get presents on -”

Confused, Cuddy pointed out, “You get presents when it’s Hanukkah.”

“But not all on the same day,” she complained. And just as Cuddy was about to ask why it made any difference, Joy added, “Besides, there’s no good Hanukkah music. Maybe Dr. House knows some; I could ask him… maybe we could write a song together!”

Her daughter beginning to tiredly ramble on, Cuddy didn’t have the heart to tell her that House would probably rather skin himself alive than write Hanukkah songs. So she said knowingly, “You must be very tired, Joy.” The blonde nodded her head slowly in agreement. “Then maybe we should try and sleep?”

There was no response from the little girl, and Cuddy could see her beginning to settle down. Joy’s dark brown eyes slowly closing, after a couple minutes, Cuddy was sure she’d fallen asleep.

But as she got up and started to move toward the door, she could hear Joy ask softly, “If I get Dr. House to do all of his clinic duty, can we celebrate Christmas?”

Cuddy’s response was immediate. “If you get Dr. House to do his job, I’ll get you a real Ogilvy.” She could say that, of course, because there was no way House would ever make up all the hours he’d skipped.

“Yay!”

The next several days sure to be filled with Joy bothering him in the hopes of getting what she wanted, Cuddy smiled as she turned off the light. House would be livid, but she would be more than amused. And for the first time in her life, Cuddy couldn’t help but think that just maybe, there was a Santa Claus after all.

XII. Fourteen Years Old

Having stumbled drunkenly through the hallway, she was too confused to know where in her own home she was right now. Her head fuzzy and spinning, it didn’t help that his hand was slowly unbuttoning her shirt, slowly driving her mad. He was kissing her, his wet, insistent tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

Big hands unceremoniously gripping her hips, he pushed her towards… her desk, maybe? Her ass crashing into the lip of the tabletop, she gripped his lapels to keep from falling back. “Be careful,” she told him in a hushed voice.

Sarcastically he asked in response, “’Fraid Daddy’s gonna come after me with a shotgun?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked confused, glancing around the room to see if there was a light.

His hand sliding underneath her shirt, under her armpit and towards her back, he unsuccessfully tried to unhook her bra.

Squinting in an effort to see his face, she asked, “What are you doing? This bra unhooks in the front. And where is the damn light?” But almost immediately, she shrugged and reached for his zipper. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

“You’re so romantic when you’re drunk,” he quipped, shoving her onto the desk.

And that was when they found the lamp.

Her back smacking into it, she barely had time to react before it crashed onto the ground loudly. His lips immediately descended on hers, he muttered into her mouth, “Guess we found the lamp.”

Hands on the side of his face, she shushed him. The quieter they were, the better it would be, she reasoned.

But it was too late.

The noise had been more than loud enough, apparently, and all of a sudden the light came on. Their eyes burning at the sudden brightness, they were anything but prepared for the horrified intruder nearly shouting, “Oh my God! Mom!”

“Oh God,” Cuddy said, mortified, her hands scrambling to pluck House’s out from underneath her bra.

House’s own “Damn it!” was reflected in the frustrated look he gave her as she quickly began to button her top again.

“What are you two doing?” Joy asked, brown eyes wide and disgusted. The question escaping her before she apparently realized what it was exactly that she was asking, she quickly shook her head and held up her hands. “No, no, no, no,” she said firmly, as House turned and opened his mouth to speak. “Nevermind. Really, I… don’t want to know. Really, Dr. House,” she repeated, catching the same glint in his eyes that Cuddy saw. “I’m already going to need therapy for this. I don’t need to hear - or see anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” Cuddy began to say in apology.

“No, no. Don’t need an explanation. Really don’t want one,” she told her. “I’m just going to climb back up the rabbit hole and pretend I didn’t see…” Joy gestured with her hands at them both. “This,” she said finally.

The blonde quickly disappearing, the two adults were left in silence. And quickly sobering up, Cuddy began to realize just how mortifying this whole situation was.

Her daughter had just caught her rounding the bases with House.

Joy had seen her being felt up.

Oh God.

She could feel her cheeks turning red in embarrassment.

House, on the other hand, was just annoyed. “See,” he said angrily. “I said this would happen.”

Frowning as she worked hard to follow his train of thought, she pointed out, “You said I’d catch her doing this. Not the other way around.”

He rolled his eyes. His voice filled with a distinctive bite, he replied, “Well, how was I to know Mommy would still be the bigger slut fourteen years later?”

Her own irritation present by now, Cuddy told him, with a sigh, “You know… I’m suddenly not in the mood anymore. Good night, House.”

He blinked. “What?”

A smirk on her face and a lazy sway to her hips to taunt him as she walked away, she told him, “Lock the door on your way out.”

XIII. Seven Years Old

Cuddy was late, the board meeting running over by forty-five minutes, thanks to a cantankerous donor who now assumed he owned the hospital. His demands taking up the majority of the discussion, he was a supporter whose support she would definitely not be courting in the future. Because not only had he wasted the hospital’s time, but now, thanks to him, she was late to Joy’s first school play.

Having been too shy to accept any role until now, her daughter hadn’t even been so much as a tree in past years. Always wanting to participate but terrified the moment she was asked to go on stage, Joy had simply been too scared to go through with it. As outspoken and brave as she could be with people she knew, she wasn’t that way with strangers. And she certainly wasn’t that way on stage. So she’d always sat on the sidelines and watched.

But this year, being the only girl with the blonde hair perfect for Sleeping Beauty, she had caved under everyone’s pressure, including her mother’s, and agreed to take the part.

And Cuddy was missing it.

She couldn’t have felt more guilty in that moment.

Pushing the doors to the auditorium open an hour after the play was supposed to begin, she had no doubt that it was almost over. Seven year olds could only handle so many lines and so much excitement, and frankly… she was lucky that the play was this long at all.

Her gaze immediately focused on the stage, she closed the doors quietly behind her. Everyone’s attention on the play, nobody looked at her, thank God. She already knew that she was a horrible mother for being this late, and she didn’t need anyone else’s accusing glare to reinforce that fact.

But before Cuddy even began to look for a seat, she noticed: there was no Joy on the stage. In fact, the girl playing Sleeping Beauty was a plump, raven-haired child, and there was no way the seven year old was her underweight, blonde daughter.

Well, Cuddy thought grimly, at least she hadn’t missed anything. A sigh escaping her as she began to search for her child, she couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. Truth be told, she hadn’t exactly expected Joy to go on stage, but part of her had hoped she would. If only to avoid the scene she ended up walking in on when she eventually found Joy.

The little girl sitting on a towel in a corner backstage, Cuddy could hear her cries even before she was close enough to see the tears.

Long blonde strands of hair hanging over her eyes, Joy didn’t see Cuddy until she was crouching in front of her. “Joy?”

The sound of her voice was enough to launch Joy into her mother’s arms. Her cries turning into loud sobs, she practically wailed, “I couldn’t do it.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cuddy soothed. Drawing her daughter in closer with one hand, she could feel the wetness under her fingertips. The moisture pooled around Joy’s lower back, bottom, and thighs, it was obvious, immediately so, what had happened.

But Joy confessed anyway, her voice hitching with hiccups as she cried, “And I, I, I… had an accident.”

“Okay, okay,” Cuddy murmured consolingly, pushing back her daughter’s messy curls. “It’s okay. We can get you cleaned up. It’s going to be all right,” she said in an effort to reassure the little being trembling in her arms.

“No, it’s not,” Joy sobbed loudly. Her voice was more than shrill enough for nearby children, parents, and teachers to all turn their head and look at her.

So Cuddy reminded her in gentle but firm tones, “Joy, we’re inside. That means we have to talk in -”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted miserably. And just as Cuddy was about to point out that she doubted that was actually true, Joy said miserably, “And you weren’t even here.” There was little accusation in her whiny voice; almost always a sweetly forgiving child, she’d never been able to maintain her anger for long, and for that, Cuddy was grateful. Immensely so, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel the guilt wash over her in that moment. Because even if Joy wasn’t capable of being unforgiving, she was still hurt.

“I know,” Cuddy admitted. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry, Joy.” She contemplated explaining why she’d been late, thought about telling her daughter about the idiot who had kept her from being on time.

But in the end she decided against it, because no matter what she said, no matter what the excuse was, it wouldn’t be good enough for Joy.

It wasn’t good enough.

So she just apologized once more, “I am so sorry, sweetheart.”

Joy was already seemingly past that however. Squirming uncomfortably in her wet pants, she admitted, “I wanna go home, Mommy.”

“Right,” Cuddy said with a nod. “Where’s your back pack?” Silently Joy pointed to a chair six feet away. “Okay, lets go,” she told her gently, easily hoisting her small daughter up onto her hip without a second thought.

Urine almost immediately beginning to soak through her Prada dress, Cuddy couldn’t help but sigh. Not that it really mattered; Joy was upset, and even if she’d been covered in acid, the mother would have held her at that moment. This was what her daughter needed.

Besides, she thought lazily, there was a reason dry cleaners existed. The little girl rubbing her runny nose on Cuddy’s shoulder, she couldn’t help but be grateful for that fact.

Silent in Mommy’s arms, Joy didn’t speak up until they were in the parking lot. As Cuddy helped her into her booster seat, Joy said sadly, “I really wanted to do it.”

A sympathetic smile appearing on her face, Cuddy replied, “I know… Maybe next year, though. And I promise you, cross my heart, that I will be there.”

“Mommy,” she said, suddenly looking and sounding very adult. “I peed my pants thinking about going on stage. ‘Snot gonna happen.”

Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Cuddy agreed gently, “Yeah, probably not. But that’s okay.” She sat on the seat next to her daughter and reminded her, “The important thing is you tried. And… as long as you do that, try to face your fears, that’s what matters. I don’t care about the rest.”

It was a lie.

As she slipped out of the car to get into the driver’s seat, Cuddy knew she’d been lying. Too competitive a person to believe that results didn’t matter, she had never been content to hear the old “you only have to try” speech. If anything, as a child, she’d been spurred on to try harder, to do more when she’d heard it. And especially considering her love for throwing herself into school, Cuddy couldn’t quite understand how Joy wouldn’t want to be in the play, wouldn’t want to be the center of positive attention.

But glancing up into the rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of her daughter, head cast downward in shame, and she could finally understand why her mother had said the things she had. Smiling Cuddy reached back and grabbed her daughter’s foot in a loose grip. A finger gently running along the tiny ankle, the mother said, “It’s all right, Joy. I promise.”

The words uttered with a comfortable ease, they were ones she herself never would have believed as a child. But, seeing Joy begin to smile almost immediately, Cuddy couldn’t have been more relieved to know they were very different people.

XIV. Ten Years Old

“Dr. House?”

Her voice was tentative, scared, so much so that he wasn’t entirely surprised to see the blood smeared on the front of her lavender dress.

Of course, upon looking at her more closely, he was, on the other hand, surprised to see the pigeon in her hands. The gray and white bird shifting under her grip to get away, its orange feet clawing at the air, it clearly wanted no part of this.

And, with a sigh, House could only identify with the vermin. Standing up, he asked irritably, “Where did you get that?”

“Mommy said I could do my homework on one of the benches behind her office,” Joy told him. “But when I got out there, I found her,” she said, holding up the pigeon for him to see. “And -”

“Now you want me to cure your new feathered friend so Mommy can storm in here and yell at me for giving you Psittacosis?” he asked, not liking where any of this was headed.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Fancy term for something that makes your penis fall off,” House lied, trying to hide his wolfish smile behind the palm of his hand. Sometimes, he thought, it was just too easy to fool her.

Other times not so much, and this moment definitely seemed to fall into the latter category, he lamented. Because, giving him a dark look, Joy said, “I’m not gonna fall for that again, Dr. House. I’m not a boy!”

“I’d say it’s telling enough that you fell for it once.”

She sighed dramatically. “I’m just a little kid,” she explained, despite the fact that ten years old probably didn’t qualify as a little kid. “I’m allowed to be dumb every now and then.”

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Oh really?”

“Uh huh. And I’d say it’s way more telling that you like to pick on little kids,” she added.

“True,” he replied after a moment of thought. “Did Mommy tell you to say that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not… you don’t know.”

“You know I can get that information if I want, right?” Dirty fantasies about all the ways he could torture it out of Cuddy danced before his eyes.

“Are you gonna look at my bird or not?” Joy asked, her voice a little more high-pitched than normal.

Gesturing with his head, House beckoned her closer. The blonde quickly headed towards him, she looked grateful, pleased that he was willing to help. Small hands getting ready to plop the bird down on his desk, he told her gruffly, “Don’t do that. I don’t want my desk to be infected with Cindy Lou Hoot’s germs.”

“I like that name,” she told him, snuggling the injured pigeon closer to her in response.

Standing up, he couldn’t help but think, in the back of his mind, all of the things wrong with the situation. The small bird had probably been hit by a car; that was his best guess anyway, given the way its left wing looked horribly twisted from this distance. And, in that state, the pigeon was probably already in shock. Which meant a child cuddling the damn thing was more than likely only hastening its death.

Not that Joy herself was better off by that much. The bird’s beak wouldn’t be enough to break the skin even if it did bite her. However, she wasn’t protected from any of the other crap potentially on the bird. And either Cuddy would kill him for letting her kid get sick or smirk at him and say he was going soft for saving the pigeon.

Either way, House wasn’t pleased with what was going on here.

But then, as his gaze shifted around the room, he caught sight of the box Cuddy had left him. The cardboard confines containing all the paperwork she wanted him to do, it was, without a doubt, the perfect place to stash the pigeon.

“Put the damn thing in this,” he told her brusquely the moment he grabbed the box. She obediently followed his instructions, her brow furrowing in concentration as she carefully placed the bird on top of dozens of files. Less willingly did she obey his next order. “Now, go wash your hands.”

“But I want to help…”

He shook his head. “Wash your hands. Then you can help.”

“But -”

“Just shut up and do it already, all right, kid?” Unfamiliar with having his orders defied, House was quickly losing his patience as well as what little desire he had to help. And perhaps realizing that, Joy listened to him. Her head bent in defeat as she walked into his fellows’ larger office, she didn’t look like she wanted to do what he asked.

But she did.

Thank God.

Throughout the years, Cuddy had tried to convince him that Joy was actually a quiet, shy child, more eager to please than anything else. Cuddy had said that her daughter was different around him, was… nicer when she didn’t have him watching. But for the life of him, House couldn’t see how that was true.

Of course, he couldn’t possibly observe Joy to see if she changed around him. He understood that much. However, if it were true, that the little girl really was different around others, then he thought he should be able to see the cracks in her façade. He thought there should be some sign that she was truly different.

But if there were, he didn’t see it. Because, in his presence, she was always… plucky, always snapping at his heels to do one thing or another. Case in point, the moment she pushed the door to his office back open, Joy asked, “Are you done fixing my bird yet?”

“No.” He didn’t offer any explanation as he looked down to the pigeon in the cardboard crate. The wing was definitely broken, the appendage sticking out from the bird’s body awkwardly. But it was still in tact, save for a shallow wound that was bleeding a little.

Well that had to be taken care of first. “Come on,” House told her, heading towards the door. He didn’t look at her when he added, “And bring the box with you.”

As Joy grabbed the crate, she demanded to know, “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer, preferred not to explain something she would understand within a minute or two. Which was, apparently, too long a wait, because she kept asking, “Dr. House, where are we going? Dr. House?”

“We need gauze,” he told her simply, hardly an explanation at all.

“And we’re going to find that…”

“Here,” he told her, holding the exam room door open for her.

The little girl starting to head through, she abruptly turned around. Her eyes narrowed on House, she gave him a stern look. “Won’t Mommy be mad if we use a real room for Cindy?”

He waved off her concern. “She’ll never know.”

Joy stomped a foot lightly. “She always knows.”

Sighing, House couldn’t help but think that Cuddy had been wrong to dismiss the birth mother’s drug use; clearly you couldn’t be this idiotic without some lasting effects caused by a chemical substance. Instinctively fishing for a Vicodin, he asked Joy, “Does she know you found the pigeon?”

“No.”

“Does she know that you’re here with me and not doing your homework?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I rest my case,” he said definitively.

“But -”

Losing his patience, he told her, “Either get inside or I’m going to toss the box off of my balcony.”

Her dark eyes went wide in shock and horror. The potential act playing in her mind, it was one that had her immediately chancing her mother’s wrath and stepping into the exam room.

As he started rooting for gauze and Iodine, she warned him, “Fine, but if she asks what we’re doing, I’m blaming it on you.”

He smirked. “Yeah, because it sounds just like me to find injured birds and save them.” At that moment, Joy frowned as though realizing she really would get the blame should they be discovered. Her mood quickly declining, House handed her the gauze and iodine solution. “Here. If we hurry up, Mommy will never know.”

“Okay,” she said, her mood brightening once more. Her gaze shifting from the box she’d set on the hospital bed to the gauze and iodine in her hands, she looked up at House. Confused, she asked, “What do we do?”

“It’s very difficult,” he told her sarcastically. “You rip open the packet of gauze. Pour some of the liquid onto it. And then, most complicated of all, clean the wounds on the thing’s wing.”

Joy shot him a dark look. “You don’t have to be mean about it, Dr. House.” Nevertheless, she started to do what he had told her.

“True,” he agreed. “But being nice is -”

“Not that hard,” she muttered in interruption. She started to reach down for the bird, but he stopped her.

“Here,” House said, grabbing a set of latex gloves. “Put these on.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t need them.”

Frowning, he asked, “Did that sound like a question? Cause it wasn’t.” Pretending to contemplate a way to make it sound better, he eventually said, “Oh, I know. We can make this work. Put the gloves on now,” he nearly barked. Perhaps realizing that he wasn’t kidding or offering her a choice, Joy sighed and took the gloves.

Her small, now properly latexed hands dabbing lightly at the pigeon’s injured wing, she was seemingly as careful as she could be at tending to the creature. Her focus solely on the bird, she didn’t notice the blonde curls falling in her face. Nor did he think she remembered his presence until she asked without looking up, “Am I doing it right?”

“Perfect,” he told her honestly. “Better than most of the morons Mommy hires actually.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his tones, a hint he’d been unable to keep out of his voice, despite his belief that what he was saying was probably true. Cuddy really did have a penchant for hiring the least worthy, for giving those who deserved no chance a chance.

… He was not unaware that he probably fell into the same category.

Joy said nothing in response immediately. Truthfully, she didn’t need to; the fraction of a pleased smile he could see through her blonde locks was proof enough that she’d appreciated his words.

Only when she’d completed her task did she speak again. “What do we have to do next?”

As he took the used gauze and iodine away from her, he explained, “Hold the bird.”

But, of course, just like Mommy would do, Joy didn’t follow the instructions as ordered. Tossing the used items into the trashcan, he caught her out of the corner of his eye struggling to take the latex gloves off. “Don’t,” House ordered.

Immediately she stopped what she was doing. “Sorry, Dr. House” was her half-assed apology.

“Just hold the damn thing, all right?”

With Joy sitting on the hospital bed and his own ass firmly planted on a stool, she held the bird while he wrapped gauze around the pigeon’s body. The white material keeping the broken wing flush against the bird’s side, it was as close to a cast a pigeon could possibly have.

Making sure the normal wing was free, it wasn’t difficult work, particularly. But with the pigeon squirming, a ten year old quickly getting bored, and two sets of hands on the small body, House was more than ready for the experience to be over. And when Joy’s foot accidentally grazed his shin a little more roughly than she’d probably intended, he said through gritted teeth, “Sit still.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to listen to what he was saying. But after a moment’s worth of silence, she seemed to realize something was different between him and her. Angrily, she exclaimed, “Hey! You’re not wearing gloves.”

“Guess not.” He was too intent on fixing the bird to pay attention to her.

“But if you don’t, why do I have to?” she asked, whining.

“Because,” he said dismissively, wrapping the gauze around the pigeon’s fat body one more time.

“That’s not an answer.”

Sighing, House looked up. “Because your mother would be upset if you caught something from this thing and died.”

Joy frowned, her eyes sad. “Mommy would be upset if something happened to you too,” she said in reassurance.

It was not surprising that his first instinct should be to deny it, not even to his own mind. As easy as it had become to let Cuddy in his bed, or more than usually to join her in her own, it was not quite so easy to accept that… they were probably, well, definitely, in some sort of relationship. And so, yes, he was ready to deny all feelings for her and vice versa in that moment.

But he didn’t need to.

The intruder suddenly speaking up, Cuddy said with a hint of bitterness in her voice, “Oh, I don’t know about that, Joy. Right now, I think I’d be pretty pleased.”

Ignoring her, House lowered his voice and muttered to Joy, “See?”

Closing the exam room door behind her with a slam, Cuddy quickly stalked over to them. “You shut up,” she ordered House. And, her attention turning to Joy, she asked harshly, “Do you know I’ve been looking for you for the last fifteen minutes?” Not giving her daughter the chance to respond, she instructed sharply, “You do not run around the hospital. You could be hurt. Kidnapped, Joy. You can’t run around the hospital on your own like this.”

Joy’s cheeks flushed red, the shame she felt so clearly visible in her eyes. She bowed her head as her mother looked her over expectantly. And, the little girl’s grip loosening on the bird, House had no choice but to take the pigeon from her.

The motion caught Cuddy’s attention, and then she was back to yelling at him. “You brought a pigeon into an examination room?”

“It would appear that way,” he retorted tartly.

She sneered at him. Her hands on her hips, she demanded to know, “What on earth possessed you to bring a disease-ridden scavenger into a clean hospital room?”

His answer was immediate. “Well, you let the kid in the hospital, so I thought…”

The jab had both Cuddys snapping, “Hey!”

With a sigh, House dropped the bird back into the cardboard box of files. “Look, she came to me. She wanted my help. I handled it.”

Cuddy turned her attention back to Joy. “Then you should have found me, sweetheart, if you needed help. You can’t bring animals into the hospital. It’s not sanitary or -”

“You were in a meeting,” Joy accused quietly, her voice sounding as though she were near tears.

“Yeah,” House said in agreement. “You were in a meeting. Which means this isn’t my fault, Cuddy. You don’t get to blame me for your parenting debacles,” he told her knowingly, blue eyes narrowed on her.

Though he didn’t mean it precisely to be an insult, there was no doubt in his mind that it was. Her eyes darkening, Cuddy explained tersely, “Yes, I was in a meeting. Know who it was with? The hospital’s lawyer. We were discussing you and your latest act of stupidity.” Gesturing toward the cardboard box, she continued, “Your new bird house? Full of files that billing needs as soon as possible. And if you ignore it, then either I’m going to have to do it myself or find time to schedule another emergency meeting with the budget committee to help you justify that significant loss of income.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she concluded, “So actually, yes, this is your fault. And the next time you think you should tell me how I’ve failed as a mother, consider all the ways you’ve made things worse.”

She quickly grabbed Joy and left, the blonde looking back at him half-angry, half-thankful as though she couldn’t decide who to be angry at.

For his part, House wouldn’t deny the truth in Cuddy’s words. Nor would he put too much stock in them. Oh she was hurt, pissed - of that he had no doubt. But their relationship, such as it was, was nothing if not fluid.

He wouldn’t apologize, nor would she demand an apology, as that would require her to admit she’d been hurt. They’d avoid one another, have another fight, avoid some more, and be back to the way things normally were within a week.

The only thing truly different this time, it seemed, was that now he had a bird he didn’t particularly want. Looking down at the wobbly pigeon trying to learn to stand with only one working wing, House couldn’t help but think:

Huh.

He had a pet.

XV. Sixteen Years Old

He was tossing a Vicodin into his mouth when the doorbell rang. The noise giving him pause, he absentmindedly caught the pill on his tongue and held it there. As though he believed the person on the other side of the door could hear him, House refused to swallow. The Vicodin lazily dissolving on his tongue, his mouth quickly turned acrid.

Everything quickly falling into silence, he was almost convinced that the person had turned and left. But then he heard it. The sound of his door being unlocked filled his ears. And sighing, he began to think of all the ways he could insult Wilson or Cuddy for breaking in when they clearly weren’t wanted.

But it turned out… it was neither of those people appearing in his doorway. Because, while there was a Cuddy cautiously moving into his house, it wasn’t the Cuddy. “Dr. House?” she asked cautiously, closing the door behind her.

Bitterly he swallowed the remainder of the pill in his mouth. Without looking at her, he told her, “Stealing your mother’s cash, breaking into people’s homes… You’re living quite the life of crime there, pipsqueak.”

“Don’t call me that,” Joy whined. “You know I hate being called that.”

Finally looking at her as he stood up, House conceded. “I can call you worse things if you prefer.” It had been over a week since his diagnosis of conversion disorder, and that wasn’t even close to enough time to begin to consider forgiving her. The thought making him realize that Joy probably shouldn’t be here, he asked suspiciously, “Shouldn’t you be grounded or suffering from some sort of punishment illegal in forty states?”

“Well… yes,” she admitted seriously. Her voice turning sarcastic, she continued, “But Mommy got distracted and accidentally forgot to lock the closet door behind her, so…”

He scowled, realizing just how evident it had been that Joy had grown up watching him fight with her mother. So he nitpicked - simply because he could. “You’re sixteen. Stop calling her ‘Mommy,’” he said with a sneer.

“You’re, like, a hundred, and you call her ‘Mommy,’ and she’s not even your mother,” Joy pointed out annoyed. Her irritation fleeting, however, she almost immediately sighed. Shaking her head, when she looked at him again, she had… these sad, pathetic, contrite dark eyes. And she said gently, “I came to apologize.”

House cocked his head and looked at her for a brief moment. Contemplating whether or not she meant what she was saying, he considered her carefully. But, now unsure as to whether she was telling the truth or setting him up, he shook his head. “Hmmm, yeah, I don’t think so.”

She frowned. “But I was wrong, and I -”

“Don’t care,” he dismissed, coming to stand in front of her.

At over six feet tall, House towered over the sixteen year old who didn’t even hit five feet. Hovering somewhere around four eleven, she was easily the smallest non-midget he’d ever met. And given that she probably only weighed ninety pounds sopping wet, he couldn’t help but realize that his own stature had to be intimidating.

But if she was scared, she didn’t let it show. Because instead of turning and leaving, Joy folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not leaving until you let me apologize.”

“But I don’t want you to apologize,” he insisted. “I do want you to go away.”

She frowned a little before petulantly telling him, “Well, you can’t make me.”

“Huh.” He looked down at her, trying to decide whether or not he could do it; but a split second later, throwing caution to the wind, House reached down for her. Slipping his hands underneath her armpits, he easily hoisted her into the air and over his shoulder.

“No!” she screamed in shock, trying to shrug herself out of his grip from upside down. “You can’t do this! Put me down!”

He didn’t. But then again, even with the door five feet away, it was probably too much of a distance with the extra weight for his leg. Of course, considering he’d already put in the effort to get this far, House shrugged off his own concern and took a step towards the door.

His own hiss of pain masked by another “No!” from her, he wasn’t surprised when she started to hit and kick. Her petite body squirming under his grip, she was dealing him blows anywhere she could reach, save for his right thigh. And for that, he was grateful.

On the other hand, House didn’t particularly appreciate it when one of her hands accidentally smacked his ass. “Hey!” he snapped gruffly. The joke coming to him easily, he told her, “Only your mother can do that.”

“Oh my God EW” was her repulsed reply. “I don’t want to hear about your kinky little sex games with my…” Joy couldn’t finish the thought, apparently, her chin rubbing against his back as she shook her head. “Just no.”

Her disgust providing a distraction for her, House slowly took a few more steps. But the labored movement was enough to grab her attention. “Dr. House! Stop,” she tried to order. When he didn’t, Joy whined, “Put me down!”

Her voice unimaginably shrill, House was getting a headache. The last few steps more than likely too much for his injured thigh, he gritted his teeth, realizing he had no choice; he had to put her down.

Not that it meant he had to do it gently.

Pulling her forward by the hips, he waited till her head had cleared his shoulder. And when that had happened, he unceremoniously dumped her onto the floor. Her ass hit the ground with a loud thud. Dumped at his feet, she looked around, confused at the sudden change.

The surprise on her face making him smirk, House wasn’t prepared for the tears. Or maybe tears wasn’t the right word, because he couldn’t see any moisture on her cheeks or even in her eyes. Really, there was only the whimper in her throat and a trembling in her lips. But she was on the verge of crying; he could see that much. And he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d hurt her.

Not that he’d thrown her to the ground, House defended to himself. He’d dropped her but not on her damn head and not from a five-story window either. But here she was, at his feet and practically crying. So, rolling his eyes, House gruffly asked, “You okay?”

She nodded her head before, bizarrely enough, shaking it. “It’s either one or the other, kid,” he told her.

Looking up at him, Joy said, “You didn’t hurt me… I just…” The tears came for real then in fat rivulets running along the curves of her cheeks. “I just don’t want you to be mad at me anymore.”

His eyes narrowed on her. Unforgiving he reminded her, “You lied.”

Staying on the floor, she nodded her head. “I know. And I’m really sorry, Dr. House.”

The apology didn’t interest him; none of it, so he turned away from her unsympathetically, stalking back towards the Vicodin lying on the coffee table. “Could have died,” he pointed out anyway.

She sniffled loudly. “I know I was an idiot, okay? I know. I get it.”

He moved toward the Maker’s Mark he kept on the bookshelf. “You get it’s a bad idea to lie to doctors,” he said slowly, unscrewing the cap. As he poured himself a drink, House told her, “Self-preservation shouldn’t be something you have to learn.”

Finally standing up, Joy told him, “It’s not something I had to learn, Dr. House. I had to lie because...” She paused and shook her head. “I had my reasons for doing it, which you obviously don’t care about, so I won’t tell you.” There was something in her voice meant to be enticing, meant to make him ask what her reasons were.

But House honestly didn’t care why. “That’s good,” he told her. “Cause I’ve already seen that episode of Dawson’s Creek, and this would just be a rerun of that, and -”

Walking slowly towards him, she admitted, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s because you don’t watch enough TV.”

“I’m sorry,” Joy repeated, sadness and regret laced in every tone.

At that moment, he was more than aware that she was trying to change the topic. But he wasn’t going to play along. “Not a problem. It’s easy to fix,” he deflected. “All you have to do is find the remote and hit the power button.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“I know,” House replied, rolling his eyes. “I made a joke in the hopes that you’d be smart enough to realize I don’t want to -”

“Why can’t you just forgive me?” Joy demanded to know, dark eyes looking up at him. “Why is it that you’re allowed to screw up and be an asshole to everyone around you, but I’m not allowed to make a mistake? Why can’t you forgive me?” she repeated.

Taking a step closer to her to throw her off her balance, he threw the question back at her. “Why can’t you accept that I don’t want to forgive you?”

She sighed as though the answer to his question was an obvious one. “Because you’ve known me since, like, forever. And because I’ve never been pissed at you for being a jackass to me most of that time.”

“Well -”

“When I was five, you told me I was a hermaphrodite and that I would grow into a boy,” she reminded him.

House couldn’t help but smile at that memory; now that had been a great week.

“It’s not funny,” Joy snapped. “You had me so convinced that I was going to grow a penis and that if I didn’t learn to pee standing up, it would shrivel up and I’d get sick and die…”

“Well, how was I to know how gullible you -”

Pointing a finger at him, she asked him, “Do you know how many pairs of pants I ruined trying to pee standing up?”

“Yeah…” he said slowly with a frown on his face. “Your mother stuffed all of them in my desk drawers on a Friday afternoon, so that when I came in on Monday morning, the whole place smelled like urine.” He shook his head, eager to forget that memory.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“But obviously you’re over it,” House told her sarcastically. “Bringing it up and all - definitely proof that you’ve forgiven me and forgotten all about it.”

“I didn’t refuse to talk to you again for the rest of my life, though, did I?” She was getting annoyed.

And so was he. “This is different, kid.”

“You scared the crap out of me, Dr. House. It’s not different,” she argued. He did not appreciate the insinuation that she had scared him at all, even though it was an accurate implication. “You might have thought I was going to die now, but you had me convinced that I was going to die then.”

“Poor thing” was his bitter comment.

“But I forgave you,” Joy replied, paying no attention to his remark. “Because I love you and…”

She said more after that, but he was no longer capable of listening. His mind unable to process anything after her admittance, his ears rang with the words, “I love you.”

In sixteen years, House had never supposed that she cared about him one way or the other. In all that time, she’d been little more than window dressing to the whole thing, in a way. Joy was Cuddy’s daughter, nothing more or less, and though he knew she was her own person, he had never really… thought of her in her own terms. She had, in his mind, always been part of Cuddy’s life, but he’d never thought that he might be a part of Joy’s life really.

He’d never considered that she might love him, never even considered that she might truly be a separate entity from her mother.

But here she was… a fully formed person absolutely different than Cuddy. Cuddy had her advantages - funnier, smarter, had a fantastic ass and set of breasts, obviously. She was nice, although not extravagantly so; she put up with a lot of his crap, but he doubted she would choose to be in his life if she really had a choice. Because she might forgive him for things, but she wasn’t making the same effort that Joy was.

Cuddy hadn’t come by to apologize, anyway.

And she might have loved him as well, but he was certain she’d never said it to him. Not that he could really blame her for it, because he was the same way.

But Joy was… different. She could love him and do so openly, do so in a way he hadn’t ever thought possible from anyone other than his mother.

His eyes softening slightly, House was sure he’d never be able to look at her the same way ever again.

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