Gift of Screws, Chapter 3

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Three
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. This fic also contains sex. If any of those things bother you, please hit your back button.  
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

Disclaimer: I don't own it.



"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." - Emily Dickinson

Quietly padding into the kitchen, House tried to silently assess the traitor who was standing with her back to him and a mug of green tea in her hands. In the time that he'd gotten out of the shower and put on a pair of fresh pajamas, she'd completely gotten ready for work.

Well, nearly ready - her suit coat and jacket were lying next to her on the counter still. But she was practically on her way out the door nonetheless, and he knew that, if he wanted to hash this out anytime soon, he would have to get it over with now.

Cuddy must have sensed this or his presence, because before he could even speak, she cut him off. "I don't have time to fight with you on this, House." Gently she set her cup in the sink; she would not lose control, she told herself. She would not kill him.

She didn't have time for that.

Then again, she didn't exactly have time to explain to him why he had to do this for her, but she was doing that anyway. "I have to go to work, and she has to be at her school this morning. If I could call someone else, I would. But there is nobody else to do this for me. So you have to."

Cuddy began to turn around so that she could finish getting ready; however, she'd barely started to turn before she realized, as she bumped into House, that he was right behind her. The fact that she hadn't even heard him approach her startled her, and she could only snap, "Get out of my way."

When he didn't, she rolled her eyes in anger. It would figure that he would do something like this - try and annoy her into submitting to his wishes.

But she wasn't ready or even willing to give him what he wanted. Especially if he was going to give her the silent treatment or bother her like a child would, she wasn't going to give into his demands.

So she went with the best card she had.

Turning around to face him, she said in a heartless tone, "Let me put it to you this way: having sex with you is great. But I'm not your prostitute. I am your girlfriend, which means that every now and then, I'm going to need you to do something that doesn't involve your penis."

"Thank you for clarifying that doing something with your kid doesn't require me to use my penis. That could have been really awkward for all of us otherwise."

He could immediately tell that the joke was unwanted; she was gripping the lip of the counter, her knuckles practically white from the force. And there was no denying - indeed, it was unmistakably clear that she was livid - that she probably wanted to kill him.

Which was why it came as a surprise that her voice was so calm when she spoke. "If there's one thing I would have hoped you would have figured out by now…" She shook her head. "Well, it would have been that you cannot win by making me choose between you and Rachel."

"Oh, relax," he told her, waving her off. "I'm not asking -"

"Every time you refuse to interact with her, every time you divorce yourself from this situation, that is exactly what you're doing," she argued loudly. She'd been trying to be as quiet as she could be. She'd been trying to maintain some sort of control. If only to avoid waking Rachel, Cuddy had wanted to be as quiet as she could be.

But he was just too infuriating for that to happen.

"I get it: you don't want to be a father. You didn't ask for this. I get it."

She truly did.

Having spent a good portion of her life not wanting kids, she could imagine how conflicting it would have been for her then to find a man with children. She could understand how imposing it would have been then and how imposing it must have been for House now to deal with a child he never wanted.

Especially when that child was Rachel.

That thought sounded so awful, even to the person thinking it, but Cuddy wasn't insulting her daughter as much as she was recognizing that Rachel wasn't the easiest child in the world to have. She was stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than House (and that said something). She… wasn't stupid, but there was no denying that she didn't have the same… desire to learn things the way that her mother and House did.

Cuddy secretly hoped that that fire for knowledge would be lit at some point - at some point soon. But for the time being, Rachel seemed perfectly content with knowing what little she knew about the world and asking only a few questions sporadically. And even if that were completely healthy and normal and fine, that didn't necessarily make it easy for someone like House to relate to her. Obviously he wasn't interested in any sort of relationship with her, but Cuddy could only wonder if things would have been different if Rachel were more curious about the kinds of things House was well versed in.

And even ignoring all of that, Cuddy couldn't deny that Rachel's physical problems made everything more difficult. Between the asthma and the allergies and the diabetes and the thyroid that never seemed to want to do its job right for more than a month or two at a time - Rachel was not the kind of child you could just… play with. She had a specific set of needs that you could never be forgetful of, and that added to the weight of the responsibility of looking after her. Because watching her always meant that something could go seriously wrong.

Naturally seeing as how both House and Cuddy were doctors, it wasn't necessarily complicated medicine. If it had been, House probably would have found it more enjoyable to be around Rachel; his love of puzzles would have made her, at least for a brief moment, interesting in his eyes. But instead, her illnesses were the sort of chronic conditions that - again in his eyes - were more pesky than anything else, and he had no interest in that.

He had no desire to carry around Epipens and vials of insulin and needles and medication. He had no desire to measure her ketones or her blood sugar or her hormone levels.

And that wasn't surprising, because really, that was essentially everything he hated about performing clinic duty. So why would he have felt any differently at home?

Well, of course, Cuddy had an answer for that: it would have helped her. It would have been the nice if not the right thing to for Cuddy.

And House liked to act like he didn't know how to be a nice guy, but she knew that he was more than an ass. She knew that he was more than capable of being kind, understanding, and caring.

He was not (much to most people's shock and amazement) incapable of being a good person.

So this behavior could only have been the result of House making a choice to be as selfish as possible.

Not oblivious to what he was doing, he was actively creating this situation.

And Cuddy knew that she was letting him.

She was allowing him to be in her home and behave this way.

Well, not anymore, she decided right then and there.

Her voice hardening, she told him, "I try to respect your right not to be her father as much as I can, because I know that it's not fair to you. But every now and then, I am going to need you to do things for me. And I shouldn't feel guilty for asking -"

"You didn't ask," he interrupted lightly.

Cuddy growled in frustration. "Lets put it this way: We all know that you're not getting everything you want from me. But perhaps you should realize that you're not alone in that."

House looked at her curiously, as though he didn't understand where any of this was coming from. And that was confirmed when he asked her, "And how much caffeine have you -"

"Don't try and make it seem like I'm overreacting. I'm not."

"No?"

"No. Now, get out of my way," she whined, as she tried to push him away.

He wasn't about to let that happen though. If she were to walk away now, they'd be pissed at one another for the rest of the day, guaranteed. And he wasn't going to deal with that, he told himself as he gripped Cuddy's hips to stop her from moving.

"House. Get off of me."

Naturally he ignored her and instead scrunched his face up in mock confusion. "Tell me something, Cuddy. Did I actually say that I wouldn't take Heathcliff to the thing?"

She looked taken aback by the question. "What -"

"Did I say, when I came into the kitchen, that I wouldn't take Rachel?"

That just seemed to make her more confused, which he supposed he could understand. He was implying, after all, that he would do what she'd asked him to do - without even much of a fight - and that was bound to confuse the hell out of her.

Blinking slowly, she shook her head. "You…"

"I came in here to remind you of our little bargain and to guarantee you that I would return the kid to you in - at most - three parts."

She didn't react to the comment, shock and confusion still taking hold of her. Which was okay, he supposed, because soon enough, doubt would rear its ugly head, and he wanted her to be long gone before that happened.

His voice mocking, he concluded, "But apparently, you've decided to listen to the voices inside of your head instead of -"

"I'm not crazy," she insisted.

"Me," he continued, talking right over her. "So that means that we're going to have to do this the tedious way." He squeezed her hips a little bit before honestly saying, "There's nothing you're telling me I haven't already figured out."

She nodded her head but said nothing.

To be honest, Cuddy wasn't sure what she should say or do. Part of her wasn't even sure she believed him, and that made a suitable reaction that much harder to find. Because if she did believe him, then she wanted to know why it had taken him so long to actually agree to help her. And if he was lying, if he was just saying all of this to make her less angry, then she wondered what he was thinking in again trying to put off the fight they would inevitably have over Rachel.

Either way, no matter what his reasoning was, Cuddy didn't get a chance to say or ask anything. House was simply too quick for her. "I don't plan on screwing this up," he told her quietly, firmly, leaving no doubt as to his authenticity. "In case you haven't noticed," he said, his hands sliding to cup her bottom. "I've become rather attached to your ass; I'd hate to part with it."

She rolled her eyes. "Just my ass?"

"The rest of you isn't so bad either, I guess."

"Oh, well, I love you too," she replied dryly, plucking his hands off of her body.

Feeling as though that were a good place to end the conversation, Cuddy started to walk away. But once again, House stopped her. "I do love you."

She smiled a little - just a little. She refused to let herself be completely content with the comment. Since she suspected he was just saying it to ensure that he would still get laid, she wasn't going to reward him with a full grin. "I know."

"Then get off my back, woman."

"Then get out of my way."

He started to do that, his body shifting a couple inches to the left. But then he didn't really want to end things there. He'd managed to make one point but not the one he'd been planning on addressing, and if he let her go now, he'd never get another chance.

So as she started to walk by, he grabbed hold of her arm. His grip loose on her, it was still enough to draw her attention away from him. "Hey," he said quietly. When she looked up at him, her gaze one that showed just how unimpressed she was, House told her, "I love you."

Immediately the look in her eyes changed. Whatever boredom or irritation she'd been feeling instantly evaporated, and though they'd been fighting only moments before, she couldn't help but reply, "I love you too," with as much earnestness as he had used.

He would never admit it, but he liked hearing her say that. He liked it even more when she looked at his mouth and straightened her spine; it was proof that she was going to kiss him. And when she did, it was soft and gentle, her lips little more than a whisper against his.

It was fine, the chaste, little kiss she was giving him. But it wasn't exactly what House had in mind. And when she went to pull away from him, he simply refused to let her go and brought her closer. As he tried to deepen the kiss, she turned her head to the side and mumbled, "We can't do this."

"Sure we can."

"No, we don't have - I don't have time."

As he allowed one of his hands to venture underneath her skirt, he countered, "You have a couple minutes."

She shook her head. "I have maybe two minutes, and -"

"And if you're acting this peevish, I'm pretty sure I'm only going to need two minutes to get you off," he pointed out, knowing how irritable she got when she was turned on.

Of course, some would have probably argued that right now she was just irritable. But he knew better, knew her better than most people. The sex in the shower, the knowledge that he was agreeing to take Rachel, and the subsequent feeling of victory that she must have had - it was all Cuddy should have needed.

His fingers wedging themselves between her warm thighs, when he ran his thumb over her damp panties, he knew he was right.

With a smirk, he told her confidently, "If you're this wet, I can have you out the door in thirty seconds."

"Fine," she capitulated immediately, just reinforcing what he already knew; she couldn't have sounded more irritated and put upon if she tried, but he wasn't doing anything all that annoying, which left him to make one very obvious conclusion: she wanted him.

Her hands moving to his shoulders the second he managed to pull her panties away from her body, she gasped loudly. He hadn't even really touched her; the tight confines of her skirt made it rather difficult for him to maneuver, and the way she was tightening her thighs around him didn't make it any easier. But it didn't matter. The little he was doing was more than enough to turn her on even further.

One of his fingers slowly parted her moist lips. The rest of his hand lightly cupped her mound, and for a moment, he stilled so he could just feel her warm skin and the way her labia seemed to caress his probing middle finger.

"Fuck me," Cuddy told him in a voice that was raspier than usual. She tried to rock her hips against his hand. But no amount of movement put enough pressure on her clit, which was precisely what he wanted. Frustrated she said, "I don't have all day."

He smirked at her impatience and rewarded her by instantly shoving three fingers into her.

"Oh God," she moaned as he set a steady pace, not even giving her a second to adjust to suddenly being filled. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the thin t-shirt he was wearing doing little to guard himself. It was okay though; she kept her nails short for work, despite not having been a real doctor in years, and that he could feel the little half-moons at all digging into his flesh was a testament to just how turned on she was.

As he pumped her pussy in hard if not long strokes, House glanced at the clock by the stove. At that moment, the second hand was just passing the twelve. He'd give her a minute, he decided, knowing that any more time would be a bad idea (for him anyway).

Five seconds passing, he sped up his pace, nearly pulling his fingers out before shoving them back into her as far as he could go. Mercilessly fucking her, he wasn't being particularly kind. But then she wasn't exactly looking for kind, he realized. Because there was no denying that she was enjoying it.

Her juices were coating his fingers easily, steadily, until he was damp as her panties, which were clinging at the back of his hand. Another ten seconds passing, and he could hear the moist little noises her body was making and the sound of his palm slapping against her pussy.

She was tight - so tight - as her internal muscles tried to draw him in her further. Her thighs quivered; her knees shook, as pleasure coursed through her body and she inched closer to where he wanted her.

Another fifteen seconds, and she was gasping for air and grunting as quietly as she could. She didn't want to wake up Rachel, didn't want to let House see her in such reckless abandon - as though Cuddy had ever been good at hiding that.

It only took another twenty seconds before she gave up on that all together and cried out loudly.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead to encourage her, wanting her to get even more worked up.

Not that he really needed to encourage her, of course. Four seconds later, when he allowed his thumb to lightly brush along her clit, she did it naturally on her own. Her fingers now practically bruising his shoulders, he knew she was close to coming.

And that was precisely where he wanted her when the second hand hit twelve again - not coming but close to having an orgasm. Because he wanted it to be like torture when he suddenly pulled his fingers out of her and said, "You know what? You're right; you don't have time for this."

Stepping away from her, he headed toward the sink to wipe his hands off on a dishtowel. For a brief second, he expected her to follow him, to say something, to do something. But when there wasn't even so much as a peep from her, House ventured a glance at her.

She was exactly where he'd left her, her skirt disheveled and mouth open as she panted. Her brow knitted in confusion, she was too busy trying to understand what the hell had just happened to say or do anything right away.

But when she did work it out….

She looked like she wanted to kill him.

"You did this on purpose," she snarled as he approached her once more. As he silently fixed her skirt for her, Cuddy said, "You wanted me to want you, so you could do this."

He reached for her suit jacket and held it out for her. But she made no move to accept it. "That does sound like something I would do, doesn't it?"

She ripped the coat from his hands. "Why?" She was seething with anger, so much so that she couldn't even put the jacket on, her hands shaking too much. "Why would you use sex -"

"It does seem a little cruel, huh? To use sex to make a point." He nodded his head mockingly before taking the coat away from her and holding it up and open for her to step into. "That's just wrong, right - to manipulate with sex?"

She rolled her eyes before turning, so she could put her arms through her jacket. Scoffing the whole time, she argued, "All right, fine - I… was a little cruel. But I let you come at least. You -"

"Didn't?" he offered. "Yeah. I thought it might be a good idea to let you know: you can manipulate me with orgasms all you want. But just because you have no problem jerking me off to get what you want doesn't mean I'll be quite as giving when I want to prove my point."

Cuddy took a step away from him, and her back turned to him, House decided to give her a smack on the ass to accentuate the point. The slap slightly muffled by the fabric of her skirt, when she turned around to face him afterwards, she had a wolfish smile on her face. "Did I hurt your feelings by using you and proving how easy you are?"

This time he was the one to roll his eyes. "I'm crying on the inside."

"Good," she replied happily. "Because if you think this little game of yours -"

"Mine?" he scoffed. "I wasn't the one who started it."

"That's a matter of opinion." She waved her hand to the side, brushing off his point. "But just so we're both clear, there will be payback."

He smirked. "I hope so. It'll be fun watching you try and get the better of me."

"Already did it once. What's one more time?"

"We'll see." She reached for her winter coat, which was still lying on the counter. "You headed in?"

She nodded her head, the competitive conversation suddenly feeling sober. "Yeah. Hopefully, this won't take too long, but I don't know." Guiltily she glanced towards the hallway, which led to Rachel's bedroom. "She's going to hate me if I don't make it in time."

He scoffed. "She's going to be too traumatized by me getting her ready this morning to care."

"You'll be fine," Cuddy told him gently.

Of that she had no doubt. He might have been uncomfortable around Rachel, but he was certainly more than capable of caring for her. He knew how to take care of the medical aspects of Rachel's morning, and everything else outside of that, she was old enough to tell him what to do. And Cuddy had no doubt that her daughter would set House straight should he do something wrong.

"Just make sure she gets her medicine and something healthy to eat, and she'll tell you what she needs to wear for the recital."

"Great," House said dryly.

"You will be."

"We'll see if you're that convinced after today."

She moved closer to him, so she could put a hand on his arm. "You'll be fine. You wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were capable."

House was unconvinced. "That would mean more if you hadn't also thought Lucas -"

"Stop it," she ordered firmly. "You don't need to be insulting just because you're feeling insecure."

"I'm not feeling insecure."

"Then you don't need to bring him up."

He looked at her curiously. "Why? You been thinking about -"

"You don't need to bring him up, because it's been years, and he doesn't matter," she said firmly. "I chose you." Kissing him on the cheek, she added, "So don't forget that."

House nodded his head once but gave no indication as to whether or not he believed her. Instead he just said, "You're going to be late for work."

"Okay." If he wanted to drop the subject, she was selfishly more than willing to comply. "I'll meet you at the school. Hopefully."

"You'll be there," he said knowingly.

"Well, I hope so. But considering I have to go in at all, I don't exactly have faith that -"

"You'll be fine. As sexually frustrated as you are right now, you'll be out of there in minutes." But then he considered what he was saying a little more and changed his mind. "Unless you make your assistant cry and quit her job and then… well, I guess not."

He hadn't planned on reminding her of the incident that had happened only moments earlier. Though he didn't, not even for a second, believe that she'd managed to forget about the whole thing, House hadn't wanted to talk about it anymore if they could avoid it.

Talking about it would just make her pissier.

Which it did.

Almost as though she were just now remembering how close she'd come to coming and how mean he'd been to deny her, she narrowed her eyes on him. "You better make that up to me later."

"After watching Rachel, I think -"

"You will be fine," she insisted. "And if you really do end up being that horrible with her, you'll owe me more than ever. Okay?" She smiled widely, something he had no desire to do, and then she left.

All alone House could only feel as though he were destined to have the worst morning he'd ever had. Okay, he immediately conceded that that might have been an exaggeration; he'd been through much worse. But considering he was awake before the sun had even risen, it was hard to deny that this morning wasn't going to be a very good one.

Then again, he supposed he could go back to sleep before the midget woke up. Then again, he couldn't exactly go back to his bed, because said kid was currently occupying it.

Well…

House probably could have gone back into the bedroom and gone back to sleep. Rachel had slept in bed with him enough times that that in and of itself wasn't weird. But since all of those times had involved Cuddy in between them, it did seem… wrong to lie in bed with a child who wasn't your own kid. Cuddy wouldn't probably see it that way, and Rachel wouldn't feel that way, but House just wasn't sure he wanted to do that. In the very least, the fear that Chris Hansen would bust his door down at any moment would distract him from getting what little sleep he could, and so House avoided the bedroom altogether.

Ending up on the couch in the living room, he sighed into one of the little throw pillows Cuddy had neatly placed on the sofa. This wasn't comfortable either; the couch was too small for his lanky body - as was the afghan that was usually folded up on the arm of the sofa. His legs were scrunched awkwardly together so that he could fit on the couch, and his bare feet were peeking out of the blanket that was too thin to keep him warm anyway.

All in all, he thought miserably, sleeping on the couch sucked. But luckily for him (and perhaps unluckily for his relationship), he'd had enough experience with Cuddy giving him the boot that he was used to being smushed and scrunched up on this sofa. And as a result, it didn't take him long to fall asleep.

Whether he slept for minutes or hours, House had no idea, and when he woke up, he had no concern for anything other than the pain in his leg. He didn't register the sun beaming in through the windows; he didn't notice that he'd drooled all over the throw pillow Cuddy had recently bought. And he sure as hell didn't notice the little girl in front of him, asking him, "Where's Mommy?"

All House felt was the excruciating pain in his thigh. His body covered in sweat, it tried to relieve itself of the ache that seemed ten thousand times worse than normal. And when it seemed to get worse, his gaze instinctively went south, as though he would be able to see the problem.

But the ironic thing was…

He could.

It was Rachel, her chubby little hands gripping onto his thigh as hard as she could. Later, when he'd had time to consider the matter, he would think that she hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd simply been trying to tug him awake, to get his attention. But at the moment, while it was actually happening…

He had enough self-control not to slap her hands away but not enough to stop himself from screaming, "Get the hell away from me!"

She didn't need to be told twice.

Before he could even register the look of terror on her face, Rachel turned around and took off running. Her chunky legs taking her as fast as she could go, she ran away from him, sobbing as she went.

His thigh finally free, he sat up and immediately began to tend to his leg. Cuddy would probably be pissed that he'd yelled at the kid, he thought in the back of his mind. But right now he was in enough pain that the desire for Vicodin was almost too tempting to ignore, and that had to take precedence.

He felt bad about it… maybe not a lot but a little bit. And he tried to call Rachel back as he massaged the damaged tissue with his sweaty palms. But she didn't come back, and he didn't have the energy to chase after her. Which he was, quite frankly, not all that upset about, because if she had returned, he wasn't sure he would have had the ability to calm her down.

Right now, he wasn't even sure he had the ability to calm himself down. It hurt too much; he hurt too much, and with each second passing, the pain just seemed to get worse. Rachel wasn't even around him now, but the force with which she had grabbed him was something he was now truly beginning to feel.

Before it hurt like hell, but now, it felt as though what muscle was left in his thigh was tying itself into thorn-filled knots. It felt as though thousands of needles dipped in Sriracha were slicing through his leg, and though rubbing his thigh usually made the tension ease, this time, it simply made the burn that much worse and the desire for Vicodin that much greater.

His fingers shook at that knowledge, at the mere thought of Vicodin.

If he had just one, the pain would go away.

But he couldn't take just one. It wouldn't be just one. Because if he took a pill, if he remembered how good it was to be without the amount of pain he'd become accustomed to, he would want another pill. And another one and another one and so on until he was just as crazy as he had been years ago.

The very fact that he was even thinking about Vicodin after being institutionalized was proof that he couldn't take any.

No one in their right mind would want to go back to the substance that had contributed to their mental illness. No one in their right mind would think that the high was worth risking Cuddy, his job, his sanity.

But sitting on the couch all alone, House couldn't stop himself from thinking about it.

He shouldn't have; just considering taking Vicodin was making the pain seem that much worse, was making his skin itch with need. As though the addict part of himself needed to give him more of a reason to reach for the bottle, House could feel his body physically craving his drug of choice.

And so he was relieved (even as part of him was irritated) to hear the front door being yanked open.

It only took a fraction of a second for him to realize that, as nobody had knocked or rung the doorbell, Rachel was leaving. And the moment he understood what was going on, he was on his feet as though the pain in his leg didn't matter.

Obviously there was no denying that it hurt.

A lot.

But instinctively House knew that if something happened to Rachel, the ache in his leg would be nothing compared to Cuddy murdering him with her bare hands.

Moving as quickly as his thigh would allow, he headed toward the front door. In the back of his mind, he told himself that Rachel running away wasn't really that troubling; as slow as he was, she was even slower, and she'd be easy to catch.

But he wasn't expecting to find her face down in the snow right next to the steps where the flowerbed would have been if it weren't winter. For a very brief second, he wondered if she'd passed out; that was just what he needed - her to have some sort of medical emergency to make this morning even more hellish than it was already turning out to be. But then her crying met his ears, and he knew that she was at least conscious.

"What are you doing, kid?" he asked in a soft if exasperated tone.

As he tried to go down the steps, he understood what must have happened. A thick patch of ice covering all of the steps, she'd obviously gone down them too fast, lost her balance, and fallen. Frankly, House probably would have too if he weren't maneuvering his body down toward her as slowly as possible.

When he'd finally cleared the two steps, he reached down and plucked her out of the snow as unceremoniously as possible. His gaze trained on where he'd found her, he would have been amused to see the Rachel-sized outline embedded in the otherwise pristine snow. Would have been being the key phrase there, because as things were, he couldn't find any amusement in the situation at all - not when Rachel started to try and kick him.

Reflexively, he held her at arm's length, her short legs missing him thankfully. And from there, he could see how upset she really was; her face was beet red, though whether that was the result of being in a couple feet of snow or from crying he didn't know. Her nose was running; tears were in her eyes, and her cold hands were trying to shove his own larger ones, which were gripping her hips, away.

From his point of view, she looked and sounded like a knowing pig being led to the slaughter. And her feet kicking at him some more, House wasn't sure what to do with her or how to calm her down.

He'd never had to do much of anything in regards to her; that was always (thankfully) Cuddy's job or (when she was alive) Marina's. The few times he had had to watch over Rachel, she'd been…

Well, things hadn't been like this.

And he didn't really know what to do, because what she needed wasn't something he could easily define, much less give to her.

But he knew that he needed to do something fast. She wasn't exactly being quiet in House's grasp, and sooner or later, one of the neighbors would hear it and look out the window and call the cops (or just call the cops right off the bat). Which was precisely what he didn't need to happen, so he guessed the best thing to do right now was to get her inside and hope that no one had seen them.

Getting her inside, though… that wasn't exactly going to be an easy task. Between her squirming and kicking, the ice on the steps, and his bum leg, herding cats seemed like a much easier task.

"What the hell!" he snapped as she managed to get one of her kicks to connect with his body. Luckily it was his good thigh, and his reaction was more out of surprise than pain. However, he didn't want to give her any other opportunities to hurt him.

Reluctantly he pulled her flush against his body. His arm wrapped around her legs, she couldn't kick him anymore… which naturally didn't stop her from trying to hit him. But he could deal with that, he thought, as he turned around to head back up the steps and into the house.

And at least she wasn't biting him, he told himself as he slowly trudged back into the house.

The second he kicked the door shut behind them, she demanded, "Put me down!"

He was tempted to drop her then and there, but he knew he couldn't. Cuddy would frown upon that. Then again, she would have frowned upon the way he snarled, "Don't run away," as well, but he did that anyway.

Not that Rachel was listening. She was too busy shoving her hands in his face to try and pry herself out of his grip. "Let me go!"

"I'll let you go if you stay inside. I'm not going to chase you around the neighborhood."

She started to say some more, but all that came out of her mouth was an "I" before she shut up.

At first House thought about giving thanks to the God he didn't believe existed. If she was finally being quiet, then he figured he should at least give lip service to the idea of a divine being.

But then House felt a change in Rachel's body against his chest, and that idea was once again summarily dismissed.

She was no longer fighting him, her hands lightly resting on his shoulders. And that was odd in and of itself, but then he felt the way her chest muscles were beginning to tighten.

Curious, he pulled her away from his body. As he did so, he could hear her breathing become more erratic. His eyes roving over her, it was impossible to miss the way she was gasping for air.

What little oxygen she was getting rasping loudly in the back of her throat, she suddenly looked very pale and sweaty and scared.

"Where's your inhaler?" he demanded to know, as he tried to remember where he'd last seen the damn thing.

Rachel opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. She clearly knew where her rescue inhaler was but couldn't quite get the word out.

Her wheezing filling his ears, it was hard for him to concentrate. The fact that this was his girlfriend's kid suffering didn't help. But he knew that he'd seen the damn inhaler recently, and if he could just think…

The kitchen.

With Rachel on his hip, he stalked towards the kitchen. The inhaler was there. He was absolutely sure of it.

By the time, he sat Rachel down on the kitchen counter, her fingertips were beginning to turn blue, and his arms were aching from her considerable weight. "Stay there," he told her, knowing that the instruction was rather needless. Even if she were to hop down in this state, she wouldn't get very far.

Turning away from her, House began to hurriedly rummage through the cabinets by the stove. Cuddy usually kept everything in one of those cupboards, he thought; yes, she'd once showed him where all of Rachel's meds were kept before now, but that had been a long time ago. And more importantly, when she'd done that, he'd only half-heartedly paid attention. He'd assumed that, if he just knew how much medication Rachel would need, if he listened to that and that alone, he would be okay.

Now though… House was secretly wishing he'd paid better attention. Yanking open the first drawer he came to, he gave a sigh of relief when he saw all of the drugs Rachel regularly took stuffed in there.

Not that he was really worried, he told himself, as he plucked the albuterol inhaler from among all the other contents. It just would have been less stressful for both of them.

Holding the inhaler for her, he helped her take her medication; he didn't trust her to do it all on her own. And that might have been a good thing, he decided as she began to breathe more easily once again.

Her body was shivering from the cold, her pajamas soaking wet from her little excursion in the snow.

And that was his breaking point. A bitter laugh escaping him, he couldn't help but think about everything that had gone wrong. She'd hurt his leg; he'd nearly relapsed and scared her into running away. She'd fallen in the snow, had an asthma attack, and now looked like and sounded like a very unhappy, wheezy, wet pug.

All in all, it was the exact opposite of what Cuddy had said it would be like.

House had known that it would be this awful, but part of him had secretly hoped that Cuddy was right, that things with Rachel would be much easier than he expected. But if this morning - if the five minutes they'd spent in the company of one another - had proven anything, it was that he was not exaggerating.

If anything, he'd underestimated just how quickly it could turn awful.

Leaning against the kitchen counter with Rachel next to him, House wondered how he was going to tell Cuddy that she was wrong.

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