Gift of Screws, Chapter 5

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Five
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, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

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

Cuddy stood in the kitchen absolutely frozen by the confession House was trying to make to her. In all of her life, she had never seen him look as guilty and ashamed as he did right now. Granted, it was only on rare occasions that he felt either of those emotions (or at least let them show). But right now, that fact hardly mattered. The weirdness of it all couldn't compare to what this display of emotion meant. And when she heard the words, "hurt" and "Rachel," in the same sentence…

Fury didn't even begin to cover the surge of anger she felt.

And though there was no denying that she'd come into this inevitable argument already pretty pissed off, she couldn't say that she was overreacting. He wasn't offering any context, but Cuddy was certain that there wasn't any context that could justify or explain what he'd apparently done to her child.

That did not mean, however, that she didn't want some sort of explanation. She did. She needed one, if only to satisfy her curiosity.

But he didn't seem to care about that. His silence not unlike a slap in the face, he just stood there in front of her. His mournful gaze was on her; he was looking at her as though he already believed the worst possible outcome was an inevitable one.

And that just made her even more demanding (God forbid he be the only one to know how badly he'd screwed up). "Tell me what you did." He shifted uncharacteristically on his feet, and she responded by barking, "House."

He sighed, knowing that there was no way around this. She had every right to know what was going on, and thanks to his loose lips, he didn't have the option of pretending like nothing had ever happened.

Swallowing hard, he started to explain. His voice was low, each thought a staccato blurb filled with as much regret as he could infuse in his tone. "After you left… I was tired. I fell asleep on the couch."

"What does this have to do with -"

"Rachel woke me up," he explained. "She had her hands on my leg, and -"

"And what?" Cuddy snapped furiously. "You thought you'd -"

"I told her to get away from me," he said quickly, knowing where Cuddy's overworked mind was headed. "I didn't hit her. I just yelled, because I was in pain."

House didn't continue speaking right away. He needed to know that she was following him, that she knew he had not hit Rachel. In the end, she might not make that distinction, but for now, he wanted her to.

Eventually, after what felt like years, she nodded her head slowly.

"She tried to run away," he confessed. "Not that she got very far. She fell in the snow out front, and I brought her back inside."

Cuddy looked at him, not very impressed by any of it. But she didn't say anything either, so he took that as encouragement to continue. "I yelled at her for running outside. She started to have an asthma attack, and I know I shouldn't have been shouting -"

"Are you really trying to blame yourself for an asthma attack?" Cuddy asked, her arms folded across her chest and eyes filled with confusion.

Surely, that wasn't what he was talking about, she thought. Surely, he had been in this house long enough to know that cold air was one of the things that often triggered Rachel's asthma.

But then Cuddy also knew that, if she'd been in House's position, if she'd had the morning he'd just described, she too would have felt just as guilty. And maybe, though part of her knew that it was wishful thinking, that was what he'd been talking about all along. Maybe he hadn't actually hurt Rachel, and he just thought he had?

Even to her own ears, Cuddy realized that it didn't sound very convincing. But she was let down nevertheless when House scowled. "No."

And then sensing that he needed to elaborate some more, he continued, "So I gave her her inhaler. She was fine - just wet and scared - and I told her to go change."

At that point, House couldn't help but look away from Cuddy's imploring gaze. She didn't know it, but he was coming to the point in the story where his behavior became inexcusable. And when he knew that the worst was about to come, it was hard to want to continue with his tale.

But he'd already lost the opportunity to pretend like nothing had happened. And perhaps worse still, he'd denied that he was simply taking responsibility for the asthma attack, which would have been a reasonable explanation for his confession.

Of course, that was merely the desperate part of him talking. Rationally he knew that Cuddy would never go for that for very long; at some point, she would go over what he'd stupidly told her and realize that something wasn't quite right. And even if she'd suddenly turned into a moron, that didn't eliminate the likelihood that Rachel would eventually say something.

At the moment, House was half-convinced that the kid would stay quiet; things had ended on a slightly less than wretched note, and that might have been enough to buy her silence.

Yet there was also the chance that it hadn't, that Rachel would say something at some point. Even if unknowingly or without malice, her mouth could easily utter to Cuddy a line or two about what had happened. And then where would House be?

He didn't even need to consider the question before knowing the answer; he would be much more screwed in that hypothetical than he would be for just confessing what had happened.

So he knew what he had to do.

But that didn't make it any easier.

His voice more tentative than ever, he told Cuddy, "I was going to let her do it on her own, but she got stuck… started banging into everything." Nervously he rubbed his thumb along his forehead. "I went to help her, figured she'd trip over her hairbrush and break her neck. She wasn't paying attention to me when I offered to help her, so…" He shrugged. "I… went over to her, but she tried to pull away. So I held her by the arm, and I wasn't trying to hurt her. I was trying to help her, but I guess my grip was too tight. And she said I was hurting her."

There.

He'd finally - finally - spoken the thing both he and Cuddy had been terrified to hear. The truth now out in the open, there was nothing else House could do but wait for her to end their relationship.

And that was what was going to happen.

He was too much of a realist to expect Cuddy to forgive him for what he'd done, and he thought too much of her to delude himself into thinking that she could live with a man who had hurt her kid.

That just wasn't who she was.

Nor did he really want her to be. Even though part of him selfishly did, he knew that he would think less of her if she could brush all of this aside just to be with him.

Not that that stopped him from telling her earnestly, "I'm sorry. I told her I was sorry. It was an accident, and -"

"Shut up."

Her words hurled at him faster and harsher than she thought possible, she could feel the rage build within her. And whether that was because he'd grabbed Rachel or because he was now trying to apologize or because Rachel herself had said nothing of this, Cuddy didn't know. Right now there was so much going on that it could have been any or all of those things, and that wasn't even taking into account all of the drama she'd just had the displeasure of wading through at work.

And truthfully, it didn't matter what was fueling her desire to grind House's hands in the garbage disposal. The fact that she wanted to do it at all was proof enough that something was not right with this situation…

With her.

Yes, the problem was her, she intuitively knew. As awful as each and every aspect of this series of events was, Cuddy could tell that the well of emotion inside of her was disproportionately large.

She wasn't overreacting though.

That wasn't what she was trying to say.

An overreaction would mean that she was responding in a way that was unnecessary or inappropriate. And when House had hurt her child, when her child couldn't even tell Cuddy what had happened, anger - in any amount - seemed absolutely warranted.

But in her case… she was furious, and yet that wrath didn't really seem to be her. It was, but it wasn't how she rationally would have reacted to this situation; it was a part of her, but it didn't feel right coming from her.

Turning away from House, she knew that that sounded insane. As she rested her hands on the cool linoleum of the counter, she knew that coherence was hardly her strong suit at the moment.

And because of that, no matter how much House probably wanted a reaction, she didn't want to give him one - not right now, not when sense seemed to be the last thing she was capable of.

Not when handling this correctly was of the utmost importance.

Spinning around to face House once more, she opened her mouth to speak, to ask him for space. But she didn't get a chance to say anything.

Rachel bounding into the room prevented that.

"I brushed my teeth!" Hugging one of her mother's legs, she added proudly, "And my hair."

"That's great," House said sarcastically. "But right now, Mommy's in the process of disemboweling me, so… go do something."

The sound of his voice immediately catching her attention, Rachel looked at him. Blinking a few times in confusion, she tried to repeat the word she clearly didn't understand. "Dis, dis, dis... disem, disem… what?"

"It doesn't matter," Cuddy interrupted in a soothing tone she didn't truly feel. "I think your breakfast is ready," she said, glancing at House for verification. When he didn't say anything either way, she simply continued, "So why don't you go sit down, and I'll bring it you?"

"Cuddy." House didn't like where this was headed. The possibility of her using Rachel to avoid this conversation was very high and simultaneously the last thing he wanted.

But neither Rachel nor Cuddy paid much attention to the warning in his tone. The little girl scampering toward her chair, Cuddy began to get breakfast ready by taking out a bowl and spoon.

"Cuddy," he repeated in a low voice.

She shook her head and nudged him out of the way, so she could get to the stove.

"Don't do this," he told her in a tone that sounded more pleading than he'd intended. "Don't -"

"What am I doing, House? Hmm?" She smacked the spoon he'd been using to stir the oatmeal with against the side of the pot. "I'm not doing anything."

"Oh, so we're not pretending like I didn't just -"

"I'm not pretending nothing happened," she said through gritted teeth as she poured the hot cereal into a bowl for Rachel. "I just need a moment."

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes.

He knew how this worked. She would ask for a moment, but what she was really asking for was permission to take a couple of minutes to replay everything that had happened in her head and get even more angry about it.

And who in their right mind would want that to happen?

"House," she barked loudly. Her eyes instantly darted over to Rachel as though Cuddy was just remembering that the little girl was around. As a result, it came as no surprise when Cuddy continued to talk in a much lower voice, "I can't do this with you right now. I know that it would be nice for you to get this over with, but I can't."

In a similarly hushed tone, he asked her, "So you expect me to wait for you to get even madder about -"

"Let me put it to you this way: right now, the way I want to handle this involves your testicles and a cheese grater," she hissed. "So I would think that it's in your best interest to back off."

House didn't want to back down.

That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Much like a band-aid that needed to be removed, this argument was one he wanted to be done with as quickly as possible. Because if the end result was that she was going to break up with him, he wanted to hear that news now.

Well, he didn't want to hear it at all.

But at least then he would be certain about his future; at least then he wouldn't have to worry about having any of that pesky hope, he thought sarcastically.

Yet there was something in Cuddy's tone that stopped him from pointing that out to her. As much he would have liked to, he couldn't deny that feral aura about her or the viciousness with which she was speaking right now. And though he was sure she wouldn't physically hurt him, he wasn't interested in being a betting man in this scenario.

So lamely, he told her, "Fine," before walking away from her.

As he limped away from her, sadness making his shoulders sag, Cuddy couldn't help but feel relieved. She also felt a little guilty, but for the most part, she was relieved to know that he was giving her time.

He was probably terrified to allow her that - everything about him had indicated as much - but she knew that it would be the best thing for all of them.

And trying to give her mind the space she knew it needed, Cuddy shook her head. As though she were willing away all of the crap from work and information House had just told her, she blinked a few times before heading toward the kitchen table.

With a delicate clink, she put the bowl of oatmeal on the placemat in front of Rachel. "Here you go." As Cuddy handed her daughter a spoon, she prompted her, "What do you say?"

"Thank you."

Cuddy smiled. "You're welcome."

Happily Rachel began to eat the hot cereal House had made for her. Seemingly oblivious to the fight her mother and House were having, she could, Cuddy thought, provide an escape from all of the drama that had entered their lives.

And yet…

As she pulled a chair up next to Rachel's, Cuddy began to wonder how true that was. Sure, her daughter was struggling to get through kindergarten, but she wasn't an idiot. She wasn't oblivious, especially when it came to things she was living through. If anything, she knew, more than Cuddy did, what had happened this morning.

She knew what House had done.

But she'd said nothing.

And now, instead of being a way for Cuddy to calm down, Rachel was a part of the problem that Cuddy needed fix. Because now, Cuddy needed to know why.

Deciding to take a soft approach, she asked sweetly, "Do you like it?"

Rachel nodded her head enthusiastically. With her mouth full, she replied, "It's yummy."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Rachel swallowed hard. "Why not?"

"It's not polite," Cuddy explained, reaching forward to push a few dark strands of hair out of her daughter's face.

"Why not?"

"Because people don't want to see your food."

"But they do see it. It's in my bowl," Rachel said in a happy voice, clearly feeling as though she'd outsmarted her mother.

"This is different, so don't do it."

"But -"

"Don't argue with me, Rachel," Cuddy warned.

Rachel really wanted to. She really, really, really did want to show Mommy just how wrong she was. But the thing about fighting with Mommy was that you never, ever won, and by the time you knew you'd lost, you were already in a lot of trouble. So there wasn't any point in arguing.

But then Mommy said, "Lets talk about this morning instead," and Rachel didn't know what to say to that.

Hadn't they already talked about that?

"Did something happen between you and House?" Cuddy asked, sensing that she needed to be more direct.

Rachel nodded her head. "I gotted cookies," she said with a grin.

"I saw." It went without saying that her daughter was much happier about that fact than she was. "But I want to know more about what happened before I came home."

Her spoon hanging in midair, Rachel obviously tried to figure out what her mother was saying. "Uh… um… I don't know." And it was just as clear that Rachel assumed that, with that answer, she'd erased whatever curiosity was in her mother's mind. Because as soon as those words had left her mouth, she proposed, "I feed you? You be the baby."

Cuddy sighed, running a hand over her face. It went without saying that she wasn't in the mood to play games. But if she said no, Rachel would want to know why, and Cuddy knew she wouldn't know what to say. So she relented. "Just a couple bites, and then I'm the mommy again."

"Okay," Rachel said with a giggle as she scooped a giant heap of oatmeal onto her spoon. "Open up."

Cuddy did, but that didn't prevent the spoon from banging into her teeth as Rachel fed her. It was an accident, of course, but that hardly made Cuddy feel any better. And when Rachel did it again with the second bite of food, Cuddy was quick to announce, "Okay, Baby's fed. You eat the rest."

"You don't like it?" Rachel asked in a mournful tone, as though the oatmeal were her own personal creation and not House's.

Smiling, Cuddy shook her head. "I loved it, which is why I'm letting you have it, okay?"

It sounded convincing enough, and Rachel, obviously swayed, said, "Okay," and began eating her breakfast once more.

And Cuddy took the opportunity to return to the conversation she'd been trying to have. "You know… you're not wearing the same pajamas you were wearing last night."

"Yeah."

"What happened, sweetheart?"

"I got wet," Rachel replied as though that were all the explanation needed.

"From when you were outside."

"Yup."

"And House helped you?" Rachel nodded her head but said nothing as she spooned the last bite of oatmeal into her mouth. "Did he hurt you?"

The question was one Cuddy despised having to ask.

She didn't want to be in the position of doubting House and demanding answers from her daughter. Really, she just wanted to believe that House's account of this morning had been an accurate one and that, if there were someone really harming her, Rachel would say something.

"All done," Rachel announced, dropping her spoon into the bowl with a loud clang.

"That's nice, but I asked you a question," Cuddy reminded her.

Rachel wrinkled her nose in confusion, her mind obviously turning as she tried to recall what the question was. But she must have remembered on her own, because after a moment or two, she said, "I was wet, and I was like rawr, I can't get naked, and he was like rawr, cause he said, 'I help you,' and then he grabbed me, and it hurt, so I said, 'That hurts,' and he let me go." She shrugged. "He 'pologize, so it was an accident."

Cuddy didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief.

She was too concerned that Rachel's meandering tale was a hallucination, was Cuddy's own mind trying to come up with some excuse for House's behavior.

"An accident?" Cuddy asked, needing to make sure.

"Uh huh. Like he didn't mean to," Rachel explained. "Like… like the time I pulled all the pedals off your flowers in the yard, and I said I didn't mean to…. But he really didn't mean to." Clearly realizing that she'd just fessed up to a lie, she added, "Oops."

Her chubby hands covering her mouth, she was quick to try and get down from her chair. But she'd barely taken a step away from the table before Cuddy said, "Don't go anywhere. You need your medicine."

Rachel stopped in her tracks and obediently (though reluctantly) returned to her mother. "Do I have to take it?" Cuddy nodded her head, which made Rachel frown, her lower lip quivering. "I don't want to."

"I know." Getting up, Cuddy carded her fingers through her daughter's hair to comfort her.

She supposed she should say something about lying about the flowers, but that had happened over the summer. And Rachel had been punished then anyway (who would have believed that pulling the petal off of every flower in the garden was an accident?), so it seemed… pointless to harp on something that happened months ago.

Besides, it seemed mean-spirited to get angry when Rachel had just confirmed everything Cuddy had wanted to hear.

Then again, when she put it that way, she didn't exactly feel at ease with the situation. Maybe she was just creating a problem in her own mind, but she didn't want it to be that Rachel was just telling her what she wanted to hear. What Cuddy wanted was to know that things hadn't been so horrible as to create any resentment - but more importantly, she wanted it to be the truth.

Of course, Rachel wasn't the kind of child who was bright enough to understand what kind of an answer her mother was working for, so chances were what she was saying was the truth. But nevertheless… Cuddy felt guilty.

Which was nothing new.

Between the hospital, House, and her daughter, it always - always - felt as though she were neglecting something or someone. Even if there were no rational reason to feel that way, she never ceased wondering if she was failing in some aspect.

In this case though, she had no doubt that she had. Whether Rachel was being honest or not, she had been hurt, and House was sitting in the house somewhere, probably trying to figure out how soon he could call Wilson to help him move his things out.

And knowing that, Cuddy knew that she needed to resolve this situation one way or the other sooner rather than later.

As she pricked Rachel's finger for the glucose meter, Cuddy told her, "You know, I don't want you to tell me that House didn't hurt you if he did. No matter what happened, it's not your fault, and I don't want you to lie because you're afraid of my reaction."

Rachel looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Why would I do that?"

"Never mind," Cuddy replied, as she filled a syringe with the appropriate amount of insulin.

It was a sight Rachel did not welcome.

Although she didn't run off, it was impossible to miss the way she tensed. Which was why it was almost surprising that she stayed still as Cuddy helped her expose an arm.

Of course, that changed the moment Cuddy began to deplete the needle. Again, Rachel didn't run away, but the way she was fidgeting was proof enough that she was considering it. "It's okay," Cuddy told her. "Almost done."

But the little girl hardly seemed relieved by those words, and it wasn't hard to understand why. This particular injection might end soon, but in a couple of hours, there would be another one, and a few hours from that, there would be another. And this pattern would repeat itself for the rest of Rachel's life, which meant that…

They would never be done.

And moments later, after Rachel had been comforted with a long hug, after Cuddy had disposed of the needle, as she started after House, Cuddy couldn't help but think that she knew all too well about exercises in futility.

Achieving any sort of normalcy with House was the best example of that she knew.

Truly, it seemed impossible for them to go days without fighting, without something going wrong. And no matter how hard they tried, no matter how much they wanted to get along, something - whether it was the hospital or Rachel or whatever - always seemed to derail things.

So much of their time spent reeling from skeletons in the closet or sick children or emotional landmines, Cuddy couldn't deny that sometimes… it felt like there would never be a time where they were free of problems.

Worse still, there were times where it felt like fighting to get past any of that wasn't worth it.

But she didn't doubt that there was a reason why she stayed.

Finally stumbling upon House, she knew, just from the sight of him, why she hadn't left.

She loved him.

It was just that simple (and complicated).

And it was incredibly apparent that he would need to hear her say that; he was sitting with his back to her, but he looked, even from this angle, incredibly defeated.

She wasn't surprised by that (who wouldn't be defeated in that situation?), but then she also wasn't surprised to find him here, in his office.

Of course, at one point it had been her office. But when he'd moved in here, he'd very quickly needed his own space. Granted, he hadn't ever said that, but between his tendency to bring his work home and Rachel's tendency to make noise, it had become clear that he needed a room for himself. And though Cuddy had hardly wanted to turn her basement into an office for herself, that had been the best option; House's leg wouldn't have been able to handle all those steps regularly, and once the basement had been painted and refurnished, it wasn't that bad.

And there really was no denying that letting House have this space had made him happier. With it, he had a place to escape to, a place to keep all of the books and instruments and toys that he needed to help him focus or do whatever he needed to do to solve cases. So it was no surprise that she should find him here.

At the moment, he was sitting at his piano, though he wasn't playing. His back to the open door, she couldn't be sure that he had heard her enter. But either way, she had no desire to leave him wondering any longer.

Quickly closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Immediately Cuddy could feel the nervous energy emanating from him. And though holding him like this was certainly a sign that she was forgiving him, she was surprised that the fear inside of him was so slow to disappear. As she pressed a kiss into his neck, she whispered, "It's okay. I'm not mad."

He bristled. His voice not quite strong enough to make the joke funny, he asked, "You sure you're not saying that, so I'll give you access to my balls?"

Hugging him from behind, she didn't answer his question. "House, I love you. And I know it was an accident."

He couldn't say that he didn't want to believe her.

Really he did.

But at the same time, House had to wonder what had changed, what had happened to make her go from wanting to kill him to… this. Because he'd been so sure when he'd sat down at his piano, the music refusing to flow through him, that she would end things. And though it was great that she hadn't…

He had to know why.

Refusing to look at her, he asked, "What made you change your mind?"

"Nothing," she answered, her hands moving back to his tense shoulders. As she began to rub his aching muscles, she explained, "I told you I needed some time, and I did."

He frowned at her lack of a clear answer. "To…"

"To, I don't know, forget about the massive headache work was, so that I wasn't taking that out on you?"

When he didn't say anything in response, she knew that he didn't believe her. She knew that he was thinking that that had never stopped her before, just as she knew there was no real denying that he was basically right about that.

Sighing, she pulled away from him, so she could sit down on the piano bench beside him. Her side pressed against his, she looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry I made you wait. I just… I needed to calm down. I needed to know that I wasn't reacting to anything else - just you and this."

"Right."

Reaching over she stroked one of his cheeks. "We're both so stupid," she confessed, her lips lightly frowning. "I just don't want to be the one to make things unbearable."

Intuitively, he knew exactly what she meant. As often as they fought, in the back of their minds, there always had to be the question of how far to push, how cruel you could be before you'd destroyed the damn thing. Other couples might have been successful at attempts to not fight. But House knew that what he had with Cuddy was different; as hard as they tried to avoid arguments, they were never very good at it. Which only left them the option of working as hard as they could to cocoon their relationship from the more volatile aspects of their personalities.

If she was doing that now, he understood entirely. "But you're comfortable with me taking on that job," he said with a smirk.

She inched her face closer to his, perhaps sensing that the clouds had passed. "You are better at the rabble rousing and -"

Cuddy didn't get a chance to finish the thought; his mouth insistently pressed against hers prevented her from doing that. It went without saying that she didn't mind. Her own lips eager to kiss him back, she did however mind when he almost instantly pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he told her honestly.

She stroked his cheek. "I know that." Leaning forward, she offered him a chaste kiss for reassurance. "I'm not mad."

Accepting her words as the truth, House intended to reap the benefit of having a fight:

Make up sex.

But he'd barely had a chance to place a hand on her thigh, when she sighed out, "Don't."

"`Don't'?" The words sounded odd on his tongue.

Looking at her carefully to make sure he'd understood her correctly, he could see the dismay in her eyes. "I have to start getting Rachel ready," she explained, her lips turning downward into a frown.

"So?" Undeterred he allowed his hand to slide along her thigh. "It's not going to take me that long…"

"Of that I have no doubt," she replied dryly. "But considering my job right now is to shove Rachel into a whole lot of spandex, I just don't have the thirty seconds necessary to get you off to spare."

"Hey," he whined, as she stood up, a wide smile on her face.

"Besides, you need to get ready to go too."

House frowned. Whatever friskiness he'd been feeling had… died at the idea of sitting through a dance recital. "I'm not going to that."

"Yes, you are."

"Why?"

"Because you agreed to come," she pointed out, her arms folding across her chest. "If you'll recall, we have an agree-"

"That old thing? I was just saying that to get laid," he interrupted, trying to brush her off.

But she simply shook her head. "Get dressed. You're not getting out of this."

The scowl on his face remained there long after they'd arrived at the school.

The car ride there hadn't helped obviously; Rachel's constant chattering about how she was the blue jay and Nathan Ellis (whoever the hell that was) was the lowly blue bird in the recital had simply given House a headache. And that, coupled with all the cheery parents he was now surrounded by, was just reinforcing House's belief that Hell was a far better alternative to this.

It also didn't help that Cuddy had abandoned him in the school cafeteria in order to take Rachel backstage. Not that wading through the swarms of little children backstage was any better, of course, but standing around with the other parents wasn't exactly fun either.

As if to reinforce that point, the pair of housewives next to him were talking about their little Braden and Chloe and how those two were the cutest and the smartest and blah, blah, blah, and all House wanted to do was run away as quickly as possible.

He couldn't escape though.

Even if this was, quite possibly, the most painful experience of his life, he couldn't leave. Cuddy had driven them here, and as such, she had the keys with her. And though walking home was tempting, House knew that he wouldn't get very far, thanks to his leg and all of the snow.

Which wasn't to say he wasn't considering it.

Collapsing in a ditch filled with dirty snow didn't sound like a lot of fun, but it definitely sounded better than staying here.

Yet he didn't get a chance to decide either way, because it was at that moment that Cuddy returned to his side.

A smile on her face, she reached for his hand, effectively trapping him where he was. Her fingers threading through his, he said under his breath, "Please tell me you're smiling because some of the birds got into a fight and we have to leave."

"Actually, the instructor for the preschoolers forgot the music at her home, so everything's been pushed back twenty minutes while she goes to get it," Cuddy told him.

It was at that moment that House understood how Rachel must have felt when she'd learned that Cuddy didn't celebrate Christmas. There really didn't seem to be any other equivalent experience that could cause the same amount of disappointment.

Barely resisting the urge to throw himself on the ground and have a tantrum that would make Rachel proud, House muttered, "You have no idea how painful this -"

"It's not that bad," she told him under her breath.

"That's because you haven't been standing here hearing how little Teddy and Fifi are the bestest, wittle children in the whole wide world," he replied in a shrill tone that replicated the voice of the two women he'd had to listen to.

Luckily for him though, the two mothers had overheard his impression, and, muttering insults under their breath, they walked away.

"And once again, you're making friends wherever you go," Cuddy said.

He frowned mockingly. "But I wanted to be invited to the Tupperware party."

Cuddy was not amused. "Tell me what I have to do to keep you from -"

"Lets have sex," he interrupted.

At first, she didn't quite understand. Well, she understood, but she was unsure as to how serious he was being. And then she remembered that she was talking about House, who had never discovered a situation he felt couldn't be improved by sex.

Knowing that he was being absolutely serious, she immediately dropped his hand. A scowl on her own face, she whined, "This is a school."

"So?"

She groaned a little, rubbing her hand over her face. "I can't believe… where would we even go?"

"There's a bathroom straight down that hallway," he answered with a flick of his hand. "It's out of order, so nobody's using it. But if someone were to ask us, you've probably got enough of Rachel's medication in your bag that you could say we were having some sort of medical -"

"Oh God, you've thought this through."

"Well, what else I was supposed to do?"

At that point, she wasn't sure what to do or say. On the one hand, she wanted to ask him how he could be such a pervert; most of his blood flow seemingly always keeping his penis afloat, really, she wanted to ask him how he had managed to survive for so long. Shouldn't there have been some serious brain damage at this point?

But then, on the other hand, regardless of what his answer was, the fact still remained that she was in love with him. And what did it say about her that she could love someone like House? More importantly, what did it say about her that she was actually contemplating having sex in a school?

In her mind, she tried to justify that. She'd watched him come this morning, and then she had been worked into a frenzy by him. But he'd denied her any sort of release, and work had only made her more tense (as had the news of House accidentally hurting Rachel), and really, having sex did sound like a good idea.

Doing it here hardly seemed ideal though.

But then again, she was with House, so she supposed it didn't really matter if they had sex in a bathroom. It was almost guaranteed - no matter what - that they would be thrown out of the school. Whether he said something offensive to someone or did something awful or they got caught having sex, there would more than likely be something that had Cuddy leaving the school in shame.

So if that was going to happen one way or the way, she supposed she could choose the circumstances. And at least if she chose sex, she would get laid in the process, which was a huge plus.

"Fine," she capitulated, as though it were actually more of a nuisance than it felt.

For a brief moment, House could only blink. But as soon as the words sunk in, he was reaching for her hand and practically dragging her through the throng of people.

Walking quickly to keep up with him, she told him in a voice quiet enough so that only he could hear, "You don't have to act like we've never had sex before." Especially since everyone else seemed to move away from them at the sight of House's cane, it seemed incredibly stupid to act like the world was going to end if they didn't have sex in a bathroom right this second.

But if he even considered what she had to say, he didn't offer any reply until she'd locked the bathroom door behind her.

"See? No one will even know we're in here," he told her.

And Cuddy couldn't deny that he had a point. Not a collection of stalls, the bathroom was only meant for one person to use at a time, which meant that, even if someone were to ignore the out of order sign, they still wouldn't be able to get in now.

"We have twenty minutes," she reminded him.

As she hung both of their coats on the hook nailed into the bathroom door, she felt him creep up behind her. His hands squeezing her ass appreciatively, he asked her, "You want me to take all twenty?"

"I want you to go as long as it takes for me to get off," she told him in a husky voice.

Turning around to face him, she wasn't surprised to see that his scowl had been replaced by an arrogant smirk. "Like that'll be hard," he said sardonically. "Why don't you ask me to tie my shoes as well?"

Her hands on his chest, she pushed him toward the toilet. "Shut up."

And yet, although he did go where she wanted, he made no move to sit down on the toilet seat. Annoyed she ordered him, "Sit."

"No."

Glancing at him, she could see that he thought that such an act would be disgusting.

"Why not?"

He sighed. "I'm guessing this bathroom is out of order for a reason and -"

"And you're just now thinking of this," Cuddy snapped angrily. "Your little rat maze of a brain didn't consider all of the implications of using an out-of-order restroom to -"

"Relax. We'll just use something else."

But she knew that that was only an answer for someone who hadn't even remotely considered the other options.

"Like what?" she asked. "The sink? It's for children. It's too short," she pointed out, her hand gesturing towards the white porcelain.

Immediately House knew that she was right; the damn thing was the perfect size if you were Rachel's height, but it wouldn't line their bodies up properly.

… Unless he wanted a blow job, but House was smart enough to know that his dick plus Cuddy's mouth was not going to be a good combination at the moment.

"Or what?" Cuddy demanded, interrupting his thoughts. "You're going to pick me up? Cause that worked out so well the last time."

He rolled his eyes. In all of their years of having sex with one another, the one time it ended in disaster and stitches was the one she was never going to let him live down. "Well, you try lifting your ass into the air without a crane," he grumbled loudly.

For a brief second, as soon as the words had been uttered, he'd expected her to quash this little rendezvous that hadn't even truly begun. She was looking angry enough to do that, and though he didn't think he'd said anything all that bad, it was a known fact that Cuddy was evil and therefore occasionally took offense to things that were not, in any way, offensive.

But instead, she reached down in the space between them. His eyes trained on hers, he didn't dare look away; unlike with most feral animals, maintaining eye contact with Cuddy was necessary to avoid being hurt.

Yet, despite keeping his gaze on her face, he knew exactly what she was doing. He could hear her undoing his pants, could feel the way her knuckles were scraping along his lower stomach in order to push his jeans down to his ankles.

Why that was so sexy, he didn't think he could articulate. But between that and the way she was biting her lip as she completed her task, House could feel himself hardening in his underwear.

As she ordered him, "Now, sit down," he had to wonder if that was normal. Not the ordering, of course (he'd watched enough porn to know that domination was anything but abnormal), but he did wonder about the effect she had on his body.

How could he not?

He'd known her on and off since she was a teenager (and she definitely wasn't anywhere near teenaged now). He'd been dating her for a couple years now; there was nothing about her body that he had not seen, experienced before. In fact, if he did the math (and he wouldn't, because if he did, he'd never forget the number), they'd probably had sex over a thousand times. Which meant that he should have been way over her body by now.

But as he reluctantly sat on the toilet, his shorts the only thing keeping him from things he was trying very hard not to think about, he couldn't even pretend that he was unaffected by the sight of her.

At the moment, she was hiking up the skirt of her dress, bunching the material in the hopes that it would stay around her waist. And she knew it was a ridiculous sight, but they were having sex in an elementary school bathroom; if he expected better presentation, she was going to drown him in the toilet.

However, as she allowed her gaze to wander over his entire body, she could tell that he was anything but disappointed. The fabric of his dark gray boxer briefs were tented, his eyes intently watching her as she moved to stand in front of him.

Her knees bumping into his, she couldn't stop herself from offering them one last out. "How's your leg?"

It was a bad question to ask, one that she hated asking, but after hearing that Rachel had grabbed him, Cuddy knew that it needed to be asked. And besides, if he were in a lot of pain, they would probably have to stop, and having done that plenty of times in the past, she knew that it was much easier never to begin than to be left unsatisfied and sweaty in the middle.

Rolling his eyes, House reached into the slit of his underwear. Palming his own hot flesh, he eagerly pulled his cock, hard and already leaking pre-cum, out for her to see. "Much better than little Greg is at the moment," he answered her honestly.

Moving to straddle him, she practically purred, "I think I can take care of that." And then her voice more disapproving, she added, "As long as you stop naming our various body parts.

Shoving her panties to the side with her fingers, Cuddy didn't give him a chance to reply. Taking her time, she slowly sank down on him. House guiding his penis into her, her knuckles brushed against his thumb as he penetrated her fully.

Letting go of her underwear, she placed her hands on his shoulders. He was wearing a suit coat and t-shirt, but even under all of that, the heat was beginning to pour from him, as it always did.

She gave herself a few experimental bobs on his cock, shifting her hips each time to maximize the angle of their bodies.

"No, no," he said through gritted teeth, the feel of her body wrapped around his more than he could bear. "Make yourself feel comfortable. I'll just sit here and mate with some E. coli instead."

"You're unbearable," she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips to shut him up.

But as she began to move up and down on his shaft, the kiss was truly unnecessary in keeping him quiet. The steady pace she was creating, the feeling of her wetness snug against his cock, was more than enough to make whatever irritation he'd been feeling evaporate.

One of his hands moving to the back of her head, he deepened the kiss. Their breath hot against one another, his tongue lightly probing, the hushed tenderness was a complete contrast to the way she was forcing herself onto his length over and over.

It burned a little; the fact of the matter was she hadn't been as wet as she would have liked before taking him in her body. But that friction felt good. The burn was something she could feel herself craving.

The idea that she was forcing her body to accept him made her hot from head to toe and wet precisely where she was driving him into her. Problem solved.

She moaned at the thought, grunted as he moved his other hand to her panty-clad ass. His fingertips practically burning her through the fabric, it was impossible to miss the way he was caressing her.

Just as it was impossible for him to miss the way her muscles shifted as she undulated above him.

He watched her - he couldn't tear his eyes away - do all the work for them both. Though he had come earlier in the day, watching her essentially fuck herself with his dick made the point moot. She was grinding on top of him, her breasts heavily swaying with each movement. She might have been totally clothed, but he could see the outline of her hardened nipples, could feel her juices smearing themselves along his dick.

God, this was what he wanted, he thought.

Both of his hands moving to her ass, he squeezed her tightly. Which just made her even more incessant with need. As she picked up the pace, as she forced herself onto his cock as hard and as far as she could go, he felt himself instinctively trying to thrust upwards to meet her movements.

Noise from the hallway was trickling in to the bathroom, but it was nothing compared to the sound of his balls slapping against her ass or the way she was moaning into his mouth.

And nothing could compare to feel of his dick being driven into her. Her damp muscles holding him in a vice-like grip, it would have been painful if not for his own need.

Her fingers tightening on his shoulders, she murmured, "I'm close."

He smirked. "Like you need to tell me that."

"Go to hell." But her words hardly had any anger in them.

At that moment, her underwear a tangled, wet mess trapped between their bodies, the fabric accidentally began to rub her clit with each thrust. A perfect accident, Cuddy couldn't help but moan, "House."

She was becoming less controlled with her thrusts, her hips moving, shaking unevenly in a way that only accentuated their lust for one another. His hands palming her ass, he tried - to no avail - to make her movement more even, just for the sake of prolonging things a little longer.

But it didn't really matter either way.

She was too worked up, too heated by the way he was filling her, the way the head of his cock was rubbing her in all of the right places, to do anything but come.

Something approaching a scream barely getting caught in her throat, she choked out a "Yes" as she came. Her hips jerking wildly as he reached between their bodies and caught her clit with his index and middle finger, her orgasm seized hold of her. That feeling of intense pleasure knocking the breath out of her, she felt as asthmatic as Rachel.

Cuddy panted, moaned loudly, her lungs rasping with desire, but she didn't stop moving. Her muscles clenching him tightly, she kept moving, bouncing up and down, until she forced a groan out of House's mouth.

And then he came with a powerful thrust into her that threatened to unseat her altogether.

Her fingers clung to him until her knuckles hurt. Feeling his come flood the inside of her body, she held onto him as he rode out those last few moments of pleasure. Pressing her face to his shoulder, she could feel his hot breath on her sweaty neck. And she couldn't help but smile.

He was just as breathless, just as hopeless as she was.

When she pulled away from him, as she assessed both their bodies, she couldn't help but think that they both looked awful. They were sweaty, their clothes askew. "We look terrible," she remarked as she reached for some toilet paper to wipe away the fluid trapped between her thighs.

House had no comment, which was truly a testament to how he spent he was. Of course, Cuddy refused to see that as a bad thing. If he did nothing more than quietly nap during Rachel's recital, Cuddy would be happy.

As she fixed her twisted panties and pulled her dress down, she told him, "You need to fix yourself." But he just looked at her as though he had no idea what he was talking about. Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly sunk to her knees in front of him. Wordlessly taking his wet cock into her mouth, she gently licked their fluids off of him.

She heard him gasp in surprise, in pleasure. But as quickly as she'd slipped him between her lips, she pulled him back out of her mouth and tucked him into his underwear.

Finally finding his voice, he asked her hoarsely, "You gonna pull my pants up with your teeth next?"

She smirked as she stood back up. "Come on."

But knowing what he was about to sit through, he really didn't want to move. Of course, he also knew that he couldn't stay in a kid's bathroom all day. But it was with reluctance that he stood up and dressed himself.

By the time he'd pulled up his pants and rebuttoned them, Cuddy was fixing her make up and hair in front of the sink. Their eyes meeting in the mirror's reflection, she asked him, "How fucked do I look?"

"Very."

She really did.

Because even though everything about her looked fine, everything had been put back in its proper place, there was still something about her that screamed fucked - for him, anyway. She looked too relaxed to be anything other than freshly laid.

"Great," she muttered before reaching for her coat. "I'll be known as the mother who couldn't keep it in her pants long enough to watch her child dance."

As he grabbed his cane, he pointed out, "There's not a straight man or lesbian in that audience who'll find that a fault."

"Well, that's just even better," she said sarcastically, grabbing his free hand as they headed back out into the hallway. "What you're saying is that there are still plenty of people here to judge me."

"Have you seen what you're wearing?" he asked suddenly. "The twins practically hanging out like that -"

"They're not hanging."

"They were judging you anyway," he continued, undeterred by her interruption.

Seeing as how everyone else was filtering into the auditorium, Cuddy and House followed their lead by walking that way as well. "Thank you so much," she told him sarcastically.

"Hey. You made me come to this. The least you can do is keep me entertained by letting everyone else think you're a whore."

Naturally, this earned him a step on the foot as they entered one of the rows to sit down. It wouldn't have hurt so bad (really, how much could Cuddy weigh?) except she was wearing high heels. And even through his sneakers, he could feel her shoe driving into him like a stake. "Watch it," he whined.

She turned to look at him, a mocking pout on her face. "Oh, honey, you've made me listen to you whine all morning. The least you can do is let me cause you as much pain as you've caused me."

With a sense of finality, she sat down in her seat. And he, knowing that it was too late to run, joined her.

One of his hands quick to pick at the peeling paint of his seat, she was just as quick to stop him. Her fingers curling around his, she told him, "It won't be that bad."

And she was right about that; it wasn't that bad.

It was worse.

So much worse.

The preschoolers set the tone for this abortion of a display of music and dance. Dressed up like little foxes, they danced to Peter, Paul, and Mary's "The Fox." Although… "dancing" was a bit of stretch, as most of the kids were falling over their own foxtails or someone else's. Thankfully, the number came to an end quickly, when one of the kids tripped over three tails in a row and nearly fell off the stage.

And House felt relieved at seeing all the sniveling brats stumble off stage. If only because it meant that Rachel was next, he was happy.

Only… she wasn't next. Apparently, there were four - four - preschool classes who needed to perform first. As a bunch of kids dressed as tulips accidentally yanked each other's leaves off, House turned to Cuddy. "Why doesn't anyone believe in birth control anymore?"

She glowered at him. "Rachel's up next. We won't have to sit through this much longer."

And that much he believed to be true. As each class made asses of themselves, parents were filtering in and out; nobody was cruel enough, thank God, to make the adults sit through the entire thing. By the time Rachel even made it to the stage, nearly ten percent of the audience had shown themselves out.

Which was their loss, because in the end… Rachel wasn't awful.

Dancing around in a bright blue costume, designed with black and white patches to resemble a blue jay, she was actually kind of… good. Well, House amended immediately, good as in wasn't falling over on her ass like every other kid that had come before her. She wasn't perfect, not by any means, but she was able to keep in time with the music (which was unfortunate, because he'd been really hoping to say, "At least her chins are in time"). And that was good, because, being a bright blue bird, who was fatter than everyone else on the stage, drew, in his estimation, everyone's eyes to her.

Venturing a glance toward Cuddy, House was not surprised to see the surprise and pride in her gaze. She hadn't been expecting any better from Rachel, but it was clear that Cuddy didn't think she could have asked for anything better.

But the joy in her eyes was short lived.

As he watched her, he saw her look of happiness change - first to a look of confusion and then one of dismay. And House, curious, quickly turned his attention back to the recital.

Immediately he understood. No longer dancing, Rachel was standing over one of the other birds, a wisp of a child decorated in orange, black, and white.

Cuddy, leaning toward House, asked reluctantly, "Is she kicking that robin?"

House scoffed. "Don't be a moron." His eyes squinting so he could get a better look, he told her, "She's kicking an oriole."

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