Gift of Screws, Chapter Eight

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Eight
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, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

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

Rachel had caught them.

Rachel had seen them.

No - was seeing them, he corrected.

House felt dizzy with realization, his heart pounding in his chest as though the muscle was doing everything it could to hurl itself into his rib cage. He scrambled to pull himself out of Cuddy's mouth.

She was choking in surprise, and he knew that that alone could take a bad situation and make it worse. After all, it would have been one thing for Rachel to catch them and something else entirely for Cuddy to accidentally bite him out of shock.

But by some miracle, he was able to pull out without her teeth and his penis meeting somewhere along the way.

Thank God.

Of course, that feeling of relief didn't last long. How could it? He might have been bite free, but at the end of the day, he was still sitting naked on top of his girlfriend, who was also half-naked, with a five year old looking at them. And whereas Cuddy had the advantage of having her dress on and him over top of her, House had nothing to block Rachel's view of his ass. Which he supposed was better than Rachel getting a view of his dick in Cuddy's mouth, but still, it was hard to think that the kid, behind them, getting a shot of his ass was an advantage of any sort.

Especially when he didn't know what to do next.

Hovering over Cuddy he wasn't sure if he should roll off of her, which would give Rachel an eyeful, or if he should try and crawl off of her in a manner that looked not unlike he was doing push ups.

The former seemed easier but more likely to piss Cuddy off (you know, more than she was already going to be pissed off at him for not locking the door). On the other hand, the latter seemed less likely to flash the twig and berries to the entire gathering in his bedroom. But there was also a good chance that he would make a wrong move while trying to scuttle off of Cuddy and one of them would get hurt.

Leave it to him to think of the options in such a damned-if-you do moment, he thought miserably.

But in the end, it didn't matter what he thought was the best idea; Cuddy shoving him to the side, his body doing a lame flop belly side down into the mattress, was apparently the option they were going to go with.

He was okay with that though; he wasn't hurt in the process; Rachel wasn't blinded by the sight of him, and before he'd even had a chance to grab hold of the sheets off the bed he hadn't made that morning, Cuddy was already up. How she managed to right her dress so quickly, he would never know. But by the time she was standing, her neckline was already back in its place, making it seem as though it had never been out of its place to begin with.

Only her unhooked bra, which bunched underneath her dress, spoke of the predicament she'd been in only seconds ago.

Well, it was the only thing about her that provided any sort of testament; certainly, the fact that he was only wearing a t-shirt and Rachel a look of shock attested to the same thing, but it was the unhooked bra that gave Cuddy away. You know, more than the frazzled way she hurried over to Rachel did anyway.

"Rachel... Rachel, honey, you need to… go away," Cuddy said in words that were alternatively rushed and halted in such a way that screamed how distressed she was by this whole situation.

Rachel, however, was unmoved. Rooted to the spot, she simply asked again, "What were you doing?"

Cuddy didn't even know what to say.

How was she supposed to answer that question?

She didn't know, so she didn't, relying on the one thing that seemed to make sense to her. "I… will tell you later. But right now, you need to wait in the hallway."

"But -"

"Let's go," Cuddy said, steering her daughter out into the hallway by the shoulders. Rachel turned around to protest some more, but Cuddy was too quick for her, shutting the door in Rachel's face before she'd even had a chance to open her mouth. And before she had a chance to open the door once more, Cuddy locked it as well.

There was no denying that it was not the nicest way of handling things. But she didn't care. As Rachel thankfully retreated down the hallway, Cuddy could only concern herself with how unbearably awful this whole thing was.

Reality seeping in slowly, the longer she thought about it, the more she realized just how bad it was.

Rachel had seen them naked.

No.

Not just naked.

She'd seen them having sex.

She'd seen House on top of her mother, House with his penis in -

"Oh God," Cuddy muttered, her voice shaky with fear. "Oh God." She scrubbed her face with her hands, as a mental picture of what Rachel must have seen formed in Cuddy's head.

That just made everything worse, made everything sickening, and Cuddy had to swallow hard to keep the bile in the back of her throat from escaping.

To no one, she said, "I think I'm going to be sick."

But House had heard her nonetheless. And he was… regrettably intrigued by the whole prospect. He'd never had a girlfriend throw up mere minutes after going down on him, and though he knew it was wrong, yeah, he was a little curious to see what such a thing would look like.

He wasn't going to say that though.

Looking at Cuddy, he could tell that she was upset - maybe even uncharacteristically on the verge of tears. Frankly, that rarely happened (rare that she cried and rarer still that she would let him see it), and the fact that it was happening made House realize that he needed to make his next move carefully. Which meant he couldn't possibly tell her about his mild interest in seeing what puked up semen looked like; that just wasn't going to be well received by anyone in her state anywhere at any time.

Knowing that, House said instead, "She'll be fine."

What he'd wanted to say was you'll be fine, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate hearing that. Because what she would hear would be a paternal attempt to get her to relax, which in her insane mind would mean that he was accusing her of being an overreacting harpy or something equally stupid, and he wasn't going to have that fight [again]. So he'd chosen smartly to avoid taking about Cuddy altogether.

To debatable success.

Cuddy turned to look at him, her eyes filled with doubt. "She just walked in on us having sex, House." Her stomach twisted itself into knots at the thought. "How am I supposed to explain that to her? She's five. What am I supposed to -"

"You lie to her," he responded easily. "Tell her -"

"I can't lie to -"

"Well, what's the alternative?" he asked curiously. "You tell her the truth? Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, explaining what oral sex is to someone who doesn't even know what a penis is."

Cuddy gritted her teeth. "She knows the differences between boys and girls, although if she didn't, I think you just gave her a perfect demonstration."

Had she really meant to make that sound like an accusation? No, she thought. She hadn't done that intentionally. But now that the words were out of her mouth, she couldn't find it in her to take them back. Because whether it made sense or not, something inside of her said that this was House's fault, and she didn't know why that was.

But she was going to listen to that voice anyway.

"She didn't see anything," he insisted.

"You're wearing a t-shirt. She saw -"

"Not that." Of that, he was absolutely convinced. Of course, he didn't expect Cuddy to believe him, so he added, "But even if she did get the full frontal, that's just more of a reason to lie." She scoffed. "I mean it."

"I know," she said with a nod of the head. "You think that everything is made better with a lie, right? So of course, I should lie to her - to my child. That would make much more sense than trying to actually explain to her -"

"There's no explanation you can give her that's going to make sense."

He looked at her as though he couldn't for the life of him understand why she would want to tell Rachel the truth, and that made Cuddy want to punch him. "You're right," she said bitterly. "Nothing I tell her is going to make sense. So why shouldn't I tell her the truth? If she's going to be confused anyway, why shouldn't I tell her -"

"Because she's going to repeat anything you say to anyone who will listen," House explained. "You start talking about sex; she's not going to shut up about that. At least if you lie, when she tells people that I helped fold your laundry or whatever, no one will care."

Cuddy gave him a disgusted look. "I'm not saying that we were folding laundry."

"Then make something else up," he replied, tossing his hands in the air. "Just don't tell her the truth, because you're too much of a moron to come up with a good lie -"

"Go to Hell," she snapped angrily.

But he ignored the outburst and continued talking, "And don't expect her to remain quiet about whatever it is you do say. Because she won't, and if you tell her about sex, every kid she comes in contact with is going to repeat what she said to their parents, and then, you're really going to feel like throwing up. 'Cause none of those people are going to be nearly as impressed with your kid as you are."

The words had come out faster than he could stop them. A thought process that refused to be cut off shortly, it was something he couldn't control much less take back now.

So much for treading carefully, he lamented.

Instinctively, he knew that he'd just screwed everything up. Of course, he would have had to have been deaf, dumb, blind, and generally unconscious to miss Cuddy's anger, but still, he couldn't help but think that he'd messed up to himself.

He really had.

He'd only meant to say that telling Rachel the truth would be more problematic and guilt invoking than any lie would end up being. But somehow he'd managed to blow right past that point to drive home a reminder that she was a moron and her kid was liked by no one.

Putting it that way, he realized, made it sound like he'd accidentally done that. And in some ways, it was an accident; he hadn't intended from the start to make things worse for himself.

He hadn't started the conversation hoping that he'd get an opportunity to insult his girlfriend and her kid.

Yet at the same time, he knew he couldn't qualify what he said as an accident.

Wherever he'd taken the conversation… he'd meant to go there. Not maliciously, he told himself; he hadn't said any of those things to be cruel as much as he'd said them out of… an ironic but unstoppable need to be honest.

"See?" he asked, gesturing to himself. Making sure the point wasn't lost on her, House said, "This is the problem with honesty."

But if he expected her to respond angrily, he was shocked when she didn't. Unmoved in any way, she simply told him, "Lucky for you, this decision isn't yours to make."

And he understood immediately why she said that.

It was insulting in a way no actual insult could ever be.

Going far beyond name-calling, she was dismissing him. She was saying his opinion was irrelevant, that he was irrelevant to her when it came to this matter. And the implication of all of that was that he was not part of the family; if he were, his feelings would be important, would be considered. But this just meant that…

He lifted out of the equation easily.

He wasn't part of the family.

He was just… a guest in her home, in her life.

And that - that - was more insulting and hurtful than anything else she could have possibly said.

Which was odd, because deep down, he knew that that was what he'd been claiming to want all this time. From the moment they'd begun dating, he'd resisted being anything more than a boyfriend. He hadn't wanted to be Rachel's father, hadn't wanted to insinuate himself into her life like that. But somehow hearing Cuddy point that out now… hurt.

And that not only confused him, it also made him livid - with her, with himself, all of it.

Yet he didn't even get a chance to say anything before she told him, "I'm going to go take a shower, so that when I do talk to Rachel, I'm not covered in your semen."

She was talking as though the very idea of his come repulsed her, but he was okay with that; right now, he wasn't exactly taken with her either, and the idea of having sex with her ever again seemed like the furthest thing from his mind. "Good to know," he said with a sneer.

"You're not going to talk to her while I'm gone."

Under normal circumstances, he would have assumed that there was a question mark at the end of her sentence. But the way her shoulders were set firmly, which mimicked the hardness in her voice, made it absolutely clear that she was not asking him to avoid Rachel.

Cuddy was telling him.

"This is my decision, and I've made my choice." As she stalked towards the bathroom, she said, perhaps sensing his umbrage, insensitively, "Live with it."

House sat there pantless and unimpressed by her whole display. As was her way, she was trying to control all of the variables in this equation as overtly as possible. She was clearly under the impression - as she usually was - that, because he was obnoxious, being obnoxious was the way to dominate him. And as usual…

She was wrong.

Truth be told, when she tried to make herself seem more in control than she was, he felt the need to undermine her even more than he normally would. When she inflated like a puffer fish, he got the urge to pop her like a balloon. And in this case, deflating her as quickly as possible meant, even though she'd forbidden it, even though he didn't really want to do it, talking to Rachel.

He didn't even consider how angry Cuddy would be when she found out what he'd done. Why would he consider something he really didn't give a shit about? But he did think about what it was he was going to say to Rachel.

As he stood up and searched around for his pants, he immediately discarded the idea of telling the kid the truth in any sort of sensible manner. That would be doing precisely what Cuddy wanted.

Oh, she would still find a way to be pissed at him. He had no doubt about that. But there was also a chance that she would mistake his behavior for some convoluted attempt at being kind, and he didn't want her to think that he was trying to help her deal with this situation at all. That would be like giving someone the middle finger and them acting as though you'd given them roses.

He did not want that.

So that just left him with either telling Rachel the truth brutally (and giving her all sorts of wrong information about sex) or lying. And for a brief moment, he really did consider telling Rachel a… form of the truth.

He could tell her that they'd had sex and then tell her several things that would be absolutely untrue but also absolutely funny for him to have her believe. But how funny would that really be, he wondered. Sure, it'd be great for a while, but how long would it take before Rachel repeating all of the stupid things he told her got boring? How long after that would she still say all of those things? And how much longer after that would Cuddy still bust his balls?

With a sigh, he finally located his pants and admitted to himself that, as fun as it would be to mess with Rachel's head, it wasn't going to be worth it. Besides, if he were being honest with himself - and in this instance he had no reason not to be - he would admit that lying to a kid about what sex actually entailed could be…

He didn't want to say dangerous, but there was no denying that things could end badly, depending on how much he messed with her head.

So that just left him with the option of creating a lie to explain his behavior with Cuddy that wouldn't leave Rachel completely confused or messed up.

Funny, he thought dryly, how the best option was the one he'd suggested to begin with.

But then, what else was new?

Quickly getting dressed, House reminded himself that, no matter what he decided to do, he would need to do it soon. Cuddy had just closed the bathroom door behind her, yes, but even though he had yet to hear the water run, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she was in and out and done. And if he weren't fast enough, she could easily interrupt and put a stop to his little plan.

Knowing that, he was almost relieved to see Rachel standing right outside the bedroom door when he yanked it open; it meant he wouldn't have to waste time trying to find her.

Her eyes were wide with shock as she looked up to see him, the person she clearly wasn't expecting or wanting to see. "Where's Mommy?"

She whined the question loudly, unknowingly threatening his plans by being vocal enough that it might catch Cuddy's attention.

Hurriedly House closed the bedroom door behind him. Hopefully that would drown out any noise Rachel made.

Looking down at her, he said lamely, "She's busy."

"Doing what?"

"Showering."

"Why?"

House rolled his eyes. "She's washing the stench of shame off her body." At that, Rachel blinked in confusion, something she tended to do when he told her something that she couldn't quite understand. "Never mind," he said with a wave of his hand. "What do you want?"

He hadn't meant to, but there was no denying that he had asked the question in a way that just made him sound irritated. And Rachel clearly sensed that, because she just nervously looked at him, everything about her screaming that she didn't know what to say.

Sighing, he reluctantly placed a hand on her shoulder. He didn't want to touch her; indeed, it was generally against his rules to initiate or accept any sort of contact with her. But at the moment, he needed to in order to steer her away from the bedroom door. "Come on," he told her in a voice that he hoped sounded kinder.

It was hard to tell if he'd succeeded though. Although she did end up following him as he started walking down the hallway, he could see her, out of the corner of his eye, nervously begin to suck her thumb.

"Your mom's fine," he told her awkwardly, as though that would allay the tension (and maybe a little fear) set in Rachel's features. "She'll be out in a minute."

She said something in response that he couldn't understand. The thumb in her mouth and low voice made it impossible for him to make out what she was telling him.

"What?" But asking that just made her even more uncharacteristically bashful. He wasn't sure if her newfound reticence was the result of him grabbing her earlier, what she'd just walked in on, something else entirely, or some combination of all of that. To be sure, any of those factors were probably enough to scare a five year old. That so much had happened today didn't make discerning the cause any easier, and after a minute of watching her fumble to repeat what she'd just said, he gave up on figuring out the reason all together.

Instead, he gently plucked her thumb from her mouth. "I can't understand you when this is in your mouth," he told her, dropping her slobbery hand.

By now, whatever nervousness she'd been feeling had been replaced with annoyance. Apparently having to repeat herself was as irritating for her as not understanding her was for him. Everything about her glum and agitated, she asked, "What were you doing in there?"

"Nothing," he told her gruffly.

But Rachel didn't buy it. "You're lying."

Truthfully, he didn't care that she was going to press him on the matter. If he'd refused to answer her question at all, it had been merely to a). see if she would drop the subject and b). give himself more time to come up with some sort of reasonable excuse. And yet, he still wasn't exactly sure what he should say to her.

Mistaking his silence for refusing to answer the question altogether, Rachel stomped her foot and whined, "Tell me."

She was so annoying that House couldn't help but want to give her a taste of her own medicine; perhaps if she saw how irritating she was, she would stop. In this case, he didn't stomp his foot, but mimicking her high pitch, he repeated in a whiny voice, "Tell me."

Rachel was not amused.

"Don't," she said in a voice that made it sound almost as though she were affronted by being copied.

Like that was going to stop him. "Don't."

"I mean it," she warned, her pug nose scrunching up in spunky anger.

"I mean it."

"No!"

"No," he mocked, allowing himself to enjoy a five year old's torment much more than he should have.

But that joy was not shared with Rachel, who was so frustrated by what House was doing that she shoved him as hard as she could and screamed, "I hate you!"

To be fair, her attempt at pushing him was for all intents and purposes a complete failure; he was too big and she too small to make him go anywhere at her request. If he kept moving at all, it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him wanting to get as far away from Cuddy as possible.

And since he wasn't giving Rachel the response she wanted, now not even repeating what she'd said to him, it was a good thing that he was moving. Because she let out a half-whine, half-scream at that moment that would have surely made Cuddy come running if she could hear it.

Still, House ignored the kid, and she, desperate for his attention, kept following him and whining like an annoying dog yapping at someone's heels.

But as irritating as the whole thing was, some part of him knew that this was actually a kind of positive turn of events. The more she pestered him and the more he withheld, the more likely it was that she would believe him when he finally said something to her. The more it would seem as though she'd berated him until he had to confess what had happened. And most importantly, the less convincing the lie would actually need to be.

Seriously, by the time they'd entered the kitchen, Rachel was so desperate for some sort of answer that he didn't even have to bother inventing an elaborate lie. And when she demanded once more, "Tell me," he said the first excuse that came to mind.

"My leg hurt," he said, his words reflecting how he felt at that moment. True, it went without saying that his leg always hurt. But given the way Rachel had grabbed it earlier, given the way he'd overexerted it from walking through an icy parking lot and from fucking Cuddy like he'd never had sex before, it hurt worse than it had in… a while. It hadn't helped that hurting Rachel and fighting with Cuddy were providing the backdrop for all of that - though he refused to admit, even to himself, that any of that had any effect on his leg. But the exact reason for the pain hardly mattered in comparison to the pain itself and to the way he was prepared to use it to manipulate Rachel.

She just didn't know it yet.

Actually, all she seemed to be under the impression of was that he blamed her. Her gaze lowering to her feet, she mumbled quietly, "I didn't do it."

House looked at her sharply. "Look, I know spelling isn't your strong suit, what with you being five and all, but I can promise you: no matter how you scramble the letters, you're not going to get 'I blame you' from 'My leg hurts.'" As an afterthought, he added, "Try slug hem? Yes. This is all your fault? Not so much."

However, House knew he couldn't wait for her to respond. Although he would have liked to make sure she understood that he wasn't blaming her, he had a sneaking suspicion that she would just continue to fight him on the matter if he were to give her a chance. And that was the last thing he wanted to do, so he continued to explain. "Anyway, my leg hurt. Mommy, deciding that her life should read like the source material for Chicken Little, wanted to take a look at it. I let her, which you then saw."

Okay. It wasn't a very good lie. He could admit that much. Sure, he'd been the one to suggest lying in the first place, but that didn't mean he was going to come up with anything good. And more importantly, that didn't mean he needed a good lie.

True, the story he was trying to sell was stupid, but then again, so was Rachel. She had all the experience and intelligence of an average five year old, which was to say she had very little of either, and he didn't feel the need to come up with anything elaborate, because something simple would get the job done just as well.

Or not.

As she took his words in, Rachel narrowed her eyes on him and then said, "If that's true -"

"It is," he said, cutting her off.

"Then why were you naked?" She giggled out the last word as though she were embarrassed to bring that fact up.

Frankly, he wasn't exactly pleased by that turn of events either, but he did a much better job at hiding his discomfort.

Focusing all of his attention on the lie instead, House said simply, "Your mother doesn't have X-ray vision."

"Oh," Rachel replied dimly. Clearly she hadn't thought of that, which made him scoff.

"Yeah, oh." As wrong as it was, he couldn't help but be a little snide to her. He didn't have enough self-control to resist.

But if he felt cocky, even for just a second, Rachel was quick to dash that feeling.

Confused, she asked, "But… but… then… why was Mommy naked?"

Yup, he thought miserably. This was why he didn't talk to the kid unless absolutely necessary. This was why he should have let Cuddy handle this situation as wrongly as she wanted to. Because as gullible as Mowgli was, she still, nonetheless, had this way of… doubting him without even realizing that that was what she was doing.

Honestly, it was such a hassle to deal with that, to deal with her and her questions. He fully understood the irony, could appreciate that there was something hypocritical in his irritation. As someone who had never really grown out of what she was doing now, House could see that this moment was little more than him facing the same kind of curiosity that he'd never been able to shake.

And perhaps knowing that was supposed to make him more sympathetic to Rachel, was supposed to make him like her more.

But it didn't.

In that moment, that quality in her, though reflected in his own nature, was just annoying.

Maybe that wasn't fair. In fact, he could willingly concede that it wasn't. But right now, he didn't care.

And his irritation showing, he snapped in a rough voice, "I said she was taking a shower, didn't I? Do you shower with your clothes on?"

Rachel sounded equally annoyed when she spoke. "You weren't in the bathroom."

"No. But your mother was headed that way when she realized that my leg was hurting me. I've already told you what happened after that."

Deep down inside, like… where her oatmeal was inside, Rachel was sure she was missing something. House was telling her stuff, and it made sense, sort of. But it kinda felt like that one time when Mommy had said she could have a lollipop and left out the part where she'd have to get shots at the doctor's in order to get it.

Something was being left out.

Rachel was sure of it.

But at the same time, what he was saying did make sense, and she didn't have a better story to explain what she'd seen, and she didn't really want to think about what she had seen anymore.

She really, really, really, really did not want to think about House being naked (ew!) anymore.

Maybe she could ask Mommy about this later. But Rachel was sure that she wouldn't get a different answer from anyone she asked. Adults had a habit of sticking together, so chances were nobody was going to tell her anything.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from asking, "Then why were you on top of her like that?"

She knew that House, being a big poopy head, would think it was a dumb question. But it wasn't. It wasn't a stupid question at all. Cause she knew that you could look at a leg like she had done earlier today. Nobody had been on top of her, and she had seen everything really clearly. And yeah, Mommy sometimes wore glasses like Rachel's classmate Aiden did, but still, Mommy wasn't blind.

Actually, Mommy had really good eyes, because Rachel never got away with anything when her mother was in the same room with her. Rachel always tried to be sneaky, but she was never sneaky enough, and even though House said Mommy didn't have X-ray vision…

Rachel remained unconvinced.

And so it really didn't make sense for House to be that close to her mother just so she could get a look at his leg.

But House had an explanation for that too. "It was easier that way, Spawn. I was lying on the bed and didn't want to get up."

"But -"

"Your mother was right there, so that's how we did it."

Even to his own ears, the lie was getting more awful by the second. However, he knew there was no turning back at this point; once you started the lie, you had to keep going, keep lying until the story you were spinning made sense.

Case in point, Rachel nodded her head. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. But…" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I am never going to look at your leg like -"

"I think we're all glad that that's never going to happen," he told her with a sincerity he didn't know he possessed. Of course in speaking like that, he worried that it would catch Rachel's attention.

In a way, he wondered how it could not? From her perspective, he supposed that she would think: if what he was saying was the truth, if Cuddy had just been examining his leg in a bizarre way, what was so weird about Rachel…

House refused to finish the thought, and hoping very much that he wouldn't have to elucidate any further for her (something that would require him to binge drink the rest of his life away), he walked away from the kid.

It was easier that way.

It said that the conversation was over anyway.

Turning away from her, he headed further into the kitchen. He was assuming she understood that the conversation was over, but he didn't really care if she didn't. As long as she wasn't bothering him, he had no problems at all.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Cuddy was already pissed at him and would be even more so after she found out what he had just done. And glancing down at the trashcan in front of him, he knew that there were other issues at hand - specifically the broken bowl right before him now.

There were shards of other things in the trash as well, but House knew it was the bowl that mattered. He'd only peripherally seen Rachel crash into the table in the hallway; he'd been too concerned with washing the MRSA off his dick from having sex at her school to really pay attention to what was going on. But that didn't mean he was unaware of what mattered to Cuddy in this situation.

Truthfully, it wasn't the bowl itself that she was upset over. However, since her father wasn't alive for her to direct her emotions at, the things he had given her were all she had left. And as long as she was going to funnel all of her disappointment, regret, and sorrow into inanimate objects, it was imperative for everyone else not to break them. Or in this case, it was imperative to fix them once already broken.

He could do it too, having already done it once before. This time would be a little harder, of course, because all of the pieces were smaller and mixed in with shards of glass from the vase and picture frame that had also broken. But it could - and would - be done.

Grabbing the bag of trash, he started heading towards his office. Unfortunately, this piqued Rachel's curiosity, and she skipped behind him. "What are you doing?" she asked cheerily, apparently satisfied and completely over what she'd seen in the bedroom (thankfully).

"I'm going to fix the bowl you broke," he told her as he entered the room. Dropping the plastic bag on his desk, he didn't think there was any judgment in what he was saying. But there must have been, because as he turned to leave, he caught a glance of Rachel, and he could see:

She was about to cry.

He wanted to roll his eyes, so much so that it took every fiber of his being not to. He didn't though. As easy as it would have been to give into the temptation, he suspected that Rachel was teeming with guilt. No thanks to her mother, he thought, who would have been too upset by her stupid bowl being crushed to consider how Rachel felt. And so, though he didn't exactly want to be the one consoling Rachel, House knew that at the moment…

He was the only one who would.

Sighing loudly, he told her with little enthusiasm, "No one blames you."

Rachel clearly didn't believe him. Frowning she mumbled, "Mommy does."

House looked down at her. She seemed so sad, so guilty that he debated whether it was going to be necessary to….

He didn't even know how to finish that sentence.

There was a certain expectation growing within him that he needed to handle the situation, but all in all, he felt completely unsure of what form doing that would take.

And truthfully, it scared him. Although he didn't necessarily think he was bad with kids… he also didn't think that he was particularly good with this one. It was ironic, the way he could easily handle any other child who crossed his path but not the one who mattered. He could diagnose them and make fun of their parents for them and with them, but Rachel….

He shook his head.

She was different.

She was the Cuddy's. She was the one that mattered in all of this, the one that needed to matter to him, and that was precisely why he felt completely inept. With her, saying goodbye at the end of the day wasn't an option. Screwing up came with a price far more costly than lawsuits or even dead patients. And even if part of him realized he wouldn't screw up that badly now, another part worried that he would make a mistake the more he told himself that he wouldn't.

So he couldn't help but be tentative when he told her, "She doesn't blame you."

Rachel nodded her head wildly. "She does." She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, but he couldn't make out any tears… thankfully. "She say she not, but I -"

"She's upset that some stuff got broken," he explained quickly. "Just like you would be if I took that stuffed duck of yours… the one Wilson gave you and -"

"Ling," she told him. "Her name is Ling."

"Doesn't matter. The point is if something happened to it, you would be upset too. Your mother isn't any different."

"I guess," she muttered, her lower lip quivering.

Awkwardly he patted her on the head (it seemed like the right thing to do, oddly enough) and guided her out of his office. "Trust me. She doesn't hate you. If she got that mad every time someone broke her things…"

Of its own volition, his mind began to recall all of the possessions House himself had broken over the years. Things had ranged from the trivial - bras and thongs and buttons on clothes that refused to open up quickly - to the bizarre - a blender broken when he'd shoved her onto the kitchen counter, a bathroom mirror Cuddy had crashed into when he'd tried to hoist her up onto his cock and banged her against the wall instead, the bed frame they'd managed to break somehow during a medical conference in Pasadena - to the expensive - multiple MRI machines. And sure, that last one was the only one that didn't involve sex [yet], but the point was still obvious in his mind: if Cuddy had cared about destruction of property, she would have chopped his balls off a long time ago.

There was another point to be made, of course: having sex with Cuddy was kind of dangerous for an inanimate object. But he didn't think Rachel needed to know that. So he simply explained, "If she got that mad, I would be… not here. You're fine."

"'Kay" was all she said in response. And he couldn't tell if that meant she doubted him or if she actually believed him.

Instinct told him that she probably didn't believe him; the one time he was telling the truth she would naturally assume he was lying.

His gaze intent on her, he told her, "I'll talk to her. You… go play with something."

He didn't give her a chance to say anything in return. He walked away before that could happen.

Where he ended up was the bathroom Cuddy had decided to hole herself up in. He was surprised that she hadn't locked the door behind her. Given the way she'd ended their conversation, he'd just assumed he would have to break in. But instead, the door easily gave way, immediately allowing him to see her in the middle of the bathtub, her knees pulled up to her chest.

As he closed the door behind him, she glanced over to see who was intruding. And from the small distance, he could see her cheeks were red - though whether that was from crying or the heat, he couldn't really tell. So he decided to get a closer look.

Walking towards her, House asked, "You ever realize how many things we break during sex?"

She laughed softly, her amusement not quite earnest enough to make him relax. Her hand instinctively moving to the back of her head, she said, "I have a constant reminder, so yeah. I'm aware."

He sat down on the ledge of the tub. "You have a scar?" He gestured for her to show him.

In order to do that, she had to move her legs, the hot water sloshing loudly and beating against her body.

Laying her head in his lap, Cuddy guided one of his hands to the spot on her head that had required stitches when it had smacked into a mirror. And as he felt around her scalp, she couldn't help but smile a little when his other hand of its own volition moved to her upper back. As angry and peevish as she had been about Rachel, there was something so… undeniably soothing to Cuddy about House touching her.

His words, on the other hand, could use some work, she thought, because at that moment, he said, "That?" His fingertips danced around the centimeter long line of raised skin. "That's nothing."

Propping her chin on his good thigh, she looked up at him. "I didn't say it was something, but thank you for the sympathy." He opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it; whatever he was going to say would be something smart and irritating, which she didn't feel like dealing with. And more than that, she was interested to know why he was bringing that up now. "What made you think of that anyway?"

House didn't even hesitate when he said, "Rachel thinks you hate her, because she broke your things."

The implication of his words did not go unnoticed.

In fact, she understood immediately:

He had talked to Rachel.

Realization spread through her veins like icy water through a stone riddled with cracks. Her throat felt liberally coated with bile, the acrid taste and idea that he had told her daughter whatever he'd wanted making it nearly impossible to swallow.

And yet, though she had no idea why this was, despite all of that, she managed to find her voice. As dejected sounding as it was, her voice refused to be silent. Which she was grateful for, because there was no way in hell she was going to let him get away with this.

"You talked to her."

He nodded his head. "Yes. And before you get mad at me, don't think I was using that as a segue." He cupped her cheeks with his hands, which she immediately brushed off. She didn't want him to touch her, and to emphasize that point, she scooted away from him in the bathtub. "Cuddy. She thinks you hate her. You need to fix it."

Folding her arms across her bare chest, she said in a dangerously low voice, "I'll take care of her after you tell me why you disobeyed -"

"'Disobeyed'?" he asked, repeating her words in a way that made her realize how awful it sounded.

"That's not what I -"

"It is what you meant," House insisted. "Part of you still thinks that if you're assertive…" He emphasized the "ass" portion of the word snidely. "I'll just do whatever you want."

She shook her head, missing his sneer. "That's not -"

"It is." When she didn't fight him on the matter, he continued, "The funny thing is you know you can't control me. So I can't figure out why -"

"Because," she interrupted. "Because after deciding that I'm probably going to get fired -"

"You won't," he said insistently.

But she just kept talking over him, not even pausing to listen to his encouragement. "And seeing my daughter get into a fight and hearing that stupid troglodyte of a woman say that everything that happens to Rachel in that idiotic class is her fault and watching my own child walk into our bedroom while we're…"

She couldn't finish the thought.

Actually, truth be told, the thought had been one she hadn't been able to stop since Rachel had walked in on them. As though her mind were a broken record skipping at the same part over and over, Cuddy could only think of what Rachel had seen.

And each play through was turning out to be worse than the last.

At first, the focus had been on the nudity, on the fact that Rachel would have seen House's ass, testicles, maybe even his penis if she weren't busy looking at Cuddy's breasts and vagina. Of course, given the way the day had gone, Cuddy was sure that Rachel had seen everything.

But on the fifth replay of that fact, Cuddy understood that the nudity itself wasn't really the issue. How many times had she taken her daughter into a stall in a public bathroom with her? How many times had Rachel watched her change? And how long ago had it really been since Rachel, fascinated by the knowledge that everyone urinated in the bathroom and now she could too, had had that habit of purposely barging into the bathroom anytime anyone (House included) went in there? Considering how long it had taken Cuddy to break that habit, it couldn't have been that long ago. So really Rachel seeing House and Cuddy naked wasn't the problem.

The issue was what they'd been doing naked. And the more Cuddy thought about that, the more she realized how awful all of this really was. Had they been naked? Yes, but worse than that was the fact that she had had House's penis in her mouth.

How was she going to explain that to a five year old?

And what would she do if Rachel had been watching them for a while? What would she tell her daughter if Rachel had seen House between Cuddy's breasts, if she'd seen House slap her mother or say any of the things he'd said to her while they'd been having sex?

That was what scared Cuddy the most.

She could handle the nakedness, maybe even the sex itself. But how could she explain away the rest of House's behavior?

She couldn't.

Not to a child anyway.

Admittedly, Cuddy's thinking made it sound like House had done something wrong, but she knew he hadn't. She wasn't trying to say even for a second that he had. But a child wouldn't understand that he wasn't hurting her. Someone who could only comprehend things in black and white, Rachel wouldn't see the shades of gray that House and her mother typically operated in. And because of that, Cuddy didn't know how she could possibly explain away their behavior.

It terrified her - to think that Rachel might believe with all of her heart that House would hurt her mother. And that fear, its claws snagged tightly into Cuddy's skin, refused to dissipate, no matter how much she wished it would.

Shaking her head, Cuddy forced herself back into the moment. And trying her very hardest to keep her voice calm and even, she explained to House, "I feel… everything slipping through my grasp right now. Work. Rachel. All of it."

She swallowed hard before continuing once more. "I wasn't trying to control - I mean I was," she said lamely, her words as ineloquent and inarticulate as they could be. "I just…"

She shrugged and tried to find the right words. And when that didn't work, she told him, "I needed you to be… on my side."

"Where else would I be?" he asked curiously.

He really wanted to know. But at the same time, he wasn't surprised when she changed the subject. "What did you tell her?"

"That you were looking at my leg."

Cuddy's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. However, it was clear that she immediately suspected that he was lying, because soon after her eyes narrowed and she said, "You did not tell her that."

"I did."

"And she believed you?" House nodded his head. "And just so I know… how did you explain why I was naked?"

He waved off her concern. "I told her you were getting ready to take a shower, and she believed that too."

Cuddy sighed and looked down at her hands. Thanks to the water, her fingertips were beginning to prune, and she knew she needed to get out soon. But somehow that prospect seemed more daunting than she could have ever imagined.

Pushing that inevitability to the side, she said quietly, "I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse."

"It should be a relief to you that you don't have to explain to the kid what blow jobs are," he told her in all seriousness.

She looked at him once more. "Yeah. What a relief that my daughter will believe apparently anything you tell her. I'll just keep my fingers crossed that one of her male classmates doesn't skin his knee."

"You're being dramatic," he said with an eye roll.

"No, I'm -"

"You are. A little bit, cause everyone is fine. Rachel is fine. But you're still borderline hysterical."

"I'm not hysterical."

"You -"

"And don't try to convince me that I am so that you can prescribe hysterical paroxysm," she told him, her eyes narrowing on him.

"Fine." Standing up, he added, "But for the record, I don't need to call you hysterical or do anything else to recommend orgasms to you."

Cuddy smirked. "I've noticed."

"So…" He leaned down over her, bracing himself on the lip of the tub. Moving in closer toward her, he kissed her softly. She was hesitant at first to respond in kind. Her lips still against his, it took her a few seconds before she was willing to kiss back.

He understood her reluctance obviously. After what they'd just been through, anything that could even possibly lead to sex was something that probably should have been ignored. But nevertheless he couldn't help but ask, "You interested?"

She replied instantly. "No."

Dipping a hand into the warm water, he rubbed her knee gently. "You sure? You're already naked, so -"

"Keep your hands to yourself unless you're sure you can hold your breath for a really long time," she warned in a way that gave him pause.

But he easily recovered. Cocking his head to the side, he said, "So does that you mean you want me to go down on you for a really long time or are you just planning on drowning me?"

She said nothing, but the dark look she gave him let him know which option she was leaning towards.

"Okay," he said breezily. "Got it." He stood up once more before adding, "You're all pruny anyways, and I'm not exactly a fan of wrinkly vag, so I'm good."

"You're disgusting. And good, because sex is the last thing I want to do with you right now."

At that, he looked at her seriously. He knew she wasn't being completely serious in her anger, but at the same time, he couldn't help but ask, "What do you want?"

She hesitated for a moment, her mind clearly trying to come up with some sort of answer. And briefly he considered the possibility that she would offer him no such thing, but then, all of a sudden, she murmured, "A sandwich."

"A sandwich," he repeated. "You want me to feed you."

"Well, as nice as your semen was, I could use something a little more substantial."

"Fine," he said after a second. "See? You can have all the control over me you want."

Smiling weakly, she replied in a soft voice, "Thank you."

He turned and started to head towards the bathroom door. But he didn't get very far before he stopped and turned around. "Just so you know though… from now on, whenever you feel need to dominate, I'd prefer it if you used handcuffs, you know, that sort of thing." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively to emphasize the point.

But that just made her sigh. "All things considered, I don't think now is the time to make bondage jokes."

Opening the door, House simply said, "There is no wrong time to make a bondage joke."

She was tempted to reply, but he slipped out of the room before she'd even had a chance to open her mouth. And she was okay with that. Honestly, given some of the things she'd said to him earlier, she was content to occupy this middle ground that they'd somehow managed to find. She certainly wasn't going to push matters any further.

Not if she could help it anyway.

In this relationship, it was necessary to add that caveat… unfortunately.

But that seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind, Cuddy would realize when she entered the kitchen minutes later.

When she'd first pulled herself out of the bathtub, she had been convinced otherwise. As she got dressed and fixed her hair and make up once more, she had begun to feel with increasing intensity that the calm she had found with House had been so ephemeral that it wouldn't even exist when she saw him next.

Yet, standing in the archway between the kitchen and the hallway, she could see now that she had been wrong about that.

House seemed happy enough, his back to her, as he stood over the stove cooking something. She thought it smelled like eggs, but she couldn't be sure from this distance.

Rachel was standing next to him on her tiptoes. Thanks to her hypothyroidism, she was shorter than most children; she was definitely too short to see what House was cooking apparently. Because, her voice tight as she strained to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, she said, "I can't see."

Cuddy expected him to say something cruel to her response; it would have been his go-to reaction, she knew. But instead, for reasons Cuddy didn't understand, he simply reached down and picked Rachel up.

Well, it wasn't so much reaching down as it was wrapping one arm around her waist and hoisting her up. But Cuddy wasn't going to complain about that at all. Because even though this wasn't the first time House had held Rachel, Cuddy would never take such an act for granted. Maybe she should have been able to, but seeing him pick Rachel up and show her what he was cooking made Cuddy feel like she too had failed to see something in that moment.

Like she had failed to see some part of House.

But that thought was promptly dashed when a loud clang echoed through the silent room. A spatula hitting the stovetop was responsible for the noise, followed up by an even louder House saying, "Unless you want your friends to call you 'stubs,' stop trying to touch the pan."

Rachel started to say something, but she'd barely uttered an "I" before a sneeze prevented her from speaking any more.

House was quick to turn her away from the stove, little girl germs spraying towards the sink as he held her at arms length. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cuddy standing there, watching them, and he had never been more relieved to see her.

Turning a little further, he held Rachel out to her. "Here," he said gruffly. "Take this."

Cuddy didn't move. "She can walk, you know." When House put the kid on the floor, Cuddy said to her, "Go blow your nose and wash your hands."

He turned away from both of them then. The eggs were almost done, and though Rachel and Cuddy continued to talk for a few seconds, he didn't pay attention to either of them. Chances were Rachel, not wanting to miss any perceived fun, was putting up a fight she couldn't possibly win about having to go blow her nose.

And in the end, that must have been what they were discussing, because it was only a couple seconds before he heard Rachel scampering away and Cuddy approaching him. At least, he was hoping that the person wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his shoulder blades was Cuddy.

Well, okay, he would have settled for the perpetrator being Megan Fox or some blonde nineteen year old with double Ds. But in terms of who was likely to be behind him, Cuddy was his preference.

Thankfully, she was. Her lips briefly pressing into his upper back and then moving on to his neck, she whispered, "Thank you."

"I said I would feed you," he told her, slightly annoyed by the implication that he wouldn't do what he'd said. But then House realized that she might not be talking about the sandwich, and that made him shift uncomfortably on his feed and quickly say, "Roast beef and fried eggs with tomato and mayo on -"

"So you're trying to kill me," she accused lightly.

"Not yet."

He could feel her shaking her head, her nose tickling his shoulder blades through his t-shirt. "Then you've decided to give my Lipitor a run for its money because…"

Turning off the burner, House scoffed. "You can pretend like you wanted something healthier all you want, but we both know that's not true. Your kid walked in on -"

"Lets not talk about that," she said, feeling her stomach clench painfully at the memory.

He reached around and squeezed her ass with a hand, as though that was going to somehow make her feel better. "My point is that this is exactly what you want right now, unhealthy or not." Reaching for the plates he'd set to the side of the stove, he told her, "You can thank me later."

How he managed to make that sound so dirty, she would never know. But it was obvious that he was talking about sex.

Her response was a dry "I've thanked you enough for one day."

At that moment, Rachel skipped back into the kitchen, and House could only vaguely reply, "That will never be true."

And the subject of sex was dropped instantly with the silent understanding that both adults hadn't come to any sort of agreement on the matter. Of course, Cuddy knew that no matter how long the conversation went on, she was going to lose in the end. Bet or not, she would end up having sex with him; it was just too good to say no to even if part of her was less than enthusiastic. Which was why they really didn't need to continue the conversation or, for that matter, have this stupid deal to begin with.

The ending had already written itself.

They both knew that.

Unfortunately, what neither had anticipated was the idea of sex being on someone else's brain as well.

They'd been quietly having lunch, Cuddy even going so far as to say, after taking a bite, "I changed my mind. I will marry you."

But House didn't have a chance to respond before Rachel, her cheeks and hands covered in runny egg yolk, interjected with a question no one was prepared for. "Mommy, were you making babies with House?"

The question was met with silence.

Cold, painful silence that House didn't dare end. Maybe he should have said something, but he was thinking: her kid, her problem. An ungentlemanly thought to be sure, but he'd already had one awful conversation with the brat today; he wasn't going to have another.

But he wasn't going to get away unscathed - that much was obvious. As he hesitantly stole a glance at Cuddy, he immediately cringed at the sight of her dark glare aimed at him.

Like he'd been the one to tell Rachel to ask that.

Pushing his plate away, he said slowly, "Guessing our engagement is over, huh?"

She didn't reply, but then, she didn't need to.

Her silence said it all.

Continue on to the next chapter