Gift of Screws, Chapter 10, Part 2

[lieueitak]

Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Ten, Part 2
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.  This chapter is also split into multiple posts because of Livejournal's word limit.  
Summary:  For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 (Part 1), Chapter 9 (Part 2), Chapter 9 (Part 3), Chapter 9 (Part 4), Chapter 10 (Part 1)

Disclaimer: I don't own it.


God, he looked ready to bolt.

And with the way Rachel was clinging to him, the entire image, truth be told, was laughable. He was terrified to be close, and Rachel was desperate to be near, and her inability to see the horror in House's face was almost enough to make Cuddy burst into laughter.

However, she couldn't exactly find it in herself to do that. She could recognize the humor, but it wasn't nearly enough to make her forget the seriousness of the situation. After all, if Rachel - who seemed to want to be near House - realized that he wanted her to get away from him, things would decidedly become very serious. Rachel would be heartbroken, and House would become defensive in the face of Cuddy's inevitable ire… and whatever had driven Rachel to want House to begin with would be completely forgotten about.

It would not be good.

And knowing that, Cuddy understood that she needed to calm both of them down as soon as possible.

At that moment, the phrase, easier said than done, came to mind, but she wasn't going to let that distract her from what she needed to do.

And the first step to making all of this right was to reassure House. That would certainly be difficult, as she would need to do it without actually openly trying to calm him down. As a matter of pride, he wouldn't want her to comfort him, especially not in front of Rachel. And Rachel herself was a factor to be considered.

Pretending for a moment that it was a fact - House was too distraught to care much about appearances - Cuddy was still sure that she couldn't be too consoling. Because Rachel would witness it, would realize that House was upset, would slowly realize why, and again, that was something Cuddy wanted to avoid. So while truthfully, Rachel was the bigger concern, he was the factor that needed to be addressed first. Because if he weren't calm, patient enough to let Rachel be comforted, it would be game over. He would freak out and, in the process, make things worse for Rachel.

For all of them.

That possibility one Cuddy wanted to avoid, she scooted closer to both of them. She couldn't do this from her side of the bed. Her hips shimmying as she moved toward them, she realized that this would inevitably make House crave space even more. But there was no way around that.

Her knees knocked lightly against his leg. As close as she was ever going to get, tentatively she reached out for both of her companions. First, she touched Rachel, offering her a couple of back rubs.

"It's okay," Cuddy told them both, though her eyes only met his gaze. And that was when she made a move for him. The same hand that had been on Rachel leisurely meandered downward, off the little girl's body, until Cuddy was lightly touching House's forearm. It wasn't as overtly reassuring as a handhold. But that was why Cuddy liked it. "Everybody needs to calm down."

Out of the edge of her gaze, she could see that Rachel was trying to listen. House definitely wasn't; in fact, it was doubtful he had even heard Cuddy. But her daughter, thankfully, was. Taking intentionally slow, deep breaths, Rachel was trying very hard to calm herself down. And though it wasn't immediately working, Cuddy could tell that it was gradually having its effect.

None of this was entirely surprising. House not listening to her was as unusual as a hospital housing sick people. Though he wasn't being disrespectful (their professional relationship required an implicit belief in one another), the truth was he rarely took instruction at the first opportunity. He would instead bypass her thoughts until his own way of thinking left him with no other choice. Rachel, on the other hand, didn't have enough faith or arrogance to ignore her mother. Unlike House, Rachel trusted the advice and rules given to her. True, she didn't always comply; she wasn't a perfect child by any means, but she also didn't seem to have the compulsion to disobey and disagree - not like House did anyway.

And like every child who had nightmares - or more importantly, like every child who'd had a medical emergency, she had been taught to try to remain calm and explain what was wrong. Again, Rachel wasn't perfect; it took a while for to get control of her emotions, and sometimes, she never did, but she tried, and the fact that she was trying was hardly surprising.

But it did come as a relief.

Okay, so House's behavior still concerned Cuddy. But if Rachel were able to take deep breaths, it meant unequivocally that this was no asthma attack. There might have been some other physical cause, but this meant that at least she was able to breathe. And it meant that she would be able to say soon enough what was bothering her. Again, Cuddy understood that her daughter was only five, and she didn't have the understanding or terminology to say that she was hyperglycemic or anything remotely along those lines. But she would be able to describe, if terribly, if she was feeling sick, dizzy, etc; she would be able to guide Cuddy to what the problem was. And Cuddy was encouraged by that fact.

However…

As good as that was, there was still House to contend with, and the more time Rachel needed to calm down, the more likely it was that something bad would happen. Cuddy wanted to ignore that concern in her mind, but there was no pretending like they weren't already on borrowed time. Because they were - Cuddy was sure of it.

But at the same time, she was equally sure that she could manage.

Hardly a stranger to difficult situations, she was more than familiar with the nuances of serving two masters - or in this case, controlling two children. Handling them both wouldn't be easy, but deep down, she knew that the dread she was feeling wasn't wholly warranted.

She was capable of doing this.

Or so she told herself as she moved even closer to House. Her voice soothing, she kept saying to Rachel, "That's it. Deep breaths for Mommy. I need you to calm down so you can tell me what's wrong."

But as Cuddy lay her head down in the small space between House's shoulder and neck, it was clear that she was using her body to comfort him.

Admittedly that sounded dirty. So to her own ears, it did, and she was thankful that House would never be privy to that thought. Had he been, she would have been teased mercilessly until he found someone or something else to mock.

What she was doing was hardly dirty though. Her body spooned against his, her right hand now loosely clasped around his left, this was hardly smut. Under different circumstances, maybe it could have been the beginning of something. But there was no way anyone was going to be getting sexual now. He might have been bristling beside her like it was something inappropriate, but it wasn't.

The fact that he thought it was, that he thought intimacy without sex was, did not make her feel good. It almost made her feel clingy and overbearing. But at the same time, she didn't doubt that he loved her. Clearly he did… more so than he was comfortable accepting at times, she supposed.

And Cuddy knew she could have been mad - about that, about all of it. She had the right. But it was a right she had no intention of exercising. Because she loved him and understood him well enough to know that… above all else, this wasn't born out of a lack of appreciation for her. If anything it was just the opposite; he felt so unworthy of any affection that, when it came his way, he had no idea what to do with it. So he would reject it, resent it, mock it, or, in rare instances, seize at it so greedily that he made a starving dog consuming a meal seem restrained. Though it shouldn't have been that way, though he shouldn't have been that way, he was. Even after all this time, unsure and secretly insecure, he had yet to learn what to do in these kinds of situations. And she couldn't be mad at him for that.

He tended to punish himself enough already.

Which was a thought that never failed to make her frown, and now was no different. Without Cuddy even realizing it, her lips had turned downward. The full pout on her face obscured partially by her hair, no one saw it. And she didn't even realize it was there until, out of sympathy, she pressed a kiss to House's neck and felt it against his skin.

He must have felt it too, because his reaction was to turn his head slightly in her direction. A move so imperceptible that most would have missed it, it was something she eagerly clung to as a sign of hope.

Sure, it was possible that she was reading the signs wrong. A small change in his body could have been just that. But Cuddy didn't really believe that. She'd been with him long enough to know what every gesture meant, and given the situation, she doubted that this would be the time House chose to change the vocabulary.

He needed her to understand in this situation.

He needed her reassurance.

He needed her - more than she would ever need him.

Not that he would ever tell her that.

She had the right to know that fact, he thought, but he couldn't find it in himself to say it. It would sound so weak and pathetic coming from a man like him - especially right after a thing like this.

Whatever this was.

Like many things involving Rachel, he had no idea how to describe what was going on. The product of a nightmare or medical crisis - those mere designations couldn't properly articulate the bizarreness that was now all around him. Those words might have been able to explain why it was happening (to an extent), but he didn't care about the why. At this point, he didn't even really care why.

All he wanted was for it to not be happening.

But this too was another thing he could never say to Cuddy. She was too invested in seeing him adjust to and flourish in these situations to appreciate just how intensely uncomfortable he was right now.

True, she must have sensed that he was floundering. She wouldn't have been so close to him, holding his hand and kissing him, if she didn't. At least she wouldn't have been under these circumstances. But knowing that he was unhappy was apparently not enough to get Rachel off of him - to make Cuddy pick her damn kid up and deal with the problem on her own.

Cuddy was clearly trying to placate him, to calm him down, and given that he was completely freaked out, part of him greedily welcomed her efforts. But more than anything, he wanted this to be over.

Now.

Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to share his urgency. Rachel was too busy whimpering on his stomach, her tears and sniffles being absorbed by his t-shirt. And Cuddy was preoccupied with her, with repeatedly telling her in a gentle voice to stop crying and tell everyone what was wrong.

Mind you it was working. The encouragement Rachel was receiving was having its intended effect. But why this couldn't take place elsewhere he didn't know.

The question driving him to distraction, he barely noticed that Rachel and Cuddy were talking.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Cuddy asked, using her free hand to push several strands of tangled hair out of her daughter's face.

Even before Rachel nodded her head and spoke, Cuddy could tell what was wrong. It was without a doubt a bad dream. Most parents would have started with that theory and would have had the good fortune of being right nearly all of the time. With Rachel though, there was just no telling at first glance. Unless there were other visible symptoms, crying on its own gave away nothing, making something that should have been simple fairly complicated.

But Cuddy wasn't complaining at the moment. A nightmare was easy to handle, after all. A nightmare was something Rachel could recover from fairly quickly.

This was completely unlike tears created from poor glucose levels, which almost always made the crying last long after her blood had been dosed with sugar or insulin.

No, a nightmare was safe. It was not the beginning of a hospital stay or even more meticulous medical monitoring. This might have taken longer for Cuddy to diagnose, but it was something she could fix.

And because of that fact, she had to work hard to keep the relief off her face when Rachel finally confessed, "I had a bad dream." It might have been nice to know that physically Rachel was okay, but Rachel would not have understood why her mother was happy in that moment. She would have been confused and hurt, so Cuddy was careful not to give anything away. Because when everyone was already on edge and exhausted, when her daughter was still terrified, the last thing Cuddy wanted to do was make things worse.

So she was as sympathetic as she could be when she said, "I'm sorry, baby." She shifted alongside House so that she could kiss Rachel on her sweaty forehead. "It must have been very scary."

Rachel didn't say yes or no. She didn't nod or shake her head like you were supposed to when someone said something. That was what Miss Claire, her last teacher, said anyway. "You let everyone know you understand," she taught them. Mommy liked nods and shakes and yeses, Mommy didn't like no unless it was the answer to "Did you break this lamp?" And then she wasn't happy anyway, cause it meant House was the one who did it, so then she was mad at him.

But Rachel wasn't saying no now either. She was being quiet. Like a mouse. Mice probably never had bad dreams though, so maybe she wasn't like a mouse. Maybe she wasn't like any animal. Maybe she was just a Rachel. She would have liked to be something else, but no, she was just a Rachel - a Rachel who didn't want to say she was afraid or anything else. Mommy would probably want her to talk, but Rachel didn't want to say anything. She didn't want to make House mad.

Mommy didn't seem to care about that though, cause she asked the question Rachel didn't want to answer. "Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

Rachel shook her head. Her nose accidentally rubbed against House's shirt and dripped on it. For a moment, she worried that he would yell at her for it. He didn't usually yell, but he had today, a little bit, and she didn't want him to do it again. He was really loud. Normally he wasn't like that. Normally he just liked to be grumpy and say things she didn't know the meaning of. But Rachel knew nobody liked boogers (except for Teddy Crane who ate his), and she didn't want him to be mad at her for that.

If he was angry though, he didn't have time to say anything. Mommy, not knowin' what Rachel had done, said, "You might feel better if you talked about it. Sometimes talking makes things seem not so scary."

Rachel wanted to shake her head, but she was afraid. So she lied and said, her voice hushed by his shirt, "Don't remember."

Mommy knew it was a lie. Mommy always knew. She denied having lasers that could tell her when people were lying (Mommy actually liked to laugh at that idea), but Rachel knew different. Mommy had superpowers.

And since Rachel didn't want to get in trouble for lying, she clumsily changed her story. "Not tellin'."

"Why not?" Cuddy didn't say it angrily; it wasn't a demand or an accusation. She simply wanted to know why Rachel didn't want to talk about her dream. But Rachel didn't offer a reason. "Why not, monkey?" Licking her lips, Cuddy hesitantly asked, "Are you embarrassed?"

Affronted Rachel replied with indignation, "No!" At that moment, House shifted his leg back on the bed, which made her scream even more loudly, "No!"

Her knuckles turned white as she clung to him. Literally, she clung to him, and Cuddy was stunned into silence at the sight.

Was this really happening?

She knew she needed to say something, but she had no idea what. This was just too bizarre for her to know how to respond.

In the end though, House was the one to break the silence. Peevishly, bitterly he snapped, "I'm not going anywhere. I was getting back in bed since there's absolutely no chance of me escaping the live action version of Little Women happening on top of me."

Tensing Cuddy waited for the loud sobbing that had filled their bedroom only moments ago to return. She didn't dare admonish House; she would later, but right now, doing that would just put him over the edge. And since Rachel seemed attached to him for reasons nobody but she understood, Cuddy absolutely wasn't going to do the one thing that would send him running. Truly her only option was to anticipate Rachel's tears returning.

But they didn't.

If anything it seemed like House's words, as unfriendly and rough as they'd been, had made Rachel... calmer?

That didn't make any sense, Cuddy thought, but that was what it looked like was going on. It really did appear as though Rachel had relaxed as soon as House had spoken. How that could possibly be… Cuddy didn't know. She didn't doubt that House could be comforting. She'd had more than enough experiences with him to know that he could absolutely be soothing, protective, and reassuring. He'd done it tonight. Even when she'd fought so hard to resist, he had been there for her. And because of that, maybe it shouldn't have felt so weird for Rachel to take solace seemingly in him.

But it did feel that way to Cuddy. Because she was used to House's own personal brand of reassurance; Rachel wasn't. Most people weren't. Most people didn't know to or didn't want to look beyond his gruffness to see the gentleness within him. Then again, he didn't want them to, and Cuddy didn't think that he wanted Rachel to at this particular second. He just wanted her to get away from him.

For whatever reason though, Rachel was embracing him and his words. And Cuddy had no idea why that was, but she supposed that it would be foolish to question the matter aloud. If Rachel didn't want to have a meltdown, fine. Cuddy might have been confused, but if it got everyone back to sleep sooner, she wasn't going to ask questions.

What she would do was try to get Rachel to talk about her bad dream. More than anything, that was the key to resolving this situation, and Cuddy knew it.

Gently pressing more kisses to her daughter's forehead, she attempted to console her some more. "It's all right, Rachel. Nobody's going anywhere. Okay? House and I are going to stay right here, so you can tell us what your dream was about."

She could practically feel House rolling his eyes at her. No doubt he felt her attempt at not so subtly telling everyone what to do was awful. He would take offense at the transparency, and she couldn't blame him; she was trying to console, but even to her own ears, it almost sounded like an ultimatum. Thankfully though House didn't say anything - a fact that she considered a small victory.

Returning her attention to Rachel, Cuddy asked carefully, "Was your dream about Marina?" She hadn't wanted to ask that question. Having hoped that Rachel would volunteer information about her dream, Cuddy hadn't wanted to waste time guessing what was wrong. But at this point, there really was no other option, and she'd guessed the one thing that seemed to torment her daughter regularly these days: Marina's death.

Rachel shook her head. "No."

"No?" Cuddy didn't know if she believed her. "Are you sure?"

"Uh huh."

It seemed like she was telling the truth, but then… if that were true, the question remained: what had upset Rachel so much? Cuddy supposed that it could have been just about anything - ghosts, goblins, going to school naked, etc. Not too long ago, Rachel had had a dream where she'd been a frog trying to escape an amphibian-eating toilet, so it really could have been about anything. But Cuddy doubted that this was a run-of-the-mill nightmare. If it was, there was absolutely no reason for Rachel to be seeking comfort from House.

The thought, bitter sounding even in her own mind, made Cuddy cringe inwardly. She shouldn't have been so suspicious about the moment taking place before her. But she was. She shouldn't have felt something she could only describe as envy growing inside of her. But she did.

Honestly, it made no sense. House holding Rachel… it was what Cuddy had been hoping for all this time. She'd wanted this. Maybe in her mind, she'd envisioned House being more affectionate, but basically, this was what she'd wanted. And yet, she felt some part of herself wondering why Rachel hadn't come to her.

As though Cuddy's confusion was beginning to funnel itself into an inkling of rejection, she couldn't help but wonder why Rachel had chosen House. He didn't even care. He wasn't even doing anything to console her. Cuddy was the one doing that. She was the one rubbing Rachel's back and offering her kisses and reassuring words. House was the one just lying there, praying that it would be over soon. And Rachel wanted him?

It made no sense.

Unless….

Had Cuddy been the source of the nightmare?

She guessed it was possible. Of course, that still didn't explain why Rachel wanted to be near House, but if Cuddy had done something cruel in the dream, maybe… maybe that was why Rachel didn't want to be around her. Cuddy didn't want to believe that that was the case, but she knew it was possible. Which was why she asked quietly, "Did you dream about me, baby?"

"No." But the way Rachel said it made Cuddy think that she'd touched on something. Because while she could tell that Rachel wasn't lying, there was a tightness in her voice that said that Cuddy was getting close.

"Okay," Cuddy said with a slight nod of the head. "Did you dream about somebody else?" Rachel didn't respond, which practically guaranteed that the answer was a yes. "Did you dream about -"

"Oh for the love of God," House finally snapped. He'd had enough.

Cuddy looked up at him, her gaze angry and cold. "House."

He shook his head. "I hung in there for as long as I could, but -"

"And you can wait a few more minutes," she said dismissively, the implicit warning impossible to miss.

"I could." He reached down and unceremoniously shifted Rachel towards the left side of his body. Every time Cuddy had asked a question, Rachel had squirmed; the movement hadn't been a lot (he doubted Cuddy had even noticed), but nevertheless, she was inching towards the right side of his body. And if she were to put all of her weight on his thigh or nudge it accidentally, he feared he wouldn't be able to control his reaction. So he moved her back to the spot she'd originally occupied on top of him.

Of course, House would have preferred getting Rachel off of him all together. But she was gripping him so hard, and it would have created such a scene that he settled for repositioning her and telling Cuddy nastily, "But this is like watching a toddler try to fit a triangle through the square peg."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry this is boring you, but I'm trying to help my -"

"You still haven't figured it out?" he asked patronizingly.

Cuddy sat up abruptly. Were they really going to fight now? Was he seriously picking a fight with her when all she wanted to do was calm Rachel down? "I can't believe -"

"How slow you're being?" he offered. "Me neither."

Cuddy glanced over at Rachel. As though she were weighing her options, House knew she was debating whether or not it was worth fighting him on the matter. Cuddy was asking herself, "Do I start a fight with him now or focus on my kid?" It was a tough call to make, which was why he wasn't surprised that she went with the middle ground.

"If you think you know what Rachel's dream was about…" she challenged, folding her arms across her chest. "Then by all means… share it with the rest of us."

He hesitated. He'd figured what was wrong with the kid, but he was reluctant to do what Cuddy wanted. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but at that moment, it struck him that the truth would be altering in ways he couldn't even begin to predict. He hadn't really thought about it before; he'd been too smug with knowledge to consider the fallout. But now he had, and he wanted nothing more than to be wrong.

"Well?" Cuddy demanded. An arrogant smile toyed with the lines of her lips. Clearly she thought he had nothing. She thought he was bluffing.

She was wrong.

And he hated himself for being this way, but he wanted her to know just how wrong she was. Facts only had so much power when they stayed inside you; keeping the truth to himself would only make him miserable, because she would never shut up about how he'd bluffed and lost this little tiff. Which meant that, even if it would mean more for him than her, she needed to be fully aware of how stupidly wrong she was.

"Me," he said finally, the unfortunate word forced out on an exhale. "Her nightmare was about me."

Cuddy scoffed. It lasted just a second, but her immediate reaction was to assume he was lying. Well, what else was new? In this instance, he didn't blame her though. The whole idea was crazy, and though he'd been the one to realize that Rachel had dreamed of him, he could see that it was completely insane. Truth be told, he probably would have been able to deny the whole thing, pretend like it hadn't happened, if it weren't for the look of shame on Rachel's face. So it wasn't surprising that Cuddy's scoff quickly gave way to a mouth agape and eyes wide open.

Her attention now completely on Rachel, she asked, "Is that true?"

Of course it was. He'd put two and two together the second Rachel had denied dreaming of Marina. Usually, it was the dead nanny that made quiet nights with Cuddy an impossibility. Visions of babysitters meeting speeding cars had the tendency of turning Rachel into an affection-starved, teary-eyed pain in the ass. But then that had always been Mommy's problem, and if Little Orphan Annie was snuggling up to him like he was Daddy Warbucks without the usual emotional trauma fueling it, then he'd realized it meant something else was going on.

In this instance, the only way the pieces fit together was if she'd been dreaming of him. That was the something else. And honestly, at this point, even if he hadn't solved the puzzle, the way Rachel was blushing under her mother's gaze said it all.

"Oh Rachel," Cuddy said softly. Leaning forward she wrapped her arms around Rachel as best as she could. Given that her daughter was still clinging to House, it wasn't easy to hug her. Cuddy did her best though. "I'm so sorry you had that dream. But…" she said, preparing to smooth over any fractures Rachel's relationship with House was about to experience. "I know that whatever he did to you in your dream, he didn't mean it."

As soon as the words came out, she could see House's entire body language change. He was stiffening, the lines of his body shifting so he looked harsher. He was offended. Which made no sense, because all she'd been trying to do was prevent Rachel from punishing him for something that had never happened. And House knew that that was possible, because he'd been around long enough to understand that Rachel was more than capable of holding a grudge for something that had occurred solely in her dreams. So he should have known that Cuddy was trying to be nice.

She'd been mad at him seconds ago, sure. But that anger had disappeared the instant she'd realized that he'd been right about Rachel. Then Cuddy had been forced to consider that his outburst had been a reaction to what he'd figured out. Clearly feeling guilty about, even fictionally, harming Rachel, he'd lashed out as a result, Cuddy had realized.

Instantly, she'd forgiven him.

Without a second thought, she'd forgiven him. And her words had only been an attempt at putting everything right.

But House wasn't looking grateful, relieved, appreciative - or anything else that would have suggested that he understood her actions.

Sighing Cuddy asked tiredly, "What now?"

He shook his head.

"Tell me."

"That you assume the worst about me?" He sneered. "You already know that."

Cuddy was completely taken aback. "What are you -"

"Do you think she'd be clinging to me if I did something to -"

"I don't know, House," she interrupted, her voice harried and tight with emotion. "I have no idea what her dream…" Her voice trailed off as she realized Rachel was still in the room. Not wanting a huge fight (even though some part of her did), Cuddy gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to argue, and she knew that. So she simply said, "I was just trying -"

"And failed," House finished casually.

She grimaced. "I didn't -"

"He didn't do anything," Rachel said in a voice that was inexplicably clear. Normally in these situations - when she was upset or scared - she mumbled. But neither House nor Cuddy were confused by what Rachel had said. Her pronunciation had been perfect, her defense of House unquestionable.

And still Cuddy asked, "What did you say?"

Rachel must have felt she was in trouble, because this time she did mumble. "Didn't do nothing."

"Okay," Cuddy replied immediately despite her confusion. She'd been hoping she'd heard wrong. Obviously she hadn't, but she'd needed to hear Rachel say it again. And now that she had, Cuddy hated herself for it. House's smugness was nauseating.

With difficulty, she ignored it - him. Instead focusing all of her attention on Rachel, she said, "I'm just trying to understand why you're so upset. Mommy just wants to help you."

Her words must have touched something inside of Rachel, because instantly she reached for Cuddy. "Mama."

"Come here," Cuddy told her as she plucked Rachel off of House's lap.

No one resisted the move. House obviously wasn't going to protest, and Rachel easily settled in Cuddy's arms. With Rachel's face pressed into her chest, Cuddy expected to see House sprinting out of bed and out of the room. He hadn't said much, but he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't want to be around.

Yet he didn't move at all.

Irritated Cuddy assumed that he wanted her to witness his sulking, wanted her to see how "upset" (quotation marks, because she doubted he actually cared) he was at her interpretation of Rachel's behavior. He wasn't staying, because he was interested in hearing what Rachel had to say. Cuddy didn't have the brain damage to even begin to think that.

No, he was staying here to prove a point.

A point Cuddy didn't give a damn about.

… Well, all right, she did. She did care. And she would apologize for her gaffe - just not right now. Rachel was the concern for the time being. She had to be. And as such, she was the one Cuddy chose to reassure.

Rocking her, she said, "So now we know who you dreamed about. Do you think you can tell Mommy what happened?"

"Don't wanna say."

"Why not?" House interjected, much to Cuddy's dismay. "You already copped to the embarrassing part… unless you dreamed about me being naked and then admitting that is the least of your problems."

Rachel scrunched her tiny nose up in disgust. "Ew," she whined, elongating the word for several seconds. "I didn't dream about you naked."

"Good," he replied. "Cause only Jenna Jameson is allowed to do that. And Mommy too when I'm willing to make the exception."

"House."

Cuddy was not pleased that he was mentioning a porn star in front of her daughter. She also wasn't thrilled at being ranked behind said porn star when it came to who had the right to imagine him being naked. But this wasn't personal (no matter what that voice inside of her was saying). This was about Rachel.

Not that she seemed to notice.

Squirming out of Cuddy's arms once more, she plopped herself back on top of House. "Rachel," Cuddy admonished. Again though, she was ignored.

"Are you trying to break my ribs?" House asked, shifting Rachel so her knees weren't digging into him.

Rachel didn't answer. Instead she said in a sing song voice, "I seen you naked already. Don't want to dream about it."

"I think we're all relieved to hear that," he replied.

At that moment, much to his chagrin and discomfort, Rachel chose to snuggle - snuggle - up next to him. Tucking her head underneath his chin, she was as close as she'd ever been to him. So near, she was making her previous attempt at being close to him seem distant.

Why she was doing this…

He had no idea.

She'd dreamed about him, okay. But that shouldn't have necessitated this. No nightmare should have required her to be this close to him. To her mother? Yes. Sure. Fine. If Rachel needed to hug someone, that was understandable, but then that was why she had a mother.

He was about to point this out, especially to Cuddy who was, of course, doing nothing. But Rachel spoke first. Her voice barely above a whisper, her breath hot on his skin, she confessed, "I had a dream about the shark."

He didn't understand at first. She'd used the words, the shark, like he was supposed to know what she was talking about. Sure, she wasn't anywhere near an expert on the English language. But if she'd meant to say she'd dreamed of a random fish, she would have said, "I dreamed of a shark." She'd said the, meaning this was a specific shark - one that he was supposed to be aware of.

It went without saying that he wasn't, aware that was. He had no idea what she was talking about. That wasn't his area of study. Infectious disease? Yes. Ichthyology? No. But she was expecting him to know what the hell she was talking about. And he wracked his brain for references that he and she would have, but the only thing that came to mind was…

Damn it.

In that instant, he knew what she was talking about. The words he'd said to Rachel suddenly began to echo in his mind, and like a train wreck he couldn't look away from, the events of this morning began to play before his eyes.

He had shown her his leg, his scar, and seeing its ugliness up close and personal, Rachel had assumed that something so horrible could only come from something equally terrible. Being five and not particularly imaginative, she'd come up with a shark bite, and not particularly concerned with Rachel's ability to understand, he'd let her think that.

For only a moment though.

The second it became clear that she actually believed him, he'd corrected her. He'd told her no.

"It looks like a shark bit you."

He rolled his eyes. "You know, that's exactly what happened."

Though it seemed impossible, her eyes became even wider. "Really?"

"No."

Recalling the moment easily, he knew he had put a stop to it; he had done the right thing.

All right… he could concede that perhaps the right thing would have been to never let Rachel think he'd been attacked. But she'd been thinking it anyway, and surely letting her believe it for a couple more seconds wasn't that wrong.

And yet he knew Cuddy would never see it that way. She would blame him. She would be furious, so it was a good thing she didn't want to get pregnant; by the time she was through neutering him, that wouldn't even be an option.

As though she could tell he was thinking about her, Cuddy asked him pointedly, "What is she talking about?"

He considered lying but only briefly. She would find out soon enough, so a lie would only make him look worse. It would just look like he'd tried to keep it from her or like he'd purposely created this situation.

On the latter count, he was completely innocent. Even if he'd wanted to mess with Rachel's head, he couldn't have had the power to dictate what her subconscious would do. He couldn't have predicted that she would dream the exact scenario he'd allowed her to believe. Whose subconscious even worked that way?

Rachel's did apparently.

And on the off chance that he was supposed to magically know this, he didn't want to answer Cuddy's question. So he did the mature thing and ignored her completely.

His attention on Rachel, he reminded her, "I told you that's not what happened."

Rachel pouted (as did Cuddy, he noted). "You said -"

"I said our conversation would be better if a great white gnawed my face off. I didn't say that it did happen."

She was unconvinced. "I saw your scar."

It was, in her mind, a counterpoint to his words. Using her logic, he could see as much; she had no idea what else could create such wounds. For her, it could only be a shark or a bear or some other huge animal or monster. She had no idea what an infarction was; that wasn't part of her vocabulary. And in her mind, if she'd seen the scar, then that was all the proof she needed to feel like she was right.

In his mind, her saying those words was all the proof he needed to know that Cuddy was going to kill him. They'd never had a discussion about his thigh - at least not in terms of how to handle it with Rachel. There'd never been a moment where Cuddy said keep it a secret or where he told her that he didn't want the kid to know.

Should they have?

For House, it was private. He wasn't… ashamed of it really. He wasn't hiding the truth from anyone, especially not from Rachel. But he'd also never considered it any of her business. And he wasn't sure where Cuddy landed on the matter.

To be honest, he was more ambivalent than anything else. He definitely didn't think it was something Rachel needed to know, didn't think that Cuddy had the right to divulge what was personal, but at the same time, he didn't want his girlfriend to view this part of him as something horrific. He wasn't ashamed, but if the woman he loved was or thought he was (or should be)…

He would.

And no matter how he felt, no matter how she felt, he didn't want to deal with that now. All he really wanted to do was sleep - not find himself knee deep in a conversation he wasn't prepared to have.

But there was no avoiding it, it seemed. Before he could even put a stop to the conversation, Cuddy interjected in confusion, "Rachel… I think maybe you're confusing what happened in your dream with what's real. House has never - I promise you - done anything with -"

"No, no, no!" Rachel practically screamed in frustration. "I'm not making it up!"

Cuddy gave her a dark look. "Don't yell at me, Rachel." Her voice was calm, nothing like the shrill tone House was used to when she was pissed at him. And unlike all of the times Cuddy had yelled at him, Rachel seemed to listen.

Taking a deep breath, she said in a whiny voice, "I'm not lying."

"I'm not saying you are," Cuddy replied in a firm but gentle manner.

"It really happened."

Cuddy shook her head. "I know you think it -"

"I saw his leg," Rachel insisted, her tiny fists pounding into House by accident. "I'm not making it up. He showed me."

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