Gift of Screws, Chapter Fifteen
Title: Gift of Screws, Chapter Fifteen
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.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
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), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14
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
"Hold my hand."
"No."
House peered down at Rachel. Harsh wind blew the falling and long-since-fallen snow sideways across the parking lot, which made it hard to see anything that wasn't directly in front of his face. But squinting, he could just make out the ire in her dark eyes and flushed cheeks.
And to be honest, that came as no surprise. She'd been on the verge of a tantrum since, it seemed, the second House and Cuddy had unceremoniously ended breakfast. At least, Rachel had been in a bad mood the instant they'd returned to the table.
Of course, it hadn't been - it wasn't - hard to understand why. If there were one thing that had been made clear over the years, it was that Rachel needed a certain level of attention paid to her. Obviously, House recognized that that was true of anyone, but it seemed with the kid that her needs were much higher than most people's.
He didn't begrudge her that.
More often than not, when faced with genuine selflessness, House either found himself unable to respect it or completely taken by surprise by it. And with Rachel, he neither expected nor demanded it of her. When he couldn't even remember the last time he himself had demonstrated such kindness, he knew he couldn't expect it from her.
But regardless of how he felt, the truth was in any case that she needed far more attention than she had received this morning. Between his tense conversation with Cuddy and their unpleasant shower together, Rachel had basically been lost in all of it. There was no denying that; looking back at how breakfast had progressed, House could see that they'd essentially only talked to her to avoid the awkward tension between them.
They'd used her.
Which was bad enough in and of itself, but then Cuddy had made things worse by leaving.
Admittedly, thinking that easily made it seem like he was projecting his issues on to Rachel; that wasn't the case, but House could see how someone else might think it was. It certainly would appear to be a suspicious coincidence. Again, though, it wasn't.
The simple fact of the matter was Rachel didn't get unlimited time with her mother. Thanks to work and school, meetings and activities, and the like, the two always seemed to be in want of more time together. And no one seemed to be affected by that fact more than Rachel herself.
Honestly, she'd been so devastated about losing some of the little time she had with her mother that House wasn't surprised by her behavior now.
But that didn't mean he enjoyed it.
He didn't.
Not at all.
But then, he had to wonder who would be happy in his place.
Figuring the answer was no one, he bitterly repeated the order to Rachel. "Hold my hand while we cross the parking lot."
"No!"
"Yes."
"I don't wanna!" Her chin pointed upward in defiance. "You can't make me."
He thought about pointing out that he was a couple times bigger than she was and he could easily make her, but he didn't. Intimidation was something he wanted to strive to be above in this situation. Maybe he wasn't above it in other areas of his life, but what would it say about him to resort to it when it came to interactions with a five year old? More importantly, what would it say to Cuddy when Rachel told her?
Not good things.
So he had no choice but to reason with the brat.
"We both know I could make you," he pointed out. "I don't want to, cause that would end messily for both of us. But that means you have a choice to make now."
Rachel didn't look as though she were paying attention at all. The snow was still falling heavily, whipping all about them. Yet every now and then, like at this particular moment, the wind would blow and give them a clear view of something in the shopping center.
"Hey," he said loudly, drawing her focus away from a woman leading her black Great Dane into the vet's office across the parking lot.
Rachel blinked and looked up.
"You want to stand out here in the cold? Fine," he said with a shrug. Obviously he couldn't leave her there, but she didn't know that. "You can stay right here and freeze, but you better hope you don't need your inhaler and that there isn't some creepy pervert who smells like feet waiting to kidnap you."
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. He hadn't meant to intimidate; he hadn't wanted to be one of those guys who'd just pick the kid up and force her to go wherever her needed her to be. But somehow, he'd ended up in do-what-I-say-or-die territory, and that had to be way worse.
Instantly realizing his mistake, he knew he needed to change tactics and fast.
"Never mind," he said quickly, as though saying those words would make Rachel forget them. "Point is, you can either stand out here, or you can come inside…." He cringed, knowing exactly where he was headed with all of this. "And… if you're good, I'll get you something in the store."
Bribery.
Inwardly, he asked just how pathetic he could get.
"Like what?" Rachel asked, her large eyes suddenly trained on him with interest.
"I don't know." He sounded peevish, but since he was, there was nothing to be done about that. "Whatever you want." Realizing she'd be dumb enough to want a used tampon from the women's bathroom or a box of condoms, he added hastily, "Within reason."
"Okay."
She shrugged and latched on his hand.
And though that had been what he'd wanted… the ease with which she did it made him think that he'd just been played. She'd just been difficult to get that promise from him, to get the present from him.
Normally, he would have appreciated that kind of manipulation. Hell, he'd probably been the one to unknowingly teach her how to do it. But at the moment, he could be neither proud nor concerned over her behavior and his influence on it. He was too bothered by the fact that a five year old had outwitted him.
And not just any five year old.
This was a five year old who ate paste, who asked her mother just the other week why snow wasn't made of cotton balls and what would happen if you ate poop.
And she'd just manipulated him?
Well, that was just great, he thought bitterly. Like his day hadn't been bad enough, Rachel had to go and outsmart him.
Wonderful.
But as horrible as that was, he didn't want to dwell on it (too much, anyway). After all, he'd gotten what he'd wanted: Rachel was holding onto him and walking with him.
Okay, so that was hardly what he wanted. Watching her while Cuddy spent time with that asshole didn't exactly constitute what House wanted. It didn't at all.
However, he supposed it could be worse. He could have been dragging Rachel into the drug store or been forced to try and carry her across the icy parking lot. And at least this way, she was coming with him willingly and without making everyone around them suspect that he was trying to kidnap her.
On that last count, he would have liked to say that no one was even paying attention to them in the store. But that was definitely not the case.
His plan had been to drop Rachel off in the toy aisle, which was within eyesight of the line at the pharmacy and the aisle dedicated to things women put in or on their crotches. He'd (rightly) anticipated that she would prefer to look at the snowman making kits than wait in the long line with him. Indeed, one glance at the huge queue of morons probably waiting to get cold medicine, and Rachel had easily agreed to stay in the toy aisle.
But what House hadn't guessed right was the rest of his plan. Figuring his wait for the meds would be long, he'd decided to put Rachel's prescription in first and then find the over-the-counter cream she needed.
Unfortunately though, a man perusing vaginal creams was bound to attract attention. Of course, he wasn't making it any easier for himself; as a doctor, obviously he knew which brands were generally safe for children and which ones were definitely not. As Cuddy's boyfriend, he knew what she bought. But even with all those factors in play, he still couldn't help but curiously look at the various items in the aisle.
And to the nosy outsider, that made it seem like he had no idea what he was doing.
There were plenty of side glances, women looking at him as though maybe he needed help. Yet it was only when he'd picked up a pack of female condoms that someone finally said something to him.
"Do you need help?" a woman who screamed suburban housewife (and who had been watching him for fifteen minutes) asked.
House looked over at her. Irritated by her officiousness, he couldn't resist the temptation to screw with her mind. "Yeah," he said, holding up the box of condoms for her to clearly see the label. "Would you put one of these on? I'm trying to figure out if it's still just like having sex with a plastic bag."
She walked away without giving him an answer.
Which was just as well, really; at that moment, someone from the pharmacy called out, "Cuddy!" And the whole lack of confidentiality aside, what that meant was his prescription was ready, meaning he couldn't spent time tormenting the woman anyway.
Tossing the condoms to the side, he grabbed the cream Cuddy had specifically told him to get. He quickly glanced over to Rachel, to make sure that she was still there, and then headed back into the long line.
Once more he took stock of his situation. And again he told himself that it could be worse. Not that he was saying that this was good, he realized. He was just seeing that, as bad as this was, things were going all right.
Again, he looked over in Rachel's direction. He didn't know why he did that at that particular moment. Part of him suspected that he hadn't been able to trust the moment, that any acknowledgment of things being okay meant that they would suddenly go wrong. But that thought hadn't coalesced until after he'd already looked at her. And there was no telling why he'd done it in the first place.
He didn't think about the why too much though. At that second, he was far more intrigued by Rachel's behavior.
In her hands was a stuffed rabbit holding a plush carrot. In the back of his mind, he guessed the store was selling them for Easter, but more than anything, the image struck him as… odd.
Rachel was holding the rabbit, but she was barely paying any attention to it. She kept looking up at something else on one of the shelves (which was blocked from his sight by a bottled water display). And when she did look down at the stuffed animal, she would… frown?
The simplest explanation would appear to be that Rachel didn't want the toy in her hands. Given that Rachel was a fairly simple creature, it would stand to reason that the easiest explanation was, in fact, the correct one. But if she didn't want the rabbit, why had she picked it out? Why not just get something else?
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered to find answers to those questions. He just wouldn't have cared to know the reasons. In this case though, if only out of sheer boredom, he decided to figure it out. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, after all.
So, with all of Rachel's medication in hand, he approached her. "That what you want?" he asked gruffly as he stopped in front of her.
She nodded her head.
"Really?"
She nodded her head more enthusiastically to say yes. But he couldn't help but notice her gaze shift to something behind him.
Interested he turned around to see what it was that she'd been looking at. Trying to follow her line of sight, he was immediately confronted by a row of large stuffed monkeys in pastel colors.
Truth be told, there was something intriguing about them. In House's opinion, they sort of looked like Wilson and Curious George had mated, and this was the result. It was something in the beady dark brown eyes, House thought, something in the blank and friendly expression.
Grabbing the nearest one (a purple one), he turned around to face Rachel once more. "You sure you want the rabbit? Or you want one of these?"
Rachel didn't say anything right away. She knew that that would just make him grumblier than he normally was, but she didn't want to say the wrong thing. Cause as much as she really did want the monkey, she didn't want to say she did and have him be mad and say she couldn't have anything.
She didn't want that to happen.
But the longer she stayed quiet, the grumpier he seemed to be. "You gonna answer the question or just stand there like a moron?"
She squeezed the rabbit in her arms tightly. Mumbling, she told him the truth. As much as she didn't want to upset him, she was more afraid of what would happen if Mommy found out she'd lied. "I want the monkey."
"Here." He thrust the monkey at her.
But she didn't take it.
Resisting the urge to scoff and snap at her, he said through gritted teeth, "You said you wanted the monkey. Why aren't you taking it?"
She practically buried her face into the rabbit before explaining in a quiet voice, "I want a blue one."
Wordlessly House swapped the purple one for a monkey that was the shade of a robin's egg. He didn't understand why one was more preferable than the other, but if it would make her more apt to listen to him, then it was fine with him.
"Here." He pushed the large monkey (which was practically half her size) into her arms. As soon as she had a hold of it, he snatched the rabbit out of her grip. Not surprisingly she let go easily, and he unceremoniously stuffed it onto the closest shelf. "Come on."
Heading towards the check out, he never glanced back to make sure Rachel was following. He didn't need to. Her wet sneakers squeaked on the floor behind him, and every now and then, he'd see out of the corner of his eye a flash of bright blue from the monkey in her arms.
There was no complaining, no refusing to come with him. There were no questions, no idle chatter about penguins being unable to fly. There was, in fact, nothing to make her presence unbearable.
And getting to that point had been so easy too, so simple that House actually wondered why he hadn't resorted to bribery before. When it had an effect like this, why not offer her something every time he had to watch over her?
But it was just as he thought that things were going smoothly that everything suddenly turned south.
He was standing in line to pay for everything. Rachel was now at his side. Things were fine.
And then it came time to pay for the monkey.
He slapped onto the counter what he had in his hands and turned to Rachel. "Hand him the monkey."
She didn't. If anything she held on to it tighter.
The cashier smiled patiently. "Is your daddy getting you that?"
No, House realized, reconsidering his assessment. That wasn't a patient smile. It was a "I'm a child molester" smile, probably.
He glared at the balding, elder man with thick glasses and a mustache. He did not want to be called Rachel's father.
Not that this was the first time someone had made that assumption.
Over the years, every now and then, someone would say something. And every time, he wouldn't be able to respond or deny it, because a little girl with an unfriendly man she wasn't related to set off alarm bells in everyone.
That was unfortunate, because by not denying it, House was sure he was giving Rachel the impression that it was true. Although, if she actually believed that, she never said anything about it, which he guessed was better than nothing.
As if to prove the point, she said nothing now. She just looked at the cashier blankly.
The man was not deterred. "Well, it's a very cute monkey. Does he have a name?" Rachel nodded. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"Froggie," she said quietly.
House scoffed. Who the hell named their stuffed monkey Froggie?
Never mind, he thought immediately. If anyone was that person, it was clearly Rachel.
"That's great," House interrupted instantly. "Hand the damn thing over."
She knew she had no choice. She would either give it to him, or he would steal it from her. If he wanted her monkey, he would take her monkey, just like he stealed her Halloween candy after she'd hidden it to keep it from him.
He was not nice.
And he'd take her monkey even if she didn't want him to have it.
Actually, now that Rachel thought about it, she was starting to think that he'd only said she could have a toy to get her to do what he wanted. She held his hand, and she'd been good, and now he didn't need her to listen to him any more, so he could just take the monkey back, because he didn't care about giving her a toy or -
"Fine," he said loudly, interrupting her. "I'll take it."
Before she could stop him, he yanked the monkey out of her hands.
He stole her monkey.
She wanted to cry, she wanted her monkey, but didn't. She could cry, but he wouldn't care, and it wouldn't matter. So what was the point?
Rachel opened her mouth to say goodbye to Froggie. She knew he wouldn't give it back to her, and Mommy would just say that she had enough stuffed animals anyway.
But Rachel didn't get a chance to say the words out loud. She started to, but before she could even utter a single word, House was pushing the monkey back into her arms.
"Here."
She squeezed Froggie hard. She didn't know why House had changed his mind, and she didn't care. All that mattered was that she had her friend back, and they could have tea parties together with Puppy, her pink stuffed cat, and she could teach him to ride Pig, her purple stuffed doggie, or Bob, her big giant giraffe.
She kissed Froggie on one of his blue ears. They were going to have so much fun together.
"Come on," House ordered, guiding her out of the store.
He was purposely ignoring the emotions he could plainly read on her face. He'd seen the sadness when he'd taken the monkey away and the joy when he'd given it back. But he wasn't going to react to it either way. It wasn't his fault she was too dumb to realize you had to pay for things before you left the store. And it certainly wasn't to his credit that she was happy now with the stuffed animal in hand.
So he just ignored it and said nothing.
Of course, it wasn't easy to ignore her. Given his luck, it couldn't be that simple, obviously. It just had to be that, when they began to drive home, she'd sit in the back seat and chatter with that stupid stuffed animal endlessly.
Literally, it was nonstop.
"I like eggs, Mr. Froggie. What do you like to eat? Well, Rachel, I like to eat flies and gummy worms - not real worms, because they taste like dirt."
And on and on and on it went.
Again, House tried to ignore her. He tried to focus on the traffic, which was hectic in the snowstorm. But Rachel just kept talking away, and eventually he had to say something.
"Hey, Rach?"
She stopped speaking. And a glance in the rear view mirror showed him that she was looking up at him.
"You know, it's a good thing you chose a blue monkey," he told her carefully. "See, a lot of people don't know this, cause blue monkeys… well, they're kind of rare. But blue monkeys - and just blue monkeys - know telepathy."
House made it sound like he was revealing a huge secret. Predictably, this made Rachel curious, even if she had no idea what telepathy was.
Watching her as she glanced down at the monkey, he wasn't surprised when she asked, "Who's tepelaphy?"
He rolled his eyes at the question. "Telepathy means you can talk to someone without saying anything."
"I don't get it."
"You don't have to talk to your monkey," he explained slowly. "Just think about what you want to tell it, and it'll know."
Rachel looked at her stuffed animal carefully as though she were considering what he'd told her. Unfortunately, in her estimation, this telepathy thing wasn't real, much to House's dismay.
"That's stupid," she said, judgment lacing her tones.
He sneered. "No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Most people would kill to have a stuffed animal who could read your mind."
"I don't care," she retorted quickly. "I like talking to Clyde."
Since they were at a stoplight, House could look back at her. "Clyde?"
"My monkey."
"I thought you were going to call it Froggie."
"I am." She sounded annoyed that he would even doubt her. "But sometimes he's also called Clyde. And Ice Cream Sandwich."
There was no time for him to point out that that made no sense. By the time he opened his mouth, she was already blabbering away to her monkey once more. And that point, he just gave up on trying to shut her up.
She was being annoying - God, she was being annoying. But he knew a lost cause when he saw it, and trying to get her to be quiet was definitely one.
So once more, he did his best to ignore her. Her chatter slowly becoming little more than background noise, a nuisance really, he focused on the road and drove home without another word.
But he couldn't ignore her for long. Originally, he'd hoped that Cuddy would be back by the time they returned from the store. He'd told himself that, if he could just get through the shopping, she would be there to take over the rest.
She wasn't.
Which meant she was still with him.
House could feel the jealousy and anger and distrust roil inside his body. In his mind, he could hear himself think that this shouldn't have been happening. He shouldn't have been the one in charge of Rachel, and Cuddy shouldn't have been with some guy she'd fucked years ago. And yet, he thought bitterly, that was exactly what was happening. All of those things were occurring, right now and beyond his control.
And it pissed him off.
Which was why he knew: he couldn't think about it. Although it was in his nature to dwell, he knew that, if he allowed himself to do that, only bad things could happen. At least one bad thing would happen; he would be tempted to toss Rachel back into the car and drive over to lover boy's mansion and kill him.
Admittedly, it was an insane impulse to have to fight. Especially since he trusted Cuddy completely, he knew that it was stupid to want to hurt this guy.
However, House also knew that John was interested in his girlfriend; she didn't see it, because, like any uninterested woman, she had no idea what the truth was.
But House knew.
He could see right through the "I'm just a nice guy who likes to donate money" act. Most people would have, he thought. Most would have suspected that something else was motivating the man who spent millions of dollars a year for a meeting with Cuddy.
But she didn't see it, and House couldn't help but wonder if her ignorance was of the willful kind. It didn't exactly sound like her, but if you added money into the equation? Yeah. He could see her pretending like there was nothing wrong with John simply because he was the one writing the checks.
And he supposed it was for that very reason that he had to ignore John's obvious attempts to steal his girlfriend.
Scaring off this guy would be satisfying, but it would also probably mean that the gravy train stopped. And when that happened, House knew Cuddy would be mad at him for being the reason the hospital was short however much money it required to keep the clinic running. Of course, she'd also whip out the "You don't trust me" card, but that wouldn't get nearly as much mileage as the "Your behavior nearly destroyed/is going to destroy the hospital" one. At least, that was what history had taught him.
And similarly, history had taught House that it was easiest for him to just avoid Cuddy's transformation into a nagging harpy altogether. Although he could probably dig himself out of that hole should he do something to John, it was just better to work around that situation altogether.
Mind you, that didn't make it easy to ignore what John was doing. It really didn't.
But House was determined to do his best.
In order to do that though, he had to focus on any and every distraction available to him… including Rachel.
That part was truly unfortunate, as she was hardly an interesting distraction. Seriously, looking to her for entertainment was like hoping a bag of rocks would attract his attention.
But what other choice did he have?
Resigned to his fate, he helped her out of her thick winter coat. "You need to take your medicine," he told her.
Sure, they'd barely gotten through the door before he'd announced this. Absolutely, the uninitiated would believe that he could have waited a few minutes before springing the truth on her. However, not being one of the ignorant masses, House knew it would be a fight and it was better to start now.
"No, I don't," she said predictably.
"Sorry." He wasn't. "You do."
He motioned for her to head to the kitchen, but she refused to go.
"No medicine. I already taked it."
House jiggled the plastic bag in his hand. "Not this medicine."
Rachel frowned. "I don't want it."
"Doesn't matter," he told her dismissively. "Mommy and your yeasty bits say you need it."
Invoking Cuddy's name definitely gave Rachel pause. Clearly, in her little mind, if it was something her mother wanted, it was something she should do. Which was precisely why House had mentioned Cuddy at all; he knew it would work.
That said, he couldn't help but feel a little odd saying the words aloud. Contained in what he'd said was the threat: behave or wait until your mother hears about this. And it felt bizarre - both for him to make that threat and for it to actually be one.
But ultimately it worked.
"Fine," Rachel said eventually, pouting.
He knew that he should have relished her capitulation. He should have been happy that she was quietly taking her medicine - like she needed to. And yet…
He felt guilty about manipulating her. Not completely guilty, but… maybe ten percent of him didn't like how the situation had unfolded.
It was hard to articulate why. He wasn't even sure he had a reason. Oh, he knew that he must have had some reason; he just had no idea what it could be. The specifics eluding him, all he knew was that it simply didn't seem right to threaten her, to bandy about Cuddy's name as though she were someone to fear.
But then, none of this was particularly comfortable for him. Not manipulating her, not helping her put cream on places he was better off not seeing, not forcing medicine down her gullet like he cared about her - none of it felt right to him.
Granted, it didn't feel entirely wrong either. Part of him could see that he wasn't doing anything bad; he wasn't doing something that was actually wrong. It just didn't feel right.
Whatever that meant.
But if he felt any weirdness at all, Rachel didn't seem to be bothered at all.
He'd just finished forcing the last sip of medicine down her throat when she said, "I'm hungry."
Ignoring the way she wiped her mouth on her monkey, he glanced at the clock. It was actually later than he'd thought it would be; apparently, their trip to the store had taken longer than he'd thought.
"Okay," he said with a curt nod of the head. "I'll make something. Go play."
She didn't move though. Instead she stayed in the kitchen and shadowed every step he took.
Her chin resting on the kitchen counter, she asked him in a singsong voice, "What are you making?"
At that point, he'd only pulled bread over. "Sandwiches."
"What kind?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly, as he opened the fridge. "Depends on what we have."
"Froggie wants a Spaghetti and Jell-O sandwich."
As House rummaged through the drawers, he reminded her, "Pretty sure your monkey said he eats flies and gummy worms."
"Oh."
He happened to catch a glance of her when he turned to put a bag of sliced turkey and jar of jelly on the counter. And he could see that she was completely taken aback by his words. "That's what he said in the car," he pointed out.
"I know," she said snidely. "But… he wants something different today."
"Sorry." He pulled out a knife and a couple plates and began to make sandwiches. "I don't feed monkeys."
"But -"
"You'll just have to share your sandwich with him. Too bad."
To be honest, he expected her to put up a fight then. He thought she'd demand a sandwich for her stupid monkey and for them to then have a fight about it.
Instead though, she changed the topic altogether. "What are you making?" she asked judgmentally.
"I told you. Sandwiches." He smeared a layer of jelly on a slice of the bread.
Rachel stomped her foot in frustration. "What kind?"
"Turkey and jelly."
Predictably her response was "Ewwwwwwwwwww."
He rolled his eyes. "It's good."
"No, it's not."
House looked over at her and asked, "Have you ever had one?" She shook her head. "Then you have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh yes I do."
He quickly finished making the sandwich and cut it in half. Strawberry jelly stained the whole grain bread where the knife had gone through, and turkey spilled over the crust in a few places.
All in all, it was an ugly sandwich if he ever saw one. But that wouldn't change the way it tasted.
Knowing that, he held out a half for her to take.
She didn't.
"Taste it."
She shook her head and hugged her monkey. "I don't want to. It's gross."
"You don't know it's gross."
"Yes, I do," she insisted.
"Wanna bet?"
Rachel considered this for a minute. "I don't know."
"You taste it," House told her, laying out the terms. "If you don't like it, I'll make you something else. If you like it, you eat it."
So it wasn't really so much a bet as it was just… a normal process one might have at any meal. But if it got Rachel to take a bite, he'd absolutely make it sound like a bet.
Instantly she reached for the sandwich. "Okay. Fine, but you also have to make a sandwich for Clyde if I don't like it."
"Whatever." He wasn't agreeing to her terms. He wouldn't. But he kept his response vague enough that she would at least think he was willing to make her stuffed animal a sandwich. "Take a bite."
She looked down at the half she now held in her hand. She wasn't sure she wanted to try it. It looked weird, and it was weird, and Rachel didn't think there was any way it could be good. Actually, she was convinced it was down right yucky.
But she wanted to make sure Ice Cream Sandwich got his lunch, so she guessed she would have to take a bite.
"Go on," House said.
Rachel didn't want to, not really anyway. But did she have a choice? Probably not.
Closing her eyes, she raised the sandwich to her mouth. It was gonna be gross; it was gonna be yucky; it wasn't going to be good, she told herself.
And then she took a bite.
And it was good!
Her eyelids popped open. Chewing eagerly, she said with her mouth full, "I like this."
"No kidding."
That was the thing about kids House hated the most: they were so boringly predictable.
Handing her the rest of the sandwich on a plate, he said simply, "Here."
"This is really good."
"I know." Figuring she would head over to the table to eat, he turned to start making his own lunch. However, she didn't go anywhere. She just stayed right there. And he didn't know if it was her overbearing presence or his boredom that made him say it, but he quickly found himself explaining, "My dad used to make these when -"
"You have a dad?"
House slapped the second piece of bread onto the top of his sandwich. "Wasn't hatched out of an egg."
"But I've never met him," she said through her thoroughly stuffed mouth.
"That's cause he's dead."
Rachel frowned. Nervously, she told him, "I'm sorry."
He picked up his sandwich. "I'm not."
For a fraction of a second, he expected her to keep talking about his father, which House supposed was his fault. If he hadn't wanted to have the conversation about it, he shouldn't have brought it up. But it was too late to take the comment back, and all he could do now was quash the discussion as quickly as possible.
Fortunately however, Rachel didn't say anything after that. If he'd been concerned that she'd want to know more, she, in fact, didn't seem to care at all. And frankly? He was absolutely fine with that.
What he was less okay with was Rachel's constant presence.
No matter where he went after lunch, no matter what he did, she was right there behind him. Her footsteps always echoing his, he had to wonder what ever happened to playing alone; the way she kept shadowing him made House question if such a notion had become extinct.
"Don't you want to go play? In your room?" he asked her at one point.
Rachel shook her head, holding her stuffed monkey by its tail. "No."
"Why not?"
"Cause I want to stay with you."
Truth be told, part of House wondered if she just wanted to stick close to him, because he'd gotten her a present today. After all, it did seem like more than a coincidence - that the day she started to enjoy his company was also the day he bought her something.
But then again, there was also something to be said for still hating him and just spending time with him to annoy the crap out of him. It seemed a little unlikely; to be sure, it would - it was - irritating him. However, in this case, in order to piss him off, Rachel would be spending a lot of her time being agitated herself. And who would do that?
Well, obviously: a five year old with the I.Q. of a bag of wet hair.
In other words, it was right up Rachel's alley.
Whatever her reason though, House did not want to spend the day with her, much less be her form of entertainment. So as she followed him into the living room, he suggested hurriedly, "Let's watch a movie."
"Okay!"
Thankfully, she was agreeable to that much, he thought. Had she wanted something other than an electronic babysitter, he wouldn't have known what to do.
But that didn't matter, right? What he would or wouldn't have done in other situations… who cared? She was willing to watch a movie, and as he stuffed a random cartoon into the DVD player, he guessed he should have just been happy that she'd welcomed the distraction.
At least he could do other things this way.
As she settled in front of the television, House claimed the couch as his own. Truthfully, he would have preferred to hide in his office. But he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew what would happen if he did that; Rachel wouldn't stay where she was, and the problem of getting away from her would be renewed. And since he wanted to avoid that at all costs, the couch it was.
That wasn't too bad, really. Rachel was quiet. The sofa was comfortable for him to sprawl out over. And there was a stack of medical journals he hadn't read on the coffee table next to him for him to peruse. As Cuddy had been threatening to burn them if he didn't get them off the coffee table, House supposed now was as good a time as any to catch up.
But he'd only gotten through two before he was interrupted.
"What are you reading?" Rachel asked, bouncing on her heels in front of him.
House sighed. "Something you wouldn't understand," he told her dismissively. He didn't look up at her, as he added, "Go finish your movie."
"Tell me." Her small hands tugged on his arm. "Tell me what you're reading."
"Fine. Pediatric Diabetes. Go watch your movie."
"I don't like the movie," she whined, standing on her tiptoes and putting all of her weight on him. "It's stupid. The princess just sleeps the whole time."
House turned a page. Disinterested, he explained, "Yeah, I think that's why she's called Sleeping Beauty."
The point was lost on her. "What's your thingy about?"
"Pediatric diabetes." Finally he looked over at her. "If you don't want to watch the movie, why don't you -"
"What's it say?"
Immediately he switched gears. Doubtful he said, "You want to know what my medical journal says." She nodded her head, and he, in turn, shook his. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No -"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, I do."
He set the journal down on his stomach. "You won't understand what any of it means."
"Yes, I will. I'm not stupid."
"Didn't say you were."
Oh, he thought she was a complete moron. But he hadn't said that.
"I can understand it."
"Really?" House decided to put her to the test. Picking up his journal once more, he quoted the title of the article he'd been reading. "'Continuous subcutaneous insulin infusion vs. multiple daily injections in Swedish children with type 1 diabetes: a systematic review and meta-analysis of randomized control trials.' What's that mean?"
She looked like she wanted to punch him. "Now you're just making words up."
"You caught me." It went without saying that those were all very real words - just as it went without saying that telling Rachel otherwise would upset her.
"So you have to read me a story," she told him, as though that part was obvious.
He set Pediatric Diabetes to the side. "Excuse me?"
"I catched you lying, so now you have to read to me."
"Since when is that a rule?"
She smiled. "Since I made it up."
Suicide had never seemed more appealing.
Okay, so that wasn't true. There had been other times in his life where offing himself had been so much more enticing. However, this moment was giving all of those instances a run for his money. Because, without exaggeration, reading to the kid, playing stay-at-home Daddy… it just had no appeal to him.
None.
But clearly, nobody else in this house seemed to care about his feelings - not Cuddy, not Rachel, nobody. And so he had no choice but to play ball.
All right, obviously he had a choice. He wasn't being kept here against his will or anything like that. But there was no denying that refusing to help with Rachel would mean losing Cuddy, would mean sacrificing the best part of his life. Cuddy would tell him otherwise, of course. She liked to claim that she had never intended him to be a father to her daughter.
Maybe that was true. It probably was, he conceded. But as Cuddy liked to point out every time she asked him to do something, her intentions meant nothing; he was here now, in their lives, and he couldn't push Rachel away entirely.
Still, that didn't mean he was just going to give the spawn what she wanted, no questions asked.
"Let's say I read you a story. You gonna be quiet afterwards?"
Rachel considered the question seriously. "I don't know."
"You better figure it out," he responded in a similar tone. "Cause I'm not gonna read to you if you can't be quiet afterwards."
She seemed to weigh her options, cause she was silent for a moment. But eventually she said, "I can be quiet."
He doubted that was actually possible, but he supposed he had no choice but to give her a shot. "Then go grab a book."
Rachel didn't need to be told twice.
As she scampered away, House sat up on the couch. Tossing his journal back onto the coffee table, he could practically hear himself think that this was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon.
But it was too late to turn back now.
Well, all right, he did consider bailing. But before a plan had formed in his mind, Rachel had returned. Her cheeks pink, she was out of breath. And House could only assume that she'd run, sprinted for the nearest book in sight.
With good reason.
Had she taken any longer, he would have reneged on the deal.
"I got the book," she said excitedly.
He was less amused. "Great." Patting the couch cushion next to him, he motioned for her to join him. In all honesty, the last thing he wanted was for her to hop up on the couch with him, so he could read her a story. And if it sounded like he was fixated on how much he did not like this, it was because he was fixated on how much he did not like this.
"What story?" he asked miserably.
She simply handed him the book.
Immediately, he smirked. "Everyone Poops?"
She shrugged.
"Fine," he said, not really caring that the book was about taking a dump.
He started to open the book up, but Rachel stopped him. Her hand touching his, she said unhappily, "You didn't read the title."
House clenched his teeth. "I just said the title."
"Cause you didn't know what the book was." Firmly she pointed out, "It was not part of story time."
"You know what else isn't a part of story time? Homicide. But I'm willing to make an exception."
Rachel had no idea what that was. "I don't care about that thingy."
"But you care about me reading the title out loud? Cause -"
"Yes." She nodded her head once for emphasis. "If you don't read it, it doesn't count."
He made a mocking face. "You're kind of a brat, you know that?"
Haughtily she said, "Mommy says I'm very serious about stories."
That much was obvious.
However, he didn't want to focus on that too much. Continuing this conversation would just draw out the moment even more.
And House did not want that.
"All right. Everyone Poops." He looked over at Rachel. "Do I need to say who the author is, or can we move past the cover?"
Her answer was to open the book herself.
And there it was.
He didn't think he would have noticed the handwriting on the inside cover under normal circumstances. Sometimes, when he was rummaging through Cuddy's things, he would pay attention to the inscriptions; he was nosy about her things, curious about her in a way that he would never be with Rachel.
Yet his gaze immediately fell upon the inscription in this book. As though his eyes had known it would be there, instantly, he saw in big bright red letters a note for Rachel.
It was a note signed:
Lawrence Kutner.
C ontinue on to the next chapter
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.
Warning: This fic also contains sex. If that bothers you, don't read.
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), Chapter 10 (Part 2), Chapter 10 (Part 3), Chapter 11, Chapter 12 (Part 1), Chapter 12 (Part 2), Chapter 13, Chapter 14
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
"Hold my hand."
"No."
House peered down at Rachel. Harsh wind blew the falling and long-since-fallen snow sideways across the parking lot, which made it hard to see anything that wasn't directly in front of his face. But squinting, he could just make out the ire in her dark eyes and flushed cheeks.
And to be honest, that came as no surprise. She'd been on the verge of a tantrum since, it seemed, the second House and Cuddy had unceremoniously ended breakfast. At least, Rachel had been in a bad mood the instant they'd returned to the table.
Of course, it hadn't been - it wasn't - hard to understand why. If there were one thing that had been made clear over the years, it was that Rachel needed a certain level of attention paid to her. Obviously, House recognized that that was true of anyone, but it seemed with the kid that her needs were much higher than most people's.
He didn't begrudge her that.
More often than not, when faced with genuine selflessness, House either found himself unable to respect it or completely taken by surprise by it. And with Rachel, he neither expected nor demanded it of her. When he couldn't even remember the last time he himself had demonstrated such kindness, he knew he couldn't expect it from her.
But regardless of how he felt, the truth was in any case that she needed far more attention than she had received this morning. Between his tense conversation with Cuddy and their unpleasant shower together, Rachel had basically been lost in all of it. There was no denying that; looking back at how breakfast had progressed, House could see that they'd essentially only talked to her to avoid the awkward tension between them.
They'd used her.
Which was bad enough in and of itself, but then Cuddy had made things worse by leaving.
Admittedly, thinking that easily made it seem like he was projecting his issues on to Rachel; that wasn't the case, but House could see how someone else might think it was. It certainly would appear to be a suspicious coincidence. Again, though, it wasn't.
The simple fact of the matter was Rachel didn't get unlimited time with her mother. Thanks to work and school, meetings and activities, and the like, the two always seemed to be in want of more time together. And no one seemed to be affected by that fact more than Rachel herself.
Honestly, she'd been so devastated about losing some of the little time she had with her mother that House wasn't surprised by her behavior now.
But that didn't mean he enjoyed it.
He didn't.
Not at all.
But then, he had to wonder who would be happy in his place.
Figuring the answer was no one, he bitterly repeated the order to Rachel. "Hold my hand while we cross the parking lot."
"No!"
"Yes."
"I don't wanna!" Her chin pointed upward in defiance. "You can't make me."
He thought about pointing out that he was a couple times bigger than she was and he could easily make her, but he didn't. Intimidation was something he wanted to strive to be above in this situation. Maybe he wasn't above it in other areas of his life, but what would it say about him to resort to it when it came to interactions with a five year old? More importantly, what would it say to Cuddy when Rachel told her?
Not good things.
So he had no choice but to reason with the brat.
"We both know I could make you," he pointed out. "I don't want to, cause that would end messily for both of us. But that means you have a choice to make now."
Rachel didn't look as though she were paying attention at all. The snow was still falling heavily, whipping all about them. Yet every now and then, like at this particular moment, the wind would blow and give them a clear view of something in the shopping center.
"Hey," he said loudly, drawing her focus away from a woman leading her black Great Dane into the vet's office across the parking lot.
Rachel blinked and looked up.
"You want to stand out here in the cold? Fine," he said with a shrug. Obviously he couldn't leave her there, but she didn't know that. "You can stay right here and freeze, but you better hope you don't need your inhaler and that there isn't some creepy pervert who smells like feet waiting to kidnap you."
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. He hadn't meant to intimidate; he hadn't wanted to be one of those guys who'd just pick the kid up and force her to go wherever her needed her to be. But somehow, he'd ended up in do-what-I-say-or-die territory, and that had to be way worse.
Instantly realizing his mistake, he knew he needed to change tactics and fast.
"Never mind," he said quickly, as though saying those words would make Rachel forget them. "Point is, you can either stand out here, or you can come inside…." He cringed, knowing exactly where he was headed with all of this. "And… if you're good, I'll get you something in the store."
Bribery.
Inwardly, he asked just how pathetic he could get.
"Like what?" Rachel asked, her large eyes suddenly trained on him with interest.
"I don't know." He sounded peevish, but since he was, there was nothing to be done about that. "Whatever you want." Realizing she'd be dumb enough to want a used tampon from the women's bathroom or a box of condoms, he added hastily, "Within reason."
"Okay."
She shrugged and latched on his hand.
And though that had been what he'd wanted… the ease with which she did it made him think that he'd just been played. She'd just been difficult to get that promise from him, to get the present from him.
Normally, he would have appreciated that kind of manipulation. Hell, he'd probably been the one to unknowingly teach her how to do it. But at the moment, he could be neither proud nor concerned over her behavior and his influence on it. He was too bothered by the fact that a five year old had outwitted him.
And not just any five year old.
This was a five year old who ate paste, who asked her mother just the other week why snow wasn't made of cotton balls and what would happen if you ate poop.
And she'd just manipulated him?
Well, that was just great, he thought bitterly. Like his day hadn't been bad enough, Rachel had to go and outsmart him.
Wonderful.
But as horrible as that was, he didn't want to dwell on it (too much, anyway). After all, he'd gotten what he'd wanted: Rachel was holding onto him and walking with him.
Okay, so that was hardly what he wanted. Watching her while Cuddy spent time with that asshole didn't exactly constitute what House wanted. It didn't at all.
However, he supposed it could be worse. He could have been dragging Rachel into the drug store or been forced to try and carry her across the icy parking lot. And at least this way, she was coming with him willingly and without making everyone around them suspect that he was trying to kidnap her.
On that last count, he would have liked to say that no one was even paying attention to them in the store. But that was definitely not the case.
His plan had been to drop Rachel off in the toy aisle, which was within eyesight of the line at the pharmacy and the aisle dedicated to things women put in or on their crotches. He'd (rightly) anticipated that she would prefer to look at the snowman making kits than wait in the long line with him. Indeed, one glance at the huge queue of morons probably waiting to get cold medicine, and Rachel had easily agreed to stay in the toy aisle.
But what House hadn't guessed right was the rest of his plan. Figuring his wait for the meds would be long, he'd decided to put Rachel's prescription in first and then find the over-the-counter cream she needed.
Unfortunately though, a man perusing vaginal creams was bound to attract attention. Of course, he wasn't making it any easier for himself; as a doctor, obviously he knew which brands were generally safe for children and which ones were definitely not. As Cuddy's boyfriend, he knew what she bought. But even with all those factors in play, he still couldn't help but curiously look at the various items in the aisle.
And to the nosy outsider, that made it seem like he had no idea what he was doing.
There were plenty of side glances, women looking at him as though maybe he needed help. Yet it was only when he'd picked up a pack of female condoms that someone finally said something to him.
"Do you need help?" a woman who screamed suburban housewife (and who had been watching him for fifteen minutes) asked.
House looked over at her. Irritated by her officiousness, he couldn't resist the temptation to screw with her mind. "Yeah," he said, holding up the box of condoms for her to clearly see the label. "Would you put one of these on? I'm trying to figure out if it's still just like having sex with a plastic bag."
She walked away without giving him an answer.
Which was just as well, really; at that moment, someone from the pharmacy called out, "Cuddy!" And the whole lack of confidentiality aside, what that meant was his prescription was ready, meaning he couldn't spent time tormenting the woman anyway.
Tossing the condoms to the side, he grabbed the cream Cuddy had specifically told him to get. He quickly glanced over to Rachel, to make sure that she was still there, and then headed back into the long line.
Once more he took stock of his situation. And again he told himself that it could be worse. Not that he was saying that this was good, he realized. He was just seeing that, as bad as this was, things were going all right.
Again, he looked over in Rachel's direction. He didn't know why he did that at that particular moment. Part of him suspected that he hadn't been able to trust the moment, that any acknowledgment of things being okay meant that they would suddenly go wrong. But that thought hadn't coalesced until after he'd already looked at her. And there was no telling why he'd done it in the first place.
He didn't think about the why too much though. At that second, he was far more intrigued by Rachel's behavior.
In her hands was a stuffed rabbit holding a plush carrot. In the back of his mind, he guessed the store was selling them for Easter, but more than anything, the image struck him as… odd.
Rachel was holding the rabbit, but she was barely paying any attention to it. She kept looking up at something else on one of the shelves (which was blocked from his sight by a bottled water display). And when she did look down at the stuffed animal, she would… frown?
The simplest explanation would appear to be that Rachel didn't want the toy in her hands. Given that Rachel was a fairly simple creature, it would stand to reason that the easiest explanation was, in fact, the correct one. But if she didn't want the rabbit, why had she picked it out? Why not just get something else?
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered to find answers to those questions. He just wouldn't have cared to know the reasons. In this case though, if only out of sheer boredom, he decided to figure it out. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, after all.
So, with all of Rachel's medication in hand, he approached her. "That what you want?" he asked gruffly as he stopped in front of her.
She nodded her head.
"Really?"
She nodded her head more enthusiastically to say yes. But he couldn't help but notice her gaze shift to something behind him.
Interested he turned around to see what it was that she'd been looking at. Trying to follow her line of sight, he was immediately confronted by a row of large stuffed monkeys in pastel colors.
Truth be told, there was something intriguing about them. In House's opinion, they sort of looked like Wilson and Curious George had mated, and this was the result. It was something in the beady dark brown eyes, House thought, something in the blank and friendly expression.
Grabbing the nearest one (a purple one), he turned around to face Rachel once more. "You sure you want the rabbit? Or you want one of these?"
Rachel didn't say anything right away. She knew that that would just make him grumblier than he normally was, but she didn't want to say the wrong thing. Cause as much as she really did want the monkey, she didn't want to say she did and have him be mad and say she couldn't have anything.
She didn't want that to happen.
But the longer she stayed quiet, the grumpier he seemed to be. "You gonna answer the question or just stand there like a moron?"
She squeezed the rabbit in her arms tightly. Mumbling, she told him the truth. As much as she didn't want to upset him, she was more afraid of what would happen if Mommy found out she'd lied. "I want the monkey."
"Here." He thrust the monkey at her.
But she didn't take it.
Resisting the urge to scoff and snap at her, he said through gritted teeth, "You said you wanted the monkey. Why aren't you taking it?"
She practically buried her face into the rabbit before explaining in a quiet voice, "I want a blue one."
Wordlessly House swapped the purple one for a monkey that was the shade of a robin's egg. He didn't understand why one was more preferable than the other, but if it would make her more apt to listen to him, then it was fine with him.
"Here." He pushed the large monkey (which was practically half her size) into her arms. As soon as she had a hold of it, he snatched the rabbit out of her grip. Not surprisingly she let go easily, and he unceremoniously stuffed it onto the closest shelf. "Come on."
Heading towards the check out, he never glanced back to make sure Rachel was following. He didn't need to. Her wet sneakers squeaked on the floor behind him, and every now and then, he'd see out of the corner of his eye a flash of bright blue from the monkey in her arms.
There was no complaining, no refusing to come with him. There were no questions, no idle chatter about penguins being unable to fly. There was, in fact, nothing to make her presence unbearable.
And getting to that point had been so easy too, so simple that House actually wondered why he hadn't resorted to bribery before. When it had an effect like this, why not offer her something every time he had to watch over her?
But it was just as he thought that things were going smoothly that everything suddenly turned south.
He was standing in line to pay for everything. Rachel was now at his side. Things were fine.
And then it came time to pay for the monkey.
He slapped onto the counter what he had in his hands and turned to Rachel. "Hand him the monkey."
She didn't. If anything she held on to it tighter.
The cashier smiled patiently. "Is your daddy getting you that?"
No, House realized, reconsidering his assessment. That wasn't a patient smile. It was a "I'm a child molester" smile, probably.
He glared at the balding, elder man with thick glasses and a mustache. He did not want to be called Rachel's father.
Not that this was the first time someone had made that assumption.
Over the years, every now and then, someone would say something. And every time, he wouldn't be able to respond or deny it, because a little girl with an unfriendly man she wasn't related to set off alarm bells in everyone.
That was unfortunate, because by not denying it, House was sure he was giving Rachel the impression that it was true. Although, if she actually believed that, she never said anything about it, which he guessed was better than nothing.
As if to prove the point, she said nothing now. She just looked at the cashier blankly.
The man was not deterred. "Well, it's a very cute monkey. Does he have a name?" Rachel nodded. "What is it, sweetheart?"
"Froggie," she said quietly.
House scoffed. Who the hell named their stuffed monkey Froggie?
Never mind, he thought immediately. If anyone was that person, it was clearly Rachel.
"That's great," House interrupted instantly. "Hand the damn thing over."
She knew she had no choice. She would either give it to him, or he would steal it from her. If he wanted her monkey, he would take her monkey, just like he stealed her Halloween candy after she'd hidden it to keep it from him.
He was not nice.
And he'd take her monkey even if she didn't want him to have it.
Actually, now that Rachel thought about it, she was starting to think that he'd only said she could have a toy to get her to do what he wanted. She held his hand, and she'd been good, and now he didn't need her to listen to him any more, so he could just take the monkey back, because he didn't care about giving her a toy or -
"Fine," he said loudly, interrupting her. "I'll take it."
Before she could stop him, he yanked the monkey out of her hands.
He stole her monkey.
She wanted to cry, she wanted her monkey, but didn't. She could cry, but he wouldn't care, and it wouldn't matter. So what was the point?
Rachel opened her mouth to say goodbye to Froggie. She knew he wouldn't give it back to her, and Mommy would just say that she had enough stuffed animals anyway.
But Rachel didn't get a chance to say the words out loud. She started to, but before she could even utter a single word, House was pushing the monkey back into her arms.
"Here."
She squeezed Froggie hard. She didn't know why House had changed his mind, and she didn't care. All that mattered was that she had her friend back, and they could have tea parties together with Puppy, her pink stuffed cat, and she could teach him to ride Pig, her purple stuffed doggie, or Bob, her big giant giraffe.
She kissed Froggie on one of his blue ears. They were going to have so much fun together.
"Come on," House ordered, guiding her out of the store.
He was purposely ignoring the emotions he could plainly read on her face. He'd seen the sadness when he'd taken the monkey away and the joy when he'd given it back. But he wasn't going to react to it either way. It wasn't his fault she was too dumb to realize you had to pay for things before you left the store. And it certainly wasn't to his credit that she was happy now with the stuffed animal in hand.
So he just ignored it and said nothing.
Of course, it wasn't easy to ignore her. Given his luck, it couldn't be that simple, obviously. It just had to be that, when they began to drive home, she'd sit in the back seat and chatter with that stupid stuffed animal endlessly.
Literally, it was nonstop.
"I like eggs, Mr. Froggie. What do you like to eat? Well, Rachel, I like to eat flies and gummy worms - not real worms, because they taste like dirt."
And on and on and on it went.
Again, House tried to ignore her. He tried to focus on the traffic, which was hectic in the snowstorm. But Rachel just kept talking away, and eventually he had to say something.
"Hey, Rach?"
She stopped speaking. And a glance in the rear view mirror showed him that she was looking up at him.
"You know, it's a good thing you chose a blue monkey," he told her carefully. "See, a lot of people don't know this, cause blue monkeys… well, they're kind of rare. But blue monkeys - and just blue monkeys - know telepathy."
House made it sound like he was revealing a huge secret. Predictably, this made Rachel curious, even if she had no idea what telepathy was.
Watching her as she glanced down at the monkey, he wasn't surprised when she asked, "Who's tepelaphy?"
He rolled his eyes at the question. "Telepathy means you can talk to someone without saying anything."
"I don't get it."
"You don't have to talk to your monkey," he explained slowly. "Just think about what you want to tell it, and it'll know."
Rachel looked at her stuffed animal carefully as though she were considering what he'd told her. Unfortunately, in her estimation, this telepathy thing wasn't real, much to House's dismay.
"That's stupid," she said, judgment lacing her tones.
He sneered. "No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Most people would kill to have a stuffed animal who could read your mind."
"I don't care," she retorted quickly. "I like talking to Clyde."
Since they were at a stoplight, House could look back at her. "Clyde?"
"My monkey."
"I thought you were going to call it Froggie."
"I am." She sounded annoyed that he would even doubt her. "But sometimes he's also called Clyde. And Ice Cream Sandwich."
There was no time for him to point out that that made no sense. By the time he opened his mouth, she was already blabbering away to her monkey once more. And that point, he just gave up on trying to shut her up.
She was being annoying - God, she was being annoying. But he knew a lost cause when he saw it, and trying to get her to be quiet was definitely one.
So once more, he did his best to ignore her. Her chatter slowly becoming little more than background noise, a nuisance really, he focused on the road and drove home without another word.
But he couldn't ignore her for long. Originally, he'd hoped that Cuddy would be back by the time they returned from the store. He'd told himself that, if he could just get through the shopping, she would be there to take over the rest.
She wasn't.
Which meant she was still with him.
House could feel the jealousy and anger and distrust roil inside his body. In his mind, he could hear himself think that this shouldn't have been happening. He shouldn't have been the one in charge of Rachel, and Cuddy shouldn't have been with some guy she'd fucked years ago. And yet, he thought bitterly, that was exactly what was happening. All of those things were occurring, right now and beyond his control.
And it pissed him off.
Which was why he knew: he couldn't think about it. Although it was in his nature to dwell, he knew that, if he allowed himself to do that, only bad things could happen. At least one bad thing would happen; he would be tempted to toss Rachel back into the car and drive over to lover boy's mansion and kill him.
Admittedly, it was an insane impulse to have to fight. Especially since he trusted Cuddy completely, he knew that it was stupid to want to hurt this guy.
However, House also knew that John was interested in his girlfriend; she didn't see it, because, like any uninterested woman, she had no idea what the truth was.
But House knew.
He could see right through the "I'm just a nice guy who likes to donate money" act. Most people would have, he thought. Most would have suspected that something else was motivating the man who spent millions of dollars a year for a meeting with Cuddy.
But she didn't see it, and House couldn't help but wonder if her ignorance was of the willful kind. It didn't exactly sound like her, but if you added money into the equation? Yeah. He could see her pretending like there was nothing wrong with John simply because he was the one writing the checks.
And he supposed it was for that very reason that he had to ignore John's obvious attempts to steal his girlfriend.
Scaring off this guy would be satisfying, but it would also probably mean that the gravy train stopped. And when that happened, House knew Cuddy would be mad at him for being the reason the hospital was short however much money it required to keep the clinic running. Of course, she'd also whip out the "You don't trust me" card, but that wouldn't get nearly as much mileage as the "Your behavior nearly destroyed/is going to destroy the hospital" one. At least, that was what history had taught him.
And similarly, history had taught House that it was easiest for him to just avoid Cuddy's transformation into a nagging harpy altogether. Although he could probably dig himself out of that hole should he do something to John, it was just better to work around that situation altogether.
Mind you, that didn't make it easy to ignore what John was doing. It really didn't.
But House was determined to do his best.
In order to do that though, he had to focus on any and every distraction available to him… including Rachel.
That part was truly unfortunate, as she was hardly an interesting distraction. Seriously, looking to her for entertainment was like hoping a bag of rocks would attract his attention.
But what other choice did he have?
Resigned to his fate, he helped her out of her thick winter coat. "You need to take your medicine," he told her.
Sure, they'd barely gotten through the door before he'd announced this. Absolutely, the uninitiated would believe that he could have waited a few minutes before springing the truth on her. However, not being one of the ignorant masses, House knew it would be a fight and it was better to start now.
"No, I don't," she said predictably.
"Sorry." He wasn't. "You do."
He motioned for her to head to the kitchen, but she refused to go.
"No medicine. I already taked it."
House jiggled the plastic bag in his hand. "Not this medicine."
Rachel frowned. "I don't want it."
"Doesn't matter," he told her dismissively. "Mommy and your yeasty bits say you need it."
Invoking Cuddy's name definitely gave Rachel pause. Clearly, in her little mind, if it was something her mother wanted, it was something she should do. Which was precisely why House had mentioned Cuddy at all; he knew it would work.
That said, he couldn't help but feel a little odd saying the words aloud. Contained in what he'd said was the threat: behave or wait until your mother hears about this. And it felt bizarre - both for him to make that threat and for it to actually be one.
But ultimately it worked.
"Fine," Rachel said eventually, pouting.
He knew that he should have relished her capitulation. He should have been happy that she was quietly taking her medicine - like she needed to. And yet…
He felt guilty about manipulating her. Not completely guilty, but… maybe ten percent of him didn't like how the situation had unfolded.
It was hard to articulate why. He wasn't even sure he had a reason. Oh, he knew that he must have had some reason; he just had no idea what it could be. The specifics eluding him, all he knew was that it simply didn't seem right to threaten her, to bandy about Cuddy's name as though she were someone to fear.
But then, none of this was particularly comfortable for him. Not manipulating her, not helping her put cream on places he was better off not seeing, not forcing medicine down her gullet like he cared about her - none of it felt right to him.
Granted, it didn't feel entirely wrong either. Part of him could see that he wasn't doing anything bad; he wasn't doing something that was actually wrong. It just didn't feel right.
Whatever that meant.
But if he felt any weirdness at all, Rachel didn't seem to be bothered at all.
He'd just finished forcing the last sip of medicine down her throat when she said, "I'm hungry."
Ignoring the way she wiped her mouth on her monkey, he glanced at the clock. It was actually later than he'd thought it would be; apparently, their trip to the store had taken longer than he'd thought.
"Okay," he said with a curt nod of the head. "I'll make something. Go play."
She didn't move though. Instead she stayed in the kitchen and shadowed every step he took.
Her chin resting on the kitchen counter, she asked him in a singsong voice, "What are you making?"
At that point, he'd only pulled bread over. "Sandwiches."
"What kind?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly, as he opened the fridge. "Depends on what we have."
"Froggie wants a Spaghetti and Jell-O sandwich."
As House rummaged through the drawers, he reminded her, "Pretty sure your monkey said he eats flies and gummy worms."
"Oh."
He happened to catch a glance of her when he turned to put a bag of sliced turkey and jar of jelly on the counter. And he could see that she was completely taken aback by his words. "That's what he said in the car," he pointed out.
"I know," she said snidely. "But… he wants something different today."
"Sorry." He pulled out a knife and a couple plates and began to make sandwiches. "I don't feed monkeys."
"But -"
"You'll just have to share your sandwich with him. Too bad."
To be honest, he expected her to put up a fight then. He thought she'd demand a sandwich for her stupid monkey and for them to then have a fight about it.
Instead though, she changed the topic altogether. "What are you making?" she asked judgmentally.
"I told you. Sandwiches." He smeared a layer of jelly on a slice of the bread.
Rachel stomped her foot in frustration. "What kind?"
"Turkey and jelly."
Predictably her response was "Ewwwwwwwwwww."
He rolled his eyes. "It's good."
"No, it's not."
House looked over at her and asked, "Have you ever had one?" She shook her head. "Then you have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh yes I do."
He quickly finished making the sandwich and cut it in half. Strawberry jelly stained the whole grain bread where the knife had gone through, and turkey spilled over the crust in a few places.
All in all, it was an ugly sandwich if he ever saw one. But that wouldn't change the way it tasted.
Knowing that, he held out a half for her to take.
She didn't.
"Taste it."
She shook her head and hugged her monkey. "I don't want to. It's gross."
"You don't know it's gross."
"Yes, I do," she insisted.
"Wanna bet?"
Rachel considered this for a minute. "I don't know."
"You taste it," House told her, laying out the terms. "If you don't like it, I'll make you something else. If you like it, you eat it."
So it wasn't really so much a bet as it was just… a normal process one might have at any meal. But if it got Rachel to take a bite, he'd absolutely make it sound like a bet.
Instantly she reached for the sandwich. "Okay. Fine, but you also have to make a sandwich for Clyde if I don't like it."
"Whatever." He wasn't agreeing to her terms. He wouldn't. But he kept his response vague enough that she would at least think he was willing to make her stuffed animal a sandwich. "Take a bite."
She looked down at the half she now held in her hand. She wasn't sure she wanted to try it. It looked weird, and it was weird, and Rachel didn't think there was any way it could be good. Actually, she was convinced it was down right yucky.
But she wanted to make sure Ice Cream Sandwich got his lunch, so she guessed she would have to take a bite.
"Go on," House said.
Rachel didn't want to, not really anyway. But did she have a choice? Probably not.
Closing her eyes, she raised the sandwich to her mouth. It was gonna be gross; it was gonna be yucky; it wasn't going to be good, she told herself.
And then she took a bite.
And it was good!
Her eyelids popped open. Chewing eagerly, she said with her mouth full, "I like this."
"No kidding."
That was the thing about kids House hated the most: they were so boringly predictable.
Handing her the rest of the sandwich on a plate, he said simply, "Here."
"This is really good."
"I know." Figuring she would head over to the table to eat, he turned to start making his own lunch. However, she didn't go anywhere. She just stayed right there. And he didn't know if it was her overbearing presence or his boredom that made him say it, but he quickly found himself explaining, "My dad used to make these when -"
"You have a dad?"
House slapped the second piece of bread onto the top of his sandwich. "Wasn't hatched out of an egg."
"But I've never met him," she said through her thoroughly stuffed mouth.
"That's cause he's dead."
Rachel frowned. Nervously, she told him, "I'm sorry."
He picked up his sandwich. "I'm not."
For a fraction of a second, he expected her to keep talking about his father, which House supposed was his fault. If he hadn't wanted to have the conversation about it, he shouldn't have brought it up. But it was too late to take the comment back, and all he could do now was quash the discussion as quickly as possible.
Fortunately however, Rachel didn't say anything after that. If he'd been concerned that she'd want to know more, she, in fact, didn't seem to care at all. And frankly? He was absolutely fine with that.
What he was less okay with was Rachel's constant presence.
No matter where he went after lunch, no matter what he did, she was right there behind him. Her footsteps always echoing his, he had to wonder what ever happened to playing alone; the way she kept shadowing him made House question if such a notion had become extinct.
"Don't you want to go play? In your room?" he asked her at one point.
Rachel shook her head, holding her stuffed monkey by its tail. "No."
"Why not?"
"Cause I want to stay with you."
Truth be told, part of House wondered if she just wanted to stick close to him, because he'd gotten her a present today. After all, it did seem like more than a coincidence - that the day she started to enjoy his company was also the day he bought her something.
But then again, there was also something to be said for still hating him and just spending time with him to annoy the crap out of him. It seemed a little unlikely; to be sure, it would - it was - irritating him. However, in this case, in order to piss him off, Rachel would be spending a lot of her time being agitated herself. And who would do that?
Well, obviously: a five year old with the I.Q. of a bag of wet hair.
In other words, it was right up Rachel's alley.
Whatever her reason though, House did not want to spend the day with her, much less be her form of entertainment. So as she followed him into the living room, he suggested hurriedly, "Let's watch a movie."
"Okay!"
Thankfully, she was agreeable to that much, he thought. Had she wanted something other than an electronic babysitter, he wouldn't have known what to do.
But that didn't matter, right? What he would or wouldn't have done in other situations… who cared? She was willing to watch a movie, and as he stuffed a random cartoon into the DVD player, he guessed he should have just been happy that she'd welcomed the distraction.
At least he could do other things this way.
As she settled in front of the television, House claimed the couch as his own. Truthfully, he would have preferred to hide in his office. But he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew what would happen if he did that; Rachel wouldn't stay where she was, and the problem of getting away from her would be renewed. And since he wanted to avoid that at all costs, the couch it was.
That wasn't too bad, really. Rachel was quiet. The sofa was comfortable for him to sprawl out over. And there was a stack of medical journals he hadn't read on the coffee table next to him for him to peruse. As Cuddy had been threatening to burn them if he didn't get them off the coffee table, House supposed now was as good a time as any to catch up.
But he'd only gotten through two before he was interrupted.
"What are you reading?" Rachel asked, bouncing on her heels in front of him.
House sighed. "Something you wouldn't understand," he told her dismissively. He didn't look up at her, as he added, "Go finish your movie."
"Tell me." Her small hands tugged on his arm. "Tell me what you're reading."
"Fine. Pediatric Diabetes. Go watch your movie."
"I don't like the movie," she whined, standing on her tiptoes and putting all of her weight on him. "It's stupid. The princess just sleeps the whole time."
House turned a page. Disinterested, he explained, "Yeah, I think that's why she's called Sleeping Beauty."
The point was lost on her. "What's your thingy about?"
"Pediatric diabetes." Finally he looked over at her. "If you don't want to watch the movie, why don't you -"
"What's it say?"
Immediately he switched gears. Doubtful he said, "You want to know what my medical journal says." She nodded her head, and he, in turn, shook his. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"No -"
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, I do."
He set the journal down on his stomach. "You won't understand what any of it means."
"Yes, I will. I'm not stupid."
"Didn't say you were."
Oh, he thought she was a complete moron. But he hadn't said that.
"I can understand it."
"Really?" House decided to put her to the test. Picking up his journal once more, he quoted the title of the article he'd been reading. "'Continuous subcutaneous insulin infusion vs. multiple daily injections in Swedish children with type 1 diabetes: a systematic review and meta-analysis of randomized control trials.' What's that mean?"
She looked like she wanted to punch him. "Now you're just making words up."
"You caught me." It went without saying that those were all very real words - just as it went without saying that telling Rachel otherwise would upset her.
"So you have to read me a story," she told him, as though that part was obvious.
He set Pediatric Diabetes to the side. "Excuse me?"
"I catched you lying, so now you have to read to me."
"Since when is that a rule?"
She smiled. "Since I made it up."
Suicide had never seemed more appealing.
Okay, so that wasn't true. There had been other times in his life where offing himself had been so much more enticing. However, this moment was giving all of those instances a run for his money. Because, without exaggeration, reading to the kid, playing stay-at-home Daddy… it just had no appeal to him.
None.
But clearly, nobody else in this house seemed to care about his feelings - not Cuddy, not Rachel, nobody. And so he had no choice but to play ball.
All right, obviously he had a choice. He wasn't being kept here against his will or anything like that. But there was no denying that refusing to help with Rachel would mean losing Cuddy, would mean sacrificing the best part of his life. Cuddy would tell him otherwise, of course. She liked to claim that she had never intended him to be a father to her daughter.
Maybe that was true. It probably was, he conceded. But as Cuddy liked to point out every time she asked him to do something, her intentions meant nothing; he was here now, in their lives, and he couldn't push Rachel away entirely.
Still, that didn't mean he was just going to give the spawn what she wanted, no questions asked.
"Let's say I read you a story. You gonna be quiet afterwards?"
Rachel considered the question seriously. "I don't know."
"You better figure it out," he responded in a similar tone. "Cause I'm not gonna read to you if you can't be quiet afterwards."
She seemed to weigh her options, cause she was silent for a moment. But eventually she said, "I can be quiet."
He doubted that was actually possible, but he supposed he had no choice but to give her a shot. "Then go grab a book."
Rachel didn't need to be told twice.
As she scampered away, House sat up on the couch. Tossing his journal back onto the coffee table, he could practically hear himself think that this was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon.
But it was too late to turn back now.
Well, all right, he did consider bailing. But before a plan had formed in his mind, Rachel had returned. Her cheeks pink, she was out of breath. And House could only assume that she'd run, sprinted for the nearest book in sight.
With good reason.
Had she taken any longer, he would have reneged on the deal.
"I got the book," she said excitedly.
He was less amused. "Great." Patting the couch cushion next to him, he motioned for her to join him. In all honesty, the last thing he wanted was for her to hop up on the couch with him, so he could read her a story. And if it sounded like he was fixated on how much he did not like this, it was because he was fixated on how much he did not like this.
"What story?" he asked miserably.
She simply handed him the book.
Immediately, he smirked. "Everyone Poops?"
She shrugged.
"Fine," he said, not really caring that the book was about taking a dump.
He started to open the book up, but Rachel stopped him. Her hand touching his, she said unhappily, "You didn't read the title."
House clenched his teeth. "I just said the title."
"Cause you didn't know what the book was." Firmly she pointed out, "It was not part of story time."
"You know what else isn't a part of story time? Homicide. But I'm willing to make an exception."
Rachel had no idea what that was. "I don't care about that thingy."
"But you care about me reading the title out loud? Cause -"
"Yes." She nodded her head once for emphasis. "If you don't read it, it doesn't count."
He made a mocking face. "You're kind of a brat, you know that?"
Haughtily she said, "Mommy says I'm very serious about stories."
That much was obvious.
However, he didn't want to focus on that too much. Continuing this conversation would just draw out the moment even more.
And House did not want that.
"All right. Everyone Poops." He looked over at Rachel. "Do I need to say who the author is, or can we move past the cover?"
Her answer was to open the book herself.
And there it was.
He didn't think he would have noticed the handwriting on the inside cover under normal circumstances. Sometimes, when he was rummaging through Cuddy's things, he would pay attention to the inscriptions; he was nosy about her things, curious about her in a way that he would never be with Rachel.
Yet his gaze immediately fell upon the inscription in this book. As though his eyes had known it would be there, instantly, he saw in big bright red letters a note for Rachel.
It was a note signed:
Lawrence Kutner.
C ontinue on to the next chapter