Disclaimer:Not mine. Shore & Co.'s.
A/N:The first five drabbles go to Ines (aka sheis1963 on Twitter) for donating to Save the Children after winning my offer over at the Help_Lisa LJ. :)
Timeline: Season 7-ish. Focuses on how the House/Rachel relationship developed. :)
Enjoy!
Functionally Dysfunctional Fathering
.
He couldn't say that he hated babysitting the little buccaneer, but sometimes it really did have some upsides to it.
Like how he'd ask her to get something by turning it into a game.
She wasn't a dog, and it wasn't fetch, but they did get some fun out of it. Well, Rachel did, he thought to himself. Mostly, he was just thankful and relieved to be out of her curious gaze.
It was scary sometimes, how she'd just stare at him or what he was doing, with those big blue eyes. She was too observant.
His thoughts drifted back to their "game" and himself defending how it wasn't, in any way, treating her like some dog.
There were times when he asked her to get something like his reading glasses, and he'd rewarded her with a cookie. Two, if she retrieved whatever item he asked for extra fast.
He could recall days when he played hide and seek with her and pretended to be looking for her when, in fact, he'd only be lounging about in the living room couch, watching TV on mute (this is the concession he had to bear with, just in case something happened to the kid—he couldn't afford not hearing anything while she ran through the house looking for a hiding spot).
He grinned a bit at the memory of the things he used to do.
Including that one time when he had sat on her mother's front porch as he watched her play in the snow.
If he felt bored, he'd roll up a small snowball and throw it at her back. She'd turn to look at him while he'd paint his face blank, pretending not to know anything.
If she was feeling extra naughty, she'd shovel up handfuls of snow, and without bothering to roll it up, she'd throw it at him, grinning mischievously if she got a hit. Most of the time, she did, and she'd giggle at the face he made.
There were only a number of games that he actually agreed on playing with her (because they didn't pose the threat of emasculation).
Like Pirates. He'd pretend to be the captain of the ship and she'd be the unlucky landlubber who had to walk the plank. Or sometimes, if Rachel was feeling stubborn, she'd ask—well, more demand than ask—him if she could be the pirate. When the latter happened, he almost always ended up in pain (well, his leg did, but it usually wouldn't hurt so much) but amused at her effort to sound like a pirate to be reckoned with, even making up her own pirate laugh.
A smile never failed to touch his lips whenever he reminded himself that he'd bought her the bed she had only started using a couple of weeks ago. Bought it for her with his money. Not Wilson's, for once.
It was, in Rachel's words, "Very pirate-y."
When she turned four, he learned to be more cautious with what games he whipped up for them to play.
Now, they actually played things and he was more interactive with her than he used to be.
But he knew that their games had to advance a little, because, seriously, why would he keep asking her to fetch stuff (he still did, but it's become a rare occasion) when he needed to start feeding her sponge-like mind more relevant things?
Like how wrestling wasn't real, and she couldn't reenact any moves on him. She'd tried it once, and he had ended up with a bloody nose.
Cuddy had not been pleased.
He had felt that in the way she'd cleaned his bloody nose for him.
They were banned from watching wrestling since then.
At least until he and Rachel were positively certain she wasn't at home to know they'd been watching.
Like some black market thing. When the cops were away... they're free to break rules.
Like how Santa wasn't real (this one he has yet to reveal, because Cuddy would have his balls on a skewer).
Like mathematics. Basic, boring mathematics.
When he has to teach her really basic mathematics, they argued over what cookie or cereals or shapes of blocks to use.
Most of the time they used the cookies and cereals; more encouraging for development, since Rachel got to eat them if she answered correctly.
Sometimes, when she couldn't and she'd been unable to answer a couple of consecutive questions, her lips would quiver and he'd give in.
Once.
Okay, fine, he grumbled to himself. Twice.
But then he taught her again (with as much, very much patience as he could muster) until she got it right for the next round of questions.
The easiest thing to teach her was the human anatomy. At first Cuddy pretended to scold him for teaching her about it too early (he doesn't dare teach her about the reproductive organs, because, again, Cuddy would kill him in a tortuous way he wouldn't dare imagine), but he knew she found it adorable (he could almost gag- him. Adorable. Never), how Rachel just listened intently.
She was too smart for her age, sometimes. She got things easily, observed things a lot, asked questions relentlessly.
She was, no doubt, a smart kid- like he'd said more than a year ago.
Without meaning to, he had become really attached to her. He didn't love her, but he was close, if he were to estimate. Maybe he already was. He didn't know, and was slightly afraid of knowing.
One night, as he leaned back against the side of her bed, and she was on her stomach, her chin resting on his shoulder, her sleepy eyes staring at the book he was reading her, she called him something he swore that, at one time, would have made him run for the hills.
"Papa?"
Her voice was quiet, sleepy and tired from all the playing they'd done while waiting for her mother to arrive from work.
Without even thinking about what she'd just called him, he replied, saying, "Yes, Rachel?"
"Sleep now?"
"Alright," he said, closing the book and pulling himself up to sit on the edge of her bed.
He tucked her in, held up his palm for her.
She gave him a high five, grinning as she bid him good night.
They didn't do goodnight kisses and had very rarely hugged.
They always gave each other high fives, though.
It wasn't what most people did, but it was just how they were.
And they liked it better that way.
As her eyes closed, he switched off the lamp on her nightstand and plugged in her night-light. He stood from her bed and left her room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
It was only when he was reclining on the couch in the living room that it finally registered. Even shocked him a bit,.
Rachel had called him... Papa.
The urge to run came to him. But instead of that, he fought to stop the smallest of smiles from appearing on his face.
It did anyway, and he was glad.
At one time this would have been a burdensome and troubling progress. Because, really, something had to be wrong with the kid for her to even want to call him that.
But now, knowing everything they'd been through, he guessed that he wasn't doing a bad job either. He only hoped he wouldn't screw up because hurting her or her mother was the last thing he wanted to do.
He closed his eyes, trying his best not to over think things the way he usually did.
In just a short while, he was fast asleep, mouth falling open.
When Cuddy got home, a smile graced her lips as she passed by the living room, hearing House's light snoring as she made her way to Rachel's room to check on her daughter first.
She entered her baby's room, smiling at the sight of Rachel. Knowing full well that she was already so deep in sleep, Cuddy just brushed her hair from her face, bent forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead before exiting the room again.
She made her way back to the couch and sat on the available space next to his hip.
She placed a hand over his stomach, lightly running it up to his chest so she could pat him gently there.
"House," she whispered, smiling at the sight of him sleeping. Sometimes the most normal things that people do, the simplest even that she sees House doing, made her smile. Seeing him sleep never failed to tug at her lips.
"I'm home," she announced quietly, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. She pulled away and kicked off her pumps, looking at him while her hand continued roaming his broad chest.
At the sight of him smiling that roguish smile of his, she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers once more, kissing him with a little more force.
When she pulled back again, their eyes met and she smiled at him.
"Hi," he greeted, left hand resting on her knee.
"Hey," she said back, snuggling into him when he pulled at her to lie down beside him. There was enough space for the two of them on her couch.
One arm wrapped securely around her, he pulled her closer and buried his nose into her hair.
"Had dinner?" He asked.
"Yeah. You and Rachel?"
"Mac and Cheese," House stated in a voice that implied he was about ready to go crazy.
She chuckled, asking, "We're still not over that phase?"
The way she used the word 'we' made something inside him bloom, but he'd never tell her that. Ever.
"Don't think we'll be over it anytime soon."
Cuddy chuckled once more.
They remained quiet for a while, a comfortable silence blanketing them.
"Rachel called me Papa," House murmured out of the blue, stroking her arm absentmindedly.
Cuddy's head tilted to meet his eyes, her sapphire eyes pooling with what seemed to be adoration, nervousness, and something else he couldn't place, all at the same time.
Never mind him thinking she was acting like some shrink, the question had to be asked, so she did, asking him cautiously, "How do you feel about that?"
Shrugging, House replied, "I'm okay with it."
Brows furrowed, Cuddy doubtfully asked, "You're 'okay' with it?" She had to know what he really felt, because she couldn't let Rachel continue calling him her father if he wasn't genuinely okay with it. Her daughter would only end up getting hurt.
"To be honest, if this happened a year ago, I'd say no..." House trailed off before smiling down at her.
"You didn't really answer my question," Cuddy pouted.
"I'm really fine with it," he assured her, placing a quick peck to her lips.
When he pulled back, she was still looking suspiciously at him.
"Maybe you're the one not fine with it?" He suggested calmly, curiously.
Sighing, Cuddy melded her body against his.
"I'm fine with it," she told him honestly, "I'm actually glad."
"That's a relief," House joked.
Silence descended upon them again, but this time there was the slightest bit of tension weighing over them. For once, it wasn't coming from House but from Cuddy.
"What?" House asked.
Unraveling her face from the crook of his neck, Cuddy met his eyes once more and quietly spoke.
"You're great with her, House. You really are."
Her words made him nervous. Even more so when she swallowed before opening her mouth once more to continue.
"Just don't hurt her, okay? I don't mean physically. I know you'd never harm her."
She paused once more, thinking about how to best explain what she meant.
"By letting her call you that... I don't want her getting hurt by extension if something happens to you. Or us. I think you understand what I'm trying to say."
She looked into his eyes, wanting to know if he was following her at all.
Nodding and understanding fully, he said, "Yeah."
By letting Rachel call him her father, he wordlessly took a larger role in her life. He had more than himself to think about now.
As he placed a reassuring kiss against Cuddy's temple, he smiled.
He was scared shitless, yes.
But with her and Rachel in his life... he could only think about how much more scared shitless he'd be without them.
