Living Proof
Hi !
Those are short stories, set during season 7. It might be a little OOC, you're my judges. But it's comforting and make me feel better ...
Enjoy and comment, that's be nice ! I'm French and some mistakes might have been left, so let me apologize for that.
The title is inspired by a Bruce Springsteen's song, my all times favourite song-writer, musician and singer. The main idea of the first story is inspired by something he wrote in his autobiography, "Born To Run" (*).
I do not own the serie or the characters.
Ju.
Living Proof
1.
She saw him struggling with her daughter. He was scared of doing something wrong and he didn't know how to do right. He didn't know how to behave in front of her. Rachel was a very young child, she barely talk, she couldn't understand his sarcasm or irony – his favourite way of talking – and she just kept looking at him with her big dark eyes, sometimes laughing, often completely indifferent. And he felt uncomfortable but never complained about it.
He was trying. He had baby-sitted her two or three evenings and Cuddy had never really known how he felt about it. She ate, she brushed her teeth. She asked for you but she's sleeping now, he would say and that was all. They had known each other for more than twenty years, but she couldn't find more than a few and rare moments when he would have started a sentence with I feel. It's not that it was hard for her to guess what was on his mind, but Cuddy wanted him to be more confident with himself.
One evening, he was half-asleep on the couch after spending three days at the hospital without coming back home. She'd put Rachel in bed a moment earlier, kissing her good night and heading back to the living room. The logs were cracking up in the fireplace. The cold wind of December was whispering in the balding trees outside their home. And her man was just right there. After five months of dating, she sometimes thought it was a dream – an hallucination. Cuddy watched him rubbing unconsciously his right thigh before sitting down at his side, her head against his shoulder. He'd remained silent, enjoying the simple fact of being with her. You should do one consistent thing with her one day*, she'd whispered, nervously expecting his reaction. After some minutes of silence, he'd looked down and locked his blue eyes in hers, smiling slightly. She'd been able to see his apprehension and his fears. Let's go to bed, she'd said with a kiss on his lips, while he was fighting tiredness.
It became their little ritual. Three or four times a week, he would wake up in the middle of the night, heading to Rachel's bedroom. It was just fifteen minutes – but only the two of them; Cuddy'd never wake up, leaving him his space and tranquillity. They never spoke about it. She watched him change and couldn't help loving him more. He'd give her a glass of water, warm some milk. And she started to react differently in his presence. He wasn't just the man with her mom anymore. It seemed that his commitment had been all she was really looking for.
Winter turned into spring. Several weeks after that night on the couch, he was watching Rachel sleeping in her crib thinking about his childhood. He'd been afraid of doing wrong because of his own abusive father. It took times, but he had finally realized that he wasn't like him. That night, House returned to their bedroom and watched his woman peacefully sleeping, her hair all around her. Wrapping one arm around her hips, he closed his blue eyes and felt Cuddy interlacing their fingers, pulling him closer and placing his hand on her belly. She didn't say anything, she didn't open her eyes when he'd kissed her shoulder and whispered Thanks in her ears. She had changed him in a way no one else ever had. She was right. He loved her. He was lucky enough she loved him back. And he had nothing to be afraid of. He might not be Rachel's father but he truly wanted to be her dad.
Thanks ...
