I'm not quite sure where this came from. But I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I've had a lot of season 6 feelings today. Happy Help Me Anniversary, by the way! (Though I think it's passed, technically.) This takes place towards the beginning of season 7, right around the time where House and Cuddy started to establish more of a routine to their relationship. That being said, there is a lot of talk about their relationship in the past and how they got to the place they are today. Starts off as an adorable trip to the grocery store, but of course, my angst muse took over.
Enjoy!
"I'm not buying something simply because it comes in the shape of a dinosaur," Cuddy said, giving a pointed look as she placed the box of overly sugared gummies back on the shelf.
House frowned at her.
"It's not a dinosaur," he argued, smiling sweetly at her. "There are at least four different kinds in each pack. They're educational and delicious. What else could you possibly want in a snak?"
"Oh I don't know," Cuddy answered sarcastically, pretending to mull it over as they made their way through the semi-crowded aisle of the grocery store. She looked down at Rachel, who was contently sitting down in the cart, playing with the items that had already been placed inside. "How about a little nutrition?"
She picked up a box of Special K and placed it in the cart. Rachel turned her nose up in slight disgust as her mother placed the box next to her. House grinned; Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"At least spring for the one that has the chocolate in it," he muttered, shooting Rachel an apologetic glance.
Rachel nodded excitedly in agreement, giving Cuddy a toothy grin.
"Why do you always insist on coming along if you're just going to pick a fight?" Cuddy asked playfully, smiling at him as she looped her arm through his.
Rachel shot her head up, grinning up at House and Cuddy. She popped a goldfish into her mouth.
"Cos Mommy, he likes to make you crazy."
Cuddy let out a slight laugh as Rachel sat back down in the cart and began to root through her backpack, zipping up her bag of goldfish and haphazardly throwing it back in the bag.
Cuddy looked over at House and shot him a knowing look.
"Maybe she really is a genius," she whispered, gently nudging him in the arm.
He shook his head.
"Or maybe she spends too much time listening to her mother gossip on the phone to Aunt Julia," he answered, raising his eyebrows at Cuddy. He peered into the cart that was holding the three year olds attention. "What do you think Rachel?"
Rachel looked up, her eyes wide as she looked at her mother. She gave her an innocent look and then shrugged, turning her attention back to her backpack. She pretended to dig through her backpack, searching for something of grave importance, like her newest Barbie coloring book.
"And she's gone mute," House muttered, turning his head towards Cuddy. "Thank god," he said mockingly.
Cuddy rolled her eyes as they turned the corner and began down the next aisle.
"Can I just say that your way of grocery shopping is completely irrational?"
Cuddy smirked.
"What's the point of phrasing something as a question if you're just going to say it anyway?"
He shrugged.
"I'm trying to be more polite. Baby steps," he answered simply. "You insist on going up and down each aisle, sometimes more than once. It makes absolutely no sense."
Cuddy shook her head, her brow furrowed in defense.
"It's so I don't miss anything."
"But that's why you make a list," he pointed out. "And why you email the list to yourself, just in case you forget it."
Cuddy looked down, her face cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment. He smirked.
"I don't always do that," she said defensively, looking back up at House. He gave her a knowing smile. She picked up a bag of carrots and placed them in the cart, ignoring the looks that both House and Rachel were giving her.
"Mommy," Rachel pleaded, wrapping her tiny fingers around the edge of the cart, her head peering over the top. "Can we get ice cream?" She widened her eyes and poked her bottom lip out. "I think House wants some ice cream," she whispered.
House nodded at her approvingly.
"We'll see," Cuddy answered diplomatically. Rachel started to stand up in the cart, and Cuddy immediately shot her hand out, giving her daughter a warning glare. "Rachel sweetie, sit down."
She shook her head.
"I don't want to," she declared, pouting.
Cuddy sighed.
"Well I can't carry you right now," Cuddy answered as they continued to walk down the aisle, pausing every once in a while to pick up a miscellaneous item.
Rachel shrugged and lifted her arms up, indicating that she wanted her mother to pick her up remove her from the very spot she demanded she be placed in twenty minutes before.
"I can walk Mommy," she said, narrowing her eyes in a way that she had to have learned from Cuddy herself. "I'm three you know," she said, holding up exactly three fingers—she made a point to count them individually.
Cuddy rolled her eyes, unhooking one of her arms from House and placing his hand on the cart, silently instructing him to push it as she attended to the three year old. He begrudgingly took control of the cart, making sure to sneak in the box of dinosaur gummies that he had grabbed when she wasn't looking.
Rachel started to laugh, and House lifted a finger to his lips, silencing her. She promptly stopped.
"You can drop the sass too," Cuddy ordered as she took the little girl into her arms and gently placed her on the ground. Rachel nodded and gave her mother an apologetic look, swaying her arms back and forth as she fell into step with Cuddy.
Cuddy quickly regained control of the cart, rolling her eyes as she noticed the items that had somehow made their way into the cart.
House gave her an innocent look and shrugged.
Somewhere along the way, House accompanying her on mundane tasks like grocery shopping and trips to the bank had become a sort of tradition as opposed to an anomaly; they'd both pretend that they hated it, but she secretly loved that he begged her to buy junk food and glared at the young bank teller who made it a habit of looking down her blouse.
He pretended that he was doing her a favor that most definitely deserved some type of reward, and she pretended that he was a pain in her ass—it was their thing.
"I'm a malapert!" she said, grinning up at her mother. She skipped in front of the cart, oblivious to the fact that Cuddy almost ran right over her, and made her way over to House.
Cuddy sighed as she turned towards House and gave him a pointed look. "What the hell is a malapert?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "I told you to stop letting her watch National Geographic with you in the middle of the night."
House scoffed.
"Wow," he said mockingly, rolling his eyes as he felt Rachel tug on the material of his jeans. He begrudgingly let her take his hand, and Cuddy did her best to suppress a smile. "Your lack of twentieth-century vocabulary is extremely disheartening."
Cuddy scoffed. "I'll be sure to brush up on that between budget reports," she muttered as she began to survey the contents in the cart. She pulled her list out of her purse, going over it twice before she placed it back in her bag. "I think we have everything," she said tiredly.
She sighed as Rachel let out a slight cough and gave her a pleading look.
House smirked.
"Why don't you and House go pick out some ice cream," she said defeated, a small smile finally escaping her lips. "I'll go get in line."
House and Rachel exchanged triumphant grins, bumping their fists together as Cuddy rolled her eyes.
She smiled to herself as they parted ways, House and Rachel making their way towards the refrigerated section. As she walked towards the checkout lines, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with pure and utter contentment. She wasn't sure she'd felt this way before; she'd been happy and she'd loved, but she'd never—she'd never felt more secure than she did in that exact moment, watching as her three year old daughter dragged the slightly hunched figure of Gregory House towards the ice cream section.
It was such an image of normalcy and regularity that it almost scared her.
She grabbed a magazine and flipped through it nonchalantly as she waited near the mass of people who were doing last minute shopping for their prospective dinners. And for the first time, she didn't feel so out of place.
Letting herself become mesmerized by the latest issue of Vanity Fair, she became completely oblivious to her surroundings. She flipped through the review section and made a mental note to start watching The Good Wife.
She looked up when she heard a voice that hadn't crossed her mind in months.
"You still have nice shoes," said Lucas, smiling at her. "And legs for that matter," he said, awkwardly joking at her. She closed the magazine and cleared her throat, giving him a tentative smile.
"Lucas," she said, slightly taken aback. "What are you doing here?"
"Same thing you are," he answered simply, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'm not stalking you or anything."
"Oh I didn't mean to imply," she said, rushing her words as she became increasingly uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, calming her nerves as she ran a hand through her hair. "How are you?" she asked, making a mental checklist of the social graces she was supposed to implore in situations like this.
"Great," he answered good-naturedly; he was clearly not experiencing the same discomfort that she was. "What about you?" he asked sincerely. He started to look around her. "Where's Rachel?"
"Oh she's with—"she paused, her voice trailing off as she bit down on her bottom lip.
When she'd ended their engagement, she'd told him that she wasn't in love with him in the way she needed to love someone she was marrying. She was such a wreck that night that she didn't even remember half of what she had said; he had read between the lines and understood—he didn't even act surprised when she told him that it was over. She distinctly remembered him saying something along the lines of how he was surprised she had said yes in the first place.
She'd handed him the ring with a tear streaming down her cheek and rushed out of his apartment as quickly as possible. The rest—well the rest was something she would never forget.
Lucas nodded.
"She's with House, isn't she?"
Cuddy nodded apologetically. "They're picking out ice cream and god knows what else," she said with slight laughter, unable to hide the smile that was forming on her lips.
Lucas laughed along with her.
"You eat ice cream now?" he asked. "Things really have changed."
Cuddy smiled.
"House is—" she paused once more, a dreamy look forming in her eyes. She shrugged her shoulders and returned her focus towards him. "Well you know," she said, barely stringing the sentence together.
Lucas nodded. He had that irritating quality of being understanding in seemingly every situation.
Cuddy was once again caught off guard by a sudden voice.
"Mommy we got your favorite!" Rachel said as she skipped towards her mother, dragging House behind her.
Cuddy smiled at her daughter who handed her the small pint of raspberry chocolate chip; she sighed as she tentatively met House's gaze.
"Lucas," said House, nodding in his direction. "I didn't know you'd taken to stalking your ex-girlfriends. Or is it singular? It's hard to tell sometimes."
Lucas smirked and Cuddy sighed, rubbing her temple in frustration. House stepped over to where Cuddy was standing and she placed a warning hand on his forearm.
Rachel was completely oblivious to the situation, content to dig through her backpack in hopes of finding a loose piece of candy or the lost crayon she'd been searching for.
"House," Lucas acknowledged, "always a pleasure to see you."
House eyed him suspiciously.
"Really? You're not at all uncomfortable by a situation that is actually the textbook definition of awkward?" he turned towards Cuddy. "The guy really is emotionally stunted."
Cuddy glared at him.
"So I take it you guys are—" Lucas pointed between the two of them suggestively, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.
"I think "dating" is the word you're looking for," said House triumphantly, as if it were some type of contest. Which in House's eyes, it was—although there was never really any competition between the two of them. Not in the larger sense, at least.
"That's great," Lucas said, a sad smile escaping his lips. Cuddy shifted awkwardly, and House placed his hand on her lower back, his thumb running up and down her spine in a comforting manner, away from the prying eyes of Lucas. "Really, I'm happy for you. I uh…I didn't think it was possible, but uh…well here you are. I should be going, I've got a steak out waiting for me. And a cheese steak, now that I mention it," he added to himself, his eyes falling towards the ground.
He lifted them back up, smiling at Cuddy.
"Enjoy your night."
Cuddy gave him a slight wave and turned towards House as Lucas walked away.
"Ready?" she asked, silently telling him that she didn't want to discuss what had just happened.
He eyed her suspiciously and opened his mouth to respond, but Cuddy gripped his arm and gave him a pleading look. He simply nodded and placed his hand over hers.
Rachel gasped in the corner.
"I found my crayon!"
House had stayed the night at his apartment that night, pretending that he had things to catch up on; Cuddy pretended not to be hurt by the decision, and when he kissed her before he left, she made sure to let her lips linger on his longer than usual, comforting him in the only way she knew how. The next morning, he didn't bother to show up for work. Cuddy had decided that the best thing to do was to give him a little space; she knew that seeing Lucas dredged up memories from the past that they'd both rather forget.
He was a constant reminder of her fear and his stubbornness; he was the year they wasted, denying their feelings and growing apart, yet somehow growing closer together at the same time.
When House still hadn't shown up noon, Cuddy decided to take her lunch break a little earlier.
She walked into his apartment, bracing herself for the worst possible scenario; relapse was always in the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts and starring in her nightmares. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night and stretch her arm out towards him, just to make sure he was still there.
She opened up his unlocked apartment door, gently knocking as she entered, hoping that he might hear her and come greet her; she sighed when she heard no movements. She walked through the living room, pausing to run her hand over the grand piano.
She sighed as she noticed the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar.
"We've got to stop meeting like this," she said, smiling down at him as she leaned against the frame of the door.
House was sitting on the floor, his back leaning up against the bathtub. He looked up at her.
"Hey," he said softly.
She smiled.
"Hey." She walked towards him, her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she slowly approached him. She'd draped her blazer across his couch when she walked in, leaving her in a silk tank top and her knee length pencil skirt.
She still managed to gracefully collapse next to him.
"So I realized something this morning," she began, turning her head towards him. He nodded expectantly at her. "We never…we never talked about my relationship with Lucas."
House sighed, trying to keep himself from cringing. He didn't like to think about the two of them, let alone openly discuss it.
"Didn't see a need to," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"I know," she said softly. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "But considering you can barely even look at me, I'd say the need for it has increased."
He sighed and turned towards her. Her face fell when she saw the look of sadness etched across his face.
"I'm sorry," she said. "When you first left for Mayfield, I felt…I don't know what I felt, really."
"Join the club," he joked.
Cuddy let out a slight laugh and began to absentmindedly run her fingers up and down his shoulder; he'd never tell her this, but it was one of the most comforting things he'd ever experienced.
"I was shocked and confused and…scared. And I felt more alone than I'd ever felt. And I wasn't sure…I wasn't sure I was ever going to get you back. And I thought that when you did come back, you would…you would blame me for certain things. And I wasn't emotionally strong enough to handle that. So I delved into something that didn't require any effort on my part."
He nodded.
"I did blame you at first," he said, refusing to meet her gaze. His heart dropped when he heard her breath hitch. "But I also blamed our milkman from when I was twelve, so I wouldn't place too much merit on that," he said lightly, turning his head to face her.
She smiled down at him.
"I'm still sorry."
He shook his head.
"For what?" he asked, shrugging her off. "You were reacting in the only way you knew how. You were being you. I don't blame you for that."
Her fingers paused on his shoulder and she gave him a quizzical look.
He sighed.
"The way you'd been handling your feelings towards me obviously wasn't working, so you went for something that was the complete opposite. You run away from what you want because you somehow think you don't deserve it, or it's not what you need at that specific time. You were so convinced that you needed someone more reliable because of Rachel, and while that's admirable, you and I both know it's complete bullshit."
Cuddy gasped, drawing her hand away.
"Excuse me?"
He shrugged.
"You forgot that you were completely capable of taking care of Rachel all on your own. You didn't need a guy, you just thought you did." He took her hand in his; his fingers began to run over her thumb. "Don't worry, you eventually came to your senses."
There was a short pause, and Cuddy took a deep breath before she continued.
"We never talk about Mayfield," she said softly; she gripped his hand in hers.
"You never asked."
She nodded. Getting House to open up was like pulling teeth sometimes; he wasn't one for spontaneous admission, and even when he was directly asked a question, his first impulse was to deflect and then ignore.
Sometimes she wasn't sure it was worth the trouble.
"I'm not sure I wanted to know the answer," she said earnestly, her eyes pleading with him. "But now I think…now I think maybe I do. If you want to tell me."
"You still might not like the answer," he said quietly, locking his eyes with hers. She didn't know about Lydia or Alvie, or the pain of feeling trapped in his own body, in his own surroundings.
She didn't know about his fear, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to know; but she was there, opening herself up to him and asking that he do the same. And she'd never let him down, not really.
"I met a lot of different people there," he began softly, his eyes glued to the floor, but his hand gently holding on to hers, "some of them left a bigger impression than others. There was one woman—Lydia was her name—she was visitor of one of the other patient's. She…she helped me in a way that the people in there couldn't. I was surrounded by chaos in there, and she was…she was normal. And she treated me like I was normal. I needed that."
Cuddy nodded, choking back tears that were threatening to spill out from her. She'd always seen House as this sort of invincible being; he took what life handed him and he dealt with it. He was a survivor. But in her midst of admiration and his determined infallibility, they'd both forgotten that everybody needs somebody, sometimes.
And there was a point in both of their lives where they simply weren't there for each other—and they shouldn't have been. Because they weren't what each other needed at the time.
His gaze locked with Cuddy's. She gripped his hand tightly.
"And I'll always be grateful for her—and for Lucas, in a very very miniscule way, because she opened me up to the possibility of there being an us. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I kind of like going to the grocery store and the bank with you. It's fun; it makes me happy. You…you make me happy."
Cuddy's face softened, and she leaned in towards him, pressing her lips to his. Her hand grazed across his cheek and his arm wrapped around her waist as she angled herself towards him.
She pressed her forehead against his as she pulled away; blue met grey, and she looked him up and down, taking in his physical and emotional scars.
She ran her thumb across his cheek; he closed his eyes and relished in the familiarity of the gesture.
"I love you," she murmured.
He opened his eyes; she was pressed up against him, their limbs entangled in a way that almost made it impossible to tell where his body began and her ended. He looked around his surroundings, realizing that it was the second time she had come to rescue him from his own misery.
He laced his hand through hers.
"I love you too."
It was the second time he'd had the courage to tell her that—and she'd never know it, but she was the one who always gave him the strength.
This might be the most romantic thing I've ever written. I hope you all enjoyed it!
-Alison