A/N: Because of everyone's kind words and encouragement, I thought I would take a stab at another one-shot. So, if you don't like this, you have no one to blame but yourselves ;-). This will probably be it for a while because I will be away next week. Hopefully, that will give me a chance to replenish the idea well.

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Disclamer: Don't Own, Etc.

Presents

"House, you're back an hour late! You missed the party completely!" Cuddy shouted as she came into the family room after cleaning the kitchen. House had seemingly appeared like magic in his usual place on the couch in front of the TV.

"Well, that WAS the plan," he snarked as he grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. "If I were a religious man, Cuddy, my definition of Hell would be having to exist in a confined space with ten screaming seven year old girls," he added.

"I don't suppose you could help me clean up, although I'm sure the shock of you actually helping me wouldn't be good for my heart," she requested sarcastically.

"Well, I wouldn't want to endanger your heart, Cuddy," he responded. "Besides, cripples don't make very good maids. Speaking of maids, why don't you just have Juanita the Mexican get all this when she comes over on Monday?"

"First of all, her name is Olga, and she's Russian," Cuddy said as she ignored House's dismissive wave, "Second, I don't think I want you and Rachael to have two days to track all this cake and frosting through the house and grind it into the carpet."

House wanted to make a brilliant, sarcastic reply, but he held back because his voice would have been drowned out by the vacuum cleaner. It was too noisy for him to hear the TV, so he turned it off. As he looked around, he noticed wrapping paper scattered all over the family room. As Cuddy turned off the vacuum, he made a sweeping motion with this hand and said, "Don't forget all this."

"Your ability to notice the obvious and bring it to my attention is truly breathtaking, House," Cuddy responded.

Cuddy got a large garbage bag from the kitchen and began to pick the paper up and put it in the bag. "How was Wilson? Did Michael James behave?" she asked.

House hated it when Cuddy used his two full names together. It was both pretentious and too precious. "Wilson is fine and so was MIKE. I think you better not feed him so much yogurt, though. I had to change him twice, and it was pretty gross."

"You changed him? How come you couldn't get Wilson to do it?" Cuddy asked, genuinely wondering if House was losing his gift for manipulation.

"Wilson won't go near him unless the kid has a diaper on after the pee-squirting-in-the-eye incident. He's such a wuss," House stated with disgust.

"House, Wilson got an eye infection," Cuddy reminded him.

"Well, the idiot should have known he needed to take out his contacts and wash them, for crying out loud," House countered, "With personal hygiene habits like that, it's a wonder he doesn't kill more of his immuno-compromised cancer patients. And you better not be blaming MY innocent son when Wilson was being a moron. Besides, it wasn't a big deal. All Wilson had to do was use eye drops for a few days."

"Actually, it was more like six weeks," Cuddy corrected, "And I'm not blaming MY darling son. I'm just saying I understand why Wilson would be reluctant to have that happen again."

"I still say he's a total wimp," House muttered.

As Cuddy slowly cleared the paper away, House began to look over the presents Rachael had received. Of course, there was no way House could do that without commenting. He picked up a box containing a bunch of books whose main topic seemed to be unicorns, of all things. "Cuddy, I really think it would benefit your daughter to be exposed to the reality-based portion of the space-time continuum," he said as pointed at the present with a look of derision on his face.

"She's only seven, House. She doesn't need to be reading about the horrific symptoms of exotic tropical diseases just yet," Cuddy responded.

"Never too early for that, you know," House continued, as he noticed just how many items were either hot pink or bright purple. And they were all covered in glitter, and every other shiny substance known to man. "You know, with all this sparkle going on, you're just setting up some poor slob of a guy for failure when he can't afford to provide the bling your daughter has become accustomed to with all this junk. No wonder DeBeers has those poor bastards convinced they have to fork over two months' salary for a stupid rock."

"Is that why you skipped buying me an engagement ring, moved in to my house, and decided we should just to go quietly to a Justice of The Peace?" Cuddy inquired sweetly.

"We went quietly to a Justice of the Peace for you to avoid a big wedding because by the time we decided to get married it was pretty obvious you were knocked-up," House replied flatly.

Cuddy paused and pinched the bridge of her nose as she wearily responded, "House, how many times do I have to ask you not to refer to the time I was carrying your child as me being 'knocked up'"?

"All I know is that after the second trimester, I didn't get any until weeks after he was born," House grumbled, remembering his season of deprivation. "Way too much time spent talking to the hand."

"House, you are aware there are children here, right?" Cuddy reprimanded.

"Hey, they're not in the room, are they?" House replied defensively. After pushing that particularly bad memory out of his mind, he went back to looking at Rachael's presents. "Hey, is this a Barbie doll? You do know the ratio of her boobs to her waist and ass is almost anatomically impossible to achieve, short of massive amounts of plastic surgery? I guess it's never too early to plant the seeds for those body-image issues," House commented.

"And you know that your vast knowledge of the body shape of a doll is a bit creepy, don't you?" Cuddy countered.

"Well, excuse me for caring about Rachael," House said in his best mock-hurt voice. "I would think you, being as obsessive as you are, would be even more concerned, what with her genetics."

"What genetics are you referring to, House?"

"Well, wasn't her birth mother a little on the hefty side?" House inquired.

"Yes, Natalie was a slightly cubby teenager, but she would have lost that weight in later adolescence," Cuddy replied in her most certain tone.

"If that's what you want to believe, I guess I'll leave you with your happy delusions. She looked pretty fat to me," House replied as he noticed another toy. "Who gave her the mini-hooker?" House asked as he pointed to a doll dressed in a lime green halter top, gold lame short-shorts, and high-heeled pink boots.

"Again, House, language please!" Cuddy implored.

Just as House was about to reiterate that it didn't matter what words he used since there were no children present, Rachael came bounding into the family room.

"What's a 'hooker'?" she asked innocently.

House watched as the expression on Cuddy's face went from furious to highly amused. Furious he could handle, since it was practically her default state with him; it was the amused face that really worried him.

Cuddy stopped picking up the wrapping paper, and sat down in the nearest chair. She crossed her legs and put her elbow on her knee in order to be able to cup her chin in her hand. The whole time the amused look had not left her face. "Yes, why don't you explain that, dear?" she asked sweetly.

House felt at least five kinds of uncomfortable at this point. He tried to get out of saying anything by turning to Cuddy and muttering out of the side of his mouth, "I can't explain this because she doesn't know about S-E-X yet."

Rachael, being an intelligent seven year old, could spell countless three-letter words, so it was a surprise to no one but House that "sex" was one of them. "Mommy and I had our talk about that a whole year ago," Rachael proclaimed proudly. "So, what does it mean?"

House looked to Cuddy for help, but she continued to just sit there and smile her most innocent smile. House knew he couldn't make it too complicated, so he blurted out, "A hooker is a woman who is paid to have sex." He hoped that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity and get her to drop the subject entirely. No such luck.

"Paid by who?" she asked.

"Uh, the man that wants to have sex with her," House answered, feeling the sweat forming along his receding hairline.

"But Mommy said that sex is for two people who love each other and want to be especially close to each other, so why would the man have to pay the woman?" Rachael asked, looking puzzled.

"Any time you want to jump in here, Cuddy, that would be okay with me," House asked, trying not to let the begging he was obviously doing creep into the tone of his voice.

"Oh, but you're doing so well on your own, sweetie, I wouldn't think of interrupting," Cuddy said in her most unctuous voice and smiled even wider. If she didn't think it would have been too much, she would have batted her eyes at him, too.

House suddenly began to think of every hooker he had ever been with. There never were as many as he claimed, and many, actually most, had been perfunctory encounters designed to relieve the pressure of the moment. There had been a few memorable appointments, too. Then House began to think of his relationship with Cuddy. Yes, it was different than anything he ever experienced with a hooker. Cuddy was as sexy, limber, and even as adventuresome as some of the hookers had been (their adventuresome-ness being limited by what amount he was willing to put on his credit card). But being with Cuddy was always better. House remembered the time they were trying to get pregnant. He had avoided having children since he'd lost his virginity, so he had no idea that creation sex could be so mind-blowing. What made it so amazing wasn't the physical act itself (although he did like having a reason to go at it like a couple of horny teenagers), but how he felt – needed, studly, and something else.

Rachael interrupted his reverie. "Daddy, why do they pay?" she asked again.

"Because people sometimes have sex with people they are not in love with," House answered honestly. He noticed Cuddy's expression changed from amused to expectant.

"According to Mommy, that's not right," Rachael replied.

"I don't know if it's right or not," House again answered as honestly as he could. He could have just left it there, but he continued. "I just know it isn't the same." House hesitated, groping for words, as Cuddy moved to the edge of her seat.

"What is different about it?" Rachael asked.

This was getting into feelings territory, a place where House was very uncomfortable. "You just feel differently . . . it's not as good . . . you don't have that feeling of connection the way you do when you love someone." House knew he could never articulate it, and he was at the point of thinking whatever he said would sound like a bad greeting card.

"You mean the way you love Mommy?" Rachael asked with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yes," House answered, without hesitation. He was genuinely afraid to look at Cuddy at that moment. What if what she thought what he had said was lame? Nevertheless, curiosity won out, and House decided he had to see, so he committed to it and looked at her with full force. He saw her staring at him, her eyes brimming with tears, looking about as happy as he had ever seen her. Adopting Rachael happy. Getting married happy. Giving birth to Michael happy. House knew he couldn't look at her much longer without losing it. Mercifully, Michael began to cry from the other room. "I'll check on him," House said as grabbed his cane and nearly jumped off the couch.

As House entered the room, he went to the crib. "What's going on, buddy?" he asked of no one in particular, since Michael wasn't able to talk yet. He picked him up and carried him to the changing table. He had to be wet by now; House just hoped Michael didn't have another one of those disgusting yogurt-induced poops. House opened the diaper and was relieved to find it was just pee. Speaking of pee, he kept Michael's future manhood covered as he got a wipe and a new diaper ready. House managed to get Michael cleaned and re-diapered without incident.

At this point, Cuddy came into the room, no longer on the verge of tears, House observed. Thank goodness for that. "He's changed and I think he's hungry," House announced to Cuddy. "Do you want me to get a bottle, or are you going to give him something on tap?"

"House!" Cuddy exclaimed, although her voice showed only minor irritation since she was still thinking about what he had said earlier. She knew what House had said in the family room was as close as he would get to verbalizing his feelings for her. He was never going to be one of those men who spend every day declaring their undying love. That was fine with her. She'd dated many men who would have done that if she'd let the relationship get that far. When she finally decided to be honest with herself, she realized that although everything she'd been told that an important part of love was being able to say it, she knew that declarations didn't mean much to her. As House had always said (did she really want to acknowledge he was right about something?), actions mattered more than words. She knew that his daily presence in her life meant her loved her more than anything he could say. Still, it was nice to hear it once in a while.

"So, which is it?" House asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

"What with being busy at the party and with the clean-up, I didn't get the chance to pump, so I'd better breast feed him." Cuddy replied.

"As long as I get to watch," House said with a lecherous grin.

"Are you ever going to get over your fixation with anything and everything involving my breasts?" Cuddy asked with an exasperated sigh.

"You better hope I don't," House exclaimed.

Damn, he was right again. "I take your point," Cuddy agreed without too much reluctance.

House handed Michael to Cuddy. He hesitated as they left the room, remembering Rachael giving him the third degree and wondering if he was facing even more brutal questioning. As they went into the hallway, the phone rang. Rachael picked it up, talked briefly and said, "It's for me."

"Who is it?" Cuddy asked.

"Madison," Rachael said as she took the phone into her room.

"She's being called by a dead president?" House inquired, happy to see his sarcasm muscle was still working well in spite of that yucky feelings discussion.

"No, it's one of the Evil Ten who were at the party today, which you'd know if you were here," Cuddy replied.

"Yeah, like I would have remembered any of their names," House grunted.

As they entered the family room, they both headed for the couch. House sat down, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, and Cuddy sat next to him. She pulled up her shirt, pushed up her bra and began breast-feeding Michael. House put his arm around her and she snuggled next to him. As far as presents were concerned, the utter contentment House felt now was easily one of the best he had ever received.

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A/N: This story wound up being a little longer than the last one, and it doesn't build up to a punchline like the other one did, but I hope you like it anyway. Please let me know if you think House is too OOC.