Gift of Chicken

by Duckie Nicks

House and Cuddy struggle to deal with the ramifications of their agreement to make him Rachel's legal guardian. Sequel to "Gift of Screws." CONTAINS ADULT SITUATIONS. Established House/Cuddy.

3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: A special thanks to paroulis for her patience and for donating to Help Lisa on Livejournal. Also thank you to AmbientQd, Ceetee, Aimee, dmarchl21, Melanie1121, grouchysnarky, red blood, Gemilh, Abby, IHeartHouseCuddy, koryandrs, ParijanTaiyou, and MissBates for bothering to read and review. Please be aware that this chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show.

Gift of Chicken
Chapter Three: An Ending
By Duckie Nicks

Forgiveness had come in the coldest package possible. He hadn't yelled at her once in the last four days. He was talking to her at least… but it wasn't normal. He said only what he had to. There were a few light kisses when they were in front of Rachel, which she complained about in spite of the fact that it was being done for her benefit. What was going on between them would not be something Rachel would ever be aware of; they had decided this without needing to discuss it. But when she wasn't around, Cuddy could see it all over his face: he had no desire to touch her.

There were no comments about her body at work or at home.

There were no mornings where she woke up with his arms around her and his head on her pillow.

There was no sex.

He wasn't even giving her an opportunity to turn him on. At night he avoided coming to bed until she had fallen asleep. During the day, he had become an expert at skirting around her touch. Charts needed to be looked at, patients seen; Rachel needed her medicine and on and on. He had never been like that before. Even when they were fighting, they usually kept having sex. Instead of avoiding Cuddy, he was perfectly comfortable reliving the argument and all the reasons he thought she was wrong. This time was different.

It was as though he couldn't bear even the slightest possibility of going through the fight again. She wanted to tell him that he didn't need to worry; she had no intention of bringing it up, not when she had been incredibly stupid to do it in the first place. If she did that though, if she apologized for pushing him, that in and of itself would be her discussing the issue again. Or it wasn't, but he would take it that way.

Since Saturday, she'd tried to think of a means to deliver an apology that would earn her his forgiveness. But there was nothing that would help. She'd thought about saying she was sorry for little grievances and mistakes he wouldn't notice much less complain about. No, he would see through that. She'd considered leaving him a note in the bathroom. It would say something basic enough – it was never you – or – I'm sorry. They weren't note writers however; if he saw a scrap of paper in the bathroom, he would either throw it away or not read it at all and put it on her nightstand under the assumption that she'd dropped it. The latter being unlikely, he would probably just read it, sneer, get angry with her for bringing it up, and then throw the note away.

He left her only silence and the constant fear that she would say something wrong to provoke him into drawing this hell out longer. It was making her sick. She had thrown up twice at work, when the day-to-day withdrew into the background and her mind became unable to distract her from what she had done. With the stress physically taking its toll on her, it was unappreciated. How could she be mad at him for it though?

The longer this went on, the more she could see the damage she had done the last two months. Ignoring the good things he did, holding his mistakes against him, forcing him to fear every possible complication for each action he took – she had done that. And if she were in his place now, being treated that way, she couldn't be angry. She was just getting what she deserved.

That made it harder to fight the treatment she was getting. He wasn't out of line to behave how he was, and the masochistic part of her felt that she should accept his ire with silence. She had a duty to him though, to make it better. Maybe she had earned this dynamic, but he had done nothing wrong. If she didn't start making overtures to show her regret, he would believe she thought otherwise, which would only create more problems for them.

The morning of the fifth day since their fight, she decided to tackle that task over breakfast. She'd considered her first move carefully, knowing that he would be all that much harder to reach if she inadvertently upset him. She'd come up with what she felt was a good idea, but even so, she paused over her bowl of mixed fruit while trying to find the courage to say something. Her fork speared in a cube of pineapple, she thought she might get sick if she tried to chew it. Knowing how stupid it was, to be nervous about talking to House, she forced herself to speak up.

"Hey, Rachel. You know whose birthday's coming up?"

Rachel looked up from her oatmeal and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. At first she shook her head but then stopped and said cautiously, "Mine?"

"Well, yes, eventually… but before that." Cuddy pretended not to notice the way House had stopped scraping his bread noisily with butter (which he knew she hated) to look at her cautiously. But there was no ignoring him when he answered the riddle.

"She means me."

There would have been more tension following the comment if not for Rachel's excitement to diffuse the moment.

"Really?" Rachel nearly shrieked. "It's your birfday?"

"Not today," he explained, picking up his knife to massacre his toast once more. "But in a couple weeks."

"Are you gonna be old?"

"I'm already old."

Rachel smiled. "I know."

He hid his amusement, or maybe he only vaguely took pleasure in the exchange, knowing that Cuddy had a point in bringing it up. She had to believe it was the latter, because he looked at her without any warmth in his eyes and said, "I'm assuming there's more to this conversation."

Cuddy nodded her head once. "Yes, there is. I was thinking we should do something this year. Considering it's going to be a big day."

"It's just a birthday," he said with a shrug. But he was being dense purposely, because he knew just as well as she did that his birthday was when they had agreed to file the guardianship papers and explain to Rachel what it would mean.

Since that day was not today, Cuddy didn't correct him. Rachel, however, felt the need to protest. "But it's your birfday. You should have a party and, and, cake and a doggie."

As divided as they had been recently, both adults groaned. House responded first. "We're not getting a dog."

Cuddy was quick after him to remind Rachel, "What did we say, Rachel? What did we agree on?"

"We're not getting a dog," Rachel parroted glumly.

"And?"

"If I wanna see the doggie, I can't ask for him no more." Sadness quickly turned to anger. "This is stupid!"

Cuddy remained composed. "We're going to go see the dog today, but I'm going to call the vet and cancel if this is how you're –"

"Nooooo!"

"I know you would like a pet, honey, but it's just not going to happen right now. Now, if you want to see the dog, we can do that. We will do that this afternoon after school. But I'm not going to keep repeating myself."

Rachel looked like she wanted to respond, but House, clearly fed up with the conversation, didn't let her say anything. "Can we return to the topic at hand and get this over with?"

"Yeah," Cuddy answered. Although she wasn't immune to his tone, she was eager to stop talking about the goddamn dog. "Specifics aside, I agree with Rachel. We should do something. I –"

"Not something. You obviously have something in mind."

Fine, she thought. If he were going to push her, she would just have to say it. The suspicion in his eyes meant that he assumed her idea involved his mother, which made it all the more necessary to put the idea forward quickly. "My sister's cabin. It –"

"Not interested. No offense, but Julia is –"

"Not going to be there," she interrupted. "I want it to just be the three of us, spending time together."

"We can't do that here?"

She didn't get to answer, because Rachel derailed the conversation to complain about going to school. But Cuddy wouldn't let the topic drop before he'd gotten the explanation needed. After breakfast, while Rachel begrudgingly found her shoes, as House poured himself another cup of coffee, Cuddy broached the subject once again.

"I think we should go. It's a nice place, and my sister won't mind."

His back having been turned to her, he slowly angled his body around to face her. He didn't bother to hide the irritation he felt, and that made her think that she had come on too strong with the idea. She was insisting, she told herself. She was supposed to be making him feel like she wanted to do something for him, not that he was obligated to do this for her.

"I don't mean it like that," she said abruptly before he could even open his mouth to respond. "I –"

"Just want spend time with me," he finished. The sentence was completed, however, with far more disdain than she would have. "That's fine, great. I'm not opposed, but again, we can't do that here? Without the hours of driving necessary to get to your sister's house in the woods?"

Cuddy stifled a laugh. There was nothing funny about what he'd said, but in that moment, she could only think of how screwed up they were, how completely wrong this situation was.

To answer the question, she knew she could point out the likelihood of play dates and patients getting in the way of any private celebration. She could mention that, if he were here, Wilson would want to do something with him. In theory, that sounded fine, but in reality, Wilson would take House out to some sort of bar; and in between drinks, House would be made to feel guilty for having found some semblance of happiness while Wilson, the normal one, struggled to find someone. It wouldn't be intentional. Wilson was screwed up, but he wouldn't do this on purpose. It just tended to happen when the two men were alone together these days.

But none of that got to the point as succinctly as what Cuddy said: "Because we're like this here."

House looked at her as though he wanted to ask her if she thought location would make any difference. And if he did that, she knew she wouldn't have any response to that, because he was right. It wasn't the home causing their problems. He didn't say that though, possibly because that fact wasn't one either of them wanted to think about.

"Fine," he said, relaxed, no enjoyment or resentment in the word. "That's what we'll do."

Instinctively she hugged him. For just the briefest of seconds, victory had her forgetting that they weren't getting along, and she found herself moving into his arms, head on his shoulder when she remembered. Her initial reaction would have been to back away from him, but inertia forced her to complete the act. And though it was odd to be close to him once more, to be in his personal space, with her cheek against his worn pajama t-shirt, the distinct scent of coffee and the slight smell of sweat all around her, she had no desire to pull away from him.

In kind, he wrapped an arm around her, a hand skimming along her ass. Their first act of spontaneous contact in days, it felt nice to be near him once more. Until he ruined it anyway.

"I forgot how wet you get when you get what you want," he murmured as though she couldn't hear when he knew full well that she could.

The sentiment bothered her (of course it did); this wasn't a contest, and she certainly wasn't looking to win any of their battles. But she was sure that he wouldn't believe her if she said that, so she ignored that part of the comment and focused on the remaining aspect left to her.

"We haven't had sex in days. It doesn't take much," she half-heartedly joked.

He was amused enough by the remark to pretend like he wasn't irritated with her. "See, this is what I've been saying. Everyone assumes I'm the reason we have sex all the time, but –"

"'Everyone'?" she asked, lifting her head off of his shoulder. "Who are you talking to about our sex life?"

He shrugged. "Anyone who will listen? Let's see: Wilson, my team, the neighbors, although that one was kind of necessary cause –"

"You haven't been able to update them for a while then." It wasn't exactly the smoothest way to introduce the problem, but it would do. She didn't believe that he was discussing their sex life with anyone – well, Wilson maybe, but not anyone else, not seriously anyway. So she figured she might as well steer the conversation to something that actually mattered.

The transparency just amused House. "Really? That's your seduction technique?"

"It's just a statement of fact."

"It's a complaint," he corrected.

"Yes."

"Which you would like me to fix."

With a sigh, she said, "Desperately."

"Right now?"

She was already dressed for work, and she still had to drop Rachel off at school, so the answer had to be no. Had to be, but the answer she gave was, "Yes."

"Not gonna happen." He didn't say it, because he knew she needed to leave in the next ten minutes if she wanted to get Rachel to school on time. He didn't say it, because sex would leave her clothes rumpled and her hair frizzy and because for the rest of the day, Cuddy would look like she'd been fucked. He didn't even say it, because, if they had sex now, it would be a quickie and not at all the lengthy make up sex she needed. He said it, because denying her would make her that much more interested in having sex; he wanted to drive her nuts with want of him.

There was no point in acting like he wouldn't get exactly what he wanted.

She opened her mouth to protest anyway, but House quickly asked, "Don't you think Rachel should have her shoes on by now?" It was a distraction but a successful one.

Cuddy paused, thought about it, decided the answer was yes. "That can't be good." She pulled away from House and went to investigate.

She found Rachel in her room, searching for something. "Are you ready?" Cuddy asked conversationally.

"I can't find my shoes."

"They should be in your closet." But when Cuddy opened the door to where all of Rachel's shoes were kept, there were no sneakers, sandals, or Mary Janes to be found. It was if the shoes had disappeared. Of course, they hadn't. Understanding the situation immediately, Cuddy whirled around to give Rachel a stern look. "Where did you put them?"

"Nowheres," Rachel lied. "They missing."

Cuddy shook her head. "Stop lying."

"I'm not."

"Rachel. This isn't going to work. I know you hid your shoes, so I suggest you find a pair right now and put them on." Her tone was lethal, but it didn't have the desired effect until Cuddy added, "Do you want to go see the dog today?"

"Yes," Rachel cried out, suddenly afraid that she wouldn't be able to.

"Then get dressed. Now."

The little girl ran into the hallway and into her bathroom. A pair of sneakers were produced from the bathtub and quickly thereafter velcroed shut on Rachel's feet.

"Good. I think we're ready to go then. Is your backpack in the car?"

"It's on the couch."

"Then let's get it. We're going to be late if we don't hurry up."

Knowing that she was in trouble, Rachel didn't waste time, but Cuddy could see the reluctance in her eyes.

That hesitation boiled over in the car. When they were about two minutes from the school, Rachel said, "I don't feel good."

"What's wrong?" Cuddy assumed that everything was absolutely fine and that Rachel just didn't want to go to school.

"My tummy hurts" came from the backseat with a whine.

But once they were in the parking lot and Cuddy had a chance to get a good look at Rachel, it was clear that wasn't exactly the truth. Rachel had no fever, didn't look pale or discomforted. Cuddy tested her blood sugar just to be sure there wasn't anything else going on, but everything about Rachel pointed to her being physically fine.

That didn't necessarily mean that Rachel was lying. It was possible, probable even, that she was so upset about going to school that her mind, under a lot of stress, was making her think she was unwell. Although he tried to hide all illness from her, House had suffered from conversion disorder in the past – usually when he was fighting with Wilson or Cuddy herself. Perhaps Rachel also had a somatoform disorder. It wouldn't exactly be the oddest thing, especially since she was young and her ability to vocalize the anxiety school gave her was limited.

What the situation did mean, however, was that Rachel would have to go to school. It sounded cruel and definitely felt that way as Cuddy carried Rachel to the front door and forced her inside and into her classroom. Cuddy wished that she had the ability to take Rachel to work with her, that Rachel had never gone to this stupid school to begin with, that all of these problems could be undone. But none of that was possible. Cuddy couldn't take her daughter to work; Rachel had enough wrong with her that she didn't need to be exposed to all of the germs that lingered in the hospital. And Rachel had gone to this particular school, and now they would just have to deal with the ramifications of that idiotic choice.

Cuddy was sure the damage was done at this point. When fall came around and Rachel started going to her new school, was there really any chance of all this stopping? Would Rachel know that things would be different? Cuddy doubted it. It destroyed her to know that, but really, what evidence did she have to think otherwise? She had nothing.

Part of her had considered over the last few days whether keeping Rachel in school until summer was a wise idea. There were only a couple of weeks left, but it seemed like there was no benefit to taking Rachel to class every week day, forcing her every step of the way. Yet there weren't any other options. Rachel couldn't linger in the hospital all day. Cuddy couldn't stay home. House might be able to take the time off, but he wouldn't do well without the mental stimulation work provided. That wasn't even addressing the fact that he would be using time off that he could probably think of better ways to spend. Since they had no nanny, no daytime babysitter, that limited their choices to Cuddy's mother (Cuddy couldn't handle that much consistent exposure to her mother), House's mother (clearly not going to happen), and… that was about it. There were no other options. School was the only possible solution, unfortunately.

But maybe seeing the dog she'd helped rescue would cheer Rachel up. It was the one bit of hope Cuddy had left, even though she recognized that any happiness gained would be lost the second Rachel had to leave the dog once more. Still… it was something for Rachel to look forward to.

And when Cuddy picked Rachel up from school hours later, it seemed like the dog was enough to put her in a good mood. Normally, Rachel, filled with resentment, would trudge toward the car. Today she was practically jumping up and down as they walked back to where Cuddy had parked. Cuddy very pointedly held onto her hand, but that didn't stop her daughter from hopping about with excitement.

"Are you ready to see the doggie?" Cuddy asked, assuming that was the cause. Rachel nodded her head enthusiastically. "What'd you do in school today? Anything fun?"

Surprisingly Rachel indicated yes again. "We learned to make paper chains, and we did math problems on the chalkboard, and everyone had to do one, and I got mine right." She was proud, practically overcome with happiness.

Cuddy felt no differently. It wasn't unheard of for Rachel to solve a math equation, but sometimes it took a little effort. That was hardly an issue. Rachel was five. Of course it would take time for her to learn the basic rules. But this was one of the first times Cuddy could see that Rachel found any joy in her education. Sure, she enjoyed recess and gym and fun activities like making a greenhouse in a balloon. That was different though. Those were things one did that in and of themselves created pleasure, whether something was learned or not. Math didn't exactly fall into that category – and Cuddy said that as someone who had considerable talents in that field.

Understanding the magnitude of Rachel's success, Cuddy stopped where she was in the parking lot. Her hand holding Rachel's, as a result, she forced Rachel to stop as well. Cuddy crouched down, as best as her tight skirt would allow anyway, and said joyfully, "You did? That's great! I am so proud of you." She leaned forward and kissed Rachel on the cheek. "Do you remember the math problem?"

"Uhhh, I think it was five plus four. It's nine."

"That's right!" Cuddy exclaimed, grinning widely. "Good job." She hugged Rachel close to her. "You are so smart, my smart little monkey."

"Can we go see the puppy now?"

"Of course." When Cuddy pulled away, it was hard to miss the flush of embarrassment on Rachel's face. There was no reason for it, but Cuddy decided it would be best to tone down her reaction. Rachel knew she was proud, and that had to be enough. Standing up once more, she grabbed Rachel's hand and guided her to the car.

An overwhelming sense of anticipation marked the short ride over. It was hard to believe a dog could create so much anxiety, but it was undeniable. Cuddy could feel the yearning from the backseat. That couldn't be a good sign. She expected Rachel to be completely out of control by the time they entered the vet's office.

In fact though, Rachel was calm. Quiet. She remained eager, but at the prospect of seeing the dog, she was focused, careful to stay out of the way of the adults as they drifted in and out of the waiting room to help other customers. It was not an intentional act. When Rachel tried to be good to get what she wanted, there was always a moment where she would try to assess how well her efforts were paying off. She wasn't doing that now. She was too intent on seeing the dog.

After about ten minutes of waiting, someone approached them. "Mrs. Cuddy?" a young man asked. Cuddy nodded to indicate that she was the person he was looking for. "Come this way. We have an exam room with the dog inside already."

Cuddy grabbed her purse and gestured for Rachel to walk in front of her. As they headed down a hallway to the exam room, Cuddy asked, "How's the dog doing?"

"Excellent," the man said. "We just examined him, to make sure that he would be in good enough condition to be seen, but actually, he's recovered well. Real friendly too."

"That's good to hear." It was a relief; if the dog had been ill tempered, Cuddy wasn't sure how she would explain that to Rachel.

"Still, he has quite a few stitches left, so we're trying to avoid exciting the dog too much."

Cuddy understood the implications immediately and put it more plainly for her daughter. "Do you hear that, Rachel? That means you need to be very gentle with the dog, okay?"

"Okay."

The man seemed a little doubtful that Rachel would listen, but he pushed open the door to the exam room to let Rachel and Cuddy in. The dog was already inside, not leashed to anything, but it showed no interest in running away. It was too busy lying on the ground, half asleep. (Nevertheless, the man closed the door behind them.)

Cuddy's first thought on seeing the creature was just how frighteningly large he was. It probably weighed more than she did. Its dark grey coat marred with jagged pink and red lines where its skin had been ripped apart didn't help make the dog look any friendlier. This was a far cry from the small dog Cuddy had had as a little girl.

"His appearance is shocking, I know," the man admitted. "But he's actually quite sweet and patient. We don't even put a muzzle on him when we examine him, and clearly, he's been through a lot."

"That's good to know. Thank you…"

"Ron," he supplied.

"Thank you, Ron."

The reassurance was clearly for her, as Rachel didn't seem bothered by the dog's appearance at all. She had yet to touch the animal, but she showed no signs of distress whatsoever. It seemed that if she was being careful at all, it was out of some sort of concern for the dog. Cuddy realized how unlikely that seemed. Rachel was five. As evidenced by her penchant for hitting people, she hadn't exactly learned self-control yet. But here she was slowly creeping up to the dog, as though one wrong step might hurt him.

"Hi," Rachel said quietly to the dog, who wagged his tail upon receiving attention. "Do you remember me?" As soon as she got close enough, the dog lifted its head to lick her hands. Then it got up to lick her face, and Cuddy could see on the stomach of the dog a stark white patch of fur that spread up to his chest. Two of its back toes were also white – but just the two, which made Cuddy smile.

With its thick pink tongue lapping at a giggling Rachel, the dog no longer seemed dangerous. Truth be told, it was pretty cute. Cuddy had to remind herself that nothing could come of this. Even though the dog was being gentle with Rachel and she in kind, it didn't matter. They weren't getting the dog.

Still… the animal and Rachel couldn't have been sweeter together. The dog was bigger than Rachel and only somewhat aware of its size. As excited as he got to see her, he never jumped on her. He just tried to lean against her so that she could pet his side better. Rachel stumbled backwards beneath the weight. For a brief moment, Cuddy worried that she might hit the dog. She'd been working on trying to get Rachel to stop resorting to violence when she got upset, but so far, based on the last time she'd had friends over, Rachel hadn't learned her lesson.

Fearing that she might react negatively to the dog, Cuddy stepped in as a precaution. "Oopsie. Careful there, doggie." The dog's ears perked up at the sound, and he took a step toward her. She reached out and gently patted his head, his short fur soft underneath the palm of her hand. "Are you okay, honey?"

Rachel stood back up straight. "Uh huh. He didn't mean to." And then she went back petting the dog, this time focusing her attention on the dog's back. Sometimes, unintentionally, her hands would graze over a spot on the dog that had been sutured up. Each time she did, the animal cringed, clearly in pain. But it didn't bark, growl, or even move away from her. Thank God, it showed no signs of wanting to bite her.

There was no need to correct her; whenever she made that mistake, Rachel apologized to the dog. Eventually however, Cuddy suggested, "Why don't you pet him on the head? There aren't as many stitches up here."

"Okay."

That ended up making everyone happier. Rachel could pet the dog and enjoy the feel of his wet, sandpapery tongue against her hand and elbow every now and then. And now, free of discomfort, the dog couldn't stop wagging his tail so hard that his entire back side wiggled with the effort. As for Cuddy herself… well, it was impossible to look at the affection from and toward her daughter and feel nothing.

That wasn't to say she didn't try to be detached. Cute as it all was, it was not something Cuddy needed in her life every day for the next ten years. A dog was more than what she thought she could handle right now. She could barely balance work and Rachel. There was no way a pet could be added on top of that. She would have no help. All right, maybe that wasn't completely true. Rachel could probably help feed the dog – but only if she were reminded. She could play with the dog, brush it, possibly, but having fun with the animal was never the issue. Who would walk the dog, clean up after it? Rachel was too young. House would be useless. That almost went without saying. Cuddy guessed they could always hire someone, but then what was the point of having a pet?

The dog sunk to the ground abruptly. The sudden movement pulled Cuddy from her thoughts and sent a jolt of panic through her. As a doctor, she had the natural desire to do something to help before realizing that she couldn't. And then, just as impotence began to set in, the dog rolled over onto his back, so Rachel could rub his stark white belly.

"You're silly, Chicken," Rachel said with a giggle.

Cuddy wasn't sure how she was supposed to take that comment. If the dog already had a name, there was no need to be concerned. But she didn't think it did, and if Rachel were calling the dog "Chicken" and not a chicken, that didn't bode well for what would happen when they went to leave.

Reluctantly Cuddy asked Ron, "Is that the dog's name?" He looked at her as though she were silly for pretending she didn't already know the answer. She sighed and turned her gaze back to her daughter. "Rachel, I don't think we can name the –"

"But it's his name," Rachel interrupted. She was matter of fact about it, insistent but not in a way that suggested she was angling for a pet. Of course, she was. Or at least, she would. And she probably wasn't consciously behaving now in order to get a pet, but Cuddy could recognize how carefully this needed to be played out. Sever the relationship too soon, and it would be scarring. Be too subtle, and Rachel might think she had a chance of owning the dog.

As Cuddy prepared herself for the inevitable, Rachel began to explain, "Well… he didn't tell me or nothing, but it don't matter. I think he looks like a… a Franklin, but I guess he could be a Toby or a Snoopy or something like that. But I think he needs a nickname. He hasta have one." She leaned over to pet the dog again.

"Chicken?" Cuddy asked, trying hard not to scoff at the choice of a nickname. Honestly, Cuddy wasn't sure Rachel knew what that meant, based on her selection. "Oh, Rachel, don't do that," she ordered when Rachel suddenly went to rub her face against the dog's white belly. "That's not good for your asthma."

Rachel reluctantly complied. "It has to be Chicken."

"Why?" Cuddy wasn't sure why she was even bothering to humor her daughter.

Thankfully, the explanation was quick and to the point. "Cause I'm monkey, and Froggie's froggie, so Chicken has to be Chicken. And House is House, but that doesn't make sense, so I don't know about that…."

It was difficult to explain the emotions Rachel's words brought forth in Cuddy. That was unfortunate, because she would have to describe this moment to House eventually. But try as she might, she couldn't articulate what she felt.

The comment was so childish and silly. If anyone else had said it, she would have to make an effort not to roll her eyes. She knew the comment shouldn't mean anything. It did though – perhaps because seeing this dog was making her nostalgic for her the dog she'd once had, maybe because of this continued… issue with House. Regardless, she felt, above her own embarrassment and inability to comprehend why, certain of two things:

There had never been a possibility of House coming between her and Rachel. Whatever relationship he had forged with their child or would, it wouldn't change how Rachel treated her. He had said so many times before – "Cuddy, you're her mother" – but she hadn't seen it before, the ways in which Rachel was like her, how Cuddy was shaping her daughter. Maybe she'd known, but she had taken it for granted, become so used to it that she no longer appreciated it. With that awful nickname though, there was now no denying that Rachel would always be hers. There had never been a reason to think otherwise.

But she had, even when House had tried to tell her otherwise, even when she'd had enough awareness to draw up the guardianship papers. Because… for some reason, she couldn't forget the fear. She couldn't move past it long enough to let House take them the rest of the way in becoming a family. He had never wanted a contest with her, but she would believe that again at some point.

Unless something changed.

And that was why she was certain that she needed the dog. Every time she would hear Rachel call the dog "Chicken," every time Cuddy thought of the day they brought the animal into their lives, she would be reminded that she had no reason to fear House's presence in their lives. She would be forced to remember.

But that would mean getting a dog, the very thing House had already told Rachel would never happen.

Loudly Cuddy sighed.

The phone call she was about to make to House would not be easy.

---

When he heard his cell ring, he wanted to laugh at the situation but didn't, because it wasn't funny. It was too early for Cuddy to be at home. The plan had been for her to take Rachel to the vet's to see the dog, and taking in to account the need for Rachel to pet and play with the creature for as long as possible, he had decided that they would still be there. Which meant that Cuddy wasn't calling to tell him that things had gone well, the matter had been settled, etc. She was calling, because as he had quietly predicted, she had wimped out on telling Rachel no. She'd fallen in love with the animal herself or once again convinced herself that gaining Rachel's affections was a contest that she had been losing – something along those lines. Of that he had no doubt. It was all very predictable.

Picking up the phone, he tried to keep his tone even. For now anyway. He wasn't sure how he wanted to play this yet. "Let me guess. We're getting a dog."

She didn't sound offended when she spoke (meaning he was right), but she didn't sound happy either (meaning he was right and she hated that). "I didn't say –"

"So I'm completely wrong?"

There was some hesitation, then, "No. No, I do think we should –"

"Okay."

"Okay?" She was clearly unsure whether to take that to mean that he was all right with her decision. He didn't know that she was wrong for thinking that way. Truth be told, he didn't fully understand how he was reacting to the news.

"This some sort of way to prove to her that you're more…." He stopped mid-sentence, not liking how the words were coming out. He was being too indirect. "Is this to make me look bad?" he asked shortly.

Her answer was immediate. "No."

"But you do realize that I told Rachel she couldn't have a dog, and now you're giving her exactly what she wants."

It was obvious to House then that he had chosen his response. He was going with anger and accusation.

"It's not like that, House." When she scoffed, she added, "Just give me a chance to explain."

"Pretty sure I already understand."

"You don't."

"Then tell me this is because you fell in love with the dog, that you –"

"Just come home tonight. Okay? Don't stay at the hospital or hide out in your apartment."

She couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. She couldn't say that she'd wanted the dog for personal reasons, so that only left more sinister motivation. It shouldn't have surprised him. It didn't surprise him, technically; he'd predicted this would happen. In spite of her desire to make things better, she couldn't help herself. He knew that about her. But it still felt like…

Didn't matter, he thought forcefully, pushing down and away the sick feeling of betrayal. She needed an answer, and he gave it to her as dismissively as possible.

"I don't know. Patient still hasn't stabilized yet. I might need to stay."

If she said something in response, he didn't hear it. He'd hung up the phone before she could object. No doubt, she would find it rude, but the conversation wouldn't get any better by continuing it.

He wasn't exactly lying about his patient either. So far his team had just managed not to kill the woman, but she barely being alive was hardly an indication of success. At the rate her body was shutting down, she would be dead soon, which was another reason he had no interest in talking to Cuddy for the time being. Every second spent dealing with that mess was one he wasn't using to solve his patient's problems. Besides, there was no question where he was going later. When it came to Cuddy, he could not deny her a chance to explain. Although he doubted she'd be able to, he had never been able to ignore her. Because he loved her, he wanted her to be right. Because she loved him, he forgave her when she wasn't. And it pained him to acknowledge that this would be no different, but it wouldn't be. She would be wrong, and he would give her what she wanted anyway.

That fact rolled off of him with an ease that almost made him seem content with the situation. He wasn't. But its predictable, stagnate nature made his relationship issues less pressing than his case. Cuddy wasn't going anywhere; his patient might. So he had no trouble focusing on the latter. If anything, he welcomed the distraction, found comfort in the work. The solution didn't come quickly, but his embrace of the puzzle made his observations sharper. He could tell. Today, he was better at his job. When he was miserable, he was good.

It didn't surprise him then that he found a diagnosis by the end of the day. He waited around a while afterwards to make sure that he hadn't missed something. It would be just his luck for his patient to crash, for there to be another complication, so he stayed behind until nine o'clock to see what would happen. A voice inside whispered that he was avoiding the inevitable, but he maintained that was not what he was doing. Not that it mattered much either way; his patient ended up remaining stable, so avoiding Cuddy or not, he now had to go home.

As he slowly walked through the parking garage, he found himself hoping that Cuddy had reconsidered her plan. All day he'd been avoiding thinking about it, but now the keen desire for her to have fixed this was impossible to ignore. Rationally he knew: it couldn't all just go away; she couldn't just undo what she'd set in motion, but that was precisely what he wanted. After a long day, it would simply be nice to go home and not have to fight with his girlfriend. He knew better than to think that would happen though.

Standing in front of his bike, he sighed, paused. He loved her. He loved Rachel. He would never be happier anywhere else. He repeated that to himself a few times – not because he had lost sight of that fact, but because inwardly, he railed against the question he didn't want to ask. He could no longer avoid it though, and he found himself wondering, at what point, did he have to give up? He needed this so much, but when did he have to accept that Cuddy couldn't – actually could not – give him what he wanted?

His fingers started to move to his pocket for a Vicodin on instinct. He didn't have any on him, something he dearly regretted at that moment.

No.

No.

Taking Vicodin after Rachel ran across the parking lot had reminded him of how much he liked the drug. He hadn't ever forgotten, of course. But that small taste renewed in him that insatiable desire for more. He was always mindful of what he had nearly lost because of it, but his addiction made it almost seem worth it. And right now, all he wanted was to descend blissfully into Vicodin's throes. Taking on Cuddy's insanity sober made him feel sick to his stomach.

He had no other choice though.

Avoiding her wasn't an option. Getting high wasn't one either. Alone, he wouldn't have cared about giving in to temptation. He couldn't do that to Cuddy however.

She had never demanded that he make a choice. She was far more understanding than he probably would have been if the situation were reversed. But he felt like he had to make a choice anyway: give up the Vicodin or give up her, because she deserved better than a junkie for a boyfriend. Regardless of what was going on between them, he couldn't allow himself to put her through that.

He was aware, of course, that he wasn't exactly telling the truth when he said that. There was a part of him that would think nothing of forfeiting his loyalty to Cuddy in order to stop the pain. No doubt he would regret it… but he would be powerless to stop himself from doing it at the time.

That was the thing though. If he could recognize his interest in sparing her from going through that, it meant that right now he didn't need Vicodin. He could have this conversation without something to dull his senses.

That didn't make him feel any better.

As he drove home, he tried to tell himself that it was late, that there was a good chance that Cuddy wasn't even awake, that this argument could be put off for another day. That also wasn't very effective in consoling him. But he clung to the possibility anyway out of cowardice.

To his disappointment, when he pulled up to the house, he could see the lights were still on in the living room.

Great.

He considered driving off, but his bike would have made his presence known. He considered leaving regardless and coming up with a lie to explain his disappearance, but Cuddy would know he was avoiding her. That fact didn't bother him as much as the knowledge that escape wouldn't help did. If he went back to his apartment, this conversation would happen eventually. And the thing was, it wasn't to his benefit that they not talk about this. He was pissed – she was the one who should be looking for a way out of this argument, because she was the one who needed to apologize and make things right. He should have looked forward to being able to voice his complaint. Instead, he was hoping for silence. It wasn't hard to figure out why.

She wasn't going to change for him; she couldn't change, so why bother? To fight with her? To be reminded in the most painful way possible that their relationship was reaching its breaking point?

He drew back from the thought as soon as he had it. Rationally, he could tell that he was getting worked up, not over nothing, but over something his own mind was inducing. Just as Cuddy herself was. Technically, it was all her fault. Her terror over this whole thing was making him twist with impatience and self-doubt. But that didn't mean she was willing to let him go in order to avoid taking the next step in their relationship. He obviously wasn't willing either, which meant that there was really only one way this would go. Before he'd thought he'd have to back off from being Rachel's guardian, but that would irrevocably damage their relationship. So Cuddy would have to, some time, give him what he wanted. It was guaranteed.

… He hoped.

His mind circled back, pulled away from the relief he wanted. He had long since understood that there was nothing he could tell himself that would make him feel better. The only person who could do that was Cuddy, was the person who was currently unable to. And even then, even if she were to give him what he needed, after all of this, there was still a good chance that he wouldn't believe her. The fact that she'd brought up his mother alone was… a serious sign that she didn't understand what she was doing and that any kindness she offered him was an attempt to mollify him, nothing more.

Thinking of his mother instantly pushed him back into the mindset he'd been trying to escape. The only good part about the disgust he suddenly felt was that he no longer cared about the conversation he was about to have. He was irritated and now ready for a fight, should there need to be one.

Coldly he headed inside. What he wasn't prepared for was to be accosted almost the exact second he closed the front door behind him. Before he'd even had a chance to turn around, he could feel the hands on his knees and the excitement bubbling in the grip.

"Hi hi hi," the tiny voice, breathless with energy, said.

Rachel. He hadn't anticipated her still being awake, but that wasn't important now. The anger he felt slowly receded, so that when he turned to face her, she couldn't see that he had been mad.

Not that she was in the proper frame of mind, clearly. She was happy, practically dancing in place with joy. Clearly, she'd gotten the dog. There was no other possibility, but he asked nevertheless, "Why are you still awake?"

She didn't answer the question, just bounced on her heels. "Up, up, up."

"Fine." He tossed his backpack and cane onto the ground beside him before reaching down to pick her up. As he grabbed hold of her, he started to go in to give her a kiss on the cheek. But she moved too quickly for his face to get anywhere near hers. Her arms wrapping around his neck so forcefully, he wobbled as he stood back up. "You miss me or –"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squealed loudly before hugging him.

He didn't understand. "Is this what happens when you're sleep deprived? You start speaking in threes?"

Now she was confused. One of her hands rubbing at her eyes, she giggled a little. "What?"

"Never mind." With cautious footsteps, he made his way past the small foyer. Because Rachel was awake, he wasn't surprised to find Cuddy almost immediately to his right. She was seated on the couch, a rumpled blanket on her lap. Based on her expression, she had been trying for a while to get her daughter to fall asleep. "You look more tired than she does," he remarked casually.

"That's because I'm trying to get a little girl to go to sleep and she's not," Cuddy explained pointedly.

"Yeah, well, if she was too, that'd be kind of confusing and weird."

Her defense was a soft "I'm tired."

"That I can see," he said, moving to join her. "You having trouble getting her to go to sleep?" She glared at him, because the answer was obvious to both of them. "Don't blame me," he told her, but it was clear that she had every intention of doing just that.

Nevertheless her gaze softened when he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. For a second, he thought that he'd smoothed over the moment. But when he pulled away from her, the steel was back in her eyes.

"Why shouldn't I, House? You're the one who said to me, 'Let's get a dog. It'll be good for Rachel.' I didn't want to, but you said, 'Sure, why not?' And now she's excited and wide awake, so it is your fault."

Rachel squealed at the mention of the dog and hugged him tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she cried happily.

As excited as she was becoming, he felt the exact opposite occur. Cuddy's antics were making him feel weary and frustrated – again. "Don't you think it's a little late for gas lighting, dear?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

He shot her a look that said he knew that much. But her intentions were lost on him, thanks to the smugness she exuded. For a brief moment, he was so annoyed that he couldn't see what she wanted him to think. And then he understood that she'd told Rachel that he had insisted they get the dog – a last ditch effort to make things right without actually doing that – and he was irritated for a whole other set of reasons. What could he say about it now though? With Rachel awake, everything else had to wait until she was asleep and completely unaware of what was happening.

"So," he said with total control of his tone. "Where is the mutt?"

Rachel answered him in a whiny voice, "He can't come home yet."

"The vet wants him to heal more," Cuddy explained. "He still has open wounds. They want to make sure he won't get an infection. He also needs to be neutered before they'll let us have him –"

"Ah, yes. I'm familiar with that rule. It applies to all the males in this house, doesn't –"

"Don't start with –"

"I'm not," he stressed. "It's a joke." They both knew it wasn't, but there was no point in trying to discuss it any further. "They give you any idea when the dog might –"

"A week? Week and a half?"

He looked down at Rachel. "You planning to stay awake until then?"

"No!" Her answer came with palpable irritation, which wasn't entirely a surprise. Based on how excited she'd been when he'd first come home, perhaps it would seem out of character for her to change so suddenly. But it was late, and she was clearly tired. Even though she would fight him if he suggested she get some sleep, the truth was she was up way past her bedtime. Joy was giving way to exhaustion quickly.

Obviously afraid of being judged for this, Cuddy said, "I've tried everything I can think of, but I couldn't get her to fall asleep."

"Want me to try?" In another relationship, there would be no need to offer; it would be expected for the other person to take over. With Cuddy however… House believed he needed to be careful, to respect those boundaries even when he wanted those limits to disappear. As much as he wanted to be Rachel's father, he had to be considerate to Cuddy first and foremost. And he didn't have a problem with that, mostly. He was willing to defer to her, but she didn't seem aware of that. Maybe she didn't want to be.

"By all means," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "Since this is your fault, you might as well deal with the consequences." He didn't appreciate the continued manipulation. It was for Rachel's benefit, of course, to truly put into her head that he was the one who was giving her the stupid dog. But House hated it anyway. It might not have been aimed toward him, but he didn't like receiving credit for something he had been against to begin with. He had no time to react any further to this development though.

Rachel abruptly cried out, "Noooo, I don't wanna!"

"Chill out, kid." He patted her back half-heartedly. In response she whined something unintelligible. "Yeah, okay, I think it's time we go lay down."

It took him a while to manage standing up with her wriggling in his arms, but that was all right. By the time he got her to her room, she was no longer capable of fighting him. She'd drained herself of the last dregs of energy she had. She still wasn't asleep; somehow she was able to cling on to consciousness. That was okay though. She'd clearly had a bath and was also already in her cake-printed pajamas (complete with a shirt that said obviously ironically, "I'm sweet"). At least he didn't have to fight her on those things. He could just put her in bed.

That was precisely what he did. She whined a little when he pulled the covers up over her body, but that was about all the protest she could muster.

"There we go," he said in a calming voice. "Doesn't that feel nice?"

"Where's Froggie?"

"Getting a pizza" was his immediate reply, but the sarcasm was lost on Rachel. She just looked at him expectantly for him to find it, so he did. He didn't have to look far. Rachel, having not searched for it at all, hadn't realized that the stuffed animal was just on the other side of the bed. But from his vantage point, it was easy to spot. He grabbed it and pushed it into Rachel's eager hands. "Here. Now go to sleep."

"Stay?"

He sat on the edge of the bed but didn't put his feet up. He was still wearing his sneakers, so he wouldn't be able to stretch out on the mattress like he would have liked to. It was probably better that he didn't. The temptation to hide out here and fall asleep and avoid Cuddy would possibly too great to ignore. He couldn't give himself the opportunity to go down that path. Talking to Cuddy had to happen, so he told Rachel, "Just for a little bit."

She couldn't object to that. The fact was she wouldn't need that much time before sleep overwhelmed her. He tried to ease that process along by reaching over and rubbing her back.

Gradually it began to work, which paradoxically made him want to stop. In the peacefulness, he realized that he hadn't been very… fatherly to Rachel when he'd come home. He hadn't said much to her. There'd been a few things about the dog, but he hadn't asked her how school had gone or… anything like that. This crap with Cuddy had distracted him, and as Rachel fell asleep, he couldn't help but feel the failure in that. He tried to tell himself that he was getting better, that he had already improved more than anyone could have possibly imagined he would, but it was hard to forgive himself for this slip up. Especially when he'd ignored Rachel for a disagreement that should have been resolved a long time ago.

Well, that was it then. It couldn't continue any longer, no matter what the consequence was. Whatever Cuddy's intentions with the dog were, he needed to make it clear that he wasn't playing games anymore. Not with something as important as this. But also, she needed to understand that she had to stop too in order for this to work. He would tell her this.

By the time Rachel was asleep, his resolve had waned some. When he got up to return to Cuddy, he felt the feeling practically seeping out of him. Part of him thought this was a good idea. As much as he wanted things to change, he couldn't force Cuddy's hand. He wouldn't want to demand and receive only as a means to be placated. He wanted her to willingly give him what he had earned. And yet… he had been patient. He had been understanding. If he was bitter now, didn't he have the right to be? Shouldn't she be forced to see what she had turned him into? The truth, he accepted when he found her sipping from a wine glass in the kitchen, was that he didn't know.

"Hey," he said softly, announcing his presence.

She turned to face him, glass in hand. "Do you want one?" He shook his head. "Did you eat dinner?"

"No." He could have, but he hadn't had the appetite after that phone call with Cuddy.

"I'll make you something." Although he wasn't hungry, there was no point in refusing the offer. If it gave her something to do, maybe it was for the best. There were worse things than letting her busy herself. "Does a sandwich sound okay?"

"Great." As she started to rummage through the fridge, he eased himself down onto the floor in front of the dishwasher. His back against it and his bad leg stretched out in front of him, he closed his eyes. He was exhausted, he thought with a sigh, not at all prepared for the heavy conversation. "Do you have what it takes to make that one with the apples and, I don't know, was it turkey?"

She examined the contents of the refrigerator for a while. "I think so. I can make that, if that's what you want."

He didn't care. "Have at it."

She did, slowly pulling out various items: Dijon mustard, lettuce, a plastic bag of thick cuts of turkey breast for starters. As she set everything on the cupboard, she asked, "How's your patient?"

"Fine. Case closed." Normally he would have gone into further detail while boasting about his own intellectual prowess. Tonight he felt that, if she wanted to know, she could look it up. "Let's talk about what's really going on. I don't care about anything else right now."

She didn't hesitate to go along with the change in subject. "I know what you're thinking," she said as she began grabbing the remaining ingredients for the sandwich. With her back to him, she didn't see the derision cross his face. "I know how it looks."

"Do you?" he asked sharply. When she turned around, he could tell that his tone had hurt her. All he could think was that it was deserved.

Cuddy remained calm though. "Can I tell you what happened?"

"Sure. I mean, I did come home, after all. Like a trained dog, I came when you –"

"Stop." Her voice was low yet firm enough to silence him. Only when she saw that she had his attention did she start talking once more. "After everything I've done lately, the last thing I wanted to do was go into that office and tell Rachel we were getting the dog. I knew how you would react, and even if you didn't feel like I was trying to buy Rachel's loyalty, you would tease me mercilessly for it."

"Well, obviously that didn't go too well, now did it?"

"I was fine watching Rachel with the dog. You'll see that they are great together, but I was okay with letting it go, because I knew…. You think I don't want this." She swallowed hard before reaching for a cutting board. "You think that you've forced me." Nervously, after she'd set the board on the countertop, she pulled an apple out of fruit basket and washed it with more care than was necessary.

"Now why would I think that?" he asked sarcastically.

She didn't answer the question. She just admitted, "You haven't – forced me, I mean. But I know that I keep doing things that tell you otherwise, and after the past few days, I had no intention of giving Rachel the dog and –"

"But you just had to, right? You had to show her that –"

"That's not what happened."

"You think she believes I actually gave her that dog?" He scoffed, shook his head with so much bitterness that he wasn't sure she could talk herself out of this.

She cut into a head of lettuce noisily. "Obviously she does. She thanked you when you got home." She was right about that fact, he supposed. Rachel had thanked him, had clung to him like she believed he'd been the one to fight for the dog. "I'm not a complete idiot, and I know how to lie to my own daughter. Why do you think I called you before I told her we could have a pet?"

He got the feeling that he couldn't find a logical argument to counter her. The best he could come up with was maybe she was lying about that, but that was hardly a good reason to fight back. If she were lying, he would know; he would see it in her face, and then whatever peace she'd been trying to find would become that much more elusive.

Without any other option, he muttered, "Maybe I will take that wine."

She brought it to him immediately and without complaint. As she handed it to him, she said, "This isn't about beating you in some stupid race to be the best –"

"That's what I've been telling you." He took a long sip from the glass and cringed in disgust. "This is terrible." But he drank some more anyway.

"I can get you something else if you want."

He shook his head. "It's fine."

"Okay." She paused, probably to give him time to change his mind, before returning to the matter at hand. "You've said it before. But think about it: if all I wanted was to make sure that Rachel loved me more than you, would I have told her that –"

"You did that cause you didn't want to look like –"

"No."

"No?" he asked doubtfully.

"No." Cuddy walked away from him and back toward the cutting board. As she started slicing the apple, she said, "We were at the vet's. I was prepared to tell her that it didn't matter how much she loved the dog, if she asked. But she didn't ask."

"Sure, she didn't."

She glared at him but didn't verbally acknowledge that he'd said anything. "She called the dog 'Chicken.'" There was an air of confession to her tone, though he couldn't really understand why. "It's stupid, but I felt like… it's stupid," she repeated, visibly embarrassed. "Like I was worried for nothing," she finished vaguely. Then acting as though that wasn't exactly she wanted to say, she became more plain with her language. "Like I'd given her something, influenced her. There was part of her that all mine, and your presence in her life would have no negative effect on that."

House sat in silence. The shame he saw in her reaction to her own words quieted him. But even if it hadn't, it was all bizarre enough that he wanted time to consider what she had just said. It didn't make sense to him immediately, and he feared that if he asked for clarification, she would just shut down. She was already uncomfortable with what she was saying. If he asked for more information, it probably wouldn't help. So he decided his best course of action was to contemplate on his own just what she had meant.

Well, that might have been an overestimation of what he needed to do. It was obvious to him then that she had found comfort in seeing her daughter mimicking her own behavior. It had made Cuddy feel like Rachel was hers, which wasn't so different than anything she'd thought previously. After all, wasn't that the problem, that Cuddy believed Rachel to be hers to the exclusion that she could also be his? To him it didn't seem anything had changed. Cuddy's behavior, however, suggested otherwise. He supposed she'd already told him why. Rachel's name for the dog made Cuddy think that she had nothing to worry about. No matter how close he got to Rachel, it wouldn't make Rachel want her mother any less. At least, that was what he hoped she'd concluded. He wanted that so badly that he could only suspect that he misunderstood her. He needed her to say it, and if she didn't mean that, then he wasn't sure what she did intend to say or if he even wanted to know her true intention.

"I don't understand," he said after a moment.

She bristled in discomfort, and in an obvious effort to control herself, she turned her attention back to building the sandwich. Two slices of pumpernickel placed neatly on the cutting board, she slowly slathered mustard on one of the pieces. Her fingers gingerly laid other ingredients on top, and she tried to explain once more. "I… want you to file the papers. Tomorrow if possible."

He didn't react with excitement, as he knew it was too dangerous to do so. "You don't mean that."

"I do mean it. We should have done it a long time ago."

House's first thought was that she seemed honest, but he was hesitant to believe what he was seeing. It just… made no sense. "I don't understand," he repeated. "What does this have to do with the dog?"

Her frustration suddenly outweighed her desire to be precious about it. Whatever dignity she wanted to keep was abruptly sacrificed in order to help him comprehend her point. "I've been so scared that you'll just… take over everything. She'll have a father, and that will be all that matters to –"

"That's impossible."

"Is it? Look at my mother. Look at yours," she shot back.

"Pretty sure the fathers in this little family tree of ours didn't do much better."

She sighed. "Don't talk about my father like –"

"You're not your mother." He felt that it was better to try to smooth the moment over than it was to discuss her father. On account of the man being dead, House had never had the chance of meeting him. But that hadn't stopped House from forming an opinion on his role in Cuddy's life, one that she did not share with him. Without any desire to complicate this conversation, House felt it was best to move on from that gaffe as though it hadn't happened. "And you know I'm right, because I can have sex with you without vomiting."

She didn't find the humor in his words. She just explained, "I don't want that relationship with Rachel, so… I guess I needed to see that I'm not just this disciplinarian in her life."

"You're not."

"When we were at the vet's, she started talking about the dog, and I realized I'd had more of an effect on her than I thought. I don't just make her miserable." She seemed relieved by the truth.

"Of course you don't."

"And I don't need to keep her away from you, because you won't take her away from me." As soon as the words were out, she groaned. "God, it sounds so stupid."

"It's not." Then after a sip of wine, he corrected himself, "Well, maybe a little."

She wasn't bothered by the jab. "The thing is, we've been before."

"Yes."

"I think I've accepted that we can be happy together, that I need to be okay with it, and then I'm not." She started pulling turkey haphazardly out of the bag it had been kept in. She smashed it onto the half-made sandwich, clearly no longer caring about presentation. "It's not fair to you. I'm making you miserable and bitter and –"

"I'm fine."

He wasn't sure why he was lying. It was obvious the effect she'd had on him lately, and why would he want to hide that anyway? She should see what she had done to him. It was what she deserved. As much as he recognized her responsibility, he couldn't find it within him to rub it in her nose, not when she was admitting guilt. Maybe? He didn't know what was happening.

Cuddy on the other hand seemed to have a theory, because she said, "You don't need to make me feel better about what I've done."

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?"

"I don't know. I'm just saying that you don't have to protect me. I know this has been hard for you. Because of me." She gazed upon the food she was making with noticeable regret, as though somehow her sandwich making wasn't good enough for him.

He didn't know what to say or do in response to her behavior. He'd thought he'd been the one acting bizarrely, with his inability to agree with her – that she was the reason he'd been feeling so awful lately. But the truth was more like he didn't know what to say to her. She'd never been afraid to accept personal responsibility for her mistakes (and some of his as well). Yet this was different. With Rachel it was different. Cuddy had spent the last several months alternatively pushing him to be closer to her daughter and shoving him away if he tried to do just that. There'd been little thought behind her action, just a lot of last minute plans and fear to undo them. If he'd had a lucky day, there'd be a slight hint of regret, the smallest of steps forward. She'd realized she needed to give him guardianship but then hadn't been able to muster up the conviction to want him to have that right to her daughter.

This seemed different. She looked raw, as though she currently felt every ill feeling he had had the last few weeks.

He didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm tired of thinking that I'm okay with this and then not being," she continued after a moment. "Which means that you must be so frustrated with me."

"A little," he said, downplaying it, because there was no need to be forceful in his agreement.

"I'm sick of it, and you are too, so I was thinking if we had the dog, maybe I would…." She shrugged in discomfort. "Remember that this is the right decision and I wouldn't back track."

It might have been the long day getting to him, but the whole idea just seemed so silly to him. Helplessly he chuckled a little. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Well… there's nothing I can do about it now. File the paperwork. We're getting a dog."

All things considered it wasn't the worst trade off. If she thought the animal would help, he could live with that. The important part was that she was telling him to make his guardianship official.

"You mean that?" he asked cautiously.

She stopped fussing over the sandwich and turned to look at him. The conviction in her eyes was only surpassed by the growl her assuredness added to her words. "Yes. This is what I want."

A jolt of exhilaration coursed through him, but he didn't feel it. There was something incomprehensible about seeing the honesty in her, about knowing that he was getting what he'd been wanting. He'd expected to have to fight her every step of the way. Given how hard it had been to even get to this point, he'd just assumed he would have to force her eventually with an ultimatum. If he didn't have to argue his point, he wasn't sure what was left for him to do. Trust that she meant what she said, sure, but he was afraid to accept that this tenuous part of their lives was over. Was that even possible?

She looked away from him as he struggled to stand up. It was clear in the set of her jaw that she thought he was going to walk away angrily. He had no intention of doing that, but he was appreciative of her gaze being trained on the sandwich. His weakness didn't need a witness. His shoes provided enough traction on the tile floor (it wasn't as though he needed help), but it was still awkward for him to maneuver when he was sore and tired.

When he was stable on his feet, he immediately headed for her. His pace was slow and casual, but she seemed to tense as he got closer anyway. "Relax," he said when he was behind her. But as one of his arms hooked around her waist, he could tell that his words meant nothing to her. She just seemed to become even more rigid by his touch.

His other arm crossed over her chest. His hand slipped between the v-neck line of her thin sweater. The skin over her heart felt cool against his warm palm, but she made no move to step away from him when he started tracing the base of her throat with a thumb.

"You really mean it?" he asked.

She turned her head toward her shoulder so that she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Yes."

He leaned into her, his body pressing against hers. In a voice barely above a whisper, he pointed out, "You don't seem happy."

"Why would I be? I've dragged this out longer than I should have. I've hurt you. I –"

"Don't worry about that."

She rolled her eyes at the very idea. "How can I not?"

"Because it's over," he said softly. "Right?"

"It has to be. We didn't even celebrate our anniversary this year."

"We've been busy." But they both knew that wasn't the problem. They'd never been overly sentimental but to not even acknowledge the date? No, that was proof that they weren't in a good place. He sighed. "Okay. You said you wanted to do something for my birthday. Let's go your sister's, like you suggested. We can celebrate –"

"It's not about that."

"I realize that."

"I don't… understand how I let it get this far. I – this is your home. You should be happy, not thinking that there's something wrong with you, because there isn't."

Referring back to the argument they'd had about his mother was hardly appreciated. Cuddy would deny it if he accused her of doing this, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was trying to comfort him over something he had no ability to feel at peace with. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to make an issue of it. While it meant nothing to him in terms of his childhood, it meant everything to hear now with regard to Rachel.

"Believe me, I'm painfully aware that the problem is you." It was humorous, but he understood that it wasn't all that funny given the context. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he kissed her neck then her earlobe. "If you're really finished –"

"I am."

"Then I forgive you," he continued, ignoring what she'd said. "It's okay."

He wasn't lying. His desire to move on far outweighed any vindictiveness he might have possessed. If she was ready to take that next step, that was enough. And if she was willing to concede that she'd been wrong, that was more than he'd ever needed from her.

"It's okay," he repeated. He kissed her neck again, and that was all it took. There was no conscious thought about how long it had been since they'd had sex. Cuddy had been counting the days, but he had had no desire for her much less an interest in calculating the time since he'd last touched her. Pressed against her now, he didn't consider how much time had past or that there had been abstinence at all. He just wanted her. He just found his hand sliding down to cup one of her breasts through her bra. He didn't need to think after that.

He yanked down the lingerie's soft fabric so he could tug lightly on her nipple. The sound of contentment caught deep within her throat. He didn't wonder when he'd last heard that noise, that animalistic sense of pleasure from her. He just knew that it had been a while since her cries had been coupled with the freedom only knowing everything would be okay could give a person. This was a situation he felt was his duty to rectify.

His thumb brushed over her soft flesh, his other hand moving insistently to the button on her jeans. The close proximity to her pussy seemed to be too much for her. Instantly she tried to turn around, but he pushed her into the kitchen counter with his hips.

"Please," she said pleadingly.

He didn't say anything, just pulled his hand out of her shirt. If she'd had an opportunity to turn around, she probably would have looked odd with one breast still in her bra, one spilled out with a tight nipple begging for his mouth. She wouldn't be getting that tonight though. Without any real consideration, he knew how she was getting laid right now.

He pushed on the small of her back, to emphasize that she should stay where she was. When she didn't listen and tried to turn once more, he asked, "Why don't you let me take care of this?"

It wasn't a struggle for power, didn't feel like that. Between them, there was only a desire to please. As insistent as he was in unbuttoning and unzipping her pants, he wasn't being forceful. Neither was she when she turned her head enough to kiss him. Their mouths met askew, her lips just slightly to the left of center. It didn't bother him. The gentle but hungry contact was more than enough to set him on edge.

She tugged on his hand and pressed it insistently into her pants. Bypassing the small scrap of fabric that constituted her underwear, his fingers were quickly coated in her wetness, buried knuckle deep inside of her. She was tight, her body clenched around him in a way that made her feel even tinier than usual. It had to be a trick of the mind. Being without his cock for this short period of time couldn't have had any effect on her (aside from the desperation for him she exuded in that moment). But he didn't care about that. If it were a delusion, he had no interest in living in reality.

He kept his fingers still within her, letting her grind against his hand, her ass rubbing against him. She was making him hard in his pants, and when she realized she could make him as crazed as she was, she pulled her mouth away from hers. Suddenly facing forward, she focused all of her attention on rocking against him. Her ass was made for this. It really was. God.

In spite of the heat building inside him, he had enough wherewithal to tell her, "You are going to get it so good. You don't even know how badly you're asking for it."

"Show me."

There was no begging, no asking. She was challenging him, demanding, and he couldn't resist her when she was like that.

Abruptly he withdrew his fingers. Romance was nowhere to be found in the way he shoved her pants down to her knees, and she didn't want it – clearly. As he quickly tried to work his way out of his pants, she leaned onto the counter a little (careful to push the sandwich out of her way with a clatter). Her jeans made it difficult, but she spread her legs as best she could. Not to make room for him, as he was too busy fumbling with his zipper, but to drive him nuts. To give him that glorious shot of her pale ass contrasted with her wet pussy.

He couldn't take his time after that. His thigh be damned, he pushed his clothes out of the way. In a heated rush, he buried his cock inside of her, and the sudden sear of her muscles clenched around him made him groan so loudly he might as well have screamed her name.

Cuddy didn't shush him though. She started to laugh. It wasn't derisive or judgmental. The sound was one of joy; she was happy. He almost hated to cut her off with the thrust of his hips, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted her now more than he had ever before.

He pushed in and out of her, his speed building as she became wetter and wetter against him. His balls slapped against her, his hands resting on her shoulders so that he could screw her with extra force. It was a pace he wouldn't be able to maintain for long. But then he wouldn't need to. They were both so on edge, their sweaty bodies pressed together, that there was no need to take it slowly. She was crying out for more, and his heart was pounding in his ears, and it wouldn't be long before it would be too much. Maybe it would be better to take his time, but he was physically unable to do so. He had been without her long enough, and now he could be with her without any concern for what would happen the next day when she changed her mind about him. Honesty fueled his passion for her, and he wrapped a hand around her hair to pull her back off the countertop.

She straightened her back instantly, her mouth searching for his once more. As they kissed, she reached behind him and squeezed his ass possessively. Nails dug into the flesh, but unlike her typical behavior as of late, it was entirely accidental. She was keening against him, too far gone to have much control of any part of her body. He realized that he wasn't doing much better. His cock was deep inside her, and it was hard to have much awareness of anything else other than the feeling.

Suddenly she let go of him, choosing to rub her clit instead. He closed his eyes and imagined what this would look like if he were watching it: the prettiest woman he'd ever seen at his mercy, her cunt being punished by his increasingly rough strokes, her body held in place with the grip he had on her dark hair tangled with sweat. And now she was touching herself, so eager for him to reward her with his come that she wanted to urge him along. It was working – how could it not? Her body was tensing around him with each circle of her middle finger, and that was making the heavy heat spread through his stomach.

His teeth nipped at her neck. She hissed in complaint, but he couldn't have cared less if he left his mark on her. She'd be going to work tomorrow looking like she'd been plowed the night before regardless, so there was no point in being careful about hiding any of the proof. He wanted her to remember this night and how rewarding it had been to give him what he wanted.

He didn't mean to make it sound like she was a bad dog who needed to be given a treat for behaving. But if he could reinforce that filing those papers would make her happier in her relationship with him, perhaps it would help her keep that in mind the next time she doubted herself. Of course, that all depended on her ability to be aware of the association he was trying to make, and right now, that was doubtful. The noises she was making... she was completely out of her mind.

As his cock continued to move inside of her, he told her, "You are getting every last drop of come. I'm going to give it to you so good."

"Yes," she agreed excitedly. "Yes."

He pulled on her hair, her chin being forced higher into the air. "You want that?"

"Yes!"

"Then come. Now." She was unable to refuse the order. Her jaw clenched to stop her from screaming, she came with gritted teeth, came hard and long enough that it forced his own orgasm.

He groaned into her neck, his hips thrusting at odd, frantic intervals to drive himself as far into her as he could. The pleasure hit him so quickly that he could have passed out from the effort. But he had other plans that required him to maintain consciousness.

As she slumped against the counter to recover, he pushed past his desire to do the same. Instead he slowly lowered himself to the ground, until his mouth was at the perfect height for her cunt. He licked his lips at the sight of slick pink flesh smeared with their come.

She turned her head to look at him. She was confused, concerned. "What are you –" She was cut off by the hissed inhale she made when he buried his face between her thighs. "Oh God!"

His nose brushed against her perineum, his tongue lapping her at her clit before delving into her freshly used pussy. Their fluids coated his taste buds, but it wasn't enough to satisfy his hunger. He set a slower rhythm this time, knowing that it wouldn't take her long before she came all over his face like she needed to. Truthfully, he didn't need to do anything. She could have rubbed against his beard and come just from that alone. But he wouldn't ask her to do all the work, not when he could be the one to force her moans from her. As he was coming down from his own orgasm, he began to feel the strain in his thigh from this position. That just made her cries all the more earned. And when his tongue slipped back along her labia and over her clit again, he was rewarded by the sudden clamp of her legs around him and the angry rock of her hips as she came again.

When he pulled away from her moments later, he thought she looked like she was ready to pass out and he believed he'd done more than a decent job of making up for the sex he'd denied her the past week or so. He should have known better.

An hour passed peacefully with her getting ready for bed and him following suit after he'd cleaned up the kitchen. When he crawled under the covers beside her, he said innocuously, "Just so we're clear, I'm not helping with the dog."

The second his head hit the pillow, she was curled up by his side. "Hmm, that's gonna be a problem since I was hoping you'd take Chicken for a run every day. I was counting on it actually."

He sneered though he wasn't offended. "Oh you're so clever, picking on the…." She quieted him with a long kiss that was meant to be distracting. "That's not going to work," he told her teasingly.

She moved closer to him, her hip brushing up against him warmly. Her voice was low and raspy. "Yes, it will."

"Fine. Maybe it will, but I'm still not helping with the thing."

She smiled a little. "That's okay. As long as you take care of me –"

"Never mind. I want the dog."

"Shut up."

"I mean it. Clinic duty, I've got to cook you meals –"

"You poor man," she mocked. "Let's not forget all the sex you have to have with me."

"And that's a whole other job. The way you want it, I'm gonna need to buy a machine to have sex with you, so I can get something else done."

He said it, but even as the words were coming out, she had stopped paying attention. Their nearness was enough to coax out some sexual interest in him from her. She was giving him that lop-sided smile that said she didn't care about what he was saying as nearly as much as she cared about his body right now. Her thigh slipped over one of his, and her fingernails skimmed across his t-shirt. He fell silent, curious to see where this would go. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe she was just leading him on. But when she straddled him, it became clear that she wasn't playing around.

"I think you have a problem," he told her with barely a veneer of honesty.

She grinned and leaned down, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Because I want you? That's not a problem."

He sighed dramatically and stretched his arms out so that they laid across the span of the bed. "Do what you want, but I'm not helping."

"You have no idea how wrong you are."

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, why the knowing look aimed at his direction, but then she took her top off, and nothing else mattered.

---

The time they had to wait for the dog to heal passed with minimal contention. Cuddy would have liked to claim that the days had gone by in a rush of unprecedented bliss. But insecurities were hard to suffocate, and at intervals in the past week and a half, she had unintentionally given them life – when Rachel had wanted House to help her with her homework, when Rachel had curled up next to him to play a videogame, when House had told Cuddy that he'd filed the necessary paperwork.

Ironically, it was the very guardianship she feared that provided a baseline of solace. Whether she was ready for this to happen or not, it had; there was nothing to do about it, and for that reason alone, she was able to keep herself in check. House had realized something was wrong, of course. She wasn't that good at hiding her feelings from him. She never had been.

That first night after the paperwork had been submitted, she'd headed straight to bed after tucking Rachel in. She'd left House watching TV by himself, not even letting him know that she was going to sleep. He'd figure it out on his own, but more importantly, she had understood what would happen if she went back out there to talk to him. Cuddy had no interest in starting a fight, so she'd gone to bed fitfully.

It hadn't lasted long. The sound of his watch scraping against the wooden nightstand had been loud enough to wake her up. A warm hand had pressed against her bare shoulder. "Just me. Go back to sleep."

Her body had yearned for her to do just that, but every sound, every move, he'd made had just awoken her further: the light from the bathroom, the sound of him urinating, the toilet being flushed, and on and on. By the time he'd started to undress, she had been wide awake. He'd noticed this almost immediately, joking as he'd taken off his pants, "Like what you see? Feel free to touch yourself if it becomes too hot for you."

Her eyes hadn't been opened, and she'd had no interest in changing that. Groaning, she had told him, "Just hurry up."

He hadn't said anything to indicate that he cared about her irritation, but she'd noticed that he had been unusually quick in getting ready for bed. It had only been a minute or two before he'd crawled into bed next to her.

An arm had immediately slung over her waist, his body pressed against her back to spoon her. At the time, it had felt nice; she hadn't even really realized she was cold until his heat had been against her.

Then he'd said, as though they'd been engaged in conversation the entire time, "She's just like you, you know."

"No… what? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Rachel," he'd clarified in a gentle voice, not at all annoyed like he might have been on a different day. "I've been wondering what idiot taught her that she should run across a parking lot and help a mangy thing like that dog. I realized tonight she got it from you."

She'd opened her eyes and closed them just as quickly. "Is this… are you insulting me or trying to compliment me?"

"You're the reason she drinks tea when she's sick, why she likes grape-flavored crap and telling me no." It wasn't much, but it seemed like there was a point to this… whatever it was.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Just thought you might like to know."

She hadn't understood then what his goal was. She'd been too afraid of what she might say to him, too tired to consider what he might have meant. In the days that followed though, she'd realized his intention. She'd told him that seeing Rachel call the dog Chicken had made her feel better. Not one to let go of something that had worked in his favor, he was now trying to ease her fear by telling her over and over just how much Rachel was hers. Cuddy would have been irritated at the blatant manipulation, but how could she be? The things he told her were accurate. She couldn't pretend otherwise, and so she didn't. She accepted the comfort, allowed it to soothe some of the tension she felt. She only wished she could do the same for him - reassure him in some way.

But when she went to pick up the dog, she figured out that he didn't need that now. He wanted this so badly that he wouldn't even begin to regret it or fear it until the papers had gone through and they'd told Rachel. Cuddy supposed the only thing she could do was wait then.

And when he got scared, which he would eventually, she would be there to do what he had done for her now.

---

The dog sniffed the grass like the moronic creature that it was, unsure of what was happening. As Rachel fawned all over the animal and Cuddy tried to herd them both inside, House stood in the doorway and watched the scene judgmentally. This was an unnecessary distraction, a responsibility they shouldn't try handling. But Cuddy had already called a company to come build a fence. She'd already worked something out with the housekeeper to walk the dog or let it out or something he didn't care about. There were probably charts somewhere, a daily schedule for the stupid thing, so there was nothing House could do about it now. But he looked upon the new family member with distrust and a little contempt.

At that moment, Cuddy looked up from the dog and saw the annoyance written in his face. "Relax, House. This is a good thing." He couldn't fight her in front of Rachel, so he grimaced and said nothing. He just glared at the dog and its stupid bright blue collar that was shaped in such a way that it looked like the beast was wearing a bowtie with orange goldfish on it (Rachel's choice – clearly Rachel's choice). "Rachel, come on. Let's get the puppy inside."

"Okay!" She jumped with excitement and ran past House, the dog bounding after her after a moment of nervousness.

Alone finally, he no longer needed to hide his displeasure. "This is a mistake."

"You need to relax," Cuddy said with a smile.

He shook his head. "No."

"It's just a dog. It's not –"

"That's kind of my point," he interrupted. "I had to work my ass off to live here, and that thing licks its own dick and gets to come through the front door with no problems at –"

"Are you jealous of a dog?"

"No," he said too hastily to be convincing. "No, I'm not."

"You are."

"No –"

"Just think of it this way, House," she replied moving toward him. Her hand briefly touching his arm, she pointed out, "At least you didn't have to wear a bowtie or cut your testicles off."

"Don't get any ideas."

As Cuddy leaned into him, he felt some sort of contentment emerge from within. The sound of the dog's claws clicking on the floor somewhere within the home was met with Rachel's giggles, and it didn't seem so terrible at that moment. After all, it was the very same dog that he didn't want that was giving him everything he wanted.

Cuddy pressed her face into his shoulder before pulling away and saying, "Pretty sure I have a vested interest in making sure those stay where they are."

"By that I hope you mean in your mouth," he said, glancing over at her.

"Not even a little bit." She kissed his jaw line before telling him dryly, "Close the door behind you." She sauntered away with that unintentional lazy sway of her hips that always made him want to grab her and do things to her sexually that were probably illegal in several countries.

Part of him wanted to return to his previous state of agitation. They had a dog, and she wouldn't even begin to hear him out about why it was probably a bad idea. But watching her walk away, each confident, satisfied step, made him realize that she was happy. There had been moments of panic the past week or so, but she had kept it to herself, hadn't punished him for it. The guardianship was no longer in her control, and he'd anticipated that that would make it worse. If anything though, it had calmed her. There were no alternatives now, just the one ending possible, and she seemed finally, truly okay with that.

And there was no reason to be upset after that. No, she could have the dog, because he had her.

He had Rachel.

The End

(For Now)