A/N - Told you it was gonna get fluffy...sorta ;-)

Hope you like it.

I own nothing, but I thank DS for sharing his toys :-)

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Chapter Four
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On the fourth day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me...

Four intense stares
three parting words
two annoying companions
and a migraine

Love you. Now why in the hell did he say that?

They had spent the last two days avoiding each other. He hadn't told his mother about Cuddy, and so far, neither had Wilson. Not that his mom knew about Cuddy, nor his non-relationship with her, but he didn't want her to find out, either.

So he lay awake, stretched out on his back in his bed, listening to Wilson snore loudly across the room. The rat in his brain trying to get through it's complex maze.

Why had he said that? He never used that word, not since Stacy and the infarction. He wasn't sure he even believed in the word. Not anymore.

"Love is a four lettered word," he muttered to the dark. He heard Wilson stir across the room at his voice, and he sighed, rolling over on his side, looking out the window. Soft, silver light pooled into the room, and he thought of what she would look like, bathed in silver light...

He closed his eyes, half ashamed of his feelings towards her. He wanted to hate her, but he could help the warm tug he felt at his heart every time he saw her. He wondered if he could just but it down as indigestion, but he knew he was just kidding himself. He groaned, and he tried to sleep, but it was hard to sleep knowing that she was sleeping just a few hundred feet from him...

(Down the hall, in her room...)

The green numbers on the alarm clock slowly ticked over. Painfully slow. She could hear Rachel's soft breathing from her portable crib across the room. She wished she could sleep as well as the baby.

She rolled over on her side, staring at the wide window. Soft, silver moonlight pooled into the room, bathing everything in pale light. Her eyes focused on the window, hoping that she could empty her thoughts away from the man that she knew lay asleep a few doors down.

She'd been undeniably cruel to him, and it was killing her. She knew what she was doing, it had been his M.O. for years, and she was using what he had taught her so well. By being insensitive and cruel, she was slowly pushing him out of her life.

And it was working, all too well.

She rolled back over on her back, turning her head to look at he clock, sighing in disappointment when it had only ticked one more minute. She should be sleeping like a baby, like Rachel, snoring across the room. "Damn him," she cursed softly to the darkness, allowing a guilty tear to slide down her face.

She rolled over again, gripping a pillow, holding it close to her chest. She closed her eyes, wishing it was him she was holding, and she hoped that sleep would eventually come.


(the next afternoon)

Blythe House walked down stairs, and she saw Greg, in deep thought, sitting on the sofa in the reading room. She swallowed her pride and nervousness, and walked over to him. "Greg," she said softly, "how long are you two going to avoid each other."

He looked up and he met his mother's concerned gaze. He had picked this spot for a reason, because when he looked out the window behind him, he could watch Rachel play in the snow, with Cuddy sometimes observing, sometimes playing. The little girl had an independent streak. She was bold and fearless; he could admire those qualities. He sighed, "don't know what you're talking about, Mom.

She sat down next to him. "She's beautiful, Greg." Her probing stare tried to read his mind. He guarded his thoughts and emotions with so much care, it was like wading through quicksand tying to get through. "Is she yours," she asked bluntly, but caring at the same time, her tone soft.

He widened his eyes, shocked for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "No," he sighed, almost disappointingly. "She's not mine." He covered her hand in his, then squeezed it gently. "Sorry, Mom. No grand kids. Not yet," he paused for a moment, "and probably not ever." He turned his gaze out to the window.

His mother looked at her son's profile, his features worn and wistful. She took a deep breath. "Will you every forgive him," she said, softly, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Forgive me."

He inhaled sharply, but he didn't look away from the window, trying to keep his features blank. Finally, he let the breath out, "I forgave you a long time ago," he said in a low voice. "I just wish...you'd have told me, you know. Why he hated me so much."

"Your father didn't hate you," she sighed. "He didn't understand you." She sighed. "We tried, to have more children. To give you siblings." She looked wistful. "After a while, we just gave up. Then you became older, and..."

"I didn't look like him. Didn't act like him." He kept his focus on the toddler, waddling through the snow. He wondered how old she would be, before she started asking questions about why she didn't look like mommy. At least there would be no doubt she was loved, unlike his story.

"I should have told you," his mother continued, staring down at their hands. "Told John. That was my mistake. I should have.." Tears stung her eyes, and she stopped. She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "No," she breathed to herself, shaking her head. "I loved you, and I loved your father. And John loved you," she paused, "he just never knew how to show it." She tightened her grip on his hand. "Don't let buried ghosts haunt you, Greg. Don't let them hold you back anymore."

He shook his head. "I've let them haunt me for too long, Mom." He sighed, "I just want to be happy. I just don't know how to be."

Blythe gave him a weak smile. "You'll find a way, Greg. You always do, when you set your mind to something." She patted his arm, before getting up, leaving him alone to think about her words.

He gazed at the window for a moment longer, then he got to his feet, reaching for his cane and coat, which lay nearby. It was time to find a way...

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Cuddy watched happily as Rachel played in the snow. She'd grab little handfuls of the fluffy white substance in her chubby fists, then she'd toss it in the air, squealing in delight as the cold flakes rained back down on her head.

"Can I show her a little trick?" a familiar voice rumbled behind her.

"Like what?" she turned and saw House looming behind her. She wasn't going to let him ruin this moment. She smirked at him, "pull a quarter out of her ear?"

"Just watch." He limped over to the little girl, who grinned at him as he knelt down, wincing with the effort, using his cane to keep his balance. He slowly packed his hands with snow, forming a solid round ball. He presented it to her with a flourish.

Rachel oohed at her new gift, and she grabbed it with her tiny, mitten-covered hands. Her chubby cheeks were red with cold, but she had on a Winnie the Pooh set of mittens, hat, and scarf. Her yellow coat and snow boots also helped keep her tiny body warm. Her brown eyes glittered with happiness. She took the snowball, studying it for a moment, chattering to herself. Then she tossed it to the ground, cheering with glee.

"You got the idea, kiddo." House found himself almost smiling. Almost. He made another one, and she mimicked him as best she could, her hands not having any of his precision dexterity yet. Hers crumbled into snow, and she stuck out her lower lip, disappointed. "Don't worry, kid. It comes with practice," he handed her a second ball, which she squealed with delight over.

He looked up, and he saw Wilson walk out of the building. He saw Cuddy, who had a look of happy disbelief on her face. He nodded towards Wilson, and he winked. His thigh was giving him grief, so he slowly stood up, but not before filling the palm of his hand with a lot more snow or picking up Rachel. It was hard to balance the little girl on his hip, but he managed to do it. He grinned at Rachel, "watch this, kiddo. He aimed carefully, and then, he let the snowball fly.

-Splat-

The side of Wilson's face was covered in snow. "House!" he bellowed, wiping the cold slush out of his eyes. He frowned, then he himself made his own snowball, but House saw it coming, and was able to step out of the way.

He grinned at Wilson, and he looked at Rachel, in his arms, giggling. Wilson just narrowed his eyes, then sighed, and continued toward his car.

With House distracted, Cuddy stooped down, and she made her own snowball. She stood up, hiding it behind her back before he could turn around and see her. He limped carefully over to her, with the toddler on his left him, while his right hand gripped his cane. He came with in inches of her, transferring a happy Rachel to her arm, while the hand carrying the snowball snaked behind his back. "For Wilson," she purred, as she slipped the snow underneath the collar of his shirt.

House yelped, and Cuddy took his momentary shock to move out of his range. She walked back into the building, smirking as Rachel giggled happily. House not as amused. "This means war!" he called out, narrowing his eyes menacingly.

Cuddy laughed, "Bring it on."


(Meanwhile, back in Trenton, NJ)

Lucas sat in his car, tailing the Senator's wife. He frowned, as monitored her movements.

He had to admit, the last few days had been great. He liked Cuddy, but he had begun to feel smothered by her and Rachel. He wasn't sure he wanted a ready made family. Sure, Cuddy was hot, but, it was getting tough to get time alone with her, between her job and the kid. He liked the kid, but he was beginning to question whether he really wanted to be the girl's father-figure.

His cell beeped, and he flipped it open. He was surprised to get the picture of House, holding Rachel, with Cuddy's arm around him. He bit his lip, and he suddenly felt jealous and divided. Why the hell was House there? Did he give up this lucrative case to go up there?

After a few moments of deliberation, he pressed a few buttons on his phone, then held it up to his ear, smirking to himself.