Hi guys! I was supposed to update a few days ago, but ran out of time (yeah, Hugh was in Paris two days ago so I had to go stalk him. And I saw him! ...On TV. *cries*), and I apologize for the delay. I hope this chapter will be worth the wait. It also contains a reference to religion. If what I wrote offends anyone, I am sorry about that. (Yes, I am very careful about religion)

And, thank you very very very much for the lovely reviews you guys left! They were very very very much appreciated!

Chapter Nineteen

When Cuddy woke up, she found her nose buried in the blanket, which was firmly wrapped around her frame. She sneezed and felt around in search of her daughter, her gestures confused from the lingering aftermath of deep slumber.

"You're awake?" she heard House yelling from the kitchen. Craning her neck, she shot a glance behind her, seeing Rachel and him sitting at the table having an afternoon snack.

"Wha-what time is it?" she stammered, her voice raspy and doughy. Since she hadn't noticed her daughter getting up, she must have been fast asleep.

"Nearly five o'clock, you slept through the whole afternoon. Want some?" he asked, pointing at a slice of bread and chocolate spread. She winced and shook her head no, just the sight of chocolate made her want to run to the bathroom.

"Momma?" Rachel spoke up.

"Yes, honey?"

"Hows says you know where little sister is," she said before biting into her slice.

"Bastard," she hissed under her breath, casting him a terrible glare. Expecting to see him indifferent, she in fact saw him sorry, and it disgusted her even more. Of course he had told her this. He had no idea about how to explain the situation, and in spite of the complete trust she had for him, he had betrayed her again and left her with this burden. She turned around to hide her tears of anger and, lost in her mind running at a thousand miles a minute in desperation for an explanation, she didn't hear House saying, "I said we'd tell you when you finish your snack."

She felt a weight collapsing beside her on the couch. House sat there with Rachel on his lap, and his gaze pierced through Cuddy for a second. He reached out and wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. Rachel looked at her mother crying, worried.

"It's nothing honey," she quickly reassured her. "I'm just tired."

"But you just slept."

A tiny beginning of sad smile drew on her face, "Not enough I guess."

"First of all, Rachel," House spoke up. "Do you know where your grandpa is?"

With no hesitation, she raised her index finger. Cuddy followed the move and looked at this spot that her child was pointing at on the ceiling – well, the sky, obviously.

"Up there," House said as a confirmation. As an atheist father and a Jewish mother, House and Cuddy had decided to let their child choose her own beliefs, even if she was too young to understand all that and make a choice. The 'up there' thing must be from Arlene, he had no doubt. If the toddler had questions, obviously they would try to answer as objectively as they could, without directing her into one theory more than any other. And House had to acknowledge that religion, or at least the hypothesis of the existence of an afterlife, was comforting in some ways. He preferred to believe that Mary was still waiting for them somewhere rather than knowing she had barely existed.

"Mary is up there, too."

Cuddy looked up at him, all her relief expressed in her tearful eyes. He was taking care of their problem, indeed. She felt silly for being angry at him earlier. Perhaps she didn't trust him enough, she should have known by now she was not alone.

"Why?" Rachel asked.

"Well... There are angels up there, too. And..."

"Grandma said they take care of Grandpa," she interrupted him.

He nodded. "Well, uh, Mary... she's gone up there to take care of your grandpa. He was feeling a bit lonely."

Rachel opened her eyes wide, confused and amazed at the same time. Her little sister was an angel. Wow, but why?

"When she comin' back?"

House took a deep breath, briefly considering his phrasing, before uttering, "She's not." Softer than 'never', but basically the same idea. He did not want to withdraw from her every single ounce of hope for ever meeting her sister, though on the other hand, he could not promise her something impossible. She would be disappointed in the end. Mary was not coming back, and that was it.

"Why?" Rachel asked again, the astonishment painted on her face. "She doesn't like us?"

"She does! She does, but..." he then trailed off, running out of ideas.

"She wanted to go take care of Grandpa," Cuddy rescued him, blinking back her tears. "So we just let her go."

"Why did you let her go?"

"When you want to go to the park," House said, "we take you there, right?"

"Yeah," she acquiesced.

"See, that's the same." He added, "She wanted to go up there, so she went up there. Your little sister is an angel. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Wow," she whispered, almost intimidated. She raised her head to stare at the ceiling as if she could, maybe, see Mary flying around with tiny white wings behind her back. "I'll miss ya very much!" she exclaimed, and then turned to her parents. "Can I go play in my room?"

"Sure, you can," Cuddy agreed. The kid ran out of the room with excitement.

"She doesn't seem too upset," House observed.

"That's a good thing," Cuddy said before bursting into tears. "You did so great, House," she managed to utter through her sobs.

He wordlessly nodded, his gaze lost into the distance, which didn't go unnoticed. She was terrified. He seemed so small, crushed under his own words. He had managed to invent all this, he knew he had found the perfect explanation he had been looking for, but the reality was hitting him even harder. Mary was not an angel, there was no afterlife, and he would never see her again. She was gone for ever.

"House," she murmured. She took his hand in hers and after a brief moment, he reacted, his fingers lacing with Cuddy's. She curled up against him and he pressed his cheekbone on the top of her head. She let her tears escape freely and roll calmly down her cheeks for a few long minutes.

"How about we unpack your things?" he suggested after her crying had stopped, quickly dismissing his unease. She nodded, her curls tickling his chin. She broke free from the blanket and rose. They each grabbed an edge, folding the fabric. Seeing her looking around in search of her crutch, he fetched it from the hallway; the blanket tucked under his arm, and came back with her crutch. She smiled and limped beside him down the corridor, stopping in the doorway to Rachel's room, making sure everything was okay. Her little girl was quietly playing with cubes. She seemed barely affected, probably not even thinking about her little sister, and somehow Cuddy envied her. Her pure innocence prevented her from realizing the truth. She was not as damaged as her parents. When she is older she would find out, Cuddy was sure of it. But she would be done with her mourning. Hell, maybe she would not even remember!

Rachel spotted her mother staring at her and waved at her with a smile.

"You come play with me?"

"I'll be there in a minute," Cuddy promised. "I have to take care of some things with House. Get it ready for me, okay?" Playing with her daughter was something she had missed terribly. Rachel nodded joyfully, organizing her cubes.

When she entered her room, House was already arranging piles of clothes on their bed. She took heart and drew closer to him. She observed her clothes for a while, and sighed. She could not resist and unfolded the garments one by one, pairs of pants and incredibly large tops, nostalgia embracing her heart.

"Do you remember this one?" she asked with a smile, holding a blue tee-shirt in front of her. He immediately recognized the garment he had given her, amidst a lot of other clothes, but this one was a bit special.

House is vaguely awoken by the mattress collapsing near him, definitely shaken out of his slumber hearing Cuddy snorting. He opens his eyes and sees her sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of white lace panties, her flawless back turned to him. Her head is tilting forward, and he can already guess she is hiding her face in her hands.

"What's going on?" he asks.

She turns to him and her fingers covering her eyelids curl into a ball, her fists now pressed on her moist cheeks. He thinks she looks cute, but it is probably not a good moment to tell her. "My clothes."

"What's wrong with your clothes?"

"They don't fit," she complains, sobbing. "My skirts are too tight, it's like my ass is going to crack them open, and my boobs are sooo painful and sooo big, and they just about burst out of my bras..." She adds in a whisper, "I'm fat."

"'Not a big deal," he shrugs. Why are women so obsessed about their clothes anyway? That is something he will never understand. They want tons of pretty clothes, pretty tailoring, with pretty colours. He is totally satisfied with a simple shirt, even if it is not ironed. Why wasn't she? Yet, at the moment the words slip out of his mouth, he realizes what a mistake he has just made. When you're pregnant, everything is a big deal. Nothing is minimized.

"Excuse me?" she bursts out, rising on her feet and whirling around to him, her face flushed with emotions. "I am fat and that's not a big deal?"

"You're not fat, you're pregnant."

"The point is I have nothing else to wear! I'm not gonna walk around naked in the hospital, am I?" He lets his gaze wander across her bare body, and she remembers she is half-naked, shifting uncomfortably, convinced he is staring at her imperfections.

"Well... That wouldn't be so bad since you wouldn't even need to speak to your benefactors to have them signing you a check."

She clenches her jaw shut, too shocked to fight back immediately. As he sees this look in her watering eyes, he knows he truly hurt her this time.

"Fuck you," she says in an emotionless tone, before yelling, "I am not a whore, House! What the fuck do you think I am?"

He shushes her; Rachel is still in the house. She sits back, crying freely and sobbing loudly. He crawls toward her and tries to lay his hand on her shoulder. She recoils from his touch.

"If you want to touch, you must pay first," she spits. He pulls back.

"I never said you were a whore."

"But you meant it."

"That's insane!" he protests. "How could I mean it? How could I even think it?"

She cries even harder, "I don't know."

"Come on," he soothes her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his cheek on her shoulder blade. This time, she lets him. "You're tired, that's all." She nods and blows her nose in the handkerchief he has just handed her. "I'll lend you some of my clothes, okay?"

"Can't wear them," she refuses.

"Why not?"

"Everyone will notice they're your clothes."

He sighs, "You must have something else to wear." She shakes her head no. He rolls away and she turns around to see him leaning down to the floor, apparently looking for something tucked under the bed. He grabs a blue tee-shirt, a pair of black pants, which has a large elastic waistband covering the whole belly, and a white bra, matching by chance with her panties. She frowns as he holds it all out to her.

"You were hiding clothes under our bed in order to get them out when I can't wear mine?" She asks, not very surprised though.

"Exactly," he confirms before encouraging her, almost excited to see her in the clothing he chose. "Put them on."

She cheerfully complies, and stands up to slip the pants on, letting out a chuckle of victory when she pulls up the zipper with no resistance. He silently observes her, and now she feels flattered under his gaze.

"Comfortable," she comments, craning her neck to cast a glance at her behind. "Not too tight."

"That sure looks nice," he says, his eyes clutched to her butt. She chuckles. "Try the top now." This time, he sounds really excited. She picks up the garment and holds it in front of her at arms-length, taking a better look at it.

"Oh," she lets out. A smile draws on her lips and she lowers her eyes, pleased but feeling bad refusing. "I can't wear that today, House."

He pretends to be hugely disappointed. In fact, he already knew she would not put it on. "Why? It seems fine to me."

"'Work in progress'," she quotes, referring to the words printed on the front of the tee-shirt. "They will all figure out I'm pregnant."

"And why is that a problem?"

She sighs, "We have already talked about it, House. No one gets to know until I need to be off."

"I know." He can't really describe how he feels about this. He understands her need for privacy, but he feels somehow rejected. Isn't she proud of carrying his child? Why wouldn't she tell everyone she is happy with him? Obviously, if he tells her about it, she will reply that it is her body, her job, her hospital, she gets to make the decision, and she will be right. But sometimes he wishes he could brag about it in front of everyone else. He doesn't want to make them jealous, he just needs to prove she is all his.

"House?" she calls out, waving a hand in front of his eyes. He lets out an excessively heavy sigh.

"Fine," he gives up, turning to his side of the bed to, once more fish something under the bed.

"How much stuff did you hide there?" she asks with a smirk.

"I swear it's the last one," he promises, handing her a white blouse. "That's why you better like it."

He stands up to help her in the bra, even though she is doing perfectly fine on her own. He slides the straps along her arms, lasciviously brushing her skin and reaches around her to clip the bra, unwittingly pressing her over-sensitive chest against his bare torso. He goes so far as caressing her breasts to make sure the bra is correctly positioned, and she bites her lip, repressing a moan. He grabs her top and she slides her arms in the silken sleeves, he finishes by closing it, leaving the garment open enough to enhance her gorgeous breasts. She buttons it up, defying him. He replies with a smirk and admires her for a few seconds, before wrapping his arms around her frame, bringing her closer to him. She huddles in his embrace, burying her nose in his neck, lets out a content sigh and whispers in his ear, nibbling his earlobe, "Thank you." She pulls away, his hand remaining on her ass.

"Come on, woman," he says, spanking her. "Go make us some money."

She pecks his lips before walking out of the room. "Don't be too late in the clinic. I'm expecting you there before ten a.m." He rolls his eyes, causing her to smile.

"No high heels today," he has time to shout before she leaves. He hears her acquiescing with little conviction, followed by the sound of stilettos hitting the floor. He smirks, thinking she is even more stubborn than him, and sprawls back to bed, nuzzling her pillow.

TBC...