This chapter was getting a little long so I had to end it on a cliff hanger. Hopefully you will still enjoy it and find the wait worth it! :-)
Thanks for all of the reviews and your constant support.
Disclaimer: I'm not involved with Shore and team.
The giggles rang through the house as Cuddy played with her daughter.
She had the soles of her feet pressed against her daughter's stomach as she pushed her into the air. Cuddy would bend her legs to lower her and then quickly press up, straightening her legs and moving them around, balancing Rachel as she simulated flying. It was a strenuous workout for Cuddy, much more than she should be doing at this point in her recovery, but she didn't care. She wanted to play; she wanted to make memories.
House was on the sofa pretending to read, but Cuddy felt his eyes on her, studying her intently.
She pulled Rachel down into a hug and whispered into her ears.
"House looks grumpy." Rachel looked over at him as she added, "I think he needs the tickle monster."
Rachel giggled and wriggled out of Cuddy's arms, quickly running over to House.
He frowned at Cuddy and scowled at the little girl, but it didn't slow her down. She jumped onto the sofa and bounced over to him, reaching out to attack him with tickles.
House was fast. He grabbed her by the torso and pushed her into the air as if he were weight lifting.
Rachel squealed, at first in surprise, but quickly followed with glee. House awkwardly balanced himself as he stood; shifting most of his weight onto his good leg, and pushed her even higher into the air. Rachel burst into fits of laughter.
"You can never defeat the fearless giant," he growled and threw her into the air.
Rachel screamed in delight. House caught her and swung her over his shoulder as easy as he would a book bag.
"You will be tossed into the dungeon for your brazen assault," he said.
Rachel giggled. "I not a raisin!"
House was trying not to grin. "I not going to dungeon. I going to tickle you."
"Tickle me?" he demanded. "You dare tickle me?"
Her little chortles were infectious; Cuddy began to chuckle.
"Mommy said you grumpy and need the tickle monster!" She was pounding on his back as she laughed and explained.
House turned quickly and glared at Cuddy with eyes wide in feigned horror.
"Betrayed by the Nymph-o!"
"Mommy not a nympho!"
His grin turned salacious. "Oh, yes she is!"
Cuddy rolled her eyes and stood up. "Okay," she said as she clapped her hands. "That's enough play. We need to get this little girl into bed, and she's going to need some time to wind down now."
"Spoil sport," he teased and pulled Rachel from his shoulder so Cuddy could take her.
"I want House to read me story," she said as she held tight to his neck.
"What age do we teach the birds and the bees?"
"Much older," Cuddy said firmly. "And you won't be teaching!"
"I like birds," Rachel said. "But not bees. They sting."
"Some bees…"
"Why don't we go pick a story for House to read?" Cuddy interrupted.
"What?" He asked innocently. "We can't talk about honey pots?"
"Yes, let's read Winnie the Pooh," she said happily, though her eyes bore into his.
"Coward," House accused.
Cuddy shook her head in equal parts exasperation and amusement, and pulled Rachel into her arms.
"Can we read about fairies?" Rachel asked enthusiastically.
"No fairies," House groaned.
"And no pirates," Cuddy added.
"Mom!" Both Rachel and House whined.
"How about Snuggle Puppy?"
"Yeah," Rachel said. "And Pig Party."
"That's two books," Cuddy said.
"Two for you," she said. "You read dem best."
"I thought you wanted House to read to you?"
"You said no pirates."
House grinned. "Your staunch adherence to rules has turned against you."
"Two stories then," Cuddy said to Rachel as she walked toward the hallway. She glared over her shoulder at House. "I'll deal with you later."
"I'm counting on it."
He was impossible.
[H] [H] [H] [H] [H]
She found him in the tub.
His head was leaning against the back tile as he stretched out in the hot water. The steam was rising off the surface, creating a glistening sheen along his neck and along his temple. For all intents and purposes he was relaxed, but there was something in the crease of his brow that signaled storm clouds brewing.
"Birds and bees?"
He turned to look at her as she pulled the tank top over her head.
"Better she know now," he explained. "That way she won't be so horrified when she catches mommy playing nymph-o with House."
She hung her bra on the back of the door. "She's not going to catch us having sex."
"Of course she will," he said. His eyes followed her hands as she pulled down the yoga pants and stepped out of them. "All kids do."
"We'll be careful," she argued and tossed the lace panties into to clothes hamper.
"No we won't."
Cuddy stood at the side of the tub, her hands braced on her hips as she stared down at him. "We're not going to be reckless and risk her catching us," she said.
His eyes traveled up and down her body, slowly exploring every curve. Flames flickered through her veins as his eyes ignited. It never ceased to amaze her how he could still look at her as if it were the first time seeing her naked. His eyes were wide and curious, excited with a sense of awe. He always seemed to hold his breath as if he were afraid she would turn out to be a dream or hallucination, and yet tonight there was a hint of something more. There was a shadow of dismay in his expression that had her on alert.
"You're not paying attention," she said.
"Oh, yes I am."
She gave a throaty laugh and took the hand he offered as she stepped into the tub.
Cuddy nestled between his legs and leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. His touch was gentle as always, but he was holding her tighter than she was accustomed. She was cocooned in his embrace, safe and secure, sheltered even. But as he cupped her hands and entwined their fingers, she intuitively felt he was holding on to her as a lifeline.
She frowned. She didn't understand his mood. They'd already worked through the emotionally taxing ordeal surrounding his shame. Well, perhaps worked through was an ambitious take on it. They'd actually just touched on it and walked away more committed than ever. The past two days had been almost peaceful, and she'd felt content. She guessed that should have been an indication something was on the horizon. When had contentment ever been lasting for them?
Cuddy focused on relaxing, on being in the moment, as she waited for him to talk about what was troubling him. She knew it would come.
His fingers ran along hers and his jaw moved along her hair. She felt her tightened muscles release beneath the warmth of the water and the added heat of their joined skin, and she noticed when their breathing slowly became synchronized.
"You've changed," he finally said.
She tilted her head and glanced over her shoulder at him in question.
"I've never seen you play with Rachel like that," he said. "You guide and direct, or you encourage and teach, you don't get down in the floor for rough play."
She shrugged. "I want to enjoy her." It was a simple explanation, but true.
"You're afraid," he said.
She considered it for only a second. "Perhaps," she said. "But I think I really just don't want to miss anything." She eased down a little lower in the water and nestled into the crook of his arm and chest.
"I want to create memories with her," she explained. "I don't want to have a lot of regrets. And I don't want her to grow up with regrets. I want her to know how much I wanted her, how much I loved spending time with her. I don't want her to look back and think I was distant and aloof…or critical."
"You're not following in the matron Cuddy footsteps."
She tensed. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't mock me."
This wasn't about her mom. This was about facing a real possibility of losing her health, if not her life, and being unable to fully enjoy the life she too often took for granted. She wasn't doing this to ensure she wouldn't turn into her mom. She wanted to live. It may seem cliché, and it probably was, but it didn't make her feelings any less real. She felt like he was ridiculing her for wanting to live life to the fullest.
House released an agitated sigh. "You're not your mom."
She flinched. "You're not your dad," she bit back.
It successfully shut him up.
Damn him! Why did he always have to needle and poke, and belittle everyone for trying to have a better life? For searching for a better way? He never failed to attack people who had hope, to challenge their beliefs and deride their logic. He didn't just believe people couldn't change. He didn't think people should even want to change. It was unrealistic.
Cuddy tried to force herself to calm down, to reclaim the relaxed state of just moments before. House was cynical and pessimistic. She knew that. She even understood it most of the time, enjoying the freedom of expressing her general contempt, distrust and bitterness with a like mind. But she also possessed an optimistic outlook, a bit of idealism that was both admirable and frustrating to House.
"Afsoun is going to have the radiation treatment," he said suddenly.
Cuddy quickly processed the declaration. Afsoun was the performance artist patient who not only drew him into her puzzle – a health dilemma and performance – but had become a fascination to him on a level that was concerning. They'd found she had cancer, but she'd refused treatment. She didn't want to lose her abilities, and her lover didn't want to watch her die. She must have evaluated her priorities.
"You sound surprised."
"I am," he said.
"She doesn't want to be alone," Cuddy said. It was a simple equation, really.
"Her entire career has been about being alone," he said.
"You're ignoring the fact they were co-workers, friends and lovers before she got sick and she was still producing just fine," Cuddy pointed out. "It wasn't until she pushed him away when she found she had cancer that everything got messed up."
"Her entire career has been about pushing the limits and going against the grain. It's been about going beyond rules and expectations…and traditional ideas of relationships," he said, obviously ignoring her argument. "Her art is everything and she's going to lose that when we zap her brain. All of her abilities and everything that's brought her meaning and happiness will all be gone."
"You don't think love brought her happiness?"
"Of course it did," he said. "Until it didn't. Besides, he walked out on her."
"She was refusing treatment that would save her, and he couldn't just stand by and watch her intentionally destroy herself."
"She was choosing to die on her terms."
"She has cancer," Cuddy argued. "There's nothing about that disease that's on her terms."
"So she's going to have someone to hold her hand, but she won't have that one thing that made her special, that made her feel like she stood out above the rest," he sneered. "She'll end up resenting him."
"Will she?" Cuddy shifted slightly to look over her shoulder at him. "The radiation may make her hazy, it may even alter some of her abilities, but she can adapt. She will still be able to express herself, just differently. And she won't be alone doing it. She'll have that one person in the world that completely loves and accepts her at her side the entire way – in good times and bad."
Cuddy sat up stiffly and stared at him. "But that's why you're upset about this, isn't it?" she said. "You think you're a worse doctor because you chose love, because you chose me. You think you made a mistake, so you think she's making one too."
He looked like she'd slapped him. He looked shocked and dismayed…and guilty! She stood up and reached for a towel. She was hurt, but not surprised. These confused feelings surrounding love and happiness were like the tides for House. He had moments when the water would rescind and there would only be a light crashing on the shore; the unsteady yet predictable movement would feel peaceful and centering. Then tides would turn and the waves would overtake the shore, crashing and eroding the beauty and stability. It was dangerous to swim in those waters, almost impossible to navigate, and yet it could so easily trap and destroy them if they didn't move.
"Don't go," his voice was choked, and she turned to see he was almost gasping.
Her heart broke. He was still on shifting sand, still unsteady and lost. God she loved him. It wasn't pity, or anger, or even a desperate urge to comfort and nurture him that she felt at this point. She just felt an overwhelming warmth of love overshadow her as she saw his panic.
She reached down and opened the drain before stepping out of the tub. She picked up the other towel and opened it for him.
"Come on," she said gently. "The water is getting cold."
He pulled himself up and took the towel from her.
"And by water you mean me," he said.
He balanced himself against the wall as he stepped out of the tub to stand in front of her. His eyes were averted, intentionally avoiding hers as he quickly and roughly began to run the towel along his skin.
Cuddy caught his wrists in her hands and eased her fingers along his hand and knuckles. He looked up at her then. The tortured, tempered blue steel of his eyes turned into liquid pools of emotion.
She eased the towel from his grasp and began to dry him off. This beautiful man had no idea how to be happy. He wanted it. He searched for it. But the storms were always so dark and threatening; they distorted his view and kept him adrift. He was so brilliant with logic and puzzles, so clearly focused when it came to truth, but so lost when it came to dealing with emotions, with rebuilding and rebounding internally. His past had done this to him. It had blurred the boundaries, removed all lines of distinction. As a young child he'd learned to survive the many hits and blows to his self-esteem, to his very self-worth. He'd processed it as a child with a child's understanding. He'd developed patterns and beliefs. They kept him alive; they gave him drive. They created a perfect environment for him to obsessively develop his mind and talents, to prove his superiority in the face of all expectation. Now, as a man desperately hanging on to a hope he wasn't even sure he believed, they were creating the perfect environment for implosion.
"You're not cold," she said, her voice husky and lightly choked. Standing before her was a man and a child, a boy in a warrior's armor – far too heavy for him – and a man bared naked and exposed.
She wrapped her arms around him as she pulled the towel along his back. Her nipples lightly grazed his chest; their bodies barely touched. She used the towel to pull him down to her.
Cuddy brushed her lips to his in a kiss that was more a breath than actual contact. He looked so vulnerable as he watched her. She moved her lips back and forth along his before settling fully on them again in a gentle melding of tenderness. He leaned into her and pulled her close in such a heartbreakingly tentative embrace it took her breath away. There was such purity to the experience, far disconnected from passion and yet more intimate than she'd ever known.
They could have been kissing for second or minutes. She didn't know. Time seemed to stand still for them. It wasn't until a shiver ran up her spine and she became aware of a brittle cold seeping beneath her skin that she was forcibly pulled from the shroud of truly authentic affection.
"I'm going to make some tea," she said and smiled slightly.
He nodded, still in a daze, and watched as she put on her robe and walked out the door.
Cuddy didn't know whether to be relieved or nervous. This wasn't something that was going to quickly go away, if it ever would. She'd already accepted and resolved the journey with him would be a wild ride, full of storms and dangers, but more fulfilling than anything she'd ever known. House wasn't so resolved.
She frowned as she put on the kettle. This was all part of his dichotomy. He didn't believe people changed, he thought wanting to change was a futile desire. Yet he chose her. He chose a relationship with her knowing that any relationship would require compromise and change. He knew a journey together would require course corrections, adjusting the sails, even reducing the weight load. The very act of choosing her rebelled against his fundamental beliefs and it was chipping away at the fortress that had kept a little boy safe for so many years. She needed to remember this battle wasn't about her; it was about him. It was the epic odyssey from past into the present and toward the future that transcended time and space constructs.
"What are you thinking?"
She turned to look at him. He had put on pajama pants and a t-shirt, and his hair was mussed as if he'd only run a towel over it.
"Isn't that my line?" She grinned. She was the one always asking for insight into his brain, not the other way around.
He leaned against the door jam and crossed his arms. He swallowed hard and she realized he was nervous, maybe even afraid.
"The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they happen in their own order…the continuous thread of revelation," she said.
"Eudora Welty." Of course he could identify the quote immediately. She shrugged. It was probably just a trivia answer for him, but it was a true reflection of her thoughts.
He looked away, so she waited. This was the process.
"Van Gogh," he whispered.
Cuddy frowned, confused.
"When Nolan wanted to put me on SSRIs I told him Van Gogh wouldn't have been able to paint the way he did if he'd been drugged," he explained, staring into space as he remembered.
"We don't know that," she said. "He could have painted with a completely different style or vision that was equally amazing. He'd probably have kept his ear, though."
"That's what Nolan said."
He was quiet as he stared at her, gauging her expression. He wasn't looking to her for answers. He was looking in her.
"I know you've been scared," he said. "You faced your own mortality and now you want to live life to the fullest. You want to cherish every moment and appreciate every detail."
Cuddy was speechless. Normally this little diatribe would be spewing with sarcasm and have a mocking tone. His words sounded sincere…and sad.
"I'm not like you," he said. "You face death and pain, and you look beyond it all. You see past the fears and weakness and see possibilities. When I faced it…" His words trailed off as he dropped his head in what could have been defeat or shame.
"You wish you'd died," she finished for him.
"I'm a miserable, selfish bastard. The only redeeming thing about me is medicine."
The kettle whistled.
"You're an idiot," she said on a sigh and yanked the kettle from the stove to prepare the tea. "You don't even see the good that you do. You won't even consider the idea that what you want and who you are can co-exist, that maybe love can actually help you be a better doctor if you harness the power and channel it properly. You only see the failures and ignore all of the successes. And even after all we've been through you don't trust love. You don't even trust yourself when it comes to this. So even when you're happy, you're reaching for pain, even when you're with me, you're alone."
She knew she'd said too much without even looking at him. She'd lectured him. Here he was facing giants and she was patronizing him. She'd not only stepped into his dungeon of despair, she'd shined a spot light on it.
"I'm sorry," she said, running her fingers through her hair to calm herself and gather her thoughts. "Now I'm being an ass."
She gave a half-hearted chuckle and looked up at him. She expected to see anger or hurt. She saw neither.
He was thinking. And oh what she wouldn't give to have some insight into that brain!
"House, I can tell you all of the things that make you more than a brilliant doctor. I can tell you how you change and affect lives, and how you impact people for the good as much as the bad. I can give you solid arguments that prove when you aren't raging against your demons you are a greater power for good than for bad. But it wouldn't matter. The bad is all you see. It's all you want to see."
"I want to see it," he sounded so brittle. "I don't know how."
He turned from her and plopped down on a dining room chair like a defeated child.
Cuddy thought about the little boy he must have been, the one his military father would have broken, believing he was molding a disciplined soldier. House had probably always had a tendency toward pessimism and doubt; so many of our natural tendencies were genetic, part of our neurological make-up. His life experiences had taken his natural tendencies, distorted them and ramped them up to toxic levels.
He could only see the bad, anticipate the worst. He couldn't fully live in the moment as she was trying to do, and that was frustrating him. More than that, it was scaring him because he might be on the outside looking in when he'd only just managed to get inside. Cuddy dropped her head as this sudden realization hit her.
How could she help him see this from a different angle?
She pushed the tea aside and walked around the back of the chair, sliding her fingers along his shoulders as she edged between the chair and table to face him.
"When you were in Japan, did you learn about the yin-yang?"
His eyes quickly traveled along her body before they reached her face. "It's Inyo in Japan," he said. "Everyone knows it on some level. Even here in the states."
"Do you believe it," she pressed. "The philosophy of this Inyo?"
"Why? We going to take up Tai-Chi with our yoga?"
House had reached out for the sash on her robe and was playing with the end of it. He was distracted by his sulking, she noted, and not fully engaged in her questioning.
"Don't deflect," she said as she carefully stretched her leg over his so that she could straddle him on the chair.
He watched her settled in and moved his hands along her thighs as the robe opened to expose her skin.
"There's credence to it," he answered. "The foundational concept is solid until it gets distorted by religious ideology, but there's something to it in traditional Chinese medicine."
"So you think darkness and light aren't contrary forces, but actually complimentary?" She asked as her hands caressed his shoulders and biceps.
"They are interdependent," he said. "Interconnected in the natural world."
He looked down at her hands as they moved along his chest.
"Dualities make up this concept, right?" She asked as her hands slid lower down his abdomen.
There was a hint of a grin on his face when he looked at her. "Are we going to have another life lesson through sex?"
"Answer the question," she demanded, though she fought a grin. As crazy as it seemed, they did seem to work through an emotional DDX better when sex was involved.
"Yes," he answered as his fingers slid beneath the flap of her robe. "The things that appear to be opposing forces are often physical manifestations of the yin-yang."
"That means that hot and cold, liquid and fire, and even male and female interact as separate parts to create a greater whole." She slid her hand beneath the waistband of his pants and cupped his growing erection.
"That was quick," she teased and squeezed him.
"I thought we were exercising the rise of the yang."
She ran her palm along his shaft. "Maybe we are."
His eyes became heated as he began to untie the knot of her sash.
"Inyo is a dynamic system of shadow and light," he said. "Like sunlight playing over a mountain and valley."
His fingers slid along the seams at the opening of the robe.
"Yin is the dark area hidden by the mountain, and yang is the lit portion," he continued to explain. "As the sun moves across the sky, yin and yang gradually trade places, obscuring what was revealed, and revealing what was obscured."
He pushed her robe open to bare her breasts to him.
"Two aspects of a single reality," she said, watching the desire descend on his features.
"Mmmm," he hummed as she freed his erection from the loose, yet constricting fabric. He shifted beneath her and she braced her legs on the crossbars of the chair so she could move with him.
"They flow together," she said. "In a natural cycle."
He watched the movement of her breasts and gripped her hips as she lifted slightly to slide her heat along the tip of his prick.
"Like the ebb and flow of the tides," she said, barely remembering to make her point as she moved against him. "Moving in and out, bringing parts of the sea to the shore and taking parts of the shore out to sea."
"Yes," he ground out.
He cupped her breasts and moved his thumbs along her nipples in a rhythm that matched the pulse between her legs.
Cuddy forced herself to focus.
"What if you fought that natural movement?" She asked.
His head jerked up and his eyes sought hers. He was not completely roused from the haze of arousal, but he sensed she was telling him something important. She could see it in the way his eyes searched her expression, in the way they moved along her face as if deciphering a code.
"What if you determined to stay in the shadows?"
