4 Months (hurricane arlene)
"Good morning, sunshine."
Cuddy hears House's voice and runs her hands up and down his chest. She's so warm under the blanket and so comfortable against him that she lets out a moan. She's learning that this new routine, where she lets herself sleep in on the weekends, has some very appealing perks. But instead of indulging her, and kissing her as he normally does, House laughs.
"You might want to rev down the engine," he says. "We've got company."
"What?" Cuddy quickly sits up, opens her eyes, and sees House's entire team standing in front of her. Chase is holding the small chalkboard that normally hangs in Rachel's room. Instead of the alphabet, which Rachel's been practicing, there are four symptoms scribbled in adult handwriting.
"House! What the hell!?"
To make matters more ridiculous, Rachel is sitting on the end of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge, staring at her chalkboard as if she's listening intently to the differential. "Mama said a bad word," she announces.
"She did and I'll punish her later," House teases, before offering an explanation. "I've got a new patient. Thirteen found him in the ER last night."
"And? Since when do you work at home?"
"It's Saturday," he says, as if that answers it. "I'm a family man now. I'm not going into work on the weekend. It's called setting work-life boundaries."
The arrogant look on his face is endearing somehow, but she can't enjoy it while they have an audience. "You're setting boundaries by inviting your team into our bedroom?'
"Exactly. I knew you'd understand."
"Why couldn't you use the living room? Or the office? Or any other room in this house?"
"Your arm was around me. Didn't want to wake you. I was being considerate."
"Yes, because waking up to my employees staring at me is much better than you moving my arm. Thank you for your consideration."
"You're welcome."
Cuddy gets out of bed because she figures the best strategy is probably to ignore the whole situation and go about her day as planned.
"You're not wearing pants," House points out as soon as she's standing. "Though to be fair, my t-shirt does cover more of you than some of the outfits you wear to work."
"The socks are a nice touch," Thirteen adds.
Cuddy looks down at herself in House's navy-blue t-shirt and the pink compression socks she's been wearing to alleviate joint pain. It's probably the least sexy or bossy she's ever looked. "Well," she sighs, glancing back at House's team. "I guess I can safely assume these four will never be intimidated by me again."
"If it helps, this is the most scared of you I've ever been," Chase offers.
"They need to leave now," she instructs, ignoring him and addressing House. "Did you forget that my family is coming for dinner tonight?"
"Unfortunately I did not. As much as I tried to."
"You better solve this case fast because I'm not dealing with my mother alone."
"I don't know. My patient is really sick. Maybe we should cancel dinner, in the name of being good doctors."
"Nice try."
Cuddy saunters off to the bathroom knowing that, despite being pant-less, she still won that round somehow.
—/—
The case is far from solved, but is somewhat under control, by the time Arlene and Julia show up that night. House doesn't know what's wrong with the patient yet, but they've at least managed to regulate his breathing while the team runs more tests. House decides to focus on cooking, so he has an excuse to stay in the kitchen while Cuddy gets stuck with greetings and small talk. He hates that he doesn't have Rachel there as a buffer. They sent her to Wilson's for dinner, because they have no idea what to expect from Arlene, except that she can't be trusted to keep her mouth shut once she finds out about the pregnancy. They're still keeping it a secret from Rachel, though House isn't quite sure why. He makes a mental note to ask Cuddy about that later.
As much as he wishes cooking would take all night, he can only put off the inevitable for so long. The four of them sit down to dinner, and he wonders what Cuddy's strategy is for dropping their big news. He's been distracted by the case, so they didn't have time to come up with an Arlene specific game plan, which usually includes Cuddy pacing around and practicing conversations out loud.
As soon as the salad is served, Cuddy opens her mouth to speak, but Arlene aggressively cuts her off before she can. "Are you going to tell us why you look so awful?"
"What?" Cuddy seems startled by the interruption, but House has come to expect nothing less, which is why he tries to avoid these gatherings as much as possible.
"Are we not supposed to notice that you look terrible? I've never seen you so pale and exhausted. And that's including right after your father died. What's wrong with you?"
House lets his fork drop loudly onto his plate, hoping to refocus Arlene's wrath onto him. "I know we don't have time to fully answer this question, but I'd rather discuss what's wrong with you. I can start with some suggestions."
It works— Arlene turns to face him directly. "Why are you not taking care of my daughter, Mr. Big Shot Doctor?"
"Leave him alone," Cuddy warns. "I'm pregnant."
"I take it back," Arlene deadpans, without missing a beat. "I guess you have been taking care of my daughter."
The retort makes House want to laugh, but he doesn't; he refuses to let Arlene win at anything ever, but especially not now.
"You're pregnant?" Julia questions in disbelief. "Oh my god. How far along?"
"We just hit sixteen weeks."
"I can't believe it. After everything you went through, after all this time, you're finally getting what you've always wanted. I'm so excited for you."
House notices Cuddy visibly tense at her sister's words. "I already have what I want with House and Rachel," she calmly explains. "But this is an amazing, unexpected bonus."
"Unexpected?" Arlene repeats back to them. "How exactly do two doctors have an unplanned pregnancy?"
"I thought I couldn't have kids, mom. You know that. I really don't know why you'd make me say it."
"But you must hear stories all the time about women who want a baby for years and suddenly get pregnant when they stop trying."
"What's your point?" House asks impatiently, because he won't let this turn into a forum on Cuddy's fertility.
"That you couldn't have been against the idea if Lisa wasn't on birth control."
"Hold on," House realizes then that, somehow, this is about him. "Who the hell said I'm against it?"
"Everything I know about you."
"You don't really know House," Cuddy intervenes, saving him from saying something much worse. "And that's fine. But you can't make sweeping judgments about what he wants based on the few hours you've spent with him."
"So you do want this?" Arlene pushes.
"Weren't you almost her donor for IVF?" Julia jumps in. "Would you have said yes if she had asked?"
"Please stop," Cuddy pleads. "The timing wasn't right for us then. It is now. Can you try being happy for us instead of interrogating him?"
"I'll be happy for you once I'm sure my future grandchild's father wants to be here."
House's head is spinning. Because Arlene is a psychotic bitch, but behind her venom, there might be a semblance of a point. House never expected Cuddy to get pregnant after everything she's been through, but of course somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the possibility existed.
Arlene also has it entirely wrong. If he's completely honest with himself, he's always been strangely drawn to the idea of a family with Cuddy, before he understood why. Deep down he wanted her to ask him to be her donor for IVF, even if he was nowhere near ready then. And from day one he's tried his best with Rachel despite being terrified. Because being a real part of Cuddy, and having as much of her as possible, has long been his end game.
"To answer both of your questions, I have long been interested in the idea of procreating with Cuddy."
"Interested?" Arlene scoffs. "That's how you describe impregnating my daughter? It's interesting to you?"
For a second House is nervous he's screwed up, but when he looks at Cuddy, she's beaming at him. She puts her hand on top of his. "See, if you really knew House, you'd know that 'interesting' is his highest form of praise. If he didn't want this, he'd say it was boring."
"You two are honestly so weird," Julia laughs, though it's clear she means it.
"And you two suck at congratulating people," House fires back.
"Congratulations," Arlene concedes.
House swears she's almost smiling.
—/—
In between dinner and dessert House wanders into Cuddy's bedroom, where his phone is plugged in and charging on the dresser. He sends Wilson a message to make sure babysitting Rachel is going smoothly, and then checks to see if he's missed anything from his team. He's in the middle of sending an obnoxious text to Foreman, demanding more information about the lab results, when he hears a voice from behind him.
"How are you going to handle a baby when you have to run and hide from your girlfriend's mother?"
House turns around to see Arlene hovering in the doorway.
"I came in here to make sure Rachel is okay, but keep on dreaming that I'm afraid of you."
"Sure you did."
House holds up his cell phone, showing off the text to Wilson: Send proof of life on little Cuddy. Just then, Wilson replies with a picture of Rachel on the couch with a book in her lap. Perfect timing from his best friend.
"Well, good."
"I do not accept your apology, stalker."
"The only reason I followed you in here is because I still want to know why Lisa looks the exact opposite of glowing."
House lets down his guard for a moment, because as annoyed as he is, he also knows what it's like to worry about Cuddy. "She looks exhausted because she is. Her first trimester was horrific. She's a little better now, definitely puking less."
Arlene takes a few steps further into the room and lowers her voice. "I think it's far time that you and I come to an agreement."
"I know how much you dig getting with younger men, but I'm not setting you up with Wilson. You'd crush his soul like a bug and the Thanksgiving dinners would be unbearable."
She rolls her eyes, ignores the joke, and presses on with her agenda. "The fact that my daughter felt the need to hide a difficult pregnancy from me for four months is disturbing. I want you to promise that you'll tell me if I ever need to be concerned about her."
"No," he says simply. "I'm never going to go behind Cuddy's back to tell you something she doesn't want you to know."
"I'm not asking you to betray her. I don't exactly trust you, but I do trust that you're looking out for her."
Despite his many criticisms of Arlene, it's the one thing they can agree on. "However much you think I love her, it doesn't even come close to how much I do."
"Oh, please. I knew exactly how much you love her from the day I had movers at my house pulling her med-school desk out of the basement."
House is amused by that particular call back. "You remember that."
"I tend to remember grand gestures. I also haven't exactly forgotten that you wanting to make sure nothing bad ever happens to my daughter is the reason I'm alive."
He's surprised because she rarely ever acknowledges that he saved her life, and if she does, it's usually to complain about the scar he left when he sliced her open.
"True. And yet every time you come over here it's like you're begging me to regret that."
"Do you have parents?"
"Nope," House answers the strange segue. "Satan dropped me directly on your daughter's doorstep just to make you miserable."
Arlene smirks. "That sounds plausible."
"My dad's dead," House tells her. "My mom lives in Virginia."
"Does she know about the baby?"
"Not yet. I'll get around to it eventually."
He doesn't know why he's so hesitant to share the first good piece of news he's had in years, news his mom would love to hear. Maybe it's something to do with the bubble. He's used to Arlene popping it and invading their privacy. He's not sure what adding his own mom to the mix will do.
"You know, you and Lisa are so alike that I find it a bit scary at times."
"Oh yeah, we're together because we have the same taste in shoes."
"I'm serious. You're such an asshole that you forget my daughter is also an asshole. You think she's nice because she's better at being polite. She's demanding, has ridiculous expectations, and can be horribly mean when she wants to be. She might be more put together than you, but you're both incapable of letting in anyone besides each other. Including your own mothers."
This is what it always boils down to, he thinks. It isn't that Arlene's assessment is wrong, but it is devastatingly incomplete. Cuddy does have high expectations and knows how to hit where it hurts, but she's also annoyingly empathetic and cares way too much for her own good.
"Yeah, it's a mystery why she had to learn how to be mean as a defense mechanism against people who treat her like garbage. It's weird considering she grew up with such a warm and fuzzy mother."
Arlene looks at him like maybe she gets it, maybe she knows the way she behaves towards Cuddy isn't always fair, even if she thinks it's for her own good. And even though House lucked out, even though it turns out Cuddy is just the right amount of jaded to be perfect for him, he can still resent the way Arlene treats her.
"My point is that you two don't have to be an island. You're both workaholics and you're about to be responsible for two children under six years old. You aren't exactly young, either."
"You've spent years harassing her to have a family like Julia, and now she's too old?"
"I'm saying you can't do this alone."
"We don't plan on it. We have a nanny. And a Wilson."
"And imagine if grandmothers were involved."
"Maybe if grandmothers didn't call us assholes, we'd be more inclined to get them involved."
Arlene shakes her head, perhaps simply because she's out of retaliation. "I cannot believe you're the man my daughter fell in love with."
"You like me better than Julia's dumb husband. I know it."
"I absolutely do not."
"Do too."
"Do not."
He could stand there all night and argue with Cuddy's mom like they're five-years-old. Or he could direct her back to the kitchen and end the torture as soon as humanly possible.
"You want to go eat some of the cake Cuddy baked for dessert?"
"You let her bake? I thought you were the cook."
"She had supervision."
Arlene shrugs, a truce of sorts. "Sure."
It's not like he's afraid to drug her coffee if he has to.
—/—
Cuddy is physically and mentally drained by the time her family leaves and Rachel gets home. So much so that House offers to put Rachel to bed. Cuddy still wants to contribute something, so she puts the dishes away and tries her best to clean up. When she's done, she collapses on a kitchen chair and puts her feet up on the chair next to her.
"Did Rach give you any trouble?" She asks when House returns to the kitchen. Unlike her, he appears wide awake, as if it were the middle of the afternoon. It might be because of the two and a half cups of coffee he had with dessert.
"Nope," House moves Cuddy's feet so he can sit down, then puts them back on his lap. "But now that your family knows, when do you plan on telling her she's going to be a big sister? Or are we going to let her think you ate a really big meal and surprise her?"
Cuddy has been dreading this conversation for weeks, and she's surprised it's taken so long for House to question her about it. She looks down at her stomach, which still isn't showing much, and tries to focus on a technicality. "I don't think Rachel can tell anything is different yet."
"You're avoiding the question," House calls her out, sensing there's more to it. He's been more willing than usual to let her get away with things, but he still holds her accountable and keeps her honest. "Why don't you want to tell Rachel about the baby? We both know anything can happen, but the odds are…"
"No, I promise it's not that. It's that I'm scared of screwing it up."
"What's there to screw up? It's pretty straightforward."
"Our situation is a bit more delicate."
"Our situation? What the hell does that mean?"
Cuddy has spent hours and hours obsessing about it, picturing the ways she might get it wrong and the repercussions it could have.
"Rachel could ask questions that I need to have the right answers to. She might want to know why this baby is growing in mommy's tummy when she didn't. Or if you're this baby's dad, are you also her dad?"
"Ah."
If anything, Cuddy's concern was cemented by her sister's reaction tonight. The subtext that somehow this baby is an improvement on Rachel, that only now will they be a real family. It makes her furious, because nothing has been more real than coming home to House and Rachel every night— than loving them and watching them grow to love each other.
"I've been talking to Nolan about this. I have a lot of anxiety about Rachel feeling like the baby is ours and she isn't. I know I'm partially internalizing other people's reactions, but I can't help it."
"You know how much I care about that kid, right?"
"I do. I know you wouldn't treat them differently on purpose. I just want them to feel the same in every possible way. I never want Rachel to feel like she was some kind of...temporary fix until we could have a biological child."
"As your mother graciously pointed out tonight, this wasn't planned. Nothing needed to be fixed."
"It's going to be a long time before Rachel is old enough to understand that. And I'd die before I ever let her feel less than."
"We both know how many studies prove that the exact same brain chemical is released in caretakers regardless of if kids are theirs biologically."
It's such a House response, which is exactly what she needs. "Science says you're going to treat them the same?"
He nods.
"I'm sure Julia would call us weird again, but that's the most reassuring thing I could hear from you."
"You're only hyper-focused on this because of all the comparison your mom does between you and Julia. But you are no Arlene."
Maybe it should've been obvious to her, but he's hit the nail on the head. Turning into her mother is one of her biggest fears, and she strives to make sure Rachel never feels any of the things she felt as a child — insecure, alone, not good enough.
"You will never make Rachel feel less than," House says with confidence. "If anything, you're going to screw her up by overcorrecting and making her a huge mama's girl who can't ever leave home."
"Thank you," Cuddy laughs. "I think..."
"Happy to help."
"It's the same with you. The way you are with Rachel, I mean. It amazes me because you're still yourself, but you never talk down to her or lose patience. And I know that's because…"
"Yeah," House quickly agrees, not wanting to expand. "It is."
Cuddy is considering whether or not to say more on the subject of his father, but House speaks up before she can. "And by the way, Rachel wants a sibling."
"Did she tell you that?"
"No, but Nessa has one."
Cuddy searches her mind, but can't come up with a single friend of Rachel's named Nessa. "Who?"
"Rachel's favorite character on Brownbeard. She has a sister named Liv who Rachel is also obsessed with. When we tell Rachel, she's going to rant about them, which will tire her out before she asks any of these questions you're so worried about."
Maybe the fact that House knows Rachel well enough to make this prediction should answer any remaining questions she has. And maybe now is the time to rip off the rest of the metaphorical band-aid.
"Nolan also said I should tell you that… that I don't want Rachel calling you House while the baby calls you dad. I think it's going to confuse her and make her feel different."
She can physically sense House studying her in the intense way he does. "Are you nervous right now?" he asks.
She gets why he's confused by it — because they don't get scared around each other. They're blunt because they know the other one can handle it, and will be just as honest in return.. "A little," she admits. "I don't want to pressure you, but Rachel's feelings are so important. Not saying that yours aren't, what I mean is that.."
"Stop rambling."
She's also nervous because she knows she can't handle a rejection on this topic, especially not after the night they've had. "Let's finish talking about this tomorrow, okay?" She chickens out, ending the conversation. "I'm exhausted from Hurricane Arlene."
House stands up to lead her to the bedroom, granting her a much needed reprieve, and possibly giving himself the time to think about what she's said.
—/—
House can't sleep, partially from the coffee, and partially from the unexpected conversation with Cuddy. He doesn't want to wake her up with his tossing and turning, so he decides to watch TV on the couch instead. He's flipping through channels, trying to find something mindless, when he hears the familiar sound of tiny feet pattering down the hallway.
"Hey," House calls out to Rachel, intercepting her path to Cuddy's bedroom. "What are you doing up?"
"Hi," she says, running over to him. "You're awake too!"
"I'm a grown up. I can do whatever I want. You have a bedtime."
"But I'm not sleepy."
"Can't say I'm surprised. Wilson probably bored you to death at his apartment."
"Can we watch Brownbeard?"
"Sure."
Rachel climbs up onto the couch, and settles on House's lap. He puts on their favorite show and lets it play while he contemplates how many hours they've spent exactly like this, how he often even looks forward to spending time with the tiny human currently sitting on him.
"Do you like hanging out with me?" He asks her, when the first commercial break comes on. Frankly he has no idea how she feels about their relationship, or his place in her life, but he figures she should have a say.
"Yes!"
House quickly realizes it's the wrong question. After all, he's letting her stay up to watch a cartoon that she shouldn't be watching to begin with. Why wouldn't she like hanging out with him?
"Am I any good at taking care of you?"
It's likely an inappropriate question to ask a kid, but kids have no filter, so she'll tell him the truth whether he likes the answer or not.
"Course."
"Why of course?"
"I dunno. Cause. You are."
"Well thanks for clearing that up."
Rachel dramatically turns away from the television. "None of my friends at school have parents that play with them all the time like you and mom do. I always say how my mom and dad work at the hospital and have to help people all day but still play with me."
House stares at her in shock. Rachel has never used the d-word before, at least not out loud. It's so very Cuddy of Rachel to make the decision for him, to settle any doubt all on her own. He doesn't know how long she's looked at him this way, but it can't be a completely new development if she's able to say it so casually and confidently.
"Marissa told me her mom and dad never, ever read her stories before bed. Sometimes you sing before bed or make up your own stories. We don't even need books. And you make us food and you take me to school and we play in the fort and 'member when I broke the cup and cut my hand and you did the stitches?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"So why are you being silly?"
"Because sometimes I'm pretty stupid."
"No, House. You're smart. A genius. Like a real one. Mama told me."
Except a real genius would've realized a long time ago how wrong it would be for a baby to call him dad before Rachel got to. She's the one who eased him into this life and made him capable. Cuddy is the one he fell in love with, but it's Rachel who stabilized him. He couldn't have this baby if he didn't have Rachel in his life first. That's a fact — one he should've seen much sooner.
"Hey." Before he even realizes, Cuddy is standing in front of them, a blanket wrapped snugly around her shoulders. "What's going on out here?"
"Nothing," House says as the commercial ends.
"This doesn't seem like nothing. I think I'm looking at two guilty pirates who should both be in bed."
"It's not like she has school tomorrow."
"That doesn't make this cartoon any less vulgar."
As much as she pretends to object, Cuddy never does anything to stop them from watching Brownbeard. House is sure she actually likes that he has a thing with Rachel that's wholly theirs.
"You wanna complain? Or do you want to join us?"
Cuddy sits down on the couch as her answer. He's surprised she's awake and wonders if their conversation is also on her mind.
"Rachel," House says, certain she can clarify things for Cuddy, too. "Tell your mom what you told me."
"Huh?" Rachel half-heartedly answers, eyes glued to the show.
"About what you told your friends? You said it like five seconds ago."
"Oh, yeah. I said how my mom and dad play with me even when they're busy."
House watches Cuddy closely, trying to gauge her reaction. She tries to remain stoic but there's a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh."
"She answered your question for herself, without us even asking, once again proving she takes after you. And I'm good with it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Cuddy lets out a sigh of relief. "I've been up thinking instead of sleeping. You were right. I was letting my anxiety get the best of me for no real reason. We should just tell her."
"Now?"
"She's wide awake, we might as well."
"Don't blame me. Blame Uncle Wilson."
"Rachel, honey…" Cuddy starts.
But Rachel quickly objects. "Mama I'm trying to watch the show and you guys keep talking."
At least he's teaching her to take her shows seriously. "Brownbeard time is sacred, Cuddy."
"Okay— but we have to tell you something when it's over."
Rachel watches the cartoon, and Cuddy watches Rachel, and House watches Cuddy watching Rachel. Cuddy rests her head against his shoulder. He could stay like this forever, but eventually the credits roll.
"That was a good one," Rachel says, looking up at House.
"I mean, there were a few plot holes. There's no way they could've found the treasure map that easily, but I'll let it slide because the alligator was cool."
"As much as I enjoy the post-show analysis," Cuddy interrupts, "can we share our news now?"
"Yes, mama."
She puts both hands on Rachel's cheeks, gently holding her face. "House and I are going to have a baby. You're going to be a big sister."
Rachel lights up. "Really?"
"Really."
"Like Nessa and Liv!"
House shoots Cuddy an 'I told you so' look, which causes her to laugh. "Yes baby, like them. Except we don't know if you're going to have a sister or brother yet."
"Doesn't matter. We can still be pirates together. Can we get a parrot?"
"No way," House answers. "Do you have any idea how annoying parrots are in real life? Following you around, repeating everything you say, and never shutting up?"
"Oh," Rachel considers the logic. "Okay, I'll just take the sister."
"Or brother," Cuddy corrects.
Rachel gets up to hug her mom, and stands on House's leg to do so. As she climbs all over him, she carefully avoids contact with his scar. She might only be five, but she already knows him that deeply. He doesn't understand how a little kid can possibly be so smart, intuitive, or considerate. But that's Rachel. Genes or not, the new baby has big shoes to fill.
—/—
Cuddy rushes down the hall as fast as her feet will let her, which is admittedly a lot slower than they used to. She's not sure what's happened, but she knows something went wrong with House's case and it caused him to miss their latest doctor's appointment.
"What's going on?" She asks as soon as she gets into his office.
"We figured it out at the last possible minute. It was relapsing polychondritis. We've got him on steroids and methotrexate."
"That is so rare," she marvels at him.
"I would've realized sooner, but he didn't have the auricular manifestation. It was all in the trachea and heart."
"Good catch. That would've killed him."
"It almost did."
House looks subdued and contemplative, which is not his usual post-diagnosis mood. "You solved the case. Why do you look so miserable?"
"Are you mad that I missed the appointment?"
"Not at all," she promises. "And trust me when I say that Dr. MacArthur did not miss you one bit."
"I wanted to be there."
"As your boss, I want you to do your job."
"But as my baby mama, you want me at appointments."
"You had a life to save."
House nods, accepting that she means it. "How'd it go?"
"Good. Except that I owe fifty diaper changes, which is a lot. I regret suggesting that number."
"What?"
"A bet's a bet, House."
She watches as realization washes over him. "It's a girl?"
"You win. As usual. And I guess Rachel wins, too. She'll get her pirate sister."
She hands him the latest ultrasound and all her paperwork, because she knows he'll want to read through it for himself. She can tell he's relieved, and she knows it goes back to his father. Cuddy would've loved a little boy with House's mischievous smile, but there's something special about another girl. She goes through life feeling loved and protected in a way that is so unique to House. She never thought anyone else would understand what it's like. But she's going to have two daughters who get to experience it, too.
"So, we've got a Cuddy-junior-junior on our hands."
"We do. And speaking of that, I think you should take the lead with picking out her name. I mean, I want full veto power, but…"
"What?" House shakes his head like he must've heard incorrectly. "Why would a notorious control freak want that?"
"I named Rachel without your input."
"Yeah, that was horrible of you. How dare you not consult a man you weren't dating at the time about what to name your child."
"I know it sounds dumb. But I hate that you weren't even at Rachel's naming ceremony because we were being stubborn. I was in love with you and I wanted you there and I'm going to regret not saying that for the rest of my life. So, I want you to do this. But we're not naming her Jagger."
"Then what's the point of even having her?"
"We're also not naming her after a bike."
"Harley is a nice name."
"No bikes, House."
"Fine. No bikes. But you're doing an awful lot of controlling for someone who just said they wanted me to decide."
"Better get used to that paradox. You've got three Cuddy women on your hands now."
"I'm in deep shit."
"If I recall, you claimed you could handle it."
"Everybody lies?"
"And we didn't even mention the added bonus of Arlene and Julia. That's five Cuddy women."
House groans, feigning dread, but it's one of the lighter moments they've had in months. "You were right, maybe I didn't think this through."
5 months
(the contract)
Cuddy is frantically throwing clothes around her closet when a still sleepy House walks in and processes the strange sight of her in the middle of a meltdown. "What is happening right now?" He asks, rubbing his eyes. "Why are you so mad at your clothes?"
"Nothing fits!" She shrieks, gesturing to her stomach.
"Yeah, you finally popped."
Even though she hasn't gained weight in her arms, legs, or face, she's now sporting a distinct bump that she can't get any of her skirts, dresses, or pants over. She loves the physical reminder that this pregnancy is going well, but her wardrobe wasn't prepared.
"Nothing zips up! Nothing. And I'm already late."
"Your current outfit looks good to me," House remarks at her yoga shorts and bra.
"This isn't funny," she whines, trying to get him to take the situation seriously. "I have a board meeting tonight."
"You're pregnant. No one is going to care what you wear and it's illegal for them to say anything to you."
"I care what I look like."
"So take the morning off and go shopping."
"That's impossible. You know how crazy my days are when I have board meetings. There's so much to prepare." She steps out of her shorts and into one of her few loose fitting dresses, a last ditch effort. "Zip me up?
He steps closer to her and tries to help, but the zipper won't budge after only a few inches. "Sorry, no can do."
"This is a disaster."
"No, it isn't — turn on your doctor brain. This is good and normal."
"That doesn't solve my current problem, does it?"
There are tears in her eyes and it makes her feel ridiculous. It's a superficial thing to be upset about and she knows that. But she's sweaty and uncomfortable and doesn't want to start a long day already hours behind.
House stands there in silence for a few seconds looking confused. "I don't have a case right now," he finally says. "Do you want me to go buy you something to wear to the board meeting?"
"You'd do that?" She asks, not sure he's serious.
"If it gets you to stop throwing clothes, crying, and acting crazy? Sure. It has to be marginally better than clinic duty."
"There's a maternity store off Porter Street. I swear I was planning to go, but this somehow happened so fast. All my clothes still fit until they didn't."
"That's the problem with all the tight clothes. Not that I'm complaining, but there's no room for error." House bends down and picks a semi crumpled pair of scrubs off the floor. "Wear these until I get to the hospital. The pants stretch and if anyone asks you can pretend you're on your way into surgery."
"That's not a bad idea."
She lets the dress fall to the floor and puts on the scrubs. House stares at her once she has them on, but she can't read his expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks, self-conscious. "Do I look that bad?"
"You look great. It's the pink scrubs. They still do something to me every time."
The sweet and unexpected reference causes the tears to flow again. "House, that's..."
"Oh, no. Don't. Not when I just got the crying to stop. That was my bad. I take it back. I feel absolutely nothing about the outfit you confessed your love for me in!"
"Too late!"
"I'm going to back away slowly and leave so I can get this over with. Keep your phone on. I might have questions."
"Remember this is for work. This isn't you shopping for what you want me to wear. I can't dress too slutty at work."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Does this seem like a kidding morning to you?"
"I have years of detailed memories of you in slutty work outfits, but okay boss."
—/—
Wilson starts laughing the second they enter the store. "Something funny?" House asks, as if it's an ordinary outing for them to be on.
"Yes," his best friend gestures around them. "This."
"The great Cuddy closet massacre is no laughing matter, Wilson. I was almost taken out with a pair of leggings."
"I'm sure it was terrifying," he says sarcastically, and then starts laughing again.
"Stop it," House warns.
"I'm sorry, but us shopping for maternity clothes for Cuddy because she's pregnant with your baby is both the most surreal and inevitable thing that's happened in our entire friendship."
Sometimes House does consider the inevitability of it all —he's been drawn to Cuddy since she was nineteen years old, and their lives have been intertwined at every significant moment since. Maybe they were always headed here, one way or another. But instead of dwelling on that, he spots a table covered with lace underwear. "Oh, look!"
Wilson trails behind him, but shuts his eyes when he figures out what House has located. "Stop."
"Why?"
"Because it's Cuddy."
"She's not here. She's not in them,"
"Still. I don't want to know what her lingerie looks like. She's like my sister."
"Well your sister has been horny as hell lately and her boobs are getting bigger by the day— a combination that makes my life very, very awesome." House holds up two bras. "What do you think? Black or red?"
"I think she didn't send you here for those."
Just then, an employee comes over, eyeing them both suspiciously. "Do you two need help?"
"Yes, please," Wilson shoves House closer towards the petite woman, who appears to be in her early sixties. "Help him."
"My super hot and now expanding girlfriend needs new clothes."
"Oh," she replies with relief over their legitimate reason for being in the store. "Congratulations. I'm Rebecca and I'd be happy to help you shop for her. Is there something in particular she needs?"
"You know Princeton Plainsboro Hospital?"
"Of course."
"She runs it. And she has a meeting tonight."
"We have plenty of business attire. Right this way please."
House and Wilson follow her towards the back of the store. When they get there, House takes in the very boring, very plain, very not-Cuddy outfits. "I worry you're not understanding the true level of hotness that we're dealing with here," he says. "You need to picture the hottest woman you've ever seen in your life. Then multiply that by a billion."
The woman stares at him, not sure how to respond.
"You probably think I'm exaggerating," House pulls out his phone, starts showing off pictures of Cuddy. "Do you see this?"
"She's very pretty."
"Pretty? We're talking about the actual hottest woman alive. We have to do better than these ugly shirts, Rebecca."
Wilson just starts laughing again.
—/—
Cuddy is reading through a pile of budget requests for her meeting when House and Wilson walk into her office holding four shopping bags each. "Oh my god," she says. "I needed one outfit. Why do you guys have so much stuff?"
"He has six more bags in the car," Wilson informs her.
"What?! What did you do? Buy the whole store?"
"You wouldn't answer the phone," House explains. "And I didn't want to have to go back there."
"I'm sorry. I got pulled into an OR because Kruger and Chaney were fighting again. You wouldn't believe the drama in the orthopedics department right now."
"I guess it's a good thing you were already wearing scrubs." House collapses on the couch, puts his feet up on the table. "You can take back what you don't like."
"Thank you for going with him, Wilson."
"Don't thank him," House objects. "He didn't do anything except make fun of me and refuse to look at your new underwear."
"And on that note," Wilson turns around to leave. "Goodbye."
Cuddy smiles, well aware how lucky she is to have them both. "I really do appreciate this, House," she reiterates once they're alone. "I know it was out of your comfort zone."
"I definitely prefer undressing you to dressing you."
"Of course."
"What time is Marina leaving later? I was thinking of stopping by my apartment to grab some more of my own clothes since you keep stealing my things."
"She goes home at six, you should have time."
House gets up to leave, and she should probably let him considering she's already given him the morning off to go shopping for her, which is not exactly boss-like behavior. Instead, she lets herself say something that she's been thinking for weeks. "Maybe you should bring all your clothes. And the rest of your guitars and stuff?"
She half expects him to make a joke, but he looks intrigued by the offer. "Yeah?"
"I know we haven't talked about it, but I kind of assumed you're going to live with us more officially now?"
"Really? I figured I'd just drop by on weekends, make sure everyone is still breathing, and then go back to watching my soaps at my place."
"You're very funny."
"I'll bring my stuff," House says. "And
then we can figure out what to do with the apartment. I can sell it or we can rent it out to med students or something. That way when Rachel goes to Princeton, she can move in and feel like she has independence but really we'll be relieved that she's only a few minutes away."
Cuddy loves the use of we, like he wants her to have a say in what he does with his apartment, a place she's never lived in and has no technical claim to. She has an emotional attachment to it, to the place where she finally worked up the nerve to tell him how she felt.
And frankly she loves hearing him talk about Rachel's future and his own investment in it even more.
"That sounds like a good plan, House."
She doesn't know how he does it — he's managed to turn her whole shitty day around.
—/—
What happens next is strange, because House has had Mayfield on his mind all afternoon. He's wanted to live with Cuddy for a long time, but moving in has always been a sore subject for him. The last time he asked her, he was in the middle of a breakdown. He's long been afraid that really asking her would remind her of that horrible day and all the reasons she shouldn't be with him. So he's avoided it, like a coward, waiting to see if she'd ever notice he was always at her place anyway.
He's going through his drawers, pulling out clothes to throw in a suitcase, when he stumbles across a folder buried at the bottom. He wonders if it's an old case file, but when he pulls it out, he finds his discharge papers from Mayfield. He has no recollection of putting them there, but maybe he blocked it out, as he tried to do with much of that experience.
Even though he knows it's a bad idea, he skims through the paperwork, which is riddled with words like hallucinations and addict and incurable chronic pain and psychotic break. They hit him, like a physical blow to the throat, leaving him gasping for air.
They make him feel like an imposter, like he's been pretending for months that he's capable of any of this. They make him want to go sit in a bar and get drunk so he can turn off his brain before it starts insisting that Cuddy and Rachel and the new baby would be better off without him.
But he can't go to a bar, because Marina is leaving soon. So he shoves the papers in his jacket pocket and tries to refocus on packing instead.
—/—
It's 9:30 PM by the time Cuddy gets home from her meeting and all she wants to do is go to sleep. She walks through the front door and sees House on the couch, his suitcases sprawled out on the floor. "Hi. How's Rach?"
"She played every instrument I own for five seconds each and then crashed."
Despite the humorous answer, Cuddy senses that something isn't right. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
But she knows it isn't true. He looks spaced out, overwhelmed, stressed. "Did you get spooked bringing more of your stuff here?"
"No. At least not in the way you think."
"What does that mean?"
"Are you sure you want to raise two kids with a drug addict?"
Cuddy stops dead in her tracks and puts her briefcase down the floor. There's a haunted expression on his face that sends shivers down her spine. "What?"
"You heard the question."
"Why would you ask me that?"
"Because it's important."
"I don't see you that way."
"You don't see me for what I am?"
Cuddy takes off her coat and tries to remain calm. She sits down next to him and reminds herself she needs to tread lightly. "Of course I do. I know you're in pain and you wish you could take Vicodin almost every single day. I probably don't thank you enough for how often you actively push back against that instinct."
"I'm not asking for thanks. I'm telling you the reality of your life and asking you if you're sure it's what you want."
"And I'm telling you there's a lot more to you than a drug addiction that you've recovered from," she pushes back. "Do you think it's a bad thing that I see it that way?"
"It's not bad. It might be naïve."
"I am not naïve, House. I know everything there is to know about you."
"I guess." He looks so vulnerable, so desperate for validation. "But I've been sober for our entire relationship. Are you going to feel the same way about me if I screw up?"
"Yes." A thought crosses her mind, as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge it, she has to. "Did you take Vicodin today?"
"No."
"You can tell me if you did."
"I didn't," he insists. "I still think we should talk about what happens when I relapse with two kids in the house."
"Why are you saying when, and not if?"
"I'd love to use the word if, Cuddy. But we're talking about the next eighteen years, right? We both know that most addicts relapse at some point. Eighteen years is a long time."
They have spent their entire relationship avoiding this subject, coasting on his sobriety like it's a given. She knows he's right, they should talk about it. But she still feels like she's missing a piece of the puzzle — there must be some reason he was triggered into pursuing this conversation tonight.
"What happened at your apartment this afternoon?" She asks, and then notices the folded piece of paper in his hands. "What are you holding?"
She goes to take it from him, but he doesn't let go. It's the biggest signal that something is amiss. "We don't hide things from each other," she reminds him. "You're really scaring me now."
Her fear is enough to get him to hand it over. "I found it in my stuff."
Cuddy processes the documents with the familiar Mayfield logo. She was expecting something so much worse. "You think any of this is news to me? I was there."
"You were there, you weren't there. It was all the same to me at that point."
She can't imagine how hard it is for him to reference the hallucinations. They hardly ever talk about those, either. "I'm here. Right here. Please tell me why finding this today upset you so much."
"Because I'm worried you have somehow been deluded into thinking…"
"Don't call me deluded," she cuts him off, soft but firm. "Or naïve. Or any of these words you're using to describe me. I wasn't tricked into this relationship. In fact, I was the one who showed up at your apartment desperately wanting to be with you, whether you were sober or not."
"Cuddy. You don't understand."
"Yes, I do. I know exactly what you're thinking. You're imagining a scenario where you're sleep deprived because a screaming baby has kept us up all night. It's raining and your leg is in excruciating pain. You go to work and lose a patient and you feel like it's your fault because maybe if you had slept you would've been able to figure it out faster. You feel like you're not a good enough boyfriend or parent or doctor. So you slip up and take Vicodin before you even realize what's happened."
House looks startled at the accuracy of her assessment. "I don't want to break up over it," he explains. "But I want to be fully aware of the consequences and I want us to both agree on them."
"Consequences? How about we talk about it in terms of having a plan? Not in terms of punishment."
"What would be your plan? In that scenario?"
"Are you thinking I'd leave you?"
"I'm thinking you'd put your kids first, which you should."
"I can do that and still not leave."
"Can you?" House challenges.
"Yes."
"So what would you do?" He asks again — he's not going to stop until she gives a detailed answer.
"I guess I'd want to call Nolan and get you in to see him," she starts, thinking through every word carefully. "I'm not an expert on addiction and I don't think I could make unbiased decisions about you. I wouldn't want you high around the kids because I don't think a child should ever have to see a parent like that, even though we both know you're pretty high functioning."
"I never want them to see me high. And they're not getting kicked out of their home because of my mistake. I'll go to Wilson's or a hotel until I'm sober."
"You think I'll let you stay in a hotel alone in the middle of a relapse?"
"Wilson's it is then."
"What do I do if you lie to me?"
"Good girl," House says with admiration. "That's the right question."
But it makes her feel horrible. "I hated asking it."
"I don't think I could hide it for very long. You've seen me high and you've seen me sober. I think you'd figure it out."
"You could avoid me."
"If I'm avoiding you and Wilson you'll know something is up. That's a big enough red flag for you to confront me about it. If you don't believe my answer, you can search my stuff."
She'll happily do that for him, but she worries. "I don't want you to look at me as the person who searches your stuff."
"I think what I'm saying is that being with me might at some point require you to search my stuff."
"I can do that," she agrees. "Will you resent me for it?"
"I could never resent you."
Cuddy wishes she could do something more to make him feel secure. An idea strikes her then. She gets up from the couch, grabs a pen and a pad of paper from her briefcase, and sits back down. "Let's make this official," she says.
And then she writes down:
No leaving.
Call Nolan for a specific detox/rehab plan.
Stay at Wilson's until sober.
If need be, Cuddy has permission to search House's stuff.
No resentment.
Cuddy signs it and dates it and then turns to him. "Sign please."
House looks at her with both amusement and pride. "You're such a goddamn administrator."
"Mock all you want, but this is a binding contract now."
House signs his name, and even though he's rolling his eyes, she feels like she got through to him. "I'm sure you're what I want," she says, to drive the point home. "Has it been harder lately? To stay sober? With all of these big life changes?"
"Honestly? No. This is the happiest I've ever been. Maybe that's why it hit so hard to remember what I'm capable of."
"You are also capable of maintaining this happiness. Even if it feels fleeting. I think we've proven we're not."
"But what if I can't handle their pain? I couldn't handle my own to the point where I ended up in Mayfield. The very idea of Rachel getting hurt makes me feel sick. You have to absorb your kid's pain as a parent."
"It's scary. The thought of anything happening to Rachel...I can't even go there for a second in my mind. But would you rather live without her?"
"No."
"Besides, you've been carrying my pain since you found out I was pregnant. When I was panicking, you didn't run, you didn't leave, you didn't relapse. You took it head on. You're being too hard on yourself."
House leans his head back on the couch cushion, which is how she knows he's done with the conversation. "Nice outfit," he quips, eyeing the dress she chose from his shopping spree.
"Turns out my boyfriend is an excellent personal shopper." She runs her fingers through his hair, rubs the back of his neck. "Just another of the many reasons I have no plans to ditch him."
He puts his head on her chest, nuzzling his scruff against her skin. "No leaving?"
"No leaving," she repeats.
6 Months
(murder at the lamaze class)
"This is stupid," House complains, as he leans against the wall in the crowded hallway.
"We're doctors."
"So what?"
Cuddy has dragged him to a Saturday morning Lamaze class very much against his will. Despite his annoyance, he still lets her hold his hand as they wait to be let into the room. She hopes it isn't too much longer though because she silently worries what effect standing in line will have on his leg.
"So I don't need to go to a class taught by some hippie moron to help get you through the birth," House argues.
"Because you're an expert on breathing during childbirth now?"
"You really think I couldn't figure it out without this bullshit?"
Cuddy sighs. "I know you think we're better than everyone…"
"Because we are. Objectively speaking."
"I want to do normal pregnancy things with you. Is that so bad?"
"Did you just bat your eyelashes at me?"
"Maybe." She loves that it works on him. "It's not like I'm saying no to the drugs, because trust me, I'm not. I just want to know the breathing techniques too."
"You know Fernand Lamaze was a dick, right? He didn't like when women asked questions, or when they screamed during childbirth."
"If I had a problem with doctors with terrible bedside manner, you'd be unemployed."
"You're so annoying."
"I know. And since you're already annoyed, we're going to the mall with Rachel after this. We need to buy baby stuff sooner rather than later."
Cuddy saved tons of Rachel's stuff that she plans on reusing, but there's still a long list of items they need. She can't believe they're six months into the pregnancy with so little prepared.
"This day has been invented to torture me, Cuddy."
"Poor you," she mock pouts. "Your life is so hard."
"Did I hear you say you're doctors?" The man standing across from them asks. It startles them both, because they're in their own little world as usual. Cuddy has a terrible habit of tunnel vision when she's with House — it's so easy for her to forget that anyone else exists.
"You did," she confirms.
"My wife and I just moved here from Pennsylvania because I got a job in the oncology department at Princeton General. You don't happen to work there, do you?"
"No, but I'm familiar with it. I'm Lisa Cuddy. I'm the Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro."
"Logan Williams," he introduces himself. "So you probably know James Wilson then?"
"I do. Wilson is our closest friend."
"Wait a second. Lisa Cuddy? Dean of Medicine. Is this… is this Greg House?"
"Yes?" House answers for himself.
"Oh, wow. It's nice to meet you."
"How'd you know it was him?" Cuddy asks.
"It just clicked. Princeton Plainsboro, friends with Wilson, and you two are kind of famously dating. Then I saw the…" Cuddy watches Logan's gaze drop to House's leg. Her defenses go up immediately because he's being less than subtle about it. "I didn't know there was a baby on the way," he quickly tries to recover.
House doesn't react to the gawking — simply doles out his normal sarcasm. "I'm sure it will be in People Magazine next week. Since we're so famous and everything."
"Is this your first child?" Logan's wife asks. "We're first time parents."
Cuddy hates that Logan didn't bother to introduce her by name. She's sure that Wilson isn't really friends with this guy — they must know each other from the lecture circuit or conferences.
"We have a five year old daughter."
"So what are you doing here?" Logan teases, an attempt at humor. "Shouldn't you be an expert by now?"
"Not at this part," Cuddy says without explanation.
"What?"
House jumps in, defensive in his own right. "Ever heard of a little institution known as adoption?"
"Oh, yeah, of course."
It's awkward and tense and Cuddy doesn't know what else to say. Maybe she should make more of an effort— she could use more female friends, especially moms. But she has no interest in getting to know anyone married to someone who thinks House's leg is something worth staring at.
Thankfully, the instructor calls them into the room before it escalates any further.
—/—
House would rather be at the dentist getting his teeth pulled without anesthesia. Or be out to a never-ending brunch with Arlene and Julia Cuddy. Or be listening to Wilson talk about his conflicted feelings over his latest date.
Of course House knows the medical benefits of breathing through labor. He just wishes Cuddy would've let him research and teach her himself instead of wasting their time on a dumb class. But she wants to do normal pregnancy things, and she deserves to get what she wants for the next few months at least. He might be a jerk to most people, but not to his very pregnant and very anxious girlfriend. Which means he'll have to suck it up for an hour.
"I'd ask that all moms and their partners start out sitting on the birthing ball," the instructor says from the front of the room.
House looks at the ball he's supposed to sit on, which requires working leg muscles with enough strength for stability and balancing. "Well that's obviously not happening."
Cuddy furrows her brow as she realizes he physically can't do it. "There has to be a chair around here somewhere that you can use instead." She waves the instructor over. "Excuse me, is there a chair we can use?"
The young woman walks over to them in her tie dye shirt and leggings, apparently unmoved by their plight. "We really encourage dads to use the birthing balls in class as well. It helps develop a strong sense of teamwork and empathy."
"No," Cuddy answers coldly. "He needs to sit down."
The woman's eye line drops to the cane. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was..."
"So do you have a chair?" Cuddy interrupts. House is kind of curious what the end of the sentence was going to be.
"Unfortunately I don't. Maybe he could stand behind you or wait outside for this part?"
"Are you asking the father of my child to leave your class because you can't accommodate him? Have you ever heard of the ADA?"
It amazes House how fast Cuddy can turn on threatening hospital administrator mode. The instructor looks flustered and a little afraid. "I just meant whatever is more comfortable for him."
House wants to laugh because the woman is talking louder, as if he can't hear her. It's not an uncommon thing, but it pisses him off when people assume his mind is disabled because his body is. Normally he would tell her to go fuck herself, but he's trying hard not to make a scene for Cuddy's sake.
But he should've known better than to think Cuddy would tolerate it. She's perfectly capable of causing a scene all on her own. "Why the hell are you talking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Louder. Like he can't hear you. He's standing right here."
"Oh, no," the woman tries to backtrack. "I.. wasn't. Whatever you guys want to do is fine with me." And then she hurries back to the front of the room like a coward.
"Maybe we should go," Cuddy says, looking guilty, as if she's responsible for other people's ignorance. "Why should I pay for this if they aren't going to accommodate us?"
He desperately wanted an excuse to leave, but not this one. He won't let Cuddy miss out because of his leg. Not ever. "I don't even want to know how much you paid to learn how to breathe — but we're already here, and I can stand."
Cuddy seems unsure, but ultimately knows better than to tell him he can't do something.
As the class starts, House finds himself paying attention— mostly he's mentally comparing what the hippie bitch is saying to what he knows is scientifically true. Cuddy is so tiny and what her body is going to go through might be boring in its ordinariness, but it fascinates him nonetheless. He is fascinated by everything Cuddy does. He watches her breathe in and out and marvels for the millionth time since she got pregnant at her grace and strength.
After about twenty minutes, the instructor tells them to switch to the mat. Cuddy looks relieved until she realizes what House already knows. He is perfectly capable of sitting down on the floor, but he usually needs something to help him get there— a couch, a table, a chair, even a wall to lean on. It's difficult in the middle of the room with only his cane. Cuddy could normally help him, but her center of gravity has been off since she first fainted all those months ago.
"How are we going to do this?" Cuddy asks.
"Not well, I'm guessing."
"I'll go down first and help you?"
"I think we both know that going down first is my job."
She starts laughing a little too loudly, earning them dirty looks from the couple next to them. "Damn it, House."
"Your balance is screwed up because of that bump." He reminds her, determined to do what he needs to for her. "I can do it."
"But—"
He tries to lower himself slowly, but ends up dropping to the floor with a thud. He knows the whole class is staring at them. He ignores it, takes Cuddy's hand, and tries to help her down as gently as possible. Instead, he pulls her on top of him, wincing when the bone in her ass lands directly on his scar. "I'm so sorry," she says as soon as she makes contact.
"It's fine. I accepted a long time ago that your ass was going to be the death of me one day."
She quickly readjusts to sit in between his legs. His thigh aches, but he tries to focus on the sensation of her back against his chest.
"You're all doing wonderfully," the instructor says in between directions. "And it's just so inspirational to see couples of all... ages and abilities with us today."
Cuddy looks up at him. "Is she talking about us?"
"Considering we're old and half crippled, I'm going to go with yes."
"That is so condescending. We're not a charity case. We should leave."
"As much as I love a good storm out, there is no way we're getting back up when my leg still has your ass imprinted in it."
He knows that Cuddy is far too pissed to pay attention to the rest of the class. She's going to gain nothing from it because she's too busy quietly seething on his behalf. Cuddy expects a lot from him, and never lets him slack off at work or use his leg as an excuse. She's also his biggest defender. She takes every slight against him as one against her too.
When the class finally ends, Cuddy gets up first, leaning on his good leg for support. Once she's made it, she helps him by grabbing his hand and pulling him up. She drags him out of the room and into the corner behind the elevator. "I'm sorry— I feel terrible," she says. "I should've thought about the technicalities of this class for you."
"Don't." The last thing he wants her to do is apologize. "I like that you never think I can't do something. It's also very hot when you start threatening people for not accommodating me."
"Is that right?"
He answers her with a kiss, gently pushing her against the wall. It's undoubtedly a strange thing for an old, half-crippled couple to be doing. But he doesn't care. He feels a whole bunch of emotions he doesn't know how to otherwise express — gratitude chief among them.
"So what exactly happened to his leg?" They're interrupted by the sound of a voice from by the elevator, causing them to pull apart.
"It's called an infarction," Logan answers his wife. "Basically a blood clot in the muscle cut off oxygen. I have no idea why he wouldn't amputate."
"Prosthetics are amazing these days, aren't they?"
"Yeah, exactly. He doesn't have to be limping around like that. It's a choice at this point. It's not like they don't have the money for the best of what medicine has to offer. She's got to be making at least 400k, maybe more. I've heard he's an insurance liability so he comes cheaper, but he's still a legend in the medical community and a department head at a mid-sized hospital. With all that money it's selfish not to cut the leg off when you've got kids whose lives are going to be impacted…"
There's fury written all over Cuddy's face — she squirms out of House's arms and storms towards them. "Fuck you," she yells. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
House watches their eyes go wide, trying to figure out where she even came from.
"How dare you talk about his leg and my children."
House shrugs from behind her. "What can I say? She's very protective of my hard wood."
"Let me borrow the cane, House. I swear I'll beat him to death with it."
"I'm so sorry," Logan offers. "I shouldn't have…"
"Too late. I will ruin your career with a snap of my fingers and not lose an ounce of sleep over it. I know your boss. I know her boss. I know every member of the board of trustees at your inferior hospital. Good luck working in New Jersey after I bad mouth you all over the state."
"Cuddy." House puts his hand on her shoulder. "This asshole isn't worth your blood pressure spiking while the baby is trying to grow lungs in peace."
"He is an asshole!" Just then, the instructor enters the hallway, no idea what she's walking into. "And so is she, by the way. It's a limp. Have you really never seen one before? Where the hell did you get your license?"
The instructor looks up from her cell phone. Before she has the chance to react, the elevator doors open and House pulls Cuddy inside. "Well this has been a ton of fun," he says to the confused trio left behind. "But we're gonna go now. See ya."
Once they're alone, Cuddy is somehow pacing in the tiny elevator space. "Why does everyone have an opinion today?" She fumes.
She looks ridiculous, with her hand on her bump and every step she takes angrier than the last, but it's possibly the most in love with her he's ever been. "You are so cool."
"What?!"
"I'm going to buy you a pretzel at the mall."
"Forget the mall. We can go home."
"You said we need stuff, right? Let's get the stuff."
Cuddy's breathing relaxes a little. "Is your leg okay?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. I want to get Rachel and take you to the mall."
"Alright." She grabs his hand, knowing he doesn't want to talk about what it feels like to be judged by strangers over something he can't control. She'll give him that peace because Cuddy understands him as well as she protects him. "A mall pretzel does sound good."
—/—
House is wandering aimlessly around a baby store while Cuddy goes through a detailed list of items to buy. For his part, he doesn't care what the baby wears or sleeps on or plays with. He trusts Cuddy with all of that. She's read ten thousand books on what's best, and she's also done this before. Since Rachel is the coolest kid ever, he figures Cuddy knows what she's doing and doesn't need his help.
He's flipping through a book about firefighting bears when he feels Rachel tug on his pant leg. "Dad." She looks up at him holding a stuffed dog. "Can I get this?"
"What?"
Even though they already established who he is to Rachel, it's the first time she's ever tried to get his attention using that term. His whole stomach flips in a way he hasn't experienced since he stood outside Cuddy's window longing to be with her.
"Mom said to ask you if I can get this."
"What did she say exactly?" House questions, wondering if it was Cuddy's idea to invoke the word.
"I said 'can I have this?' and she said 'go ask your dad'— so I did. Can I have it?"
She's lobbing him a softball by making his first solo parental decision about a fifteen dollar toy. "Yeah, sure."
"Thank you! What should I name him?"
"Why do you Cuddy women keep asking me to name things?"
"Spot?"
"Because it has spots? Come on. That is soooooo lazy."
"You're right." Rachel takes the criticism to heart. "I'll think of something better."
She runs off to look at more toys and House finds Cuddy a few feet away, sifting through a bunch of blankets. "Real subtle," he says. "Using your daughter to stroke my ego after you think it's been damaged."
"I used our daughter to stroke your ego," she corrects. "Did it work?"
"Much to my surprise, it did a little."
"I'm never worried about your giant ego, for the record. But there's nothing like a kid looking at you like you're their whole world— it makes no one else's opinion matter."
"The only opinions that matter to me are you, Rachel, and baby Liv."
Cuddy rolls her eyes when she realizes what he's said. "We are not naming our baby after a cartoon pirate from some stupid show. You can get that out of your head right now."
"It's just a placeholder until I come up with the real name." He grabs a bright yellow polka dotted blanket out of her hands. "This is really ugly. It looks like a traffic light. You want our baby to have road rage in the crib?"
"Show me what you like then?"
"I don't know what I like. I just know this one sucks."
"Okay." She holds up a lavender knit-blanket instead. "What about this?"
It looks soft and reminds him of how Cuddy smells. He nods, more invested than he thought. "Better."
—/—
House didn't lie. He doesn't care what anyone thinks about him or his leg. Not an under-qualified yoga instructor who got an online certificate to teach Lamaze. And definitely not a useless oncologist who works at Princeton General.
There's only one thing that bothers him. He knows he lived a selfish life for a long time. He treated Cuddy that way for years— he focused on his needs and pushed her away out of fear when he was well aware it was hurting her. Even at the start of their relationship, it took him a while to re-calibrate his instinct to always put himself first. He's gotten much better at thinking through how his actions impact Cuddy. He's proud that after almost two years, he can even anticipate her needs.
And despite his past, House never wants to be a selfish parent — he's all too familiar with what it can do to a kid— how unwanted and unsure it can make them feel. He knows because he lived it. That's why he plays with Rachel whenever she asks, even when he'd rather be left alone with a scotch and a soap opera.
It's two in the morning and instead of sleeping House is staring at the ceiling obsessing over how his leg factors into all of it. He never thought of it as something that might make him selfish, but now he can't get the idea out of his head.
Cuddy stirs next to him and wakes up for the third time that night. "Sorry," she says trying to readjust her position. "I can't get comfortable."
"I was already awake."
"How come? Is it your leg?"
"Do you think that douchebag was right?" He answers her question with one of his own. "About the amputation thing?"
"Seriously?" Cuddy looks at him like he's lost his mind. "You think I threatened him because I agree?"
"You're saying you've never thought about if I'd be better off amputating this thing?"
Cuddy considers the question seriously, which he appreciates. She never tells him what he wants to hear just for the sake of it. "I guess it's crossed my mind when you're sweating through your clothes because it hurts so much and there's nothing I can do to help," she admits. "But that's just an emotional reaction to seeing the person I love in pain. It doesn't come from a logical place. Do I think amputating would be the right decision for you at this point? No, I don't."
She's not lying. He can always tell. "Why not? There have been a lot of advances."
"I don't have to tell you that amputation has its own complications no matter how great prosthetics are these days. You'd need pain meds so we'd be risking your sobriety. There's a lot of physical therapy that comes after. It's an incredibly emotional process. And I don't think you want it. I know your leg still hurts like hell, but you seem to be doing okay compared to five years ago. If you wanted to amputate, I'd be on board, and we'd get through it."
"I don't want it," he reaffirms. "The whole point is maybe that's selfish."
"You're not selfish for not cutting your leg off. That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. You're in pain right now because today you did everything I wanted to do with no regard for what it would do to your leg. You made that choice because you wanted to do something for me. That's the opposite of selfish."
"There's going to be stuff I can't do for Rachel and the baby."
"I honestly can't think of one thing Rachel has ever wanted to do with you that you couldn't."
House struggles to think of an example himself, but as the Lamaze class proved, it's always a lingering possibility. "Maybe not yet, but there will be."
"Fine. They can learn to kick a ball from someone else. That's not important. You can teach them so many things that no other father could. How many kids have a genius for a parent? Who they can learn music, languages, and medicine from?
He's considering the response, and how there may be some truth to it, but he's distracted by the way Cuddy keeps fidgeting. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. The reflux is bothering me tonight, but it's not so bad."
"You probably aggravated it when you almost slaughtered three people in public today. We were so close to becoming an episode of Dateline."
"Murder at the Lamaze class?"
"Good one," he approves. "You should sleep on your left side — it's better for reflux."
"I know," she turns over to the left, her back facing him. "It's hard to stay in this position though. I always end up turning around in my sleep."
House spoons up behind her, wraps his arms around her, rests his chin on her shoulder. "I can keep you here."
She exhales at the contact. House rests his hand on her bump and they let a few minutes go by simply enjoying the feel of each other.
"House," Cuddy says, interrupting the stillness. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way or think I'm making a direct comparison, because I know your situation is worse and permanent. But I think the best part of me going through a harder pregnancy is that it's helped me to understand what you deal with a little better."
"What do you mean?"
"You wake up with no control over what your body is going to feel that day and I don't think I ever realized how frustrating that is. You have to think through how so many small things will impact you. Some days you're actively fighting against your own body just to make it function. It hasn't been fun, but I don't regret learning what it's like."
It means a lot that she gets it, but he also doesn't want her to ever change the way she treats him. "As long as you don't start pitying me."
"Never. I fully expect you to get your ass up tomorrow and help me put together all the stuff we got for the nursery."
"I take it back," he jokes. "Please treat me like the cripple I am."
"Nice try," she answers, before putting her hands over his. "This is really comfortable. I know you're a back sleeper but we should do this more often."
He lets the truth slip out. "I don't usually do this because I don't want my scar pressed against you."
"What?" She tries to turn to face him.
"Nope," he holds her in place. "Can't let you move. It's bad for acid reflux."
"You can't be serious. You know how much time we spend together naked, right? I know exactly what your leg feels like."
"When we're having sex I'm confident you're focused on feeling other things. When you're trying to sleep I don't want it to bother you."
"It doesn't bother me. When is it going to sink in that I want your bad leg pressed against me for the rest of my life?"
House is trying to process the magnitude of that statement, but he gets distracted by the feeling of distinct pressure hitting the palm of his hand. "She kicked."
"Good. She's taking my side."
"She's still in the womb and you're already ganging up on me?"
"Yes. So believe her, if you don't want to believe me."
The craziest thing is that House does believe Cuddy. For maybe the first time in their entire relationship he believes without a shadow of a doubt she needs him as much as he needs her, that she's not going anywhere, that he's safe with people who love him.
"Stop kicking and go to sleep, Liv."
"That's not her name, House."
