Cuddy was awakened by the sensation of a 3-year-old poking her repeatedly in the arm.
She popped open an eye.
"Rachel, why are you awake so early?"
Rachel picked up the alarm clock and waved it in front of her mother's face.
Ugh. 7:30. Cuddy had overslept.
"Sorry sweetie. I'll make you breakfast."
Cuddy sat up, tried to get her eyes to focus.
"Where's Howse?" Rachel demanded.
"House?"
This was so not what she needed right now.
"Where'd he go?"
"He's not here, sweetie," Cuddy said.
"Why?"
"Remember what we talked about? How House and mommy don't have sleepovers anymore?"
"Why?"
Rachel was going through a challenge-everything-mommy-said phase. It was especially fun to deal with first thing in the morning.
"Because there are all different kinds of friends. Some friends are sleepover friends and some friends aren't."
The words sounded insipid coming out of her mouth, but what else could she say?
"Why?" she said stubbornly.
"Why what?"
"Why isn't Howse your sleepover friend?"
Cuddy needed coffee. Gallons and gallons of coffee, perhaps administered intravenously.
"Because friendships change. That doesn't mean House doesn't still love you, Rach. And that doesn't mean that you don't still love him."
Rachel looked pensive.
"Can Howse be my sleepover friend?" she asked.
Cuddy almost laughed.
"No, he can't. Grownups and children can't be sleepover friends."
Cuddy watched Rachel's face begin to screw up in consternation. She knew that face well. She was about 10 seconds from a complete meltdown.
"Who wants to help mommy make chocolate chip pancakes?" Cuddy said brightly.
"I do! I do!"
"Okay, I'll race you to the kitchen."
Rachel scrambled out of the bedroom.
Dodged a bullet.
######
All day, Cuddy found herself thinking about how House had escaped her party to seek sanctuary in Rachel's nursery.
As annoyed as she had been that he had disrupted Rachel's slumber—and Rachel had been a sleep-deprived pain in the ass all day—she was touched by it, too. How could she not be?
When she and House first started dating, Cuddy used to obsess over it: Was House capable of loving her child? Heck, was he even capable of liking her child?
The first time House acknowledged he wanted to be in Rachel's life, it wasn't because he had any genuine interest in getting to know her. It was simply because, on the most practical level, he realized that a relationship with Cuddy was unsustainable if he didn't find a way to co-exist with her daughter. (How many men would confess to such ambivalence toward a girlfriend's child? One, basically.)
And at first, not surprisingly, Rachel seemed to irritate House more than delight him—she was always biting his cane or smearing food on him or trying, loudly, to get his attention.
But there was a perceptible shift, it happened right around the time that Rachel was applying to Waldenwood. There was a new closeness between them, a secret bond of sorts. And it wasn't just for Cuddy's sake. On several occasions, Cuddy would stumble across House and Rachel having a private moment—laughing together in her room or having an inside joke at the dinner table. She even saw House give Rachel a kiss on the top of her head one time, for no apparent reason.
The truth was, House didn't really like other people . It was one of the many things that put extra pressure on their relationship. ("I prefer to just spend my evenings with you," he had said that night after their doomed dinner with the Oldenburgs.) There were only a handful of people in this world that House could actually tolerate, let alone want to spend quality time with. As far as she could tell, that number currently stood at three: Herself, Wilson, and her 3-year-old little girl.
#######
When the doorbell rang that night at 8 pm, she didn't even bother looking through the peephole to answer it. Ruth Oldenberg had left her reading glasses behind last night and said she would probably swing by to pick them up.
But it wasn't Ruth Oldenberg. It was House. Holding a toolbox.
"Hi," Cuddy said, puzzled.
"Hi," he said back.
"What are you doing here?"
House gestured to the toolbox.
"I noticed a you had a leaky faucet in the guest bath. I thought I'd fix it."
Cuddy laughed, somewhat derisively.
"Not happening."
"Why not?" House said.
"Because. . . Let's see. It's 8 o clock on a Saturday night and you just happened to drop by to fix my faucet?"
"That pretty much sums it up."
"This is exactly what Julia said you would do," Cuddy said. She and Julia had had a long, not entirely pleasant conversation about House earlier that day over the phone.
"Do what?"
"Burrow. Her exact word was burrow. She said, 'House is going to try to burrow his way back into your life, like a hedgehog or a mole.'"
"She's my number one fan!" House said.
"And yet not completely wrong," Cuddy countered.
House gave her a stubborn look, similar to the one Rachel had given her this morning.
"I thought you said you wanted to be friends," he said.
"I do," Cuddy said reluctantly.
"So can't one friend help another friend with a leaky faucet?"
"Not without calling first," Cuddy said.
"Wilson never minds when I show up without calling. Which is, like, always."
Of course. Wilson. The ultimate enabler.
"I'm not Wilson," Cuddy said.
"I'm well aware of that," House said, giving her a slightly naughty smile.
"I was going to call a plumber on Monday," Cuddy said, knowing it was futile.
"That's ridiculous," House said. "I'm here now. Why not consider us friends with benefits? Only in this case, the benefit is I'm fixing your faucet."
God, he was exasperating.
"Alright come in."
"Thank God," he said, stepping inside. He looked around the living room. "Where's the rug rat?"
"She's asleep. Somebody kept her up way past her bedtime last night," Cuddy said.
"Scoundrel!" he joked. "Oh well, tell her I said hi. I'll try not to make too many loud grunts while I'm fixing the faucet."
Cuddy gave him a skeptical look.
"House, do you even know how to fix a leaky faucet?"
"Of course. I'm a man, baby! We come out of the womb knowing how to do these things."
"And are you sure it's a wise idea for you to be crawling all over the floor with your leg?"
"I think we both know that I've done more than fair share of crawling all over the floor of this house."
She had clearly stepped into that one.
"Alright, go at it Bob the Builder. Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have tons of leftovers from last night."
"Do you have any of those Cuban sandwiches left?"
"Yes."
"And maybe a glass of red wine?"
"Coming right up."
######
By the time she brought him his sandwich and his wine, House had already disassembled her entire faucet. There were pieces of pipe and rusty screws and stoppers everywhere. She didn't remember the real plumber making such a mess last time he was over.
"Here ya go," she said. She put the wine and the sandwich on the floor next to him.
He slid out from under the sink and sat up, leaning against the door.
"Thanks."
Cuddy sat on the toilet bowl and watched him eat. He had taken off his Oxford blue shirt and was wearing a short-sleeved white T-shirt. She'd always had a thing for House's arms.
She flashed back to her conversation earlier that day with Julia. "You can't be friends because you're still attracted to him," Julia had said.
"That's ridiculous," Cuddy had scoffed. But suddenly she wasn't so sure.
"You're not having anything to drink?" House asked her.
"No. . .I overindulged last night," Cuddy replied. This was true, but not the entire reason she wasn't drinking.
"It was a good party," House said, taking a gulp of wine.
"You were miserable," Cuddy laughed.
"I didn't say I enjoyed it. I said it was a good party. Empirically speaking, people seemed to be having a good time."
"While you were hiding out in Rachel's room."
"Where I was having a good time," he said.
"She asked about you," Cuddy said. "This morning."
House perked up a bit.
"What did she say?"
"She wanted to know where you were. She's still not completely clear on the whole break up thing."
"So what did you tell her?"
"That we didn't have sleepovers any more," Cuddy said, shaking her head.
"A pity," House said.
Cuddy ignored him.
"And then she said, and I quote, 'Can House be my sleepover friend?'"
"I'm pretty sure that's illegal in 49 states," House said, polishing off the last of his sandwich. "I'm not totally certain about West Virginia."
"Yeah, I told her no. She wasn't very happy. Was this close to a full-on tantrum. I had to bribe her with chocolate chip pancakes."
"Sold out for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes," House sighed. "I thought I was worth more than that to her."
"Gummy bears would've worked, too."
She smiled at House and he smiled back. It was nice to be able to joke with him like this. Things had been so unbelievably tense since the breakup. Even the flirting didn't bother her.
"I guess if I want to finish this before midnight, I should get back to work," House said finally.
"Sure," she said, getting up .
"Maybe one more glass of wine after I'm done?"
"We'll see," she said.
#####
The doorbell rang a second time, and this time it really was Ruth Oldenberg.
She had just come from dinner with friends. She was well-dressed, in a black dress with a plunging neckline and tall black boots. She seemed a little tipsy.
Cuddy handed her the pair of glasses.
"Thanks," Ruth said. "I swear I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to my neck."
Cuddy laughed idly. She wanted to usher Ruth out of the house as quickly as possible—and not just because she had been staring at House last night like he was a giant ice cream cone that she wanted to lick. If Ruth saw him hanging out with Cuddy on a Saturday night, it would start rumors.
Ruth, of course, was in the mood to chat.
"I was surprised to see House at the party last night," she said.
"Yeah, we're trying to do the friend thing," Cuddy shrugged.
"How's that working out for you?" Ruth chuckled.
"So far, so good. It's in the preliminary stages."
"And how do you handle that overwhelming urge to jump his bones?"
"Ruth!"
"I'm just saying. The man is very doable."
Ruth always did have a way with words.
"Remarkably, I'm able to control myself," Cuddy said.
"Control yourself around what?" House said. He had emerged from the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder.
"Why hello there," Ruth said, raising her eyebrows at Cuddy.
"It's not what you think," Cuddy said.
"I was just fixing her pipes," House said, winking.
Ruth's eyebrows remained raised.
"I have. . .a leaky faucet," Cuddy sputtered. (Why did everything having to do with plumbing sound vaguely dirty all of a sudden?)
"I had no idea you did pipe work," Ruth said to House. "My Bob is completely useless in that department. I may need to call you in for reinforcement."
"Anytime ma'am," House said.
Oh for God's sake. . .
"And I hope you remember what we talked about at the party," Ruth purred at him.
"Like it was just yesterday," House said. "Probably because it was just yesterday."
"About that," Ruth said. "There's something I want to show you in my car. Lisa, can I borrow your plumber for a second?"
"He's all yours," Cuddy said, trying to sound casual. It was truly stomach-churning to watch Ruth flirting with him like this.
Ruth gave Cuddy a breezy kiss goodnight. "Thanks again for a great party yesterday," she said. She held up the glasses and shook them in the air. "I'm going to start putting a tracking device on these things."
She opened the door.
"You coming, House?"
"BRB," House said to Cuddy and followed Ruth dutifully to her car.
Cuddy immediately went the window to see what Ruth was showing him. She hid behind the curtains so they couldn't see her.
She watched as Ruth reached into the car's glove compartment and pulled out something—a rag? a shirt? She squinted: a silk scarf. She draped it around his neck.
All the while, she was leaning against the car, giggling like a schoolgirl. House was hovering over her, one hand resting on the car's roof. He was clearly amused by her advances. Then, smiling, she pulled him toward her by the scarf and—what the hell?—gave him a kiss.
It wasn't a full-on makeout session or anything like that. More like a tiny taste, a down payment .
And the thing was, he kissed back. She couldn't tell from her window, but there might've been a little tongue. Cuddy closed the curtain in disgust.
A few seconds later, she heard Ruth drive off. House came back to the door. He had taken the scarf and shoved in deeply into his back pocket.
"I'm ready for that second glass of wine," he said brightly.
"Fuck off," Cuddy said.
"What?"
"Fuck off, House. Go home."
"What? Why?"
"I saw you! I saw you kiss Ruth Oldenburg."
"That? That was nothing. C'mon Cuddy." He tried to step into the house, but she blocked his entry. "She's crazy as a loon. I was just indulging her."
"From here, it looked like you were indulging yourself."
"So?"
"So?"
"Yeah, so what? What do you care if I kiss Ruth Oldenburg, or anyone else for that matter? You dumped me, remember?"
"And it's moments like this that remind me why."
"I can't believe that bothered you."
"That's because you're missing the sensitivity chip, House," Cuddy said.
"You're actually jealous," he said, sounding stunned.
"If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her," Cuddy said.
"What? You think I want to fuck her?"
"Do what you want House," Cuddy said.
He grabbed her arm, forced his way into the entranceway.
"Let go," she said.
"I don't want to fuck her," he said. His voice was gentle now. But he was still holding her arm.
"I only want to fuck you," he said.
"House. . ."
He blinked at her.
"I don't want to kiss her," he said. He leaned in, his face was inches away from hers. He parted her mouth with his own. "I only want to kiss you."
"Stop it, House," she said weakly.
"I don't want to touch her," he said. He took his hand, slowly caressed throat, her clavicle, then traced the outline of her breasts. "I only want to touch you."
"Stop," she said. But she was breathing heavily. She was turned on and they both knew it.
"I don't want to be inside her," he said quietly. He reached between her legs, then down her underpants—groaned a bit when he felt how slick she was. "I only want to be inside you."
"Fuck you," she said, but now her lips had met his and she was grinding against him and there was no turning back for either of them.
"There's no other woman for me, Cuddy. . ." he murmured in her ear. "There's only you. There's always only been you."
Of course, a big part of her knew that already. It had never been about what he wanted. It had always been about what she wanted.
And right now, she wanted him.
#####
She woke up a few hours later. House was lying next to her, asleep, one arm wrapped across her.
"Wake up, House," she whispered.
"Wha?"
"Wake up."
He opened his eyes, looked at her.
"Hi," he said.
"You gotta go."
"What time is it?" he asked, still not fully awake.
"4 am. I don't want Rachel to see you. It'll just confuse her."
"Oh," he said. He reluctantly got out bed, started pulling his clothing off the floor. The room was still dark. He went to put on a pair of jeans then realized they were Cuddy's. He threw them back on the floor, found his. Ruth's scarf was still poking out of the back pocket.
"What was up with that scarf, anyway?" Cuddy said, watching as he got dressed.
"What scarf?"
"The scarf that slutty-slutty Ruth Oldenburg gave you."
"Oh, it was supposed to smell like her perfume or something, to remind me of her. . . do you want it?"
"No thanks," she said, but she had to smile. If Ruth only knew. . .
House leaned over the bed, kissed her.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome," she said. "Just be quiet on your way out, okay?"
"Got it," he said.
He paused in the doorway.
"We okay?" he said softly.
She looked at him.
"We're good, House. Still friends."
He gave a small, slightly disappointed smile.
She heard him hobble down the hall. She could tell he was trying not to make too much noise with his cane.
She was drifting back to sleep when she heard it:
"Howse!"
"Hiya kid."