Gift of Screws

by Duckie Nicks

For a price, House agrees to celebrate Purim with Cuddy and Rachel. But although he's getting all the sex he wants, he's still not sure he'll be able to last the weekend. Established relationship, contains sexual situations. House/Cuddy. COMPLETE.

21. Chapter 21

Author's Notes: Please note that there is a slight mention of animal cruelty in this chapter. The act happened in the past, so it's just a character's recollection, but I felt it was worth a warning for those sensitive to that issue. Thank you to LapizSilkwood, grouchysnarky, MissBates, sandlinerica, Huddyphoric, Josam, Marnic, dmarchl, EllieShelly, red blood, Alex, fantasiadvd, KNITTYWOMAN, HuddyGirl, Lana, Abby, savinglives44, IHeartHouseCuddy, JessicaClackum, and AdieAngel for taking the time to leave me reviews. I appreciate you doing that.

Disclaimer: The show belongs to other people. Clearly.

Gift of Screws
Chapter Twenty-One: A Game of Chicken
By Duckie Nicks

"Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws." – Emily Dickinson

Taking the proffered snifter, House did not drink from it. The smell of the alcohol was tantalizing, and part of him thought that it would, for sure, make the party all the more bearable if he were to drink from this rare bottle that he would never have a chance to sample again. But his curiosity for the taste was outmatched by the intrigue of Arianne's behavior.

He had never met her before. Unless he was imagining things, he was sure that he had seen her walking around the hospital, and because of that, there was a good chance he'd insulted her a time or two. But he hadn't ever really met her, much less talked to her. And yet, he had seen her discomfort around Cuddy, and in turn, he had noticed Cuddy's unease around her.

Instantly he had known that there was a history there that he had not been privy to, and then, no matter his interest in the alcohol, the only thing that mattered to him was hearing about said history.

Naturally he could only assume that Arianne had every intention of telling him the truth. House had trouble believing she would decant what was considered the eighth most expensive bottle of booze for just anyone or for the trivial reason of wanting to know what it tasted like. Maybe she would if she were an idiot, but Arianne had gone through the trouble of taking him to the elaborate, temperature-controlled wine cellar, which had stacks of wines and fine liquors from ceiling to floor. Had this been a move of sheer stupidity, she would have brought the bottle out for everyone to sip from. But she had brought him here into this stone enclave away from the party. She had brought him here to tell him what she knew.

Because of that, he didn't bother with the niceties. The second he had the glass in his hands, he got right to the point. "So this is the part where you tell me something dark and seedy about my girlfriend, right? Just so I'm clear where we are in this little charade."

She, however, wasn't interested in getting straight to the point. "You should drink that. It's –"

"One of one hundred ten bottles made, originally bottled in 2005 exactly fifty years to the day after it was initially distilled," he said with a nod. "I know what it is. Considered possibly one of the best malts released by Glenfarclas. If you're sharing it with me, I can only assume you have an ulterior motive for bringing me here. Especially if you have no interest in drinking yourself."

She folded her arms across her chest, her diamond bracelet lightly snagging on the red satin ruffles across the front of her dress. "I can't. I'm pregnant."

House shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"Let's just say with women your age, if you're not getting your period, it's the result of a different phenomenon altogether."

Arianne was not fazed by his words. He didn't wonder why. Based on the number of years he'd seen her in the hospital and the number of marriages Sanford Wells had had between his first wedding to her and this latest one, House had an idea of how old she was. Surely, she was older than Cuddy, though not by much, but those years barely showed in her features. Few lines marred her attractive face, and he knew that wasn't the result of Botox, because her disgust for his girlfriend had been more than obvious. Her dark corkscrew curls framed her cheeks nicely, not even the slightest hint of gray in the locks. And he didn't know if that was a dye job or what, but either way, regardless of the number of years, she looked young. No matter what he said, she didn't need to worry about being perceived as old, because a woman like her would never resemble her years.

What she said though was, "Really?" Smirking she reached over onto one of the shelves. Grabbing a folder he hadn't noticed before, she handed it to him. "My lab reports. Does that look like menopause to you, Dr. House?"

He set his glass down on another shelf that he was near. Silently he opened up the folder and quickly skimmed through what looked like the results of CVS testing. He looked back up at her. "You brought me down here for a consult?"

"These are just the preliminary results, but I wanted to know if you saw any reason as to why I should abort."

House looked at her carefully. "Are you looking for a reason to abort or –"

"No," she said calmly without any particular vehemence behind it.

"That's interesting, because you don't seem to care either way which –"

"I don't," she admitted. "The antibiotics I was taking made my birth control less effective, and though my dear, aging husband said he would pull out before he ejaculated, when it came time to do it, he forgot. Hence, I've opened his prized liquor and decided to give some to you."

Instantly House reached for the drink he'd set to the side. The mental picture her words were providing suddenly made alcohol a necessity, and when he swallowed the booze, he also bit back the bile rising in the back of his throat. "Yeah, that's an image that's gonna be hard to forget."

She took the snifter from him and refilled his glass. But she didn't give it to him. She just said, "Tell me what your opinion is first."

"You said this was a preliminary report?" He asked the question though he barely knew how to muster up the interest to listen to her mutter the affirmative. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he was beyond caring about her response; his mind was focused on the test results in front of him. "There are no anomalies in this."

She didn't seem relieved when he looked back up at her. "But even if the full report says the same thing, it wouldn't detect neural tube defects, would it?"

"No. And given your age, you should probably have an AFP done to make sure."

"Then when can I come see you to have that done?"

He resisted the urge to laugh. "Yeah, see, one perk of banging the boss is that I don't have to draw blood or do those tests."

"Fine," she said immediately. "But if you agree to consult on the remainder of my pregnancy, I'll tell you right now why I don't like your girlfriend."

It was a tempting offer. He wouldn't deny that he had half a mind to agree to her terms right then and there. But hearing her say that she had a problem with Cuddy forced him to play it cool.

"No," he replied sharply. "You tell me what your issue with Cuddy is first, and then I'll consider a consult. One consult."

"If I'm going to tell you anything, it's going to be with the understanding that I'll have access to your medical expertise whenever I want, that you'll consider it at least. And before you say no, I should remind you that I am empowered to have you fired."

He was not fazed in the least by her threat. "I have tenure."

"Which can be revoked."

"You'd need the rest of the board's approval. And if having sex with one of them for the last several years hasn't earned her loyalty, I'm not –"

"I thought you might make that point," she said with a smile. Her hand smoothing back one of her dark curls, she added in a tone that wasn't quite as friendly, "So allow me to make one of my own. Replacing a board member is much easier than firing someone with tenure. And given this scandal Dr. Cuddy seems to find herself in, I don't think it would take much to convince my husband and our colleagues that she is no longer suited for –"

"You're going to fire Cuddy because I won't consider consulting throughout your pregnancy." He made his doubt apparent, calling her bluff.

Her response was immediate. "I would fire her for many reasons. Up until now, I have chosen to work with her out of considerations that don't involve you. But I am willing to rethink that if you force me into that frame of mind."

It was not in House's nature to enjoy being manipulated or threatened. Well, he supposed that no one ever appreciated being blackmailed. But he guessed that others were more willing to back down when forced; others didn't have the same compulsive need to challenge the rules like he did, and therefore it was that much harder for him to let Arianne walk all over him.

He really didn't want to agree to her terms. He really didn't.

But what choice did he have? Although Cuddy hadn't done anything wrong, this scandal could easily reflect poorly on her. And someone like Arianne certainly had the muscle to guarantee that that happened. Then again, maybe she didn't. She seemed to have enough animosity for Cuddy to have acted on it in the past, and if she hadn't, House couldn't believe it wasn't for a lack of effort. So perhaps Arianne didn't have the power she thought she did.

He couldn't bet on that though. Maybe it was his instinct to do so, but he couldn't do it. Because while he would eventually be affected, the person who would be affected first and foremost was his girlfriend. Even if she didn't get fired, that didn't matter. Arianne had enough clout to create the question as to whether or not Cuddy was good enough at her job.

Truth be told, he thought that Cuddy probably already worried about that. She had done as good a job as anyone possibly could to hide the frustration and fear this kind of situation inevitably caused. Certainly John's kiss had provided a tiny distraction from all of that, and House guessed the whole debacle with Rachel this afternoon had done that as well. But those distractions hadn't been ones to relieve her of her concern, and if she'd been acting crazed all day, he knew it was because everything she was feeling was coming to a head. She was getting to that point where she could no longer deny how all of this was making her feel, where all of her worries were so obvious that they seemed written on her face.

And he had seen it, all of it. No matter what she'd tried to hide, he'd noticed it. Then, he hadn't had a chance to do anything to make the situation better. Sure, he'd done his best to make her feel better, but fix the situation? There had been no way he could do that then. She was his boss, and he couldn't protect her from much of anything professionally, a fact that he resented and was perpetually mindful of for many reasons.

But now, Arianne had changed that dynamic. She was giving him the opportunity to protect Cuddy from being fired, from facing an inquest possibly; it was hard to know what exactly he would be sparing Cuddy from, because Arianne was smartly keeping the specifics under wraps. Even without knowing exactly what she intended, he understood that he had a chance here to protect Cuddy. And if he didn't take that opportunity, what would that say about him? That being defiant meant more to him than Cuddy? That, for all of his attempts at making her feel better, he would willingly make her life worse in order to maintain his own comfort?

He couldn't do that.

"I'll consider it," he said flatly.

"You'll do it."

There was a pause as he worked up the ability to eventually say, "I'll do it."

"How sweet – protecting the woman you –"

"Get to the point."

She pulled the file out of his hands. "I'll have this faxed to your office tomorrow morning." After she set the folder to the side, she handed him his drink back, which he was grateful for. He didn't show his unease by sipping it, but secretly he was relieved to have alcohol at his fingertips once more.

Not that it would make anything better. He knew it wasn't going to. But at the same time, he thought it couldn't hurt either.

"Now that that's taken care of," she said in a voice that would have sounded cheery coming from someone else. "I'll let you in on a bit of history. It's unfortunate that you would be willing to do something you obviously don't want to do for someone like her."

"As fun as it is to hear you imply there's something wrong with my girlfriend, I'd prefer you just come out and say something offensive – preferably about her breasts or giant ass, so that I may at least think of those things while you're talking."

"She slept with my husband."

The words didn't register with him immediately. He understood what she was saying, but it had no meaning for him. Did she mean Cuddy had slept with Sanford Wells years ago – like the last time Arianne was married to him? Or was she trying to convince House that Cuddy had been cheating on him?

He didn't believe the latter. Unfortunately for Arianne, her timing was awful; he'd seen just how adverse Cuddy was to the idea of having an affair. John had been the one to kiss her, but she'd still reacted as though she'd done something wrong, and it was impossible for House to believe then that she would intentionally sleep with another man.

"Years ago," Arianne clarified before he could even demand that she do so. "That's why we got divorced. I knew he was cheating on me, and it turned out that she was the one he was having the affair with, most likely so that she could get the job she current possesses."

She lost him there. He could believe that Cuddy had had sex with Wells. He didn't want to believe that, but he guessed it was possible; it could have happened though it made him nauseous to picture that pairing. Under no circumstances could he believe that she had used sex to get her job.

People who did that had no other options or suffered from a lack of imagination. Cuddy was one of those individuals who had nothing but options. She was incredibly smart, which was why she'd easily been able to succeed in med school classes she'd audited when she'd been a teenager still. She was… charismatic and ambitious, and all of that had made her poised to get whatever she wanted professionally. The fact that she was hot absolutely made it easier for her; how many men had she conned donations from by inadvertently distracting them with her beauty, he wondered. But he would never believe that she had purposely traded sex for a job. Why would she when she had no reason to?

She wouldn't.

But in taking the time to come to that conclusion, House had given Arianne the impression that he agreed with her.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding more honest than he expected.

Immediately he made a face of confused shock, an emotion displayed for her benefit only.

"You feel betrayed," she supplied.

"Of course, I do," he said with a dramatic nod of the head. "All my life, I was told once you go black, you never go back. Either I've been lied to all this time or my penis is just that –"

"You want to joke about it, so that I won't know how bothered you are that it's the truth."

He refused to agree with that. Whether or not she was right was irrelevant to him at that moment. What mattered was making sure he didn't give her any ammunition against Cuddy. Even though at that particular second he wasn't exactly feeling protective of her, it was truly the least she deserved.

"Yeah, that's exactly it," he said with heavy sarcasm lacing every word. "Because, when I started dating a woman in her forties with a child, my first thought was she seems like a virgin, sure."

"A child, yes. Someone else's," Arianne said with just barely suppressed glee. "And from what I understand, a mediocre orphan at best. So how could –"

"I get it," he interrupted out of irritation. "You want to piss me off in the hopes that I'll want to punish her for the conversation we've just had and ruin her night, which would make you happy. But that's not going to happen."

She wasn't convinced. "Oh but I think it will."

"I don't care. Because even if you're right, you're still forgetting one thing."

"What's that?" she asked in a voice that was nearly breathless. Just the idea that she might have gotten to him, that she might cause Cuddy pain, had her on the edge of her seat.

"You've just convinced me to monitor your pregnancy," he pointed out coldly. He took a step closer to her as the thought hit her. In the back of his mind, he knew it was stupidly wrong to do it. But in the cool air of the wine cellar, away from the party, it felt appropriate to then threaten her, "Make fun of my kid again, insist on needling me about my girlfriend… and who knows what will happen during your next exam?"

He did not expect her to back down. In the few minutes he had been talking to her, House had figured that she was not the kind to cower away. And indeed, she didn't. Her face remaining impassive, she asked calmly, "Do you think it's wise to say things like that to your boss's wife?"

"Sure. Accidents happen. There's no harm in saying –"

"They don't happen to you." He pretended to be shocked. "You're Doctor House. You're always right."

"No, I'm almost always eventually right," he corrected. "There's a difference. Given your age, your husband's age, the fact that you were talking about wanting to sample alcohol in front of a group of people, and then specifically requested my medical advice – there isn't a person out there who would be surprised if something were to happen to –"

"And you would purposely jeopardize the health of my child because I don't like your girlfriend." There was a hint of doubt, disbelief that he would go so far or that she had earned such wrath.

House shook his head. "I don't care that you don't like her. But insulting our kid who has absolutely nothing to do with any of this? Using me to hurt Cuddy? That I am going to have a problem, which you should know going forward from here on out." He quickly drank down the rest of the liquor in his hand. Placing the glass down noisily next to him, he said in a dark voice, "I'd hate for us to have a misunderstanding."

"No, we're perfectly clear with one another." She said the words through gritted teeth, but she didn't look affected in the least.

"Wonderful." He started to leave but couldn't resist saying, as he left her behind, "Thanks for the drink."

Returning to the party, he never once glanced back. House was tempted to see what her reaction was, but he knew that, if he looked back at her, his words would lose their potency. And that was the last thing he wanted. Because just as it was with John, so too was House determined here to make sure Arianne didn't hurt his relationship with Cuddy.

He hadn't been lying when he'd said he didn't care if the other woman hated his girlfriend. He didn't. If they wanted to dislike one another, he wasn't going to put a stop to that – especially not when the potential for a sexy catfight seemed high. But he would never help anyone else hurt Cuddy. He would never put his relationship in jeopardy for a third party.

He certainly wasn't going to drag a five year old into the mess to accomplish that. House had lied, of course, when he'd called Rachel his child. She wasn't, and he didn't think she was; hell, even if he'd wanted to, Cuddy would have never allowed that to happen. But he could have never let on to Arianne that that was the case. No doubt she would have seized on that little bit of information and used it against Cuddy. And maybe she deserved to have that used against her. But Rachel definitely didn't. She was young and already burdened by her fair share of problems; whatever Arianne's issues were with Cuddy, Rachel didn't need to be brought into that. Whether or not he'd succeeded in that though… well, that was anyone's guess.

Returning to the party, he tried to convince himself that an attempt was better than nothing. His eyes scanning the crowd for Cuddy, he thought that his efforts were more than what most would do in that situation. Certainly, expecting his girlfriend to be metaphorically blowing some jackass, he felt that he had done more than she herself had up to this point. But that didn't make him feel any better. So when he couldn't find Cuddy in the large group of people all around him, he was compelled to seek her out.

Of course, even though he'd seen the direction she'd gone it, she wasn't easy to find. Wells's large mansion made that task anything but simple. He entered a few empty rooms, took enough wrong turns to find one of what he assumed was many bathrooms. Course correcting himself, he managed to accidentally discover where they were keeping the kids as well. The door to the room was closed, but through it, he could hear Rachel threatening loudly to hit one of the other children with her. To be honest, House hoped she would so that they would have to leave. Then again, if they got kicked out, no doubt, Cuddy would bitch about it for the rest of the evening. But as long as he got to go home, he supposed he could handle that part.

Ignoring the dull thump coming from behind the door, he pressed onward. But it still took him another five minutes or so before he found Cuddy. She was in Wells's office with her back toward the open door.

Looking out one of the windows into the darkness, she must have seen his reflection in the glass. Before he'd even had a chance to close the door behind him, she turned to him and said honestly and almost desperately, "They won't notice if we leave now, right?"

"I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be my line," he told her, kicking the door shut behind him. "You're looking sexier by the second."

Her confession was nearly instantaneous. "John was here."

"Well, of course he was," House replied sarcastically, the response coming out of his mouth before he even had a chance to stop himself. "This is the day, apparently, for all of your past conquests to come back and haunt you. We get a Ouija board out, I'm sure Daddy's best friend –"

"You really need to let that one go eventually."

"Or maybe," he said ignoring her, "the creepy uncle with the wandering eye and –"

"That never happened and if it had –"

"Interesting, because that would explain your apparent proclivity for having sex with older men and –"

"John's not old," she interrupted like that was really the appropriate point to make just then.

"But he is in a position of power, which also –"

"Wow." Her voice was as patronizing as she could make it. "She must have really gotten to you if you're this stupid."

He didn't deny it. "I don't actually care that you slept with him or anyone else, but if I could, I don't know, not meet every single one of them, that'd be nice. Especially since statistically I don't have enough years to meet every notch in your bedpost."

On another day, it wouldn't have upset her. Then again, on any other day, would he have felt compelled to say the things that he was? Cuddy understood the answer to that was probably not. Certainly he wouldn't have gotten to her then. But today it did bother her. If only because there had been so many other issues for them to sort through, his remarks were impossible for her to take lightly.

Angry and frustrated, she snapped, "Well, I'll tell you what, House. Since I can't possibly imagine how upsetting this has been for you, you can drive down to the nearest street corner after the party and force me to meet some of the women you slept with before me. Okay?"

"Oooh. Burn."

Her overreaction was made all the more apparent by his cool response. Though he was being sarcastic, there was no bite to the words. As if it wasn't even worth his time to get upset, he said the words he clearly felt she wanted to hear. And uttered with as little enthusiasm as possible, his reaction gave her pause – as he had intended it to.

His quiet reproach felt like she'd been doused with cold water. Her frustration lingered beneath the surface still, but his soft disapproval gave her enough pause to control herself.

"I'm sorry," she told him, though she didn't exactly feel that way.

With a shrug, he said, "Don't be. You're more than welcome to overreact. I'm curious to see where you're going to take this."

And he was, she thought. There was something about his demeanor… something almost quiet about him that suggested he was handling her carefully. Tiptoeing around the edges, he was gingerly prodding her, lazily and sensitively seeing where this was headed.

"Nowhere," she said after a moment. Exhaling raggedly, she elaborated. "This isn't going anywhere." Admitting that felt like defeat, and it showed in her voice.

"Punched yourself out then?" As he calmly took a few steps towards her, she understood that she hadn't. This day had put her on edge, and at any moment, she knew she could lash out. She would. Her anger would have no purpose, would solve absolutely none of her problems. But that hardly mattered to her then.

So it wasn't surprising that she snapped back, "I didn't say that."

"Obviously not." She turned away from him in exasperation, but he didn't take the hint, placing his hands on her shoulders. Though she didn't break the embrace, she didn't relax into it either. "I'm not angry," he told her, as though that was supposed to make everything better.

Abruptly Cuddy turned around. "You're not angry, but you thought you would bring it up right now, because I don't have enough to –"

"I brought it up, because I thought you should know that I know what –"

"Oh of course you did," she said with a sneer. "She told you I slept with her husband, so that you would –"

"Get in a fight with you? Yeah, I know."

That just made it worse. Disgust lacing every tone, she pointed out, "And you decided to bring it up anyway."

"Yeah," he agreed, finally his own frustration mirroring her own. "Because you're not the only one unhappy that Johnny Boy," he said, batting his eyelashes as though he had a crush on the other man. "Keeps turning up."

Cuddy sighed. "Nothing happened."

"He kissed you."

She was taken aback by the comment. He had said all along that he wasn't upset, that he wasn't angry with her. All afternoon he had been supportive, but now he felt differently?

"You said –"

"I'm not mad at you," he reiterated in an even voice. "But he kissed you, and that's not nothing."

She shook her head in irritation. "I meant nothing else happened. He… he said he was going to back off."

"You believe him?"

The question wasn't a doubtful one. It could have been, easily so, but instead, he really wanted to know, it seemed, what she thought of John's words. That alone made her consider that perhaps House hadn't been lying; he wasn't angry with her but frustrated at her former lovers' inability to stay out of their lives.

If that were the case, she could sympathize. But the thing about that was: she was in the exact same situation, just as fed up, just as disturbed by John's actions. House hadn't even been a witness to it the way she had, which made her feel as though she, more than he could ever hope, had a better grasp of just how horrifying today had been. And as such, rather than lash out at her, he should have been the one sympathizing with her.

Not the other way around.

However, pointing that out would get her nothing. She would sound whiny, and he would accuse her of being such. Then, after complaining that she was only thinking of herself, he would commit the same crime by ignoring all of her pain.

Again.

There was the empty feeling of disappointment centered in her abdomen at the thought. A hunger no physical thing could satiate, it made her ache with longing, yen for him to see that this was not at all what she had wanted. On some level, she was sure he understood that. He knew, deep down inside, that she hadn't hoped any of this would occur. But playing to that piece of him could not involve anger on her part.

If she attacked, he would fight back. Her ire might give him pause, but inevitably, since he was suffering as well, he wouldn't be able to feel that bad for her then. He would, as she had, wonder why she was channeling all of her frustration in his direction. At that point, he would retaliate, try to hand her back her agitation, and then they would be back to square one; they would be just as irritable as they were now, maybe even more so. And they would get nowhere.

No, she thought, yelling definitely wasn't going to get her anywhere. The only option she had, it seemed, was to answer his question as honestly as possible, to make him feel sympathy by being honest, calm.

"I do," she said with a shrug eventually. "But it doesn't matter." The dejection she felt couldn't have been more apparent. "I mean... I guess it does, but Sanford Wells stood in front of us both and made it perfectly clear that I only have a job now because of John's donation."

"That's not the only reason."

"He thinks that's the only reason. So no matter what John told me, he's going to believe that –"

"Then I hope he runs into Wells's wife before he leaves, because she seems to think you only have your job because of her husband's donation. And by donation, I mean semen."

She didn't think there was any point in denying it. It wasn't true; it was absolutely not true. She'd spent one night with Sanford years ago, long after she'd been made dean of medicine, months after Arianne had wrongly accused them of sleeping together and filed for divorce. But if House didn't already know that, why even bother saying otherwise? Why try to convince him of something that should have been obvious?

"Right," she muttered under her breath.

Reaching out for her once more, House pulled her into a hug. She didn't feel like being held, not after hearing that. But he left no room for discussion, and she didn't have it in her to fight anyway. And regardless of what she wanted, she found herself in his arms, her face pressed into his suit coat.

The hug was awkward on her part. He wanted it too much, and she didn't want it at all, and his enthusiasm was at odds with her own. He sensed that; she thought he must have known. But he didn't let go of her, and part of her, a very small, tiny piece of her was grateful.

In her ear, he said quietly, "You know I don't believe that."

She grunted into his chest. "I should hope not."

"Because if you did fuck for positions, you would have slept with me years ago."

She couldn't help but look up then. Her chin digging into his skin, she pointed out, "I outrank you."

"Technically."

"No –"

"Technically," he insisted. "We both know how much you like being beneath me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're turning this into a joke about sex?"

"If I didn't, I'd be left thinking about how you banged the chairman of the board –"

"There was no banging."

"Oh from what I hear, there was and –"

"One time," she said calmly. "And it was hardly the sultry affair Arianne, I'm sure, made it out to be."

"Meaning you didn't orgasm?"

"Meaning I did; he didn't."

"Cause you were that bad in bed?" She could feel his chest puff out with pride. "I'm so glad I've taught you –"

"Because he got on his knees, and I didn't," she said smartly.

Instantly he wasn't so arrogant. His chest deflated, a sour expression contorting his features. And that disgust was evident in the way he spoke. "Well, now I've got that picture in my head. It's almost enough to cause permanent erectile dysfunction."

She felt no pity. "Why? Surely you knew I had sex with other men before –"

"Sure," he admitted. "Just like I know McDonalds' Chicken McNuggets are made from chicken eyeballs, ammonia, and Ronald McDonald sperm. Doesn't meant I want to think about it or get an eyeful of –"

"You're comparing my sex life to –"

"Laws, sausages, and the notches on your bed post," he explained matter of factly. "If I think about the events that led up to their existence, I get sick."

"I don't believe that."

"Because I haven't puked on you yet or –"

"You've always been obsessed with who I've dated," she pointed out. "If it bothered you, you would have never touched me."

"Repression and lots of antacids helped. But I can't exactly do that if your conquests keep popping back up for another squeeze and squirt with you."

She grimaced at his choice of words. "Ignoring that wonderful euphemism –"

"I have others I can use if you'd prefer."

"No thank you. I got your point, and it's a stupid one."

"Is it?" he asked patronizingly.

"Actually, more than stupid, it's not true."

He repeated himself. "Is it?"

"You've had sex with me today."

"Yeah, before –"

"And after."

His silence alone made it a triumph for her. But when he additionally bristled at her words and bumbled about for a retort, that just made victory all the more sweet.

"Well… I – that's different," he said in staccato consonants. "That was when there was one ex for me to think about. I could handle that, especially since G.I. Joe isn't all that bad."

She smirked. "And Sanford Wells is?"

"No." The answer was curt, and she wasn't exactly sure she should believe him. "But the two of them together…." He shook his head in disgust. "The mental picture of them with you – all at once – one on each end –"

"That actually never happened."

"But I'm picturing it anyway, making it very difficult to want you right about –"

"You expect me to believe that," she said doubtfully.

He looked down at her in surprise, as though it was given that she should. "I do."

But there was not a single cell in her body that he'd managed to convince. Sure, she could trust that he had a sick and twisted imagination; he wasn't lying about that. She could believe that he really did, at least briefly, picture the fairly vile things he was mentioning. Of course, if she were to truly consider the matter, it seemed highly likely that House imagining her in a threesome wasn't an idea that had just hit him. John and Sanford Wells were probably the last people House had thought of her having sex with, but she was sure in that filthy mind of his that he had had all sorts of fantasies about her being used, as he had put it, from each end. And the other players might have been unattractive by his standards, but if the act involved her, he wasn't totally turned off.

Because he was attracted to her.

And that was what it came down to. Forgetting everything else, at the end of the day, he wanted her. Her body, especially her body, her mind – all of it – he was attracted to. Over the years, she had found herself privy to glimpses to the depths of that need for her. She never knew how far that desire for her went within him, but every now and then, she'd caught a tiny snippet of emotion from him that made his love for her undeniable. If all this time together had taught her anything, it was that he loved her to a degree that no man had ever before or would after (should there be an after). That wasn't to say she thought he lacked a breaking point. She was sure he had one; it would not be "You had sex with men before me" though.

She would never believe that. So unconvinced by his protestations, she actually thought that she could prove the opposite then. She could show that, no matter what his mind was picturing, he would still want her and act on it. Smirking, she decided to test her theory.

Now.

It was probably not the smartest thing to do – to attempt to seduce House while they were at a business dinner. But after her conversation with John and House's conversation with Arianne Wells, it seemed like a pretty safe action. At first glance, that didn't appear to be true. Cuddy knew though that both host and hostess (particularly the latter) would assume House was angry with her. After learning that Cuddy had slept with their boss? Any outsider would believe time away from the party meant House was fighting with her. In other words, no one would think that it was odd that they had disappeared. They wouldn't come searching for them, wanting to give the couple privacy. And if House came back with sweat dripping off his face and Cuddy's cheeks tinged red, conclusions would be made that they'd had a serious fight.

It would not be assumed that they'd been having sex.

Which meant she was free to do whatever she wanted right now. Given that Sanford Wells had essentially told her she had to keep working with John, the idea of making her own choices seemed particularly heady at that moment.

And so the decision to seduce House was an easy one, one without even the slightest hesitation on her part.

"I don't believe you," she said in a low voice.

"Well, you should."

Pulling away from him, she put a hand on her hip. The move could have been seen as challenging, and maybe it was even. But she knew that House would be too distracted by the sudden emphasis on her curves to care. Indeed, his gaze instantly shifting downward, it was easy to see that she'd already caught his attention. No matter what he said, he couldn't help but look.

"I'm pretty sure I shouldn't," she told him. "The way you're looking at me right now –"

"What way is that?" His focus immediately returned to her face. He'd been caught, but of course, he wasn't going to admit to it.

She didn't really answer the question. "You want me, House. Even now." She reconsidered her words, corrected herself – "Especially now."

He had always been possessive of her. Even when he'd had no right to lay claim to her, he had done so anyway. Before either of them had recognized it, they had conquered the other, seized each other's heart and attention with an ironclad grip that refused to be weakened by prettier women or safer men. Together now, that fact hadn't changed. If anything it had become more true than ever. And she didn't think he was lying when he said that he was turned off by the fact that she'd had sex with John and Wells. But she would never believe House had been turned off permanently. Because the possibility of her having ever been someone else's was nothing if not a challenge. He might have been reluctant to see it that way, but that was precisely what he thought deep down.

She would make him realize that.

But he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"We both know that's not true," he told her. "And even if it were, let's not act like you're going to prove me wrong right now."

"You don't think I can?"

"I don't think you'll try."

Her lips pursed together as she tried to figure out how she should take the comment. Manipulation and challenge a standard currency between them, it would have been easy to believe he was baiting her. It was possible, maybe even likely, that he was trying to encourage her through doubt.

But if that were true, there would be some sign of it. His eyes would be lit with mischief; a smile would play at the corners of his mouth, and every now and then, he would gaze at her body with a longing she could almost feel. There would be something.

Right now, there wasn't. And because of that, she could only believe that he meant for his words to be taken at face value.

Still, that… didn't seem right to her. Knowing him, she thought he should have been challenging her. That he wasn't was confusing, and that feeling showed momentarily.

"You think –"

"No, I know," he interrupted, correcting his earlier assessment. "At your boss's home, in his office where he knows you are, with that dress on?" He shook his head as though it were impossible for her to make a move on him at that moment.

"Dresses come off. Doors can be locked."

That didn't convince him. "You mentioned… wearing something underneath the dress."

His voice was shaky, raspy from his throat going dry. Even as he tried to prove his point, his interest in her, she thought, ruled him. The attraction to her was obvious, undeniable (though if asked, he would deny). Without even realizing it, he was undermining his own argument.

"If that's true, you're not going to want to ruin the surprise now," he finished firmly.

He was trying so hard, but it wasn't going to work. She had him beat. With a shrug, he retorted, "Who says I have to do that?"

"Oh I get it. You're going to blow me in your boss's office. At a dinner party. With several donors who live under the delusion that, if they give you enough money, you'll give their sausage a few dips in tuna town."

"I don't care what they think."

"You do too," he insisted. "And even if you didn't, you're definitely not above using it to your advantage."

"If I want to have sex with my boyfriend, I don't –"

"All right. Fine." He dramatically threw his hands in the air and strolled over to the couch. No, she thought after a second – not strolled, strutted. Sitting on the sofa, he gestured towards his crotch. "Go ahead. Have at it. Let the dick sucking commence."

"I get what you're doing," she said, walking toward the door. As she locked it, she explained, "You insult me, make yourself as undesirable as possible, so I'll change my mind and walk out of here, so you can be right."

He didn't deny it. "Is it working?"

"Of course not. Don't be stupid."

"And yet you're taking your sweet time getting over here."

"Because I was locking the door, you moron," she snapped. It never crossed her mind to rescind her invitation for sex; she wanted him, even if he were less than convinced. The idea in her mind, she wasn't going to back down now. But that didn't mean she wasn't annoyed as well.

When she turned back to face him, one of his arms was casually slung over the back of the couch; he looked so calm and casual that, as irritated as it made her, she really did reconsider her position then.

"You could at least pretend as though this is interesting to you," she complained, slowly walking towards him.

He didn't take her advice. "Why would I do that? I told you today has challenged my attraction to you."

"Oh please."

"I'm just saying: this is your dog and pony show, not mine." He cocked his head to the side in thought. "There are so many euphemisms I could make right now. It's amazing how –"

"You know what?" She shook her head and sat down on the couch. "You win."

Her patience had petered out surprisingly early. In her own estimation, she could have handled at least three or four more rounds with him. Nothing he'd been saying was particularly offensive, his quips dirtier than standard but without the hard edge she associated with him when he was actually agitated. He didn't mean half the things he said, and that should have been enough for her to let the remarks slide. That was what she'd hoped for anyway.

But here she was, completely and undeniably unable to play the game one second longer. And if that shocked her, it was nothing compared to the taken back look House was giving her.

"That's it?" he asked in mild surprise. "You're done?"

"I guess so," she said, laying her head down on his shoulder. Rationally the action seemed odd, to want to be close to him when he was driving her insane. But intuitively it felt right, okay to seek comfort from him even as he was the one who had made her need the reassurance to begin with.

Instantly her mind rejected the thought. As though someone else had suggested, the words coming out of someone's mouth and not in her own head, she thought the idea was all wrong. He was bothering her, but he wasn't the problem. Nearly everything else in her life was, and he was getting to her, but it wasn't because he was being cruel. House was fine; everything else was not.

Clearly though he was willing to make her reconsider that by pressing onward. As flippant as always, he muttered into her hair, "I'm disappointed in your stamina. I thought you could last a good six or seven –"

"My stamina is fine. You're the one throwing in the towel based on two one night stands decades old."

Reaching down, she took off her shoes so she could pull her legs onto the couch without scratching the sofa cushions. Her gaze was cast on the ground, obscured by the dark locks of hair falling around her face. And she guessed the image of her doing that seemed sad to him. Not in a pathetic sort of way, but the act must have made him think that she was upset. Technically she supposed that was the truth. She was not particularly happy. But she hadn't looked away in sadness, hadn't been hoping to get an apology from him.

She got it anyway.

As she settled back against him, her feet tucked under her, he capitulated. "You know that's not true." Obviously she did. But saying that would make him revert to earlier behavior. Since she didn't like that idea, she stayed silent. And disturbed by her quiet, he said in a firm voice, "It's not true."

"And yet you're turning down sex."

His lips brushed by her ear. He whispered, but the passion and heated promise in his words were unmistakable. "I'm not interested in a quickie. You think that's what I want? With the way you're dressed?"

She blinked slowly but didn't look at him. His arm possessively wrapped around him, that was more than enough to stir some desire within her. And sure that, if she saw the heat in his gaze, she wouldn't be able to hold back, she kept her eyes off him. So she purposely avoided looking at him and instead, chose to throw his earlier words back in his face.

"That's not what you said –"

"Yeah, I was hoping you'd be desperate to prove me wrong, so that when we get home, you'd be so eager to –"

"I knew it."

"I didn't," he insisted. "I had no idea you were going to go into heat spontaneously." That surprise, however, didn't leave him disappointed or dismayed. "But that's okay," he admitted in a conversational tone. "Now that I know how much you want it… well, that just makes things far more interesting."

His hand slid up her body, his fingers reaching for her chin. His thumb brushing underneath her lower lip, he forced her to look at him then. Predictably, she felt that familiar pull, that need for him. Her stomach fluttering with electricity, it took everything she had not to lean forward and kiss him right then and there.

And that was probably a good thing, because he said in a voice that left no room for discussion, "You're not getting laid now. I could fuck you. But why would I want to when I can leave you thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you later?"

She refused to back down. "That's fine," she told him, bluffing. "If you want to wait to see what I have on underneath –"

"Unless you're smuggling a really hot hooker under your dress, I gotta tell you: I don't care." Her disbelief must have shown, because he added, "I'm sure what you have on is pretty. But if you think, at this point, I'm even going to glance at it before ripping it off you, you're out of your mind."

He had her beat. Mentally he prepared for her to fight him, but the fact was: he'd bested her thoroughly.

Not wanting to lose momentum, he pushed onward before she probably even had a chance to realize what had happened.

"Do you remember what you said to me yesterday?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I said many things to you, but I –"

"In the shower. You said you'd leave my come on you all day if that was what I wanted. So everyone would know who you belonged to."

That was what she'd said. The memory for him was foggy on account of the fact that she'd had one finger in his ass, another hand on his dick, and the need to come ruling his entire body. But she had said something along those lines – he knew. And there was a good chance that she hadn't really meant it when she'd said it; trying to get him to watch Rachel and get him off might have been her motivation for saying it at the time. He, however, had latched onto the idea and wasn't willing to put it to bed without seeing it through. She might have been facetious, but he wasn't going to assume that.

"Yeah," she agreed slowly, as though her recollection of the moment was just as vague as his. "I guess I said that." She sounded neither interested in nor against the idea.

He went with it. "So then here's what I want you to be aware of for the rest of the party," he told her in a deep voice, leaning in so that his lips were practically on hers. "I don't care who you fucked. When we get home, you're going to be mine," he snarled. "In every way imaginable. Including that way."

She didn't say anything. But the almost imperceptible nod of her head let him know that she was more than game for anything he had in mind.

"That dress is going to look so good with a pearl necklace," he said promisingly.

The confusion crossing her face, she started to say, "I don't get it."

But by then he'd let go of her. Pulling away from her, he stood up slowly. "Just think about it," he told her calmly. She seemed reluctant then to say or do anything. She looked at him expectantly, like he was going to elaborate further, do something to keep this moment going.

However, House felt that he had said all that he needed to. For the rest of the evening, at any moment, when there was a slight lull in the conversation, she would think back to this discussion. She would recall his words and wonder what he had intended for her. And the less he explained, the more curious she would be, he thought. So he had no other choice than to end the conversation now.

"Come on," he said reaching for her. His hand clasping around her wrist, he pulled her up off the couch. "Time to get back to the party."

"Since when do you care about –"

"Since I have a good feeling that this is going to drive you nuts."

As she slipped her feet back into her heels, she smirked a little. "I know you think that's how this is going to work, but –"

"It's not?" he asked doubtfully. "You expect me to believe that?"

By the smug look on her face, he could tell that she did. "I might think about it every once in a while," she admitted. "But I'm built for delayed gratification. You, on the other hand…. You can't handle being bored. You hate being polite and making small conversation, which these parties are based on."

"And yet you invited me."

"Doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Not really."

"Fine," he said giving in. "But you're already dying for me to screw your brains out. You've proved as much. And it's going to be a long time before you –"

"That's true. But it doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"House, the fact is: I can handle waiting until after the party. This is work for me, which means I have plenty of ways to keep my mind occupied. You don't have that, because nothing anyone tells you is going to interest you. So. Anything you just said is going to affect you ten times more than it will me."

"I don't think so."

"Well. I guess we'll see who's begging to leave by the end of the night." She nearly sauntered toward the door. He didn't even have time to consider whether or not she was right about any of it before she wrenched the door open. Turning to look at him once more, she said with a smile, "Here's a hint: it's going to be you."

"It might have been," he conceded. "But now that you've gone and made it a game, I can guarantee that it's not going to be me."

She didn't back down from the challenge. "We'll see."

"We will."

"Have fun at the party, dear."

He stuck his tongue out at her retreating form, but it didn't help. The second she was gone, he realized:

She was right.

She had so much ass to kiss and metaphorical dick to suck that her mind would only momentarily think about the actual dick she'd be sucking later on. He wasn't wrong; that would get to her; she would be extremely eager by the end of the night.

But he would be desperate long before then.

Because what the hell did he have to do this evening? Talk to donors?

Cuddy wasn't wrong to suggest that that wouldn't keep his mind occupied. She was wrong to think that that scenario would even possibly occur; no one talked to him at work parties. Well okay, Cuddy and Wilson and maybe a team member or two engaged him, but they were the only ones who put up with him for more than a minute. Everyone else avoided him or only talked to him out of necessity. At no point did they stick around longer than required, entering casual conversation born out of mutual interests. If they spoke to him at all, it was about work. And when work was done, they were gone. Which left him with… what exactly?

Rachel? Right, he told himself bitterly, because what he'd really wanted to do today was dress up to play babysitter.

Leaving the office, House slowly made his way back toward the party. He had no idea why he was even bothering; the next couple hours would be just as miserable with company as it would be if he spent the entire time in Wells's office alone. There was absolutely no point opening himself up to the thirty seconds of small talk he'd be forced to suffer through if he rejoined the party.

As he passed the room where the kids were being held, he heard some of the children shrilly making plans for a game of hide and go seek. They were nominating Rachel to be the seeker, and mentally House wished them luck with that; the house was so big, and Rachel was so dumb that they'd be fortunate if they were ever found.

Then again, who was the idiot here? At least she was having fun with her friends. What did he have?

The second he reentered the party, he had the answer to that question. Because it was at that moment that he saw Cuddy across the room; she was talking to some random donor, her hand on his forearm, and he understood where he'd get his fun from this evening. House suddenly knew: he couldn't lessen his own desire for the night to end. But he could absolutely torment her with the details of his plans.

They couldn't leave now, couldn't get away with going home early even. And so there was only one way to proceed – make the evening as miserable for her as it already was for him.

Grabbing two glasses of champagne off a server's tray, he understood the game he was playing was dangerous. There were so many people standing around in conversation, so many who could hear him say all sorts of dirty things to her. And they weren't just random nobodies. Well, they were, but they were the nobodies they both worked with and for. The house staff who were wandering around the grounds with trays of hors d'oeuvres and an assortment of booze wouldn't care about anything he said. But everyone else? Yeah, that could create some trouble.

House was unconcerned. If there were potential for problems, that just meant he had to get creative. It didn't mean he had to abandon plans altogether.

Carefully, he carried two flutes of champagne by the stems. It was difficult balancing the glasses in one hand while managing a cane in the other. But he was patient with it, never going faster than necessary. That of course meant the donor Cuddy was talking to saw him coming from a mile away – and therefore had a chance to make a hasty retreat long before he was at her side. That didn't deter him.

"Champagne?" he asked, gently uttering the word nearly her shoulder. The act would go unnoticed by others but not Cuddy, who would recognize the intimacy in his closeness immediately.

She turned to him in surprise. "Thank you," she said coolly, taking the glass from his hand.

"I was thinking," he told her, closing the distance she'd somehow managed to put between them.

"Hmm?" The noise was muffled by the flute she was drinking from. Swallowing she asked, "What's that?"

"You were right. This is gonna be bad for me, so the only thing for me to do is make it just as bad for you."

She pulled the glass away from her mouth. "What does that mean, House?"

In a low voice, he propositioned her. "You wanna know the first thing I'm going to do to you when I get you home?"

She raised an eyebrow. A retort was quickly forming in her brain, but she never had a chance to say anything. Wells, who was about twenty feet, called for her, and since it was his party, that was all that mattered. Which was why House was surprised that she held up a finger as if to tell the other man to give her a moment.

"Don't keep your boyfriend waiting," House taunted.

She wasn't fazed by the comment. "You want to play this game?"

"If I didn't, it probably was a mistake to –"

"Fine." She finished her champagne before handing him the empty glass. "Bring it on. Just remember I can do this."

She started to walk away, and he thought her point was a stupid one. What was she saying? That she could leave whenever he tried to talk to her about this? But as she brushed past him, he realized that that wasn't her point at all. Because as she slipped past him, she let her hand slide between them. Her body blocked the action from prying eyes, but he could feel her cupping his dick through his pants.

She squeezed him a few times, her palm tracing the length of him as best as she could given the circumstances.

It took all he had not to gasp, not to drop the glasses in his hand. Telling himself that he couldn't let anyone – especially Cuddy – know that this was happening or getting to him, he tried to will himself not to respond. But his cock hardening in her hand, it was to no avail.

And then she let him go.

"If you're looking for something to do," she suggested, ignoring the soft whine he made. "Maybe you should go check on Rachel."

Victorious she left him at half-mast and with a vague desire to kill her.

It was one thing for him to mess with her; it was okay, because no one would ever know if she were turned on. The same could not be said for him, and while he didn't care that someone might see the way his pants were beginning to tent, he also didn't care to feel like a thirteen-year-old boy with a rush of hormones and no outlet for it again.

Yes, he thought as he drank his own champagne, she was definitely going to get it tonight – in every way he could think of. If it was dirty, kinky – hell, outright deranged – he was going to put it on the list of things they needed to do, ways they needed to fuck this evening.

Of course, he couldn't even begin to name much less think about any of those sick proclivities he would thrust upon Cuddy tonight. The goal right now was to get his dick under control, and that surely wasn't going to happen if he thought about any of that.

In fact he thought then, Cuddy's suggestion, that he go check up on Rachel, was probably a good one. Nothing killed an erection like a kid.

He felt it said a lot about his current surroundings that that was the bright spot of this party. But finishing his glass of champagne, he decided to make his way towards the children's room anyway.

As he set the empty flutes down though, he heard the sound of children. Their shrill laughs audible above the din of chatter and classical music being played, his attention instantly went to the kids. They were all bundled up in their winter coats and headed towards the front door.

Instinctively he glanced towards Cuddy. She would want to know, would want to stop Rachel from going outside. But Cuddy was deep in conversation, busy keeping Sanford Wells, another man, and a woman enthralled in whatever story she was telling. It would be difficult for House to get her attention. Even if could (and that would take some effort), he knew Cuddy wouldn't be happy that he'd interrupted her. She wouldn't say anything, not then anyway. But days from now, weeks, maybe even a year from now, when it suited her to bring it up, she would remind him of the time he couldn't even stop Rachel from going outside.

Wanting to avoid that, House had no choice but to step towards the sea of children. He scanned the crowd, hoping that he could spot the kid in question. But Rachel didn't pop out of the swarm. Getting closer to them, he watched the children as they funneled out of the front door; he thought he might have missed her in the few seconds he'd been looking in Cuddy's direction. Still, there was no Rachel.

On the one hand, he supposed he was relieved. If she'd tried to go outside, he would have had to fight to keep her in, and whether he'd succeeded or not, Rachel and Cuddy would both be pissed at him. Rachel would be angry that he'd tried to keep her inside, and Cuddy would be annoyed that he hadn't superhumanly known Rachel was going to try to escape.

But, he thought, forcing himself to refocus his attention, none of that had happened. It wasn't even a possibility.

She hadn't gone outside, hadn't as far as he could tell even tried. As such it was stupid for him to get bogged down in hypotheticals. To be irritated by something that hadn't even occurred was reaching a new height of stupidity. And wanting to avoid that, he wrenched his mind from those thoughts. Instead telling himself that the important thing to take from this was that Rachel wasn't here, he wondered where she had gone.

Figuring that he should check the children's room, he made his way through that part of the Wells mansion once more. When he was about twenty feet down the hallway, he heard another adult behind him, telling the kids to stay inside, that they would eat soon. Assuming any of the kids listened to the woman, House knew the children would be flooding this area of the home once more quickly. It should have gone without saying that he didn't have the patience for that, so he picked up his pace and hurried towards the playroom.

When he got there, the mahogany door was closed. Additionally, he couldn't hear anything coming from the room... which couldn't have been a good sign. Rachel was either doing something wrong in that room, or she'd disappeared to another part of the house, which would also technically be wrong.

Reluctantly, House pushed the door open to see which. His eyes instantly scanned the room for something askew – crayon on the walls, marker on the sofa cushions, a broken lamp, something. But there was nothing, he thought.

And then that was when he heard it.

Coming from the closet was her voice, her threat. Her teeth gritted, she barked, "If you guys don't let me out, I'm gonna bite you. And then I'm gonna spit your chunks out and I'm gonna –"

She stopped talking when he unlocked the door and wrenched it open. Out of habit, he took in her appearance. Her cheeks were red with anger, her mouth turned downward into a deep frown. There was some redness to her eyes, though he couldn't tell if she'd been crying. And her fists were also splotched crimson – with blood.

"That yours?" he asked pointing to her bloody hands. She shook her head, but seemingly surprised, she didn't say anything. "So… is there a dead body I need to be aware of?"

"No."

He was at a crossroads. He could make the kid tell him who she'd obviously gotten into a fight with… or he could wash her hands off so there was no proof of what happened. Of course, it was likely that Rachel's punching bag would run to its parents and complain, and in that case, Cuddy would absolutely believe the other child. In a way then, it didn't matter what he did. But House decided to go with his latter option anyway; Rachel would probably get in trouble no matter what, but at least if she were clean, she wouldn't seem quite so feral.

"Come on," he said calmly. "Let's wash you off."

Without a complaint, she scrambled out of the closet and followed him. In his estimation she seemed glad to be free, and he knew then, as if he hadn't before, that she hadn't entered the small space willingly. Maybe a couple minutes ago, there'd been the possibility that she'd accidentally locked herself in there. It had been an unlikely scenario, but he hadn't been quick to discount the idea. Now though, he knew she'd either been forced or tricked into the closet.

Still he had to ask the question. Though he didn't really want to do it – or care what her answer was – when they finally found a bathroom, he asked her, "What happened?"

"Nothing," she grumbled, holding her hands out for him to clean. She was too short to reach the stream of warm water, so he bent down and picked her up. One arm curled around her waist, he awkwardly washed the drying blood off of her.

Truth be told, while he didn't care what had occurred, he felt compelled to get an answer. That Rachel was the most interesting thing about this party said it all, he believed.

As he reached for the soap with one hand, he repeated her words back to her. "Nothing?" He saw her guilty gaze reflected in the mirror. "You don't have a single scratch on you." Gently scrubbing along her knuckles, he could see that she had been uninjured in this fight. There were no cuts, no gashes to explain the blood. If she were bleeding elsewhere, instinct would force her to push her palms into the wound; she would not – as no one would – press her own knuckles into her injury. "So unless you have stigmata, which I doubt Mommy's going to believe, you were in a fight with someone."

Rachel looked down into the sink as though she were tempted to snake down the drain the same way the blood had. But she didn't admit to anything.

"Fine," he said calmly. "You don't want to tell me? That's fine." Giving her hands one final rinse, he then set her back down on the ground. "But I'm sure the kid you hit isn't going to be as quiet."

He thought that threat would mean something. He thought that the possibility of getting in trouble would result in a confession. But when he turned off the faucet and then turned to look at her, he could see that she wasn't the least bit fearful of getting in trouble. And he knew then that he had missed something.

Quickly he broke the problem down. She'd hit another kid; they'd locked her in a closet. No matter how events had occurred, it was clear that there was no love lost between any of the children involved. But if you didn't like someone, the possibility of getting them in trouble should have been all the motivation you needed. It was one thing when you liked the person you were fighting; then maybe you didn't want to brag about the argument you'd just had. If you hated that person though... well, why wouldn't you tell the world? Especially if Rachel had thrown the first punch, why wasn't this other kid saying something? And if the other kid had been the instigator, why wasn't Rachel saying anything?

Questions bloomed in his mind, synapses sprouting and straining for light hungrily, as though understanding were as much nourishment as anything else. Had Rachel threatened the other kids? He felt that that was probably a given, considering she had no problem hitting any of them and, even when beat, yelling at them through the closet that she would bite them. But in the end, she'd ended up in the closet, so the other children had more than proved that she wasn't as much of a threat as she'd hoped to be. So if they weren't complaining to their parents, maybe it was because... they knew they'd beaten her.

But then that didn't exactly explain her behavior.

His mind toyed with the shame idea some more. Either her punching bags were too ashamed to confess what had happened or something else had occurred to keep her quiet. Looking at her though intently, he couldn't decipher anything – just that she would have to say something, someone would have to speak, in order for him to get any answers.

"You're not going to tell me what happened?" he asked calmly.

"No."

"But I let you out of the closet."

"So," she said snottily.

"So... it's only fair. I saved you." The last sentence came out without much conviction. He wanted to truly believe it, but it was hard to make it sound like he'd performed a heroic deed when he'd done anything but that. He'd let her out of a closet, and that wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. And even if it were, he'd only done it to avoid running into trouble with Cuddy later on. Which meant that his act of heroism was more an act of cowardice than anything else, and while he tried to tell himself Rachel didn't know that, it was still hard to sound convincing.

Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep talking. "Without me, you'd still be in there. So, really, it's only right that you tell me the truth."

"When the Prince rescues the Princess, he asks for a kiss not the truth," Rachel pointed out in a way that almost seemed... hostile.

"Yeah, well, as tempting as that is," he said sarcastically. "I'd rather not get arrested. So a version of events I can use to defend you to the po po would be nice."

She hesitated, but when she spoke, it was clear he hadn't gotten through. "Nothing happened." He was about to press her once more for information, the thought of which was made all the more ridiculous by the fact that they were in the bathroom. But he didn't get a chance to say anything. Before he could, she said to him glumly, "I want Mommy."

It was the right card to play. Admittedly, that was rarely the wrong move to make, to ask for her mother when she was upset. In this particular scenario, House would have almost preferred the opportunity to grill her some more. But when she was asking for Cuddy, he couldn't deny her what she wanted.

"Fine."

As he guided her down the hallway though, he felt some form of reluctance flutter through his body. He didn't understand why until he'd successfully brought Rachel into the party. The little girl rushing toward her mother, he knew, just as Rachel had gotten too far for him to stop, why. Even before Rachel had wrapped her arms around her mother's bare leg, he anticipated the moment where Cuddy, busy with work, would notice... and be irritated.

And there was nothing he could do now to stop it.

Rachel hurried towards her mother - just narrowly missing a server carrying around a tray of canapés. From this distance, House couldn't hear her when she buried her face into Cuddy's leg. But he knew instinctively what she was saying. She was asking for her mother.

The look of surprise on Cuddy's face was impossible to miss, even though he was standing off to the side and could only see a small sliver of her features. He could just make out her flustered expression at being interrupted, couldn't hear but could see the hurried apology towards the man she was talking to. The other man, eager to give Cuddy her space, promptly stepped away, and House knew that, having been knee deep in her hustle, Cuddy wouldn't take to that kindly. An awkward pause in the other man's gait suggested that she was trying to keep him there, to tell him that this would only take a few seconds. But when the donor kept walking, it was clear Cuddy had failed.

And unprepared for Rachel's interruption, Cuddy similarly failed to handle her own child. The second they were free from the other man's presence, House could see Cuddy leaning over. Again, there was no way he could hear what was being said, but he knew. She was reminding Rachel not to interrupt; she was asking why Rachel wasn't playing with her friends, and before the kid could even answer, Cuddy was telling Rachel to go back to the playroom. From the way Rachel clenched her fists, it was clear she wasn't interested in going back without a fight. By the way Cuddy leaned down further, the stern look plain on her face, it was just as clear that she wasn't going to tolerate any whining right now.

Part of House expected Rachel to stomp her way back through the large room, down the hallway, and into the playroom she'd just come from. But that was why he wasn't surprised Cuddy looked up at that moment and sought out his gaze. Because just as he anticipated that Rachel would behave a certain way, so did Cuddy. And it was clear in their shared glance, which must have lasted a fraction of a second, that he was going to be the one responsible for taking her back.

Inwardly he cringed at the idea. Outwardly, he calmly made his way to his family. Long before he got there, he could hear Rachel whining quietly, "I don't wanna."

"It's just for a little while longer."

"I'm hungry, and I don't want to wear my tights anymore, and –"

"House."

Rachel shut up when he came to stand next to her. He doubted she was embarrassed. She'd complained to and in front of him enough that it was normal, acceptable even in her mind to keep whining when he was around. He wished she weren't so comfortable, but he knew her silence then had more to do with the blood on her hands than any sense of pride she might have possessed.

Cuddy noticed none of this. She simply seemed relieved to see him. "Would you please take her back to –"

"I don't wanna go back."

"Rachel," she warned. Turning her attention back to him, she asked, "Will you?"

He couldn't say no. If he had, it wouldn't have mattered. Just as Rachel had to do what her mother wanted, so too was he at the whims of his girlfriend. These social events were meant to be parties, but for Cuddy they never were; they were business. Beneath the glossy veneer of frivolity – the neatly crafted jokes and planned stories she told everyone – there was a seriousness to Cuddy, a single-minded dedication to securing and maintaining relationships with the people in the room.

House understood that. She kissed ass to secure her job, to protect his job. She put a smile on her face so that he wouldn't have to. And if she were doing that much for their future, then it seemed fair that he be her wingman, that he take care of secondary problems for her when they arose. It was appropriate for him to handle Rachel. It was.

That didn't necessarily make Rachel wrangling a desired activity on his part.

But what could he say?

"Yeah," he said after a second. Cuddy seemed relieved, so much so that she didn't notice the daggers Rachel was shooting in his direction.

"Thank you." Cuddy leaned forward as though she were going to kiss him on the cheek. But the second she started to move, she clearly thought better of it. Forcing herself to stay away from him, she turned her attention back to Rachel. "We're going to be eating soon. I promise." Rachel wasn't convinced. "But for now, you're going to go with House."

As a wingman, he must have been an incompetent one in Cuddy's mind. Practically shoving him in Rachel's face, Cuddy, it seemed, didn't trust him to know when to step in on his own. As she patted him on the back – like Rachel didn't know who "House" was – he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"All right," Cuddy said quietly, in almost an apologetic manner. "I have to go talk to some people now. You're going to stay with House like a good girl for Mommy, right?"

She didn't stick around long enough for Rachel to answer. House couldn't fault her for that. The chances of Rachel behaving were, at this point, slim. And no matter what she said, the likelihood was that she wouldn't stick with him. Which was why he was almost surprised that she did, in fact, do as she was told.

He tried taking her back to the playroom. But the other kids, having been forced back inside, were in the room once more. And Rachel had no interest in being with them. That was what she'd said, like that too – "I don't want to play with them."

Under normal circumstances House would have been agitated by her sudden preference to follow him everywhere. He would have said that she didn't need to take her mother's instructions quite so literally... which she really did seem to be doing. But tonight he valued her company.

Well, that might have been overstating it. He didn't exactly enjoy trying to keep a five year old occupied during what was officially the most boring Purim party ever. However, he was willing to tolerate her presence. Because every second she was with him was another opportunity to figure out what had happened.

Of course, she seemed so intent on not talking that all those opportunities were wasted. After wandering around, they settled down on an opulent settee strategically placed along one of the long corridors. Both not so secretly waiting for this event to be over, they were practically counting down the minutes. They talked a little as they lounged. But no matter how often he tried to channel her complaining into a conversation about her fight, she managed to avoid answering his questions.

When she did it for what felt like the thousandth time, he decided to ask her just once more. After that, he thought, he would just leave it alone, leave her alone. If she didn't want to say anything, then… he would let her. The puzzle be damned; it just wasn't worth the frustration.

"You know," he told her in a casual voice. "I don't care that you got in a fight."

She didn't believe him. That much was obvious. Or… maybe she did, because her response was, "Still tell Mommy."

"No." And that was the truth. He wasn't going to tell Cuddy. "Your mother's got enough to deal with. I'm not gonna say anything to her."

The set in Rachel's shoulders seemed to ease a little at that. Maybe she didn't believe him completely, but just the idea that he would keep any confession to himself made her feel a tiny bit better.

Seeing that, he thought what he really needed to do was put her further at ease. If she knew she wasn't going to get in trouble, perhaps that would make her more open to talk.

"Like I said, I don't care that you got into a fight. I'd like to know why, but it's not going to bother me that you hit someone."

It had an effect. He could see it. But some vestige of reluctance remained. House wasn't sure what to do about that. If she was going to stubbornly cling to secrecy, he didn't think he'd be able to convince her to do otherwise.

Still, motivated by his increasing curiosity, he evaluated his methods thus far. He'd tried outright asking her; he'd vaguely threatened her with what would happen if Cuddy found out about the fight. He'd tried to be nice and understanding. So far, none of it had worked.

Examining how he'd behaved though, he could see an underlying variable found in each of the options he'd explored up to this point. He'd tried many approaches, but what he hadn't done was strive for... some sort of bond. He'd asked the question, attempted to make her feel safe. But in all of that, he'd remained a blank canvas, a cardboard cutout for her to talk to. He hadn't humanized himself, made it seem like he could relate to her.

Then again, he wasn't sure that he could. When he didn't know what had gone on, it was hard to say, "Oh, I know what you're going through, child. Let me make it all better." He supposed though that striking out in that direction couldn't hurt. What was the worse that could happen? She didn't talk to him some more?

"I get it. Someone says something; you want to fight back. When I was seven," he told Rachel as he randomly picked a childhood fight that had stuck with him through the years. "I had a friend. Doug. He tried to tell me that no matter how high a cat fell, it would always land on its feet. I knew he was wrong, and we got in a big fight about it, and he punched me before we took his cat up to the water tower nearby and..."

House's voice trailed off as he noticed Rachel's eyes becoming wider and wider at his tale. Cuddy refused to get a pet, but Rachel still wanted one anyway, and clearly telling a five year old about that time he'd killed his friend's cat was… not a good choice. So he left out the part where the cat had broken its back on one of the supports of the water tower and died when it hit the ground.

Yeah, he thought. This was an awful story to tell.

"Well," House said eventually. "Then he punched me again."

But even though he hadn't uttered the words, Rachel seemed to have understood. "You killed a cat!"

"No," he lied. "No. No, I did not. Doug got mad cause he thought I lied to him. That's why he hit me. The cat it was fine. It ran home and… spent the rest of its days sleeping in the sunshine and drinking warm milk."

Rachel looked relieved, and as a result, he couldn't help but think that he did too.

"People fight," House said with a casual shrug. "Doesn't mean you're bad. Doesn't mean anything necessarily. But if something happened –"

"You're gonna tell Mommy." She pouted at the possibility.

But he thought she couldn't have been more wrong about that. Putting it simply, he denied it. "I don't care about telling your mother." She bristled next to him. "I don't. Whether she finds out or not… that's not a concern of mine right now." Then when he thought that maybe her defenses had been weakened, he trotted out his biggest lie of all. "I just… want to make sure you're okay."

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't like he didn't care. He just wasn't asking because he cared. That made it okay… not that he really felt that way when she finally spilled.

"George said I was fat," she said with anger filling her tiny features. "And then Nevaeh said Mommy must hate me cause she's pretty and I'm not."

"You're going to listen to someone named Nevaeh?" House asked, as though the idea of doing that were completely idiotic. "That's not even a name."

"I didn't," Rachel explained. "I punched her. Then they says play hide and seek, and they say I have to be the seeker and then they locked-ed me in the closet."

As she fell into sad silence, he realized suddenly what his problem had been the whole time. It had not been that he couldn't get Rachel to talk. It had been, was going to be, that he had no idea how to fix her problem. He'd put himself in a position to help, but the truth was he had no clue what to do to make her feel better. He had no idea what to say.

None.

And unfortunately for him, she was looking to him for some sort of comfort.

But it was at that second, when it seemed he was going to have to form some sort of response, that Cuddy stumbled upon them. She seemed, once again, a little flustered, like she'd been looking for them for a while.

"There you guys are," she said almost breathlessly.

Rachel was standing in seconds, instantly rushing towards her mother for a hug. Unlike before, this time Cuddy welcomed her daughter's embrace. "I've been trying to find you two to tell you that they're getting ready to serve dinner."

"Great," House muttered.

Smoothing Rachel's hair down, Cuddy said to him, "It's not that bad." And then to both of them she added, "I promise it'll be over soon, and then we can go home, all right?"

Her words did not provide him with any relief. By his account, they were nowhere near ready to leave. Dinner would be an affair, the long, drawn out kind that ate up so much of the evening that, by the time it was finished, you were hungry all over again. And considering how much time and effort had probably gone into getting this party in order, House felt that they would all be forced to sit through numerous toasts and ceremonies of a sort to lend regality to a festivity that was, in theory, all about getting drunk. Well, okay, there was more to Purim than that, but that would have been his chosen method of celebration. Chances of that happening here though were slim to none, and as a result, he wasn't mollified by Cuddy's promises.

Rachel, on the other hand, was too ignorant to agree with his assessment. She seemed convinced that this night would in fact end soon. And because of that, she had no problem skipping in front of her mother as they all headed towards the dining room.

But Rachel's good mood abruptly ended the second Cuddy tried to guide her to the area where the children were eating.

"I wanna sit with you," Rachel whined.

Cuddy shook her head. "No, you're supposed to sit with your friends in the kitchen."

"No."

"Yes, I checked. You have a place card and everything. So –"

"I'm not gonna," Rachel said with a stamp of the foot.

"You don't have a choice."

House was not surprised that the little girl would look to him for support. After what she'd told him, he understood that he was supposed to be the one to step in. Of course, he wasn't "allowed" to tell Cuddy the truth about what had happened, but it was expected (according to a five year old's expectations anyway) that he say something.

But he wasn't good at coming up with an excuse on his feet like that. He wasn't an idiot, no, but he was so far out of his league here. That was the problem. Because if the issue had been convincing Cuddy that they should have sex right then and there, he had dozens of reasons he could roll off the tip of his tongue. Why Rachel should be allowed to sit with them though? Yeah, he didn't have much material there.

He tried however.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "I don't think anyone's going to care that –"

"That's not the point," Cuddy said tersely.

"No," he replied with bitterness in his voice. She was right: that wasn't the point. But he knew what was. "The point is to have a tug of war match with your daughter over –"

"Rachel," she said, turning towards her daughter again. Her finger pointing in the direction of the overly designed kitchen where the children were being served, she ordered, "Go sit down and eat your dinner."

House could see his mistake then. He'd taunted his girlfriend, made this as much him versus her as it was Rachel versus Cuddy. And in doing so, he had inadvertently guaranteed that Cuddy would never see reason. She would stubbornly disagree with them both, because the alternative – that he was being the logical, relaxed person in the relationship – was unacceptable. For all of her words that she needed him to step up, once again her actions suggested to him that she didn't want that at all.

As much as Rachel had wanted him to step in, Cuddy had wanted him to stay out, to let her handle this. And by not following her cues, he had ensured Rachel would be sitting at that table.

With the other kids who had called her fat and locked her in a closet.

And the thing that bothered him the most was not that that was going to happen. Rachel was a tough kid who could handle a dinner with people she hated. If he'd thought otherwise, he would have absolutely broken his implicit promise to her, to keep that fight with the other children a secret. He would have told Cuddy even though he knew Rachel would hate him for it.

But in that case, doing that would have forced him to confront his greatest agitator at the moment: it didn't matter what he said or did. If he'd said something to Cuddy, she wouldn't believe him. Or she would, but she would dismiss what he was saying; she would continue with whatever choice she'd predetermined was the best one.

That was what bothered him.

It wasn't a new problem, no. This wasn't the first time he'd felt that way this weekend, today even. But each and every time he thought about it, it made him angry. When it came to Rachel, Cuddy would find some way to punish him for his efforts or lack thereof. He could play any hand he wanted, and Cuddy would always find some reason as to why it wasn't the right one.

He didn't know if she was just too focused on work right now to deny herself this old habit of hers. He wanted to believe that it was just the situation they were in, but he feared that wasn't the truth.

No, he thought as he headed towards the dinner table with her. It was wrong to think that it was the party that created this behavior in her. There was no denying she was more unbearable tonight than usual, sure. But this wasn't an isolated event.

She was withholding in the same way she had for years.

And it didn't matter how many conversations they had, how many massages he gave her, how many instances of reaching out to Rachel there were. It would never be enough for Cuddy.

He almost laughed then. Earlier in the evening, he'd been wondering how he'd be able to make it through this party without ripping her clothes off and taking her right then and there. Now he knew how to control himself.

Now he worried he really would never want her again.

To be continued