Author's Notes: Thank you to Huddyphoric, LapizSilkwood, Jane Q. Doe, dmarchl, MissBates, NickAmaral, Josam, LiaHuddy, houseblue, red blood, HuddyGirl, Alex, Abby, grouchysnarky, Lana, fantasiadvd, GratefulInsomniac, Temo, JessicaClackum, EllieShelly, newsession, IHeartHouseCuddy, and the anonymous user for all taking the time to leave a comment. As I reach the end of this journey, it is so nice to see that there are still people who enjoy this piece and are eager to see how things end. Thank you.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Gift of Screws
Chapter Twenty-Four: Monday Morning
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
She woke up ten minutes before her alarm was set to go off; eyes bleary and dry, throat scratchy, she found herself on his side of the bed, her face pressed into House's armpit and Rachel just as awkwardly trapped between their bodies. At some point during the night, they'd left the bathroom floor and moved to bed. But as Cuddy sat up, she realized that that hadn't made for a better night's sleep.
At least, it hadn't for her. Rachel certainly didn't seem to be having trouble with sleep, Cuddy thought. And though he had promised to stay awake all night, had told her many times last night that he would not fall asleep, there House was: passed out on his back and snoring.
How long he had been like that she didn't know. It could have been five minutes; it could have been a few hours. And if it were the latter, then that meant Rachel hadn't been monitored in all of that time.
That possibility forcefully waking Cuddy up, she didn't have time to be mad. No doubt House would hear about this – she would make sure of that – but right now, what mattered was making sure Rachel was okay.
Sitting up, Cuddy reached towards the nightstand on House's side of the room. All of Rachel's supplies were strewn on top of the wooden table, but she only grabbed the lightly crumpled piece of paper there. Throughout the night, House had written down whatever the meter had said and what time the measurement had been taken. He'd said he would do that anyway. If she could see the last time he'd jotted down, she thought she would have a better idea of how long he'd been asleep.
Upon seeing the last time – a mere fifteen minutes ago – she was relieved. He had done what he'd said, the times listed coming at the precise intervals he had said he would test Rachel. He hadn't lied.
Yet as soon as she thought that, she wondered if he had done that. If he'd just put down numbers and times and gone to sleep, she would never know the difference. He'd get a full night's rest, and she would think he'd stayed awake all night; he'd reap all the reward without any of the effort.
No.
Even as some part of her entertained the idea, she could hear the idea's ridiculousness in her head. House hated running unnecessary tests, but there was no way to know Rachel's health by simply looking at her. The test was fundamental, and even if it weren't, he wasn't dumb enough, self-destructive enough, to guess when it came to his girlfriend's child. As much as he could be a manipulative liar, a lazy man, he would not do that. After all, if he'd hated Rachel or her that much, it would have been much easier to never offer watching Rachel.
He wouldn't volunteer and then change his mind.
And yet… Cuddy found herself toying with the possibility anyway. Unlikely as it was, it was something she had to actively work at to dismiss.
The situation so bizarre, she didn't trust herself to stay in bed a second longer. The closer she was to him, the more likely it was she would say something, act on the insanity brewing in her mind.
Pushing the covers off her body, she carefully extricated herself from bed. Exhausted as she was, she knew it wasn't a good idea to stay where she was. She would just start a fight if she remained anywhere near him.
To get away, her first instinct was to go for a run. Her muscles longed for the burn of lactic acid and the feeling of being pushed beyond their limits. The sound of her pulse and the rasp of her breath the only thing she could hear, she wanted to fall into the rhythm of movement, get lost in the long strides of her legs. Sweat dripping down her body and freedom her only companion, she wanted to wile away the worry in exercise. But she didn't have the time to run as many miles as she clearly needed in order to relax. And in any case, she couldn't exactly leave Rachel home with House unconscious.
Yoga would have eliminated the need to go out of the home, and it definitely had the potential to be relaxing. But Cuddy knew she didn't possess enough calm to really get into the exercise. She was too tightly wound for stretches and controlled breathing. She might have been able to go through the motions, but it wouldn't make her feel any better. So really the only thing she could do was take a shower and get ready for work.
As the hot water cascaded down her back, she did her best to mentally prepare herself for the day. There was no denying that work would be awful. The D.E.A. would be all over her staff – and her – and she knew she should be focused on that fact. Devising a plan for how she would manage their presence should have been on her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she found herself focused on Rachel and House.
To say last night had been an emotional… catastrophe was an understatement. Cuddy had found herself so angry at House. And she still didn't understand why. He had been supportive, done his best to make her feel better.
He had saved Rachel's life.
But Cuddy had reacted to his comfort as though he were patronizing her. She'd been jealous and selfish when it came to Rachel, and she still had trouble recognizing fully just how much he'd done the night before. Because the second she tried to appreciate what he'd done, tried to come to terms with the fact that she'd been embarrassingly childish, she rejected the idea.
He had been condescending. He'd been helpful, yes, calm, obviously, but in that way… when he wanted to make her look absolutely nuts and himself the martyr. It sounded crazy, but that was what he did. He knew that, if he was aggressive, she would respond in kind; if he were nice though, he could possibly guilt her into submission.
Had he really been doing that last night though?
Shampooing her hair with extra vigor, Cuddy wasn't sure. In the actual moment, he hadn't seemed to want much of anything. He'd said… well, that was the problem, wasn't it? She'd been so focused on Rachel's condition, so afraid, that the words he'd spoken were now nothing but vague notions in her head. But she did her best, strained to recapture the things he'd told her.
He'd said that… she had been jealous when Rachel had fallen asleep on his lap. And she had been though she had denied it and would in all likelihood continue to do so. But aside from asking her to admit it, House had not in that instance been trying to cajole her. Then again, maybe he had, and in a haze of concern for her daughter, Cuddy had just forgotten all about it.
But that seemed unlikely. The events after they'd shifted to the bedroom were clearer in her mind, and she couldn't recall any manipulation. Truth be told, that would have been the time to do it. They'd known at that point that Rachel would be okay – thanks to House's quick action. And if he'd been interested in forcing Cuddy into something, that would have been the time. Because even if she hadn't been feeling all that grateful, that moment had been the right time to bring something up. If only because it had been easier for her to notice what was going on around her, he would have been smart to press her for action then.
Cuddy wished that wasn't the case. She wished with everything she had that her memory had failed her during that time.
She'd cried.
They'd gotten situated in bed, the diabetes supplies next to House and Rachel wedged between them. He'd said he would stay awake all night; he'd encouraged her to fall asleep. And without anything to occupy her thoughts, Cuddy had been overwhelmed by the danger they'd just barely managed to keep at bay.
"Are you crying?" he'd asked in surprise, eyes glancing over at her.
She'd tried not to meet his gaze, attempted to deny it. "No."
"Cuddy."
"I'm fine. I'm…." She hadn't been able to get the word out again. Tears had pricked at her eyes, and the lie she'd wanted to convince him of had stubbornly balled up in the back of her throat. And then, nothing she could have said had mattered to him.
He'd said, "Come here." But the truth was that he hadn't needed to say anything at all. She would have turned to him anyway.
His hand stroking her hair, he'd told her, "It's okay."
Not trusting herself to speak, she'd only been able to shake her head.
"It will be okay," he'd corrected. "She's going to be fine."
She'd believed him. Out of sheer desperation, she had chosen to accept his words as truth. But the thing about that had been: while Rachel had made it through this crisis, the important thing to take away from all of this had been that there'd been a problem at all.
"If she hadn't gone to you," she'd started to say.
"Well, lucky for us, you gave me the boot last night."
Her fingers had twisted the soft material of his t-shirt in her grip. Mulling over the idea, she'd immediately questioned it. "You're saying… what? It was fate that we got into an argument and you –"
"All right, that's pretty dumb," he'd agreed, lips pressed to her forehead. "But she's okay. You have to focus on that."
No matter how hard she'd wanted to, she hadn't been able to. "We could have killed her," she'd whispered, voice hoarse with tears.
"We didn't." Perhaps wanting to manage some of her fears, he'd added, "And anyone else raising her already would have."
"That's supposed to make me feel better? We haven't killed her yet?"
Maybe he'd realized how ineffective his words had been, because he'd stopped explaining much of anything then. Relying on kisses and fingers stroking her hair and her cheek, he'd completely changed tactics.
And she'd let him.
She'd cried, she thought once more with shame. Thankfully, she hadn't sobbed; there had been no wails, no big blubbery tears. But she had done more than enough to make House realize just how upset she was. Then it hadn't mattered how poorly she'd treated him, how angry she'd been. He'd pulled her close, forced her head onto his chest, refused to let her go.
At least, that was how she chose to remember it. She had not reached for him, had not curled into his chest, grabbed onto his t-shirt, and clung to him as though he alone could make her feel better.
God, even to her own ears, it was absurd. Obviously things had not gone the way she wanted to believe they had. And the thing that disturbed her the most about that was it made her question all of her thinking. If she couldn't even accurately and fairly depict the events she clearly remembered, what did that say for her ability to do that overall? What did that mean for her belief that he'd been trying to manipulate her last night?
She knew it didn't bode well for her. If she was this crazy about definitive events, she didn't think she could trust herself with interpreting House's behavior. And part of her couldn't help but consider then that perhaps he hadn't been manipulating her at all.
But instantly, she rejected the idea. Or rather, she questioned it. From what she recalled, it didn't seem like he had had much of an agenda the night before. However, years together had taught her that things were rarely that simple. He hadn't wanted something in that moment – like naked Thursdays or freedom from clinic duty. That didn't mean he didn't have a purpose. They'd played enough games for her to know that he did; he always did. And just because it wasn't visible to her then didn't mean she was wrong. It just meant that he hadn't gotten her to the point where he could demand what he wanted.
There was no serious thought that this might be an exception. If his own motto was that people didn't change, it was wrong to expect it from him in this instance. Maybe she wanted to believe he lacked motive, but that didn't mean she was right.
Sighing, Cuddy thought that this was what was wrong with this relationship. The games were fun until they weren't, until the idea of game playing struck her as the very thing that would eventually tear them apart. She loved him, loved the challenge he presented, but right now she didn't want that; she wanted something… normal, supportive, unquestioning. At times it felt like they got close to that, where maybe they really did have that. But right now… she wasn't sure if they'd ever approached that ideal. If they had, would she really be this unsure and suspicious now? Finishing her shower, she decided that she wouldn't feel that way if they'd had that good of a relationship. Her reaction was proof that something wasn't right, that somehow they'd gotten off track.
Somehow though, when she returned to the bedroom to pick out her clothes, that didn't seem right. Rachel and House were both still sleeping, passed out and curled into one another. They looked sweet together and… in that moment, it seemed more than a little foolish to think that anything between them could jeopardize the love Cuddy shared with her daughter. Maybe more importantly, seeing them together, she thought it was wrong to deny Rachel of that burgeoning relationship.
But again, the second Cuddy told herself that, there was another thought. Another voice, just as loud, the antithesis of her split second belief, whispered in her ear, questioned her conclusion. Try as she might to ignore the idea, she couldn't help but ask herself if the image before her was something she could truly believe in. Oh sure, he could peacefully sleep next to her daughter. Did that make him in any way good for her? Did that make him open and loving and affectionate with her? Cuddy had told herself for years that he would eventually get there, that he could be all of those things for Rachel. She had believed it, but now… were they anywhere near that? Had he evolved in those years together? Had he really changed?
She didn't know. This weekend, he had seemed to grow, yes. He had become less reluctant about spending time with Rachel, had taken her outside and had now volunteered to watch her while Cuddy went to work. And then last night, one of the few details she could remember, he'd said that he loved Rachel.
Perhaps it wasn't odd. After all this time of living together, it was probably expected that he should develop some feelings for her daughter that went beyond resentment. Maybe it even made sense that he should recognize that after this weekend, when he'd been forced to spend so much time with Rachel, when they'd all been forced to recognize that men like John, men who would compete for Cuddy's affections, existed.
But…
It all seemed easy.
After years of trying to help that relationship along, she found herself watching House make these leaps towards a better bond with Rachel in one weekend. It had been a long couple of days, seemingly never ending, but from Friday night to now, it had seemed like years of development had taken place. And there was a chance that that was a natural occurrence, but she wasn't sure if she could believe that. He'd played so many games over the years, was intelligent enough to know that Cuddy was looking for something to change. He could just have easily faked it as he could have meant it.
Without knowing which, she felt lost looking at the sleeping pair. As she dried her hair and got dressed, she was sure of one thing: she couldn't ask for clarification. House was a good liar; he wouldn't crack under her questions, wouldn't reveal much of anything, no matter how hard she tried to learn his tells. He was also the kind of person who would be hurt if his efforts were unappreciated or unrecognized. Again, he would never truly let that show. But there would be times when she'd be able to see doubt, silent accusations that she hadn't believed him. And if his behavior towards Rachel had truly changed, Cuddy was jeopardizing all of that with her suspicions.
No, saying something would only make things worse. She would have to test him somehow, do something that would shock him into revealing the truth – by either openly explaining his behavior or being so surprised that the lie would be obvious to her penetrating gaze.
But what would that be?
What could do that?
Glancing at the clock, she realized she didn't have much time to formulate any sort of plan. She needed to eat breakfast; she would need her strength for the day ahead of her, and she needed to leave. Normally she would have grabbed something from the cafeteria. Today she didn't want to appear anything less than superhuman, always ready, always there to respond to whatever crises the hospital could throw her way.
Rushing to the kitchen, she quickly started a pot of coffee to brew. It was a rare occurrence for her to drink anything stronger than tea. But knowing what she was up against, Cuddy wasn't going to leave herself open to exhaustion.
With robotic precision, she forced herself to gulp down some yogurt topped with fruit and granola. It tasted like gravel and ash on her tongue, the bright acid of the berries failing to sweeten her outlook on this day. The rich aromatics of coffee strongly infused with the air, giving the kitchen that robust, spicy scent of earth she hated, but as she dumped some of the brew into a travel mug, she reminded herself that it was necessary. Unappealing, obviously, but necessary.
It was at that moment, when she was screwing the lid onto her mug, that House tiredly trudged into the kitchen.
"You're up," she said surprised. He nodded his head, the exhaustion almost tangible. Leaning in, he kissed her neck, buried his face in her hair. A hand resting on her hip, it was clear that he hadn't taken any offense to last night's proceedings. Or, if he had, his weariness had made it so that temporarily he didn't care. She wasn't sure she could do the same. "Did I wake you?"
Pulling away, he shook his head. "Smelled the coffee," he explained.
"So I did wake you up," she said combatively.
He raised an eyebrow at her tone but apparently decided against saying something. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out a mug. Quietly pouring himself a cup of the leftover coffee, he had obviously thought that things would be better if he stayed silent. Given that her first instinct was to pick a fight with him over it, she felt that his decision was a misguided one.
But maybe not, because it made her wonder, as it usually did, why she wanted to argue with him in the first place. She had more than enough on her plate; she had no time for a fight with him, no energy to spare in order to do so.
And yet, she seemed to be brimming with agitation. The need to grab him and… she didn't even know what was so strong it nearly choked her. The emotion overwhelming, she found herself realizing something needed to be done.
In the very least, she understood she could not go to work like this. She needed all of the fighting spirit she had, but if she was so riled up that she couldn't remain rational, there was no point in reserving that energy; it would just make her seem crazy, draconian in the least productive and flattering way possible. She would seem out of control and incapable. Her employees would be looking to her for strength, and right now she was unable to give them that.
She needed to put a stop to that.
Running and yoga were out of the question. Standing in front of her, House was not.
"Have sex with me," she proposed calmly, as though she were asking him to take out the trash.
He looked up in surprise. Swallowing the coffee in his mouth, he casually set his mug down. Finger running along the ceramic rim, he asked, "Do I get to finish my coffee first?"
"Oh by all means," she said sarcastically. "Take your time. Drink your coffee. Eat some breakfast, shower. I'm in no hurry."
"So this is a quickie. It's not –"
"What else would it be, House?"
"Just making sure I understand the rules, that's all."
"Rules?" she asked, narrowing in on that particular word choice. "Because I'm crazy, is that it? And I –"
"No, but if that were my point, you're doing a great job of proving how wrong I am," he said evenly.
She glared at him but forced herself to stay on point. Getting into a fight with him wouldn't solve her problem. Even if it were satisfying temporarily, it wouldn't make her any less cagey.
"Are you interested or not?" she asked, returning them to the original topic of conversation.
"In sex?"
"Yes." It took all of her effort not to yell at him.
He didn't say anything at first. As though he were contemplating the offer, he took a moment's pause. Then slowly moving to her, he said, "You never have to ask that question, you know. The answer will always be yes."
He started to cup her cheek, his hand raising for that very purpose. But she was quick to pull away.
"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing her behavior.
She was too busy unzipping her skirt to answer the question. Eventually though, she told him, "I don't want you to be nice."
"Was I?"
She didn't answer the question. "I need it rough." There was no sugarcoating what she wanted, so she didn't bother trying. He would reduce her words to the most perverted interpretation he could think of anyway, and then, at that point, he would make fun of her for even trying to hide what it was that she'd wanted.
"Hmm," House mumbled, boyish grin irrepressible. "So you're in one of those moods, huh?"
"Yes."
"How rough are we talking?"
She raised an eyebrow. All these years they'd been dating, and he was still asking those questions? She thought at this point, he should have instinctively known what her limits were. How many times had she made a point of saying she didn't want bruises, didn't want marks to suggest that anything sorted had happened between them? Enough times, she felt, that he should have understood automatically what she wanted.
About to say that to him, Cuddy noticed at that moment what he was doing. Casually sipping his coffee, he didn't seem confused at all. He just looked… pleased with himself.
"You're asking stupid questions so you can finish your drink?" she asked with dismay.
He set the now empty mug down onto the counter. "It worked, so…."
"I should leave you here right now."
"Except you were the one wanting sex, so it would be self-defeating if you –"
"Since we're not having sex right now, is there really any point in me staying?"
"Don't worry. You're going to get laid." There was a bite to the words, reassurance nowhere to be found in his voice.
"Really? Because –"
She was abruptly cut off by his hand covering her mouth. Fingers digging into her cheeks, he hissed, "Shut up." He backed her into the countertop, her legs pressed roughly against the lower cabinets.
With his free hand, he pushed her skirt to the ground, the material pooling on top of her heels. Fingers curling into her underwear, that too quickly was tugged off and forgotten. His body against hers, he told her in a voice that allowed for no disagreement, "Don't think you're not gonna kiss me."
He pulled his hand away from her mouth, giving her enough time to say, "Are you going to make me?"
The answer was obvious: yes.
His lips fitted to hers within seconds, there was no chance for her to stop him. But then she didn't want him to. His mouth was harsh. Teeth nipped at her lip, tongue laving over the wound before forcing entry into her mouth. Her nails scraped his scalp as she tangled her fingers in his hair and roughly pulled him closer.
At that point, she had to fight the urge to sigh into him. This was what she'd needed; this alone had the power to make her feel better. The rest of the world suddenly feeling so very far away, the day began to seem like something she could tackle. Which would have made no sense to an outsider, because she should have felt even less in control than she had been. As he grabbed her neck and lightly squeezed, it should have been the kind of act that terrified her, made her feel lost. Instead, she felt as though this were an opportunity to release some of her pent-up anger.
She welcomed it.
And he did too. Hand on her throat, he pulled away. She seemed to rasp with each inhale and exhale, though he wasn't gripping her nearly hard enough to cut off her oxygen.
"Get on the counter."
He let go of her to give her the space to lift herself onto the kitchen counter. Watching as she scooted to the lip of the tile, staring at her spread thighs and the pussy exposed to him, he shoved his pajama pants down over his hips. Exposing himself to her, he reached for his dick and began to stroke himself.
Immediately she shook her head. "Don't," she nearly whined. "Let me do that."
House obviously had no problem with that. He wasn't idiotic enough to think that anything between them had changed; she was still angry and upset. But he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have sex – especially when she was crazed like this.
Carefully he kicked her fallen clothing out of the way; the last thing they needed was for the mood to be killed, because he'd somehow sullied her clean clothes. Moving between her spread legs, he drew her attention away from his cock long enough to ask, "You gonna leave those on?" He pointed to the heels she was still wearing.
She merely smiled and took hold of his penis. Stroking him, she said knowingly, "You like it when I leave them on."
That might have been true. If he were in his right mind, he definitely would have been able to say one way or another. But as his attention was solely focused on the hand bringing him to hardness, he couldn't think of anything other than that. Maybe a better man could have, but he just watched her, eyes trained on her fist running up and down his shaft. Her thumb every now and then running along the head of his dick, it didn't take him long to become hopelessly entranced by every inch of her.
She was still wearing her sweater, still clothed from the waist up. Her lips slightly reddened and plumped from being kissed, cheeks blushed, and eyes fiery, it was all he needed. She was gorgeous and touching him, wanting him, waiting for his cock to fill her body, fuck her to orgasm.
His hands knotted in her hair. Yanking her head back, he kissed her jaw.
"Don't," she said in a rush of air. "You'll ruin my make up."
He pulled his lips away from her skin, albeit reluctantly. "If you don't want me to kiss you, I'd suggest you do something with that cunt of yours."
"I'm really sorry for taking my time. From now on, I'll try to stick your flaccid penis inside of me, and we'll see how much fun that is."
He pushed her back down onto the countertop with so much force the spice rack on the wall rattled. More than likely afraid of bashing her head against the wall, Cuddy turned her head as she went down. Her fingers losing their grip on him, he was able to shove his dick inside of her.
"Oh God!" she cried out, louder than he thought she should have been.
Each word punctuated by a violent thrust into her, he asked, "How many times am I going to have to tell you to shut up?"
Not surprisingly his tone and his actions only made her noisier. Grinding her body against his, she was making them louder – his balls slapping against her ass, her panting and whimpering meeting his own moans and harsh breathing.
And she was slick, searing hot against his cock. As angry as they had been at one another, none of that could touch how good this felt. Burying himself to the hilt over and over, he could think little about what had happened, all of the things that were bothering them. That didn't matter to him then. As he leaned against her, forearm against her throat, his dick changed angles within her. Pounding that tight pussy of hers, he would have thought it was easy to forget all of their problems….
If he'd been thinking about much of anything.
But he wasn't. He was too busy fucking her with all he possessed, relishing the way her heels dug into his back – her legs secure around his body.
The pots and pans in the cabinets rattled loudly. And though Cuddy hadn't wanted him to mess up her make up, there was really no chance of that happening. She was sweating but nowhere nearly as badly as he was, he who was dripping with it, dripping onto her. But she didn't seem to mind that.
In fact, her mind seemed to be on something else altogether.
Her hand tapping the arm he held against her neck, he immediately began to pull away. He hadn't thought he'd been pressing against her too hard; choking her hadn't been his intentions, and she had never expressed how rough she wanted it, but he knew she would not tolerate bruises – not today, definitely not today. And if she was touching him there, he could only believe that he had taken things unintentionally too far.
Yet, when he went to release her, she latched onto him by the wrist. "No," she told him breathlessly. "Harder."
House felt dizzy with exhilaration. For all of their issues, sex had never been one of them. Whatever he had wanted to try, she had been right there with him. Perhaps on occasion he had mentioned a threesome, something she had shot down almost immediately. But the fact was he had never needed any woman other than this one and never would. She was his equal in bed, not only willing to do what he liked but also just as perverted as he was. If she had been accepting of his proclivities, he had been similarly appeasing. No, he thought, for all of their problems – and there were many – sexual compatibility had never been one of those. They had always made sense here.
Grinning he did what she wanted. He could feel her pulse point against his skin. Sweat trapped between them and the shared knowledge that her life was underneath his arm, it made him crazy with desire. An insanity only her body could cure, he ignored his own exhaustion, the ache in his thigh. He thrust into her repeatedly as though none of those things mattered.
Her hips bucked against him with each push into her. In the heat of the moment, one of her heels fell off, but they didn't stop. The hand still on his arm, her grip on him was as tight as she could make it, crushing with its force. The other holding the lip of the countertop, she was doing her best to avoid being pushed head first into the wall. But he doubted she would have actually cared if she had hit the backsplash. She was too far gone for that.
"Oh God," she kept saying. "Harder. More." No matter how hard she wanted to be quiet, it was obvious that she couldn't keep her thoughts to herself. "That feels so good. Keep going."
He appreciated the encouragement. Knowing that she was getting out of this everything she needed made him happy, made him all the more interested in making sure she came like she'd been deprived of sex all weekend long.
Unfortunately they had had sex all weekend long. Well, it wasn't unfortunate, but in this particular scenario it made it hard for him to hold off on his own release; they had been together so many times that he was thoroughly exhausted.
But he did his best to ignore the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the feel of his balls tightening with desire, and the leaden sear of need boiling in his stomach. He forced himself to hold out, knowing that she would be even more crazed if he didn't. Picturing that helped him keep his orgasm at bay; thinking how frustrated she would be if he came too soon, he used that possibility to pretend like he wasn't ready for things to end.
Picking up his pace, he worked towards making her come. His free hand groping at her clothed breast, he thrust in and out of her as harshly and quickly as he could.
It didn't take long.
A slew of curse words uncharacteristically crossing her tongue, she screwed her eyes shut. Muscles clenching together in a syrupy squeeze of heat, she was pushed over the edge, coming loudly enough that he had to muffle her cries with his hand. Fingers on her chin for leverage, he gave her a few more thrusts before he was overcome as well. Her pussy wrapped tightly around him, the warmth and wetness was more than he could bear. Rushing to kiss her, he buried his dick in her pussy, his tongue in her mouth, and let go.
She gave him a few minutes to recover, the sweat dripping from him proof enough that he had pushed himself beyond his limits. Knowing that he was exhausted, she didn't want to shove him off of her the second they were done.
The temptation was there, of course. She was hot; after all she was still half-dressed. The countertop was sticking to her ass, and as she felt a good part of the overwhelming tension leave her, she was left with the realization: they were having sex on the kitchen counter.
In theory that sounded great. In reality… it seemed a little seedy this morning. They'd done it there before; they'd done it everywhere in the house. But there was something about it today that struck her as wrong. She had no idea why that was though. At least she had no real explanation until he pulled away from, until he pulled out.
The feel of his semen giving her the realization immediately, it permanently killed any belief she might have had that this moment of need was worth it. Because his semen was inside of her. Sperm were inside of her body – when she hadn't taken her birth control.
When she could in theory get pregnant.
Reason suggested that that would probably never happen. She was old; he was older. She'd never been particularly fertile. He might have been, but with his lifestyle, he'd probably killed off every last decent sperm he possessed… which meant that if she did end up pregnant, they'd be having a child with three eyes and God only knew what else. She would have liked to believe that her body would abort any fetus that horrendous, but if it were anything like its father, it would stubbornly fight, in this case for survival. And if today went anything like her weekend had, she would not only get pregnant, she would have twins or quintuplets or something equally difficult and ridiculous.
Her mind racing, there was little thought given to how rational any of this was. Maybe that was because she knew she wasn't being all that logical. She would like to think that that was the reason. But really, that wasn't the case; if she wasn't thinking how realistic any of this was, it was because she was simply too fixated on the possibility of pregnancy to consider anything else.
Disgusted, she hopped down off the counter. Brushing past him for the paper towels, she thought over and over that this was not what she had wanted. She'd wanted sex; she'd wanted to ease some of her frustration. She hadn't intended on this. And the fact that they had stupidly opened the door to a whole other set of problems made her feel sick to her stomach.
The reaction didn't go unnoticed.
"You okay?" House asked, his voice breathy.
Her response was simple. "Your semen." Paper towel in hand, she hurriedly tried to wipe herself free of his fluids.
He didn't understand. "Yes, that tends to happen when we have sex. I know all those years in college made you forget, but when you have sex with a man, semen does tend to be involved."
She was red, almost purple with anger. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why. She'd proposed sex, and now she was mad they'd had it? He didn't get it.
"We had unprotected sex," she explained in frustration.
Still he didn't understand. "So?"
"So I don't want to be pregnant."
House was tempted to point out that those words were at odds with half the things she'd said and done this weekend. She'd been giving indications all weekend that she wouldn't mind another child, that there was some part of her that longed for that baby she'd never had. And in the heat of the moment, triggered by her inaction, he had made the choice for her by throwing the birth control out.
But watching her now, he could see that he had been wrong. Had he reached an incorrect conclusion? He didn't think so. Yet he had been wrong anyway – wrong to push her this hard, this weekend, when she wasn't ready.
That was what it came down to: she wasn't ready.
For any of it.
She wasn't prepared to have another child or to even try for one. She wasn't at the point where she could relinquish some control of the daughter she did have. Even if it strained everyone's relationships in the home, Cuddy just wasn't there yet. She'd done all she could to get him to that point, but that was precisely the problem. She'd focused on him to the extent that she'd clearly never eased her own mind into the inevitability of shared parenthood. And now that he was coming around, she was just starting to realize the enormity of the leap she'd been demanding they make. Now, when the focus was on her to change, she couldn't handle it.
He'd thought that, if he'd just been equally unforgiving of her as she had been of him, she would change. He'd lied, told her all the things she'd needed to hear, specifically that he loved Rachel. He'd believed that saying those things would ignite something inside of Cuddy. But with his mercilessness, he had failed to take into account how she would react to being pushed so hard. Perhaps on any other weekend, she could have appreciated his position. She could have begun the process of changing. With Rachel and work and everything else however, she was not ready to look at her own behavior.
She couldn't.
And by pushing the matter, he'd… broken her.
He realized that she would object to the term he used if he should ever mention it to her. For that matter, House himself had a problem with the choice of words. She was not falling apart, wasn't a crying mess. All told, aside from the way her inner thighs were turning pink from her scrubbing, she seemed… okay. There was something about her that seemed unhinged, sure. An energy surrounded her that suggested that at any time, she could turn on him. There was no better word than broken, but even then, he recognized that it colored the situation in a way that didn't reflect reality. And he knew, if he were to act like that word choice was reality, she would kill him.
Trying to keep his tone far from patronizing, he said calmly, "Stop doing that. You're going to hurt yourself."
"Shut up." She stuffed the paper towel into the trashcan with particular vehemence. "I can't believe you did this," she accused.
He was tempted to ask what she was talking about, the fact that he had thrown away her birth control or come inside her. But he resisted the urge. That wouldn't solve anything. In fact most of what he could say wouldn't make things better. Nearly kept speechless, he offered her the one reminder he knew wouldn't get him into trouble.
"Yeah, if only they made a pill you could take after unprotected sex that would –"
"You think that's the tone that's going to help me right now?"
She was right, and he knew it. He hadn't intended to be sarcastic, but the words had come out that way of their own volition. Out of habit, he hadn't controlled himself, and he thought he deserved every bit of dangerous accusation she was hurling in his direction.
"You're right," he said in even tones. "I shouldn't have said that."
Enraged she started to get dressed. And that made him feel ridiculous. They were both half naked in the kitchen arguing. With equal haste, he pulled his own pajama pants on.
"I don't need you to be condescending," she told him, as she stepped into her underwear.
"I wasn't trying to be." She looked at him as though she didn't believe him at all. Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his palm, he thought she had every right to be doubtful. "I wasn't," he repeated without sounding too forceful. "I'm just… tired."
"Well, you're not the only one." The words weren't harsh; they were uneasy, as though she didn't know what to do now that he was suddenly backing down.
He nodded his head. "I know. I'm sorry."
She looked like her eyes might pop out of her head; that was how surprised she was. "Seriously?"
Again, he nodded his head. "I've been pushing you too hard, and I shouldn't have done that," he admitted quietly. "This thing with Rachel, a new baby… I shouldn't have done that."
There was a side to him that recognized the danger in stepping back. Seeing the muffled victory in her eyes, he knew that she had taken the wrong message from all of this. Which had been a concern of his as soon as he'd spoken – that she would take this apology to mean that he had changed his mind or worse, that he'd been wrong all along.
It was too late to do anything though.
"So you admit you were wrong?" She was searching for clarification so she could hear him admit it out loud.
"I went about it the wrong way," he said tactfully.
Her brow scrunching together in confusion, she looked at him as though she didn't understand. "I don't – what does that mean?"
"I haven't changed my mind about anything I said," he explained. He would not go so far as to insist that he'd been right, even though he had been. "Everything I said… I still mean it. But you're not ready to hear it, so –"
"So you're not really apologizing for anything other than… what? Bad timing?"
He didn't answer the question, and he wasn't going to. She was looking for a fight, looking for a reason to lash out at him. It didn't matter what he said or did; she was going to find some aspect of his words and deeds that was worth taking issue with. He wasn't sure what was going on with her now; he'd had theories, but at the moment, he was beginning to suspect that he was wrong to think this was just about him pushing her, just a reaction to Rachel's health scare. Truthfully, it seemed to him that Cuddy was responding to everything that had headed her way this weekend. It wasn't one singular thing. It was everything, and the more he tried to resolve one issue, the harder she would rail against him. Completely entrenched in the problems and perceived threats, she could not see that he was trying to help. And the more he attempted to do that, the worse it would be for all of them.
In other words, he had no choice but to walk away. When she needed him, she would find him. But he couldn't bring her closer before she was ready. He could see that much now.
"I'm gonna go check on Rachel," House said eventually. "You should get going before you're late."
She was stunned by his tactic, so much so that she didn't even have a chance to respond before he'd successfully disappeared into their bedroom. She'd expected him to fight back, to condescendingly explain just how wrong she was to think any of the things he had clearly said. But he hadn't done that at all.
He had walked away.
At first she wanted to follow him, wanted to keep this going. But she didn't even take a step in that direction. Even if she'd been desperate for a fight, he was with Rachel now. Going after him would mean Rachel would hear, and Cuddy didn't want that to happen. Regardless of everything else, keeping all of this from Rachel was of the utmost importance.
Unfortunately Cuddy suspected that he wouldn't leave her daughter's side no matter how long she stuck around. He obviously didn't want to talk about this anymore at the moment, which was why he'd left. So if she'd chased after him, nothing would change.
Out of other options, she had no choice but to start to get ready for work once more. She was shaking as she redressed, smoothed her hair down, wiped at her smeared make up. Whatever stress release she'd been hoping to find… it had been undone by the arguing, by the possibility of pregnancy looming over her head.
Now more tense than ever, she wasn't sure how she would make it through the day. Like a tightly wound spring, she felt as though half the battle today would be to keep herself under control. Anger had its place, and she would use it whenever it was appropriate. But she had to make sure that objectively her behavior was warranted.
Glaring in the direction House had disappeared, she was tempted once more to hunt him down and yell. She couldn't though, and part of her had to wonder what was going on with her if she was this upset.
No, she had never been an unusually sane person. She had looked at House and seen the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. That didn't seem particularly well adjusted. But her behavior in the last twelve hours went beyond what she was usually like. Even in the past, when she had been similarly stressed, she hadn't responded like this. There'd been that time House had suspected an epidemic in Maternity, and it had taken time to find the source of the outbreak, sure. She'd been angry and pretty crazy then. Yet that paled in comparison to how she was behaving now.
And she didn't understand why. She hated the term, hysterical, knew the word was one men liked to use when women were making a point. But from an outsider's perspective, the word fit her behavior, fit how she felt. She was absolutely unhinged, and there was no denying it.
Someone might suggest that it was because Rachel could have… been seriously hurt, Cuddy finished awkwardly. Yet she knew differently, because this feeling was somehow keeping her from truly considering just how much Rachel had been in danger. There just something about the frantic energy inside of her, the need to lash out, that made quiet contemplation unsuccessful.
As she left the house, she couldn't help but think she was screwed. She needed all of her focus to be on work… and she knew it wouldn't be. It couldn't be. Because when she wasn't thinking what the hell was wrong with her, she was wondering what the hell was wrong with House.
Outwardly she did her job. Reassuring clinic patients, giving D.E.A. agents access to her doctors, handling donors - she did all of it with detached precision. If she accomplished her goal of at least appearing sane, it was due to her concentration being elsewhere entirely.
No matter what she did or said, part of her lingered on her fight with House. He'd been so full of conviction the night before, determined to prove that she had missed something when it had come to her own daughter. Words failing him, he'd brought up the idea of a new baby, had blamed her for their family dynamic being as convoluted as it was. And then he'd quickly backed off from that point of view, first when Rachel had been ill and then this morning. He'd said he hadn't changed his mind, but he must have, right? For him to back track so quickly, something must have made him reconsider his position. After all, this was House. He didn't walk away from anything. He never admitted when he was wrong, not when it came to personal things anyway. He never backed down, never really apologized – just offered a few curt words that were supposed to mean I'm sorry and a few kind acts to sweeten the deal. In the past twelve hours, he'd apologized more than he'd ever done before in his life.
She had no idea why.
If he hadn't changed his mind, then… what was it? Why alter your tactics after years of doing the same thing over and over? As many times as she tried to answer that question, she couldn't. Because no matter how hard she tried, she just didn't get it.
Once more, she thought she needed some sort of… test. As a doctor, that was what she knew to do; when something was suspected as being wrong, you ran tests; you deduced through fact and information what was going on. You worked through educated hypotheses, and eventually you came to a conclusion that was correct. Right now, she was going through the motions and coming up with nothing. That only meant she needed more information. As unpredictable and insane as House could be, in the end, there was some sort of explanation for his behavior. If she didn't understand now, she simply wasn't in a position to.
But what test would give her any insight into his thought process?
She was half-heartedly contemplating a psych eval when one of the nurses from the maternity ward knocked on her office door. Looking up, Cuddy didn't smile at the older woman. Interruptions almost always meant there was a problem, and the last thing any of them needed was a baby missing or something equally horrendous. But Cuddy waved her in anyway.
"You need something?"
"An adoption just went through about ten minutes ago. Family's about to sign the papers and take the baby home," the other woman explained. "Thought you might like to see, take your mind off what's going on."
Cuddy heard what she was saying. Understanding creating an idea, she couldn't respond at first. She was too busy considering her options.
Going through it in her mind, she thought: House had been waffling back and forth about how he should treat Rachel, what position he should have in her life. Last night he had taken a big step in claiming that he loved her, that there were things he knewthat Cuddy didn't. Reading between the lines, she understood that he'd been urging her to give him greater control. He'd been asking for her to accept him in Rachel's life in a bigger, more important way. And then Cuddy had been the one wrought with indecision.
But as her current conversation was attempting to prove, nothing put things into perspective like legal work. When she'd fostered Rachel, part of her had second-guessed herself. Becoming a mother had seemed daunting, a change so enormous that the very idea of it had terrified her. However, when she'd finally had the paperwork in front of her, Cuddy had been able to recognize just how badly she'd wanted motherhood all along. It had clarified for her everything she'd been unsure about. It had provided for her answers to more questions than she'd known she'd had.
Fighting the urge to smile, she suddenly knew exactly what she wanted to do with House.
To be Continued (24/25)