I took one reviewers' advice and wrote an epilogue. Thanks for reading!
By the time Rachel's next birthday came around, Cuddy and House had come up with a routine of sorts. The one hour drive between them could actually be seen as an advantage. Not working together had relieved much of the stress they had experienced with the boss/employee struggles from their previous relationship. It also made their time together valued even more since it was less.
Each weekend, they would stay together, taking turns making the drive. When they were at House's place, Rachel stayed with Arlene. When House drove to Cuddy's home, Rachel spent the weekend with them. This weekend was the weekend after Rachel sixth birthday, however, and House was hosting them both at Rachel's request. The kids party had been earlier in the week and so it was just the three of them tonight.
House's new piano was in use tonight as well. Rachel was on top of the piano, lying on ever stomach, smiling from ear to ear. Cuddy sat beside House, snuggled against him. "Happy birthday, ya hideous scummy bilge rat." House sang as he played, "Happy birthday to you."
Cuddy gave him a look, but Rachel's giggles made her forced to accept, once again, that her daughter and House had an unusual relationship. The two constantly insulted one another and since Rachel seemed to understand that it was not OK to play the game with other adults, Cuddy would let it slide.
"Thank you," Rachel said joyfully, before adding, "You rotten stinky pustule." Being brought up by doctors made the insults often include words that no other six year old would possibly know yet, thanks to House.
Cuddy suppressed another sidelong glance at House, "So glad you taught her that game." she said, dryly.
Rachel grabbed the little digital camera sitting beside her and began to point and shoot. Posing absently, Cuddy gave House a kiss on the cheek. None of them would know it until the photos were brought up on the computer later, but she snapped the very shot House had attempted and failed years before by cutting it too close. It would look extremely similar to the picture that had been in his desk drawer since he had stolen it from the hatbox in her home. He stopped wondering since then why she had kept it and knew now that he was living for what he loved. It was unlikely that he would ever stop over analyzing it, but Wilson had been right all along.