Gift of Chicken Chapter 2, a house, m.d. fanfic

Author's Notes: Thanks to koryandrs, Melanie1121, newsession, KiwiClare, grouchysnarky, Aimee, dmarchl21, TheBeachWriting, jaybe61, LuciusDivius, red blood, kotofyr, Temo, Alex, Gemilh, IHeartHouseCuddy, Guest, and Abby for taking the time to read and review. I always love hearing your thoughts and appreciate that you would let me know how you feel. Also, thanks to paroulis for bidding on my help_lisa auction that inspired this fic.

Disclaimer: The show isn't mine.

Gift of Chicken
Chapter Two: Mother And Father
By Duckie Nicks

The interviews had been a complete failure, but seeing House and Rachel together made it seem less so. She was curled up on her side next to him, House looking like he might fall asleep there if allowed to do so. Cuddy was struck by the sweetness of the image.

Although he wouldn't believe her (and she hadn't given him much reason to), she did want this.

Well… she was getting there. She would get there.

She had to.

His relationship with Rachel was getting better, but it was occurring at the expense of the relationship he had with Cuddy herself. Things between them had never been easy. She loved him very much, but there had always been an edge to the way they dealt with one another, a rawness. Obviously neither of them had been turned off by that. Lately though, their dynamic had gone from borderline dysfunctional to barely functioning. He was frustrated with her, and she knew it. Her inability to give him what he wanted was making him bitter. She hated the way he looked at her sometimes – which was nothing compared to how it made her feel when she leaned down to kiss him and he acted as though he hadn't realized she was going to do that after a long day of work.

Rachel had her back turned to them, so she couldn't see the awkwardness all around her. Thankfully, she wouldn't get to, because House got up to leave. As Cuddy settled onto the bed, she noticed his exaggerated limp. Her tired mind fought to put the pieces together. Something was wrong, obviously, but what exactly she couldn't tell. And then it didn't matter, because Rachel rolled over and said excitedly, "Mommy!"

Cuddy forced herself to look away from him. Her back propped up against the headboard of Rachel's bed, she had to peer downward to see Rachel. "Hi, monkey," Cuddy said, reaching over to stroke Rachel's hair. As soon as Cuddy's fingers made contact though, she added with dismay, "Your hair's wet."

She didn't ask if House forgot to dry it; he was still close enough that he would hear the question, and she knew the answer was yes anyway. There was no point in starting a fight over it.

"I like it," Rachel told her. "It keeps my head cool."

"So you wanted this."

"Uh huh."

"Did you at least comb through –"

"Mommy," she whined loudly. It was hard to tell if the sound was meant to be a yes or a knee-jerk response to being asked questions when she was still awake past her bedtime. But when Rachel buried her face into Cuddy's chest, Cuddy figured the answer was probably the second. That didn't mean House hadn't brushed Rachel's hair, of course; it simply meant that it no longer mattered. Because Rachel was going to be asleep soon enough, and Cuddy wasn't going to spend the last bit of the day policing House's ability to handle the smallest of tasks.

"I think my little monkey is sleepy," Cuddy said in a childish voice, hugging Rachel close to her.

Rachel instantly rejected the sentiment. "No, I'm not." She began to squirm and struggle against Cuddy.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Cuddy let her go. To prove that she wasn't tired at all, Rachel sat up. But the effort was less effective than she probably wanted it to be, because she swayed a little, her eyes drooping just a fraction.

"What'd you do today?" Cuddy asked gently.

The reaction wasn't what she expected. Rachel seemed to get upset over it. She didn't start to cry or anything like that, but she looked as though if Cuddy said the wrong thing, tears would be there to greet her. The change in Rachel's demeanor was almost shocking in its suddenness. But before Cuddy could even ask what was wrong, Rachel answered the question.

"No work tomorrow," she pleaded. "Stay here."

Cuddy smiled sympathetically then explained, "Tomorrow's Saturday, Rachel. Mommy's going to be with you all day. Sunday too."

"Not always."

"No, not always," she agreed. "But this weekend, I'm not going anywhere without you, all right?"

Rachel was slightly mollified by that. Then she had to ask nervously, like she thought she was pushing her luck by asking, "House too?"

"House too."

"Good." And it was, because that fact made her obviously relieved.

"We're going to be here all weekend," Cuddy repeated, so that there was no doubt in Rachel's head. "Mommy and House want to spend time with you. We love you very much. Okay?"

"Okay." Without needing to be prompted, Rachel laid back down, her head on Cuddy's chest once more. The attempt to seem wide awake was a complete failure, and resigned to the sleep that would come soon, Rachel didn't seem to have much fight left in her.

"There we go. Come cuddle with me." Cuddy kissed her on the forehead and lightly ran her fingers through the already tangling strands of wet hair. "Did you have fun with House today after he picked you up from school?"

Rachel tiredly played with Cuddy's necklace for a moment before letting the silver strand slip between her fingers. She yawned, slowly nodded her head. "We was gonna make cookies, but then we didn't," she told her mother, the words slightly slurred.

"Oh," Cuddy said, trying to sound as understanding as she could. "That's too bad, but maybe we can make cookies this weekend sometime."

"My fault," Rachel murmured, fingers playing with the necklace some more.

"Why? What happened?" There was no concern in Cuddy's tone. Based on her experience and what she'd seen, she knew there were really only two reasons there were no cookies in the kitchen right now. Either House had been in pain and unable to bake or Rachel had been bad, and he'd punished – no. There was only option, she corrected.

Once upon a time, his inclination was to be annoyed or ambivalent when it came to everything Rachel did. Now he cared about her, but he wasn't ready or willing to take on that role of disciplinarian. House thought – well Cuddy knew what he assumed: that she was viewing this as some sort of competition, that she wanted him to handle every punishment so that she looked good by comparison. And that was so stupid. Because here he was demanding that she file guardianship papers but he couldn't even prove to her that he would be able to parent Rachel should something happen. No, not couldn't. He wouldn't.

Truthfully, they needed to talk about that. But it was hard to do that when she could sense how angry her prodding was making him. And she was afraid that she had made a mistake, giving him the opportunity to become Rachel's guardian. Whether he would be good or bad at it wasn't the issue. The fact that it seemed to be destroying the relationship he had with Cuddy was.

Not for the first time recently, she started to wonder if they were strong enough to get through this. Then she stopped, reminding herself that she was getting ahead of herself. The point was that he hadn't punished Rachel, that he hadn't made cookies, because he'd been in pain. Whatever else was going on, and there was quite a bit, was not relevant to the conversation right now. It was a rather inescapable issue, but Cuddy knew she needed to focus on Rachel, who had been explaining to Cuddy what had happened, even though Cuddy hadn't been listening.

"… and then we got the doggy and –"

"What?" Cuddy asked, definitely hearing Rachel refer to a dog.

Rachel's legs bumped against Cuddy's body, as Rachel shifted below the covers. The question had left her agitated, possibly on the verge of throwing a tantrum, because she was ready for bed. In an incredibly whiny voice, each syllable ending with something bordered on a squeal, Rachel repeated, "We got the doggy."

There was so much Cuddy wanted to ask. Surely, House had not gotten Rachel a dog. Sometimes he was quite capable of behaving like an idiot, but he wasn't that stupid. He wouldn't do that, not when he had to be aware of how off things had been lately. But by the same token, Rachel didn't look like she was lying. Of course, she mostly just appeared tired, but Cuddy thought there was honesty behind the desire for sleep. So that meant… she didn't even know what. She needed more information.

Unfortunately, Rachel wasn't in a position to give it. Cuddy could try, but what were the chances that Rachel would be able to offer any real answers when she was up way past her bedtime?

Knowing there was no point in even trying, Cuddy said in a quiet voice, "Okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Why don't we just close our eyes for a little bit, all right?" She wouldn't tell Rachel to go to bed; there was always a chance that that would elicit some resistance. It wouldn't last long, of course. But Cuddy didn't want the last moments of the day to be filled with a fight. So she softly implied the only reasonable thing to do and held Rachel close to her as the little girl fell asleep.

It didn't take long. Rachel was content to be curled up against Cuddy, and it was only a matter of seconds before her eyelids began to droop. By the time three minutes had passed, she was asleep.

Cuddy didn't move to get up though. There was a good chance she'd wake Rachel up if she tried to leave immediately. Not that she needed a reason to stay close to Rachel, of course; if anything, she would have preferred to fall asleep here with her little girl in her arms. But House noticed everything, and he could be egotistical, and they weren't exactly getting along. So if she stayed, it could easily look like she was trying to avoid him. At least, he would believe that.

After another five minutes, Cuddy slowly and reluctantly forced herself out of Rachel's bed and down the hallway. When she found House, he looked… high.

He'd changed into his pajamas, but it was obvious he'd done more than get ready for bed. The nagging feeling that something had occurred that she didn't understand hit her once more. And until she knew what happened, she didn't know how to react. But when she went to kiss him again, she was overwhelmed with resentment.

Not toward him.

It wasn't his fault that he was in pain, and it wasn't completely his fault that their relationship was where it was. He wouldn't believe her, but she didn't blame him… entirely. Right now, mostly, she just felt annoyance for the complicated dynamic they found themselves in. When she pulled away from him, she tried to push the feeling aside, joking, "A dog, House?" The idea of it was so ridiculous she hoped it would ease her anxiety.

But as soon as she turned around to change, she sensed that her efforts had failed. She'd been too irritated to sound humorous, and she was assuming that he understood what Rachel clearly hadn't.

Sighing, Cuddy slowly unbuttoned her blouse, purposely trying to avoid taking it off frantically. Secretly she was more than prepared to lose skin if it meant getting out of the clothing, which seemed to have gotten tighter the longer the day had worn on. If she behaved that way though, it might come across as upset, and Cuddy didn't want to give House any more reasons to think that she was angry. As she balled the dirty shirt in her hand though, she understood: he didn't need any more reasons.

In her bra and skirt, she turned to look at him once more. Normally, if things between them were okay, he'd dramatically act like he was seeing the most stunning body in the world. He would make some remark about her breasts or her ass or maybe even both, depending on how tolerant he thought she would be of his crassness. But he was under the assumption that she was pissed off, so instead of telling her every way he wanted to have sex with her, he just stared at her like he couldn't believe what she was saying. Clearly on the verge of snapping at her, he had his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed on her hatefully.

She ignored his mood while moving closer to him. Maybe it was stupid to do this. He wouldn't hurt her physically, ever. But he was looking for an opening, a reason to lash out at her, and perhaps she was giving him one when she asked, "Would you unzip my skirt for me?" She sat on the edge of the bed, butt facing him, so she couldn't see his reaction.

He didn't say anything, didn't even complain that she was sitting on part of the zipper and making his job harder. His fingers simply brushed along her lower back as he reached for the zipper.

"I know you didn't give her a dog," Cuddy clarified in a way that she hoped didn't sound forced.

"Oh, you figured that out, did you?" If she was doing her best to avoid a fight, he seemed to be pushing for the opposite. She sighed and angled her body so that she faced him more clearly. That just annoyed him further. "You want me to undo your skirt or –"

"I want you to talk to me."

"You mean you want an explanation."

She did, but he made it seem like she was accusing him of something. His reaction confused her; she hadn't started the conversation off right, not by any means, but he was furious. She didn't understand that. Then she remembered: he was in pain.

"Would a heating pad help?" she asked, changing tactics.

He wasn't prepared for that, so the "What?" he offered in response was far more aggressive than necessary.

"I know you're hurting. Tell me what I can do to make you –"

"Yeah, fine," he said, distracted and not really listening to her. "Get the pad."

She frowned but didn't say anything. It had been a while since she'd seen him like this, but there was no time to think about that now. Besides, any hesitation or judgment on her part would only upset him further.

As she headed to the bathroom to get the heating pad, she didn't consider if he'd behaved this way with Rachel. He wouldn't, and he hadn't, because he was lashing out like he'd been fighting acting this way all day. Now that Rachel was asleep, he could give into the feeling, even if it meant Cuddy was in the direct path of that anger. In any case, if House had lost his temper, Rachel would have said something – or House would have confessed. Since none of those things had happened, it was easy to believe Rachel had been spared. Cuddy had no reason to think otherwise.

She rummaged through the cabinets beneath the sink for the heating pad crammed somewhere inside. She cringed at the mess that had somehow accumulated since she'd last looked in it this morning. The drawers had seemed fine then, but now when she really needed something, she had to search for it. Cleaning plans already forming in her head, she nearly missed what she was looking for when her hands came upon it. She cringed at her mistake, dreaded what House would say if he knew what had just occurred.

Well, that wouldn't ever happen, she decided. And when she returned to him, it was obvious that he was in no position to notice something was off. One of his hands was balled into a fist but not in anger. His eyes were darting around the room, searching, like he was trying to find something he could hit to provide a distraction through new pain.

"Here we go. I found it." She pretended not to see what he was in the process of doing.

He didn't say anything, just took the pad from her when she got close to his side of the bed. She was wise enough to let him. She plugged it in, but he was in a state where it wasn't smart for her to try to put the heating pad on his thigh herself. He wouldn't react well to that, not when he was like this. And he proved that suspicion when she told him he could turn it on and he snarled, "Yeah, I understand how electricity works."

She was too tired to fight him. More importantly, she could tell that he was looking for an argument. Whether that was just the pain or combined with general resentment for her, at this point, she couldn't say. But she certainly wasn't going to push back and find out. That might have seemed cowardly, but she wasn't afraid of what he might do. He was acting like a jackass, but he wouldn't do anything to her. If she wanted to avoid a screaming match, it was because she wasn't sure she could survive it tonight. They'd spent so much time lately at each other's throats. To get into another argument would be too much for her.

Determined to keep the peace, she wordlessly finished changing into her pajamas. As she took her dirty clothes to the laundry basket, she noted that House had settled down a little. He wasn't as calm as when she'd first come into the house, no, but this was a small step toward that. It seemed like the heating pad was helping to relax his muscles, at least, doing what the Vicodin wasn't apparently. Or was the Vicodin kicking in now? It didn't matter. She scrubbed the make up off her face and brushed her teeth, focusing on getting ready for bed instead of discussing things with House. That would come later, and when it did, she wanted to be able to fall asleep afterward without having to move. But since that was not happening any time soon, she wiled away some of the time by making tea for House.

He would complain about it, of course. As she poured the boiling water into a mug, she knew he would sneer the second she brought it to him. And he did, whining when she set the cup on his nightstand, "I don't like tea."

"I know, but it's good for muscle –"

"I don't want to be up all night," he said dismissively. He was still being disagreeable but far better natured about it.

"It's chamomile," she explained. "It'll help you sleep." He was unmoved, and she knew a losing battle when she saw one. "Well, it's there if you change your mind." She conceded before he could smartly point it out, "Not that there is a great chance of that happening."

His line taken, he had nothing to say while she crawled into bed next to him. They didn't speak for a long time after that. She felt that he needed to be the one to initiate a conversation.

Her patience was rewarded after another twenty minutes. She read a little bit out of the novel she kept by her bedside to pass the time, although she wasn't paying close attention to the text. Her focus was mostly on him, the book a mere cover for her concern. When he spoke then, she was relieved she didn't have to keep up the façade any longer.

"Sorry," he said suddenly with all the elegance and glumness that a child might apologize with. Cuddy didn't doubt that he meant it. It was just obvious that he was embarrassed by his own behavior. That was enough for her.

She shrugged and set her book aside. "It's okay. I've probably said worse to you recently." That wasn't entirely how she felt, but it was better to mention her mistakes than remind him of his own. For now anyway, she told herself as she rolled over onto her side and laid her head down on his chest. Sometimes it would be best to focus on his problems….

"Well, you're meaner than I am." It was a joke, one she didn't find funny, but it meant he was relaxing a little – as did the arm he was putting around her waist. For lack of a better response, she stayed silent. But that just made him ask, "What? That piss you off?"

She lied. "No."

"Yeah, okay" was his sarcastic response.

"House. I'm not mad. I don't want to fight."

She couldn't tell if he became quiet, because she had convinced him or because he wanted to call attention to how agitated she sounded. All she knew was that she was too tired to care either way. Then it didn't matter, because he suddenly spoke up, whined:

"I didn't do anything wrong."

He sounded like a little boy who had been caught doing precisely what he was now denying. But she resisted the urge to assume he was guilty. He was not a child, no matter how he was acting, and if he were behaving this way, it was because she had given him reason to feel pressured into defending himself automatically. She didn't want to believe that but…

To herself she could admit that it was true. She was turning him into this, making him bitter. He'd become accustomed to her support; work had trained him to believe that he could demand anything of her and she would eventually come around to the idea. Maybe she'd given him reason before now to think he could have the same carte blanche in their personal life. Until Rachel anyway. Cuddy's doubt wasn't something he was prepared for, and she couldn't make it go away any faster than he could accept why it was there, so they were here.

The frustration she'd felt earlier renewed itself easily, because this was not what she wanted. A flicker of panic coursed through her body, making the hand on his chest instinctually cling to his t-shirt ever so slightly.

Quick to cover up the act, she let go and said, "I wasn't accusing you."

"You –"

"My daughter is telling me she has a dog. You're… in pain – like I haven't seen in years." She raised her head to look at him. "I don't blame you. I don't want to. But obviously something isn't right. If I could ask Rachel what happened, I would, but she's asleep and not exactly the most reliable person in this scenario. So that leaves you, and if you aren't telling me the truth, then what am I supposed to think?"

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. That wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. She didn't want to sound threatening. But there was no time to take the words back.

"I don't answer to you here, Cuddy. Don't treat me like –"

"I know that, and I'm trying to…." She stopped in defeat. Her approach wasn't working, and it wasn't going to until she apologized. "I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't talk to you like that." He looked her over carefully as though he couldn't be sure if she were telling the truth. "I know what we agreed," she explained, ready to convince him that she wasn't lying. "I just –"

"Regret it," he supplied.

She shook her head. "No. But I'm not used to it yet, this… sharing responsibility. You having as much of say as I do." She held up a hand before he could lob criticism her way. "I don't regret it, so please don't say that I do. I don't. I'm just… learning."

"We both are," he conceded. "But you could be less annoying about it."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll work on that."

Perhaps he realized he couldn't demand any more from her. Or rather, he could make whatever demands he wanted, but she couldn't do any more than she already was. He had to know that, even if he didn't like it. For that reason, it didn't surprise her that he started talking a minute later.

"We went to the grocery store," he explained.

From that moment on, Cuddy paid close attention to the expressions she was making. Absolutely no part of her could seem judgmental or mad, whether she was or not. In the past month or so, she had taken for granted that he would dismiss her irritation with his part of their relationship the same way he did in every other aspect of their lives. But this mattered to him.

Rachel mattered to him.

So it was stupid to think he would ignore any part of his family life. Cuddy was an idiot for ever believing that. And she knew now she had to be more considerate of that fact if she wanted to avoid complete disaster.

Oddly enough though, in spite of his hesitation to tell her what happened, he wasn't saying anything to upset her. He wanted to make Rachel a nice dinner. He'd agreed to make cookies for her because of that idiotic school and their unwillingness to adapt to Rachel's needs. Nothing about his actions there upset Cuddy, and for the life of her, she couldn't understand why he would think they would.

Then he started talking about the parking lot. Cuddy thought she remained in control when "Rachel" and "ran off" were used in the same sentence. What could have happened was upsetting, absolutely. But the fact was Cuddy had seen her daughter; Rachel was fine, and that soothed the fear Cuddy instinctually felt.

There was nothing though to make her feel better when he told her, in a way that seemed to be in response to the alarm she thought she had a hold on, "I ran after her."

She didn't process what he was saying right away. House didn't run. He couldn't. "What do you mean you…." When realization hit her, she couldn't finish the sentence. She was too horrified to say anything. What he had done... the pain he had put himself through, there were no words for that.

Over the years, she had come to have an understanding of just how torturous his thigh could be for him. She was familiar with the damaged muscle, the scar tissue, the way he tried to hide the depths to which he was willing to sink for the tiniest bit of hope that the pain would go away. Aside from House himself, she knew more about it than anyone else. And she couldn't possibly imagine what it had been like to chase after Rachel today, and she didn't want to. Unbidden though the image came to her, terrified her.

"Oh House." Her hands wanted to go to leg, as if it was in her power to make him feel any better. But her fingertips barely had to skim the heating pad before she stopped herself. He wouldn't appreciate her touching him, not now. Maybe tomorrow when the pain wasn't as intense, he could tolerate it, but not now.

Noting her reaction but oblivious to the cause, House said defensively, "Don't get your panties twisted. She's fine."

Cuddy was taken aback. Sitting up completely, she looked at him intently. "You think I'm worried about Rachel?" She didn't need an answer. "I'm worried about you." Her reaction seemed to puzzle him, and why wouldn't it? Lately, she'd given him every reason to think she cared about Rachel and... not enough reasons to think his girlfriend felt the same way about him.

Needing to be close to him, she laid down against him once more. This time her face burrowed in the crook of his neck, her nose pressed against his skin, she kissed him. "No wonder you took the Vicodin."

He didn't respond to her concern, just said, "I thought you'd be pissed."

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because Rachel –"

"Is fine."

She felt him shake his head once. "She ran off. I should have –"

"She's safe. You brought her home, and unless she thinks we're getting a dog because she hit her head on something hard, she's fine. You did what you were supposed to do."

It was her hope that he would hear the words and believe her, know that she was telling the truth. And for a brief moment, she thought she had succeeded. But as he kept explaining what had occurred, she got the feeling that everything she'd said had quickly been forgotten.

That it didn't matter to him what she had said, because he had already come to know that she treated him in a way that suggested otherwise.

She feared he wasn't wrong.

After the previous night, Cuddy wanted nothing more than to have a relaxing Saturday. House deserved as much with what she was putting him through. Yesterday, she'd gone to bed with the uneasy feeling that she'd irreversibly ruined their relationship. But this morning, she woke with a renewed sense of purpose that made her task seem like a pretty straightforward one.

She would be good to him today. She would be more demonstrative of her affection, something she couldn't remember when she did last. Sex didn't count, not the way they'd been having it. And he hadn't been much better with how he'd been treating her, but he had the advantage. He'd been making the most important effort of all, to show Rachel just how badly he wanted to be a part of her life. Cuddy could see he at least had an excuse. He'd been focused on her – their… their? – daughter. Cuddy didn't have that to make her inattentiveness all right. So today would be the start of something new. She'd never thought that there would come a time where she would need to be this careful with him. He always seemed to know more about her than she did about herself. But she'd taken that for granted, and now she needed to prove to him that, as hard as this was for her, more than anything, she wanted him.

In a way, that made her job easy. All she needed to do was remind him that she loved him. Showing him how much she loved him wasn't difficult for her. Even if it seemed like she had forgotten how to do that, she hadn't. She just couldn't do much while he was still sleeping.

He'd eventually passed out on top of the covers last night, and he hadn't moved since she last saw him. The heating pad was still on top of his thigh, though off. But a palm along one of his cheeks told her that he was cold. From experience she knew that when he was cold, his thigh had a tendency to seize up. Trying to ease the blankets out from underneath his body and then on top of him wasn't an option however. She might wake him up or jostle his leg. So when she got up to get the morning paper and start her day, she turned the heating pad back on. Just in case. It probably wouldn't do much for him, but it was a start. And if he needed her to do more, she would.

Eventually though, she had to stop fussing over him, and she settled down in the living room. Bare feet tucked under her ass, a thin cotton robe wrapped around her to ward off the morning chill, she indulged in a rare cup of coffee while skimming the paper. She wasn't committing to any of the stories intentionally. By her estimations, Rachel would be up soon, so there was no point in relaxing.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Cuddy heard the telltale sounds of Rachel's tiny feet padding through the hallway. Rachel would automatically head toward the bedroom where House was. She wouldn't consider the possibility that her mother was elsewhere, not first thing in the morning. But the last thing Cuddy wanted was to wake him up before he was ready to get out of bed. Setting her mug down, she quietly made her way to Rachel.

"Good morning," she said softly, gently announcing her presence.

Nearly in the bedroom with House, Rachel turned to face her. Sleepily she rubbed her eyes and looked confused.

"Looks like I got up before you did." Rachel didn't say anything, but she seemed to be on the verge of whining. Cuddy acted quickly so House could sleep. "Come here, my cranky little monkey," she said, easily scooping Rachel up into her arms. As she walked them down the hallway and away from the bedroom, she patted Rachel's back. "I think you're still sleepy."

Rachel finally spoke up. "Where Froggie?"

Cuddy looked along the floor for a flash of robin's egg blue crumpled against a wall, but she didn't see the stuffed animal anywhere. "I don't know. I don't see it, so I think you might have left Froggie in your bed. Why don't we go check?"

"I want my monkey," Rachel whined.

"Shh," Cuddy soothed in return. "House is sleeping. Let's not wake him up." She slipped into Rachel's bedroom quickly, just in case Rachel decided that she didn't care about House. The second they were in the room though, Cuddy spotted the stuffed animal right away; crisis averted.

Froggie was currently on the floor and distinctly squashed looking, like Rachel had accidentally stepped on him when she'd gotten out of bed. Because the toy had been a last minute drug store buy of House's, Froggie was… well, cheap. If it had once been a plush and rather large monkey, it had quickly deflated since Rachel had gotten it. Its tail was little more than two pieces of fabric sewn together, the stuffing all gone. And it was still blue, but it certainly wasn't the same brilliant shade it had once been. But of all the things Rachel owned, this was, much to Cuddy's dismay, her favorite.

Carefully, Cuddy leaned over with Rachel still on her hip to pick up the stuffed animal. "Here we go. We found it." Rachel clutched the monkey to her chest before Cuddy had even gotten the words out.

Although Cuddy wasn't exactly fond of the toy, it seemed to calm Rachel down. Cuddy hated feeling like she was beholden to a stuffed animal. Rachel could turn so quickly when she wanted Froggie and it wasn't anywhere close. But for the moment, the monkey seemed useful. By the time Cuddy had brought them both into the living room, Rachel was asleep once more.

She didn't stay down for long. Only fifteen or so minutes of silence had past before she was awake again – and even more obstreperous than before. Cuddy couldn't tell if it was the short nap that had done it or if it was the promise that she would make Rachel breakfast that upset her. Either way, as soon as it became clear that House wouldn't be making the meal, whatever quiet had descended on them abruptly evaporated.

"Come on. I'll make us some eggs," Cuddy suggested when they were in the kitchen.

"No!" There was such vehemence in the word that it was a little surprising.

"Don't scream, Rachel. And you like eggs."

Rachel shook her head. "I don't want 'em."

"Okay… what about pancakes?"

"Yuck."

On principle, Cuddy wasn't interested in giving Rachel whatever she wanted. But if it would shut her up so that House could sleep, Cuddy was willing to give it to her in this one very specific instance. What Rachel wanted, however, was House to get up and make her breakfast. Cuddy tried to pretend like that wasn't where this conversation was headed. She knew better though.

"What can I make then that you will eat?"

"Nufing," Rachel said with what appeared to be a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Cuddy shook her head. "That's not an option. We need to eat, so you can take your medicine. So tell me what you want, or we're going to have cereal."

"No!" Rachel tossed Froggie to the floor in anger. "No cereal."

"What did I just say about being quiet?"

Rachel ignored her. "I want House to make –"

"House isn't awake."

As soon as the words were said though, they were no longer true. Standing in the kitchen doorway, his hair askew and eyes tired, was House, completely awake. It was obvious that this was not by choice. He looked exhausted, vaguely annoyed, but perhaps less so because Cuddy was trying to keep Rachel quiet for his sake.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy apologized, cringing. Hurriedly she moved away from the refrigerator and towards him. She kissed him briefly before saying, "She's in a mood today."

"No, I'm not!"

House ignored Rachel completely, focusing his attention on Cuddy instead. "Not your fault."

"I was going to let you sleep. How are you feeling?" she asked, noting that he had slipped an arm around her waist. He just shrugged in answer. "I'm sorry. Are you hungry? I can fix –"

"You think that's a good idea?" He pretended to seem nervous at the idea of her at the stove.

And that aggravated her. "Not you too."

"I'm just saying: I already feel bad enough. I don't think I need food poisoning to –"

"I have never – my food is – you are just as bad as she is," Cuddy accused, flustered.

"And you don't think there might be a reason for that?"

"Oh, there's a reason. You're teasing me, but she doesn't know the difference. She just picks up on what you're saying and –"

"So this reason has nothing to do with your inability to cook? Interesting." He smirked. "You have actually tasted the things you've made, yeah?"

He was enjoying himself, but she was considerably more frustrated. She wouldn't yell though, wouldn't let Rachel hear what she was about to say. Leaning into him, Cuddy rested her chin on his shoulder. To Rachel it would just look like they were hugging. To House a death threat seemed eminent as he tensed. Both were wrong.

"Don't make this difficult. I just wanted to do something nice for you," she confessed.

"Oh." He was surprised but recovered easily. "Well, I'm all for being lavished –"

"That's not exactly what I said." Even if he wasn't completely wrong about that, she fought back automatically.

"Isn't it?" he asked. "I'd like an explanation – eventually – but I'm not going to complain about your behavior as long as it benefits me." He was making it sound like she was doing this to get something from him. She wanted to ask him why he had to take an act of kindness and reduce it to something that seemed so… manipulative, but she suspected that the question would be lost on him. "That said, if you want to do something nice for me, I don't think breakfast –"

"You're wrong. It counts."

"From most people, probably. From you, definitely not."

She sighed. This was a fight she was losing, but she had to keep trying. "It's not that bad. You make me sound more incompetent than I am."

"Sure," he said with a shrug. "Still, let's play to our strengths, shall we?" The patronizing words were punctuated with a soft pat on her ass. His meaning was clear.

"I am good at more than just having sex with you," she whispered, low enough so that Rachel could definitely not hear that.

House pushed her away then. "Oh, I know you are. It's just that I happen to like your skills in that area more than all the others you possess. Now, let me get started on breakfast."

Rachel clapped her hands with happiness. "Yay!"

"Don't scowl, snookums," House mocked as he began rummaging through the refrigerator for eggs. He couldn't even see the look on her face, Cuddy thought, but he knew. She was not happy about this situation.

As always, he sensed that she had a plan… and without any concern or care for it, he was wrecking it.

She wouldn't let that deter her, she told herself. He was going to make breakfast, but there was no reason why she had to give up. It felt like a failure, so she reminded herself that she had plenty of time, many more opportunities to demonstrate to House that she loved him.

If she were thrown off by the rough start, she'd recovered by the time afternoon hit. The morning had become relaxing eventually, and now outside, Cuddy could feel the sun slowly dissolving whatever chill might have lingered in the house. She realized that sounded stupid. All she really meant was that this felt right.

They'd had a picnic in the backyard for lunch. Silly as the whole concept was, it was a nice day, and more importantly, it felt like a good way to get Rachel out of the house and playing outside. And Rachel had been excited at the novelty, so Cuddy was willing to qualify the meager meal of turkey sandwiches and hummus with crackers and celery sticks a success.

House had made cookies after breakfast, so Cuddy had assumed he wouldn't join them outside after putting forth that effort. She had been wrong in thinking he would take a break though; he'd followed them both out the door, even going so far as to help bring food out. She didn't mean to sound so surprised by his helpfulness (she wasn't). It was just that she could see that he was still recovering from yesterday. He didn't complain and showed no signs of having taken the Vicodin, but his gait wasn't back to normal yet. And sometimes when she looked at him, he seemed far away, like he wasn't in the room with her because his attention was focused on the pain. But he had put that aside to join them.

Maybe it was for the best. It was peaceful out here. Cuddy had spread out a blanket for them to eat off of and sit on. Now with the food cleared off to the side, House had taken over the thin quilt by lying on top of it. His legs cast out into the warm sunlight, he had his face resting in Cuddy's lap while she watched over Rachel, who was busy weeding the yard. From a distance, the scene would look bad. The mother relaxing with her boyfriend, her hands rubbing his neck, temples, and hair, the daughter toiling away in the grass. But Rachel liked what she was doing. Cuddy couldn't understand why, but apparently, there was something immensely satisfying in yanking the unwanted foliage out of the ground. Indeed, if one were to get a closer look, it would be impossible to miss the smile on Rachel's face as she tackled a particularly stubborn plant and pulled hard. Even when she fell backwards and landed on her butt, she didn't seem deterred. She just got back up and tried harder.

"You do realize she probably kills more grass doing that than the weeds would if we just left them there, right?" House asked tiredly. His eyes closed, he wasn't even looking at what Rachel was doing. But he wasn't wrong either. Rachel, for all of her efforts, was less discerning about what she forced out of the ground than was desired.

Cuddy pushed his hair back off his warm forehead. "It's fine. It's probably all going to die when the summer hits, so a few bald spots aren't that big of a deal."

He didn't care enough about what Rachel was doing to comment further on it. "I know what you're doing," he said calmly. The abruptness of the change in topic confused her. "You being nice to me," he clarified.

"I can't be nice to you?"

"You can, yes. But the way you're laying it on, I'm expecting you to start feeding me peeled grapes and –"

"No, I'm not."

He shrugged. "I'm just curious as to why."

"Why... I'm being nice to you?" She stumbled over the words, because it was such a depressing thought that she could barely articulate what he was implying. "Because I – what exactly do you think is happening?"

If she was uncomfortable with the accusation, he seemed the opposite. He was relaxed, not mad, matter of fact without sounding cold. "I assume you want something. So as nice as this is, I'd rather we just get to the point, so I can decide what exactly it is you should do to convince me of whatever it is that you want."

"I don't want anything," she said simply, more than a little vaguely offended by the idea.

"Really?" He was surprised.

"Really. I don't want anything," she repeated. "I just want to have a nice weekend with you. It feels like we haven't had one of those in a while and –"

"By all means then, continue."

She replied sarcastically, "Why thank you for your permission, House."

"You're welcome."

"Shut up."

He acted as though he was wounded. "I thought you were trying to be nice. What a quitter."

"Yes, that's me," she said dryly.

He didn't respond, perhaps content to let the conversation go, perhaps too tired to let it continue. He yawned then and rubbed at his eyes.

"Why don't you go lay down?" she suggested. "You look exhausted."

At first he was dismissive. "I'm fine."

"Of course. And how fine are you going to be if you fall asleep on the ground?"

"I don't know. Your thighs – getting bigger by the way – are pretty comfy." He moved his head around on her lap as though he were getting comfortable.

"My thighs are not –"

"Must be your ass then. It's –"

"My ass is the same as it has always been, and last I checked, it didn't have magical powers –"

"Oh it's got powers," he insisted.

"To make your leg feel better after it's been on the ground for a few hours," she continued, ignoring him.

He seemed to think about it and sighed. The joke clearly no longer funny to him, he relented. "Fine. Maybe you're right."

"It does happen sometimes."

"You've met your quota for the year early then. Congratulations."

"Go away," she said, pushing at his shoulders.

He smirked as he slowly got up. "That truth bomb hurt?"

"I don't know what that means, but I think I've learned to survive whatever you throw my way."

"One can only hope."

If he had sounded doubtful, she wasn't sure what she would have done. But he was joking, and though it wasn't funny to her, she would at least take some comfort in the fact that he didn't mean it. That was what she told herself anyway; when he headed back into the house, it was difficult to find anything positive about what he'd said.

"Mommy, I'm thirsty."

Knowing there was no way she could continue thinking about House, Cuddy turned her head to Rachel. The little girl's hair had come mostly out of its ponytail, the hair tie barely looped around a few sweaty strands at the nape of her neck. And she was covered in dirt and grass stains, her face pink with the considerable effort she'd put into attacking the yard. Although naps were becoming rarer now, there was no question that Rachel would fall asleep this afternoon. Cuddy smiled at her as she reached for the sippy cup filled with water nestled by her hip out of sight. "Here you go, honey."

Rachel took the cup and drank from it happily. Before Cuddy could even suggest it, Rachel asked, "Can you fix my hair?"

"Of course." Cuddy patted her lap to signal for Rachel to sit down. Rachel eagerly listened. As Cuddy went about making a new ponytail, she said, "You get all the weeds?"

"I think so."

"Good. You're such a big help."

Rachel ignored her. "Where's House?"

"He's taking a nap." There was no need to discuss why. There was no desire to. That would just bring the conversation back to yesterday, and Cuddy didn't want to talk about anything involving the dog. Looking back at their discussion last night, she had come to the conclusion that Rachel had just meant that they'd gotten the dog in the car, not that House had promised such a thing (obviously he hadn't). But just in case she was wrong, Cuddy was hoping that, by not talking about it, Rachel wouldn't ask again. And the next time they were in a parking lot, Rachel wouldn't be allowed anywhere until she took hold of her mother's hand.

"Oh." She didn't seem concerned one way or another. The serenity didn't last long however, as Rachel quickly began to fuss. The sunshine and the heat getting to her, she complained, "My water's hot."

"Okay. Let's –"

"I'm hot," she whined, wiggling around uncomfortably on Cuddy's lap.

"Then let's go inside, all right? Go on," she said before Rachel could say anything else. "I'll bring everything in. You just go get cool." It was easier to deal with the problem than to admonish Rachel for her complaining.

Not surprisingly, Rachel ran toward the door without ever looking back to see if she could help Cuddy bring anything in to the kitchen. But that was fine, honestly. Cuddy didn't mind cleaning up on her own. Again, it was probably easier that way. There were no helping hands, but this would be quicker. Even counting the time necessary to pick up the extracted weeds Rachel had left behind on the ground, it only took five, maybe ten, minutes to discard the dead plants, grab the blanket, and dirty dishes. Rachel was waiting for her at the door. "I can hold it!" she exclaimed in her eagerness to help, referring to the door that would surely hit Cuddy in the ass if someone weren't there to prop it open.

"Thank you," Cuddy said with purpose. Living with House sometimes made it feel like a lost cause to teach Rachel manners, but the effort was still important to make. Once she was inside, she asked, "Can you grab the blanket for me please?"

"Uh huh." With more force than was necessary, Rachel tugged on the afghan currently wedged underneath Cuddy's armpit. "What do I do now?"

Cuddy smiled. "Let me put the dishes in the sink and then I'll take it from you."

"And then I can have more cookies?" Rachel asked sweetly. Cuddy ignored her to make sure she got the plates, bowls, and silverware into the sink and not on the floor. "Mommy?"

"Not right now. Maybe after dinner."

"Please?"

Moving back to her daughter, Cuddy said, "I'm glad that you said, 'Please,' but I already gave you an answer." When Rachel started to pout, Cuddy leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I don't want your blood sugar to get too high, so not right now, okay?"

"This sucks." The blanket was tossed on the floor in a fit of frustration, but before the tantrum could fully form, it was interrupted by the phone ringing.

"I have to get this," Cuddy explained. There was no need to threaten Rachel with punishment if she acted up while Cuddy tried to take the call. The warning was implied and understood. "Hello?" she asked a moment after she'd picked up the phone.

"Hello, Lisa."

The friendly voice was familiar though one Cuddy hadn't heard in a while. It felt odd to say that it belonged to her mother-in-law, as House had done his best to keep the two parts of his family as distinct from one another as possible. He more than anyone else would balk at the terminology, but Cuddy wasn't exactly comfortable with Blythe House being her mother-in-law either. It didn't make much sense to her; she had no problem referring to Blythe as one of Rachel's grandmothers after all. Then again, considering who the other grandmother was in this situation, anyone, even a rock, would probably be an improvement, Cuddy thought bleakly. Still, she had yet to feel anything toward Blythe personally. Good or bad. Their relationship was polite, but they weren't close. They didn't share stories very much or relate to one another. When they were together, they focused on Rachel. They didn't even talk about House really, beyond how he was and the very basics of conversation necessary to maintain a warm dynamic between them, of course. Like so:

"Blythe. How are you doing?"

"I'm well. How are you?"

"Good."

"The hospital keeping you busy?"

"As always, but I'm managing. We got a pretty big donation a few months ago, so it hasn't been as hectic lately," Cuddy explained. Bored, Rachel started to walk away, but Cuddy grabbed her by the arm and motioned for her to stay put.

"Congratulations. And how is Greg?"

"Greg is Greg" was the typical answer Cuddy offered, and so it was the one she used here. It seemed to convey all of the required information.

"That well?" As was her way, Blythe managed to sound warm and sarcastic all at the same time.

If it were what House wanted, Cuddy would have told her about the patient he'd just lost. He wouldn't want his mother to know that though, so Cuddy said nothing. It became clear then, in a way she had never realized, that the issue between the women was House himself. He didn't want there to be a relationship... so there wasn't.

"And how's Rachel?"

Cuddy smiled. "A handful. I have her here if you'd like to say hi."

"I would like that very much, thank you."

"All right. Hold on." Cuddy pulled the phone away from ear. "Do you want to say hello to your grandmother?" she asked Rachel. The answer came in the form of scowl, as though the very idea was torturous. "Not Nana," Cuddy clarified.

Rachel's mood changed instantly. "Mom Mom?" she asked, acting as though she needed clarification to avoid being tricked. Cuddy nodded her head. "Okay, then I want to talk to her."

"Good. Because I think she wants to talk to you too." Cuddy hit the speakerphone button; it seemed easier to subject herself to the inane conversation than to trust that Rachel, who was still too young to remember that she needed to always hold the phone up to her mouth, would remember. "Blythe, I put you on speakerphone if that's all right."

"That's fine with me. Is Rachel there?"

"Uh huh! I'm here," Rachel said cheerfully as Cuddy set the phone on the kitchen counter. Reaching down, she picked Rachel up and put her on the counter as well.

"And how are you doing, darling?"

"I am good."

"Are you learning a lot in school?"

"No!"

Cuddy intervened. "We're learning some things. Next week, the school is having its field day. The children spend the day outside playing games and participating in sports. I think there's even going to be someone there to paint faces. Isn't there, Rachel?"

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'm pretty sure I have that right."

"Well, that sounds like a lot of fun. What could be better than going to school and not having to participate in lessons?" the voice over the phone said.

"It's certainly different than when I attended school," Cuddy replied diplomatically. "But the school year's almost over, so I suppose the idea is to let everyone have one day of fun before they go off for the summer. Or in Rachel's case, before she changes schools. I'm sure I told you about that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Blythe said in an equally polite manner. "I appreciate you thinking of me when it comes keeping me informed, since my own son chooses not to."

"You know House" was all Cuddy could say in return.

"Are you looking forward to your new school, Rachel?"

Rachel glared at Cuddy; she obviously didn't appreciate this topic of conversation. "No."

"I'm sure you'll meet a lot of new friends. A sweet little girl like you. I think you'll have so much fun next year." That was the thing about all of this that Cuddy couldn't understand. House acted as though he hated his own mother. But from where she was standing, Blythe was more often than not just a sweet woman. Because of House, there was an awkwardness the two women couldn't overcome, but she was gentle and optimistic with Rachel. That was more than Cuddy could say for her own mother.

"I guess," Rachel said noncommittally.

Blythe changed the subject. "Well, what have you been doing outside of school recently? Are you still dancing?"

Excitedly Rachel took the opening to focus on other topics. "Uh huh. I dances a lot, and it's fun, and I get to wear a yellow costume with flames!" She actually shouted the last word, like that would provide extra enjoyment.

"They are having a recital the weekend before the fourth of July," Cuddy explained. "I think she's supposed to be the sun."

"Is that a good part?" Blythe asked carefully.

"Yes! I have to be on stage the whole time, and I has to dance a lot and sometimes I have to stand still and flap my arms cause I has rays."

"That sounds wonderful. I wish I could be there to see it."

The guilt trip was fairly effective. But oblivious to what was happening around her, Rachel kept talking. Unfortunately for Cuddy, Rachel had not forgotten about the dog yesterday. Blythe's desire to see Rachel pushed out of Cuddy's mind, Cuddy focused her attention on what Rachel was now saying. Thankfully, she didn't claim that she had been allowed to keep the dog. It was just the opposite. As the emotionally wrought story came to an end, Rachel finished by saying, "House says we can't keep the puppy."

"Well, you know Rachel, it doesn't sound like that doggie is ready for a family yet," Blythe told her calmly. The fact that Blythe hadn't used the moment to criticize her son or Cuddy was not surprising; she wasn't Arlene. But Cuddy was grateful nonetheless. "Perhaps, if your mommy says it's okay, you could go see the dog before he finds a new home. Wish him good luck and say goodbye to him once you know that he's okay."

Rachel didn't like this idea. It was obvious that she had been hoping desperately that her beloved grandmother would condemn her mother and House for denying such a sweet and precious child the dog of her dreams. "Maybe... but I think he should come live with me!"

"That would be very nice indeed," Blythe humored. "But… I'm sure the dog already has a home."

"Yes, he does," Cuddy said, latching onto the idea, even though it contradicted what Blythe had said only moments ago.

Rachel looked at her suspiciously. "No, he doesn't."

"You know what I think?" Blythe offered. "I think that any dog you love must be special enough to already have a home. Because if you want him, then so would everybody else. I'm sure someone misses him very much right now."

It was a complete lie, but for Rachel, there was something about Blythe's soft demeanor that gave the lie more credibility than it deserved. " I guess," she conceded. "Then I wanna say goodbye," she said to Cuddy, who considered refusing.

It was a good idea; she wouldn't deny that she appreciated what Blythe was doing. It would give Rachel the closure she needed, give her the comfort in seeing that the dog was all right and that it would be loved even if not by her. On the other hand, Cuddy could tell that a meeting between the dog and Rachel would be anything but simple. If they came to face to face, it wouldn't be about saying goodbye. That certainly wasn't why she wanted to see the animal. Regardless of Blythe's intentions, the reality would be that this would be a last ditch effort to convince Cuddy that they should take the dog. Rachel would never be able to let the dog go without fighting for it. And when that battle was lost, as it was always going to be, she would be heartbroken. Goodbye would occur, but it would be the type of ending wrenched from her, forced out of her, and in that way, it wouldn't give her the closure she wanted. It would upset her; it would make her angry, and it would cause more problems than just a simple, "We can't go see the dog" would have ever created. But Blythe had made the suggestion. Perhaps she didn't realize the problems it would create, or maybe she just didn't care, so long as she looked like a hero in Rachel's eyes.

No, Cuddy thought rejecting the idea. Her mother-in-law was many things, but the family tree's deviousness seemed to have been concentrated in House, excluding all other family members from having that trait. For Cuddy it might not have been the most helpful suggestion, but it was not intentionally offered as a means to create complication. Blythe was a nice person even if they weren't close. Besides, wasn't she doing Cuddy a favor by putting off Rachel's desire to keep the dog? Cuddy told herself that she was, that this was a sweet attempt at helping her.

Of course, there was no way Cuddy could say no to the idea now. Later... maybe, maybe she would be able to tell Rachel something came up. But not now.

"We can do that. I'll call the vet and see when would be a good time for us to stop by."

"Good," Rachel said calmly. "Will you come to my recital?" she asked, placated by the promise that she would get to see the dog again.

"Oh Rachel, I don't know if Mom Mom wants to come all this way. It's a very long drive for her." As soon as she said it, Cuddy knew how terrible it sounded. She hadn't intended to make it seem like Blythe wouldn't want to see Rachel. As confusing as this family dynamic was, Cuddy was sure that Blythe loved Rachel, would do anything for her.

Reinforcing that point, Blythe said, "Rachel, I would love to come. But we'll have to make sure Greg is okay with it."

Rachel's nose scrunched up in confusion. "Why do you call House 'Greg'?"

"Because that's his name, darling. His first name anyway."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence where nobody spoke. Cuddy knew that the others were waiting for her to say something dismissively about House, such as, "Don't worry about House." But the truth was she didn't want to speak like that, especially not in front of Rachel. Maybe she would have at one time, but looming over them now was the guardianship. And if Cuddy was looking for House to prove that he was worthy, she knew that she couldn't undermine him as she might have done in the past.

It wasn't that she would lose him. He wouldn't break up with her. But if she made him seem unimportant, his opinions valueless, what would that teach Rachel? She could see now that there had been times where she had done just that, recently too, and the result would be, if God forbid something happened, that Rachel would never view House has a figure of authority. With her mother gone, Rachel would be in House's care, but she wouldn't behave for him, because she would have learned to ignore him. She would have come to believe, thanks to her own mother, that House couldn't be trusted to know what was good for her.

That couldn't happen. All the acts of kindness today would be meaningless if she allowed that to occur in her death. There would be no amount of massages and heating pads and breakfasts made for him to make up for that.

So all she could tell Blythe and Rachel was, "I'll talk to House. I'm sure he wants to see you."

"Well I'm glad one of us is sure about that." It was sarcasm mixed with the palpable desire for Cuddy to be right. "I mean, it would be nice to see my granddaughter. She must have grown so much since I last saw her."

"No," Rachel said hastily. "I'm tiny. I'm a baby."

"Yes, you are. A sweet little baby," Blythe agreed.

Her tone was what stuck with Cuddy long after the conversation ended. Regardless of everything else, Blythe loved Rachel. She had seen Cuddy's daughter as part of her family in some ways long before House himself had. And it seemed to Cuddy then so ridiculous that they should be kept apart for reasons House had never named. It seemed so silly that they would be looking for nannies when Blythe was in Lexington, little more than a widow who spent her days waiting for the next friend or acquaintance to die. It seemed wrong.

But the idea didn't form fully in Cuddy's mind until Rachel had gone down for her nap. Only in the silence did Cuddy begin to believe that maybe she could convince Blythe to relocate and House to let her. The latter would obviously take more convincing than the former, but really, what grounds would he have to refuse? He might have felt that his mother had been horrible to him (although he had never really said one way or the other if he believed this), but she was nice to Rachel. Cuddy didn't underestimate how hard that would be for him to accept. Was it a reason to keep Rachel from enjoying that love and attention though? No.

And if Blythe would be willing to watch Rachel, who would be a better caregiver than Rachel's own grandmother? She didn't know how to give insulin injections, of course. But Blythe would have more of a reason to learn and certainly more motivation to get the dosage right. And if that was too complicated, there was nothing to prevent her from bringing Rachel to the hospital for doses or from a nurse being hired to help Blythe.

Cuddy took a deep breath and forced herself to pause. It wasn't a bad idea, but she needed House to okay it. Part of her railed against needing his approval, but she couldn't do this without that. It was a delicate matter, the relationship between mother and son. Cuddy wouldn't be doing anyone any good if she brought Blythe out here to be subjected to House's abuse. That wouldn't benefit Rachel in any way, so Cuddy decided broaching the possibility with House had to happen. Even if she didn't like the thought of giving him the power to veto what she thought was best for her own daughter.

Reluctantly then, Cuddy headed to their bedroom. She had no plans to wake House up, but she figured the bedroom was as good a place as any to wait. But when she entered the room, he was sitting up in bed, perusing the book she'd left on her nightstand.

"This is crap, by the way," he said firmly, like he was judging her for even having brought the book into their home.

"And yet you're reading it," she pointed out before shutting the door behind her. "Why are you awake?"

He shrugged. "Can't sleep, and I didn't feel like getting up to find something better to read." He tossed the book in the general vicinity of her nightstand and missed, the novel sliding onto the floor. "Mommy, I dropped it."

Begrudgingly she went and picked it up. "Speaking of mothers –"

"Yeah, see I was hoping this would turn into kinky sex and not a discussion of your mother's latest –"

"I wasn't referring to my mom," she said in a calm, serious voice.

He must have known what she was getting at. There was no way he didn't understand. But he acted as though he didn't get it. "Oh. Is this about Wilson's latest piece? Because I'm sure he was only joking when he told me he let her dress him up in diapers and spank him with –"

"While I appreciate that mental picture –"

"That turn you on, huh? I know. It's hard to resist."

"I'm talking about your mother."

The playfulness was gone. "Is that who called?" Cuddy nodded her head. "What did she want?"

"To talk." She tried to watch his face carefully as she sat on the bed beside him, but he was too good to let any emotion through.

"And how did that go?" It was a neutral question.

"Fine. Rachel told her about the dog."

"You didn't think she would? She isn't going to shut up about that thing until the mailman knows about it."

She cautiously admitted, "I may have underestimated her desire for –"

"Let's just get to the point," he interrupted abruptly.

She didn't understand. "What do you –"

"You talked to my mother. You knew I was laying down, didn't know whether I was asleep or not. Yet you came in here anyway. That means you want something. Or rather, it means she wants something. I'm guessing she wants to visit."

She didn't say anything at first. While technically that was true, Cuddy was about to ask him for so much more than that. And it needed to be put to him in the best way possible, if only to get him to even consider the proposal. But she hadn't expected him to be awake, so she hadn't thought of what to say.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said triumphantly. "You tell her no?"

"No."

"You told her yes?"

"No. I told her that I would talk to you."

"And you think I'm going to say yes?" He was almost amused with his own curiosity.

Cuddy decided there would be no time better than the present to spring the idea on House. He would never be in the right frame of mind to hear her out. No matter what, he would rail against the proposal. But if she waited to bring it up, it would look like she'd been plotting against him. Or like she'd lied to him or something. So she had no choice but to wade through the murky thought process that had once seemed perfectly clear. Words forming slowly and uneasily, she explained, "I know you don't like spending time with her, so of course, I know what you're going to say."

"Then you should have told her no." His voice was flat, not angry but hardly pleased by this turn of events.

"She needs to understand that her relationship with Rachel is the way that it is because of her relationship with you, not me."

"Yes it's all my fault."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"But you're hoping I'll tell you that she should come stay with us for a few days anyway." It wasn't a question. He must have been able to sense it from her, what she wanted. "That's why you didn't tell her no. Because you want her here."

"Not exactly." She sighed, every cell in her reluctant to bring up anything that might destroy the neutral ground they'd finally found themselves on. "I was listening to her talk to Rachel on the phone, and Rachel adores her."

A year ago, he would have said something disparaging about Rachel to discredit her opinion. Today, he merely admitted, "I know she does."

Cuddy wanted to believe that was a good sign, so she continued. "And even though you clearly don't believe she was a good mother to you, I'm sure you can see that your mom is great with Rachel." He gave her nothing in response, just kept his eyes on her, imploring her to keep going. "I was thinking how silly it is. Your mother is completely alone, all by herself in that home of hers. She has nobody to turn to."

"Am I supposed to feel bad about that? Cause I don't."

She ignored the snipe, although the comment registered in her mind that it wasn't a good sign of things to come. "The only thing she has is, not counting you, her granddaughter."

He sneered, silencing her immediately. But if he was offended, he didn't explain why. He just said, "Keep talking. I want to get this over with."

Reluctantly, she did as he requested. "And here we are, looking for someone to watch Rachel while –"

"No."

The word was uttered so low that it would have been easy to miss if not for the deadly manner in which it came out. It gave her pause. But she knew that he was going to be mad either way now; she might as well offer the full argument so that his wrath would be lessened by the knowledge that she had said everything she'd wanted to.

"She wouldn't live with us. She would watch Rachel during the weekdays. Pick her up from school."

"Did you talk to my mother about this?" he asked insistently.

"No." She went back to building her case. "You wouldn't have to talk to her. You'd barely have to see her. And in return, she would get to spend time with Rachel, which they both want. We wouldn't have to plan trips for them to see one another. And instead of hiring someone, we would be leaving Rachel in the care of someone who is actually invested in her well-being." She placed a hand over his heart. "I know this is hard, but is there anyone better for –"

"I would say just about everyone else on the planet would be a better babysitter," he snapped. "Actually anyone else – I would trust them more."

He'd rejected the idea. She could see that he wasn't even considering it. Without thinking, he was saying no. She didn't feel anger or disappointment because of that; she understood that she was asking a lot of him right now. But she pushed him anyway, "Please. Don't say no just because –"

"Stop talking." It was an order, roughly given and horribly received. "This isn't happening. It's not going to happen. I don't care what your reasoning in that tiny brain of yours is. You're an idiot. This idea of yours? It's as stupid as you are, so do us both a favor and shut up."

It wasn't what he said that bothered her. He'd said far worse to her before, and when insults, particularly ones about her intellect, were common, she didn't take offense to what he said in the heat of the moment. Well... maybe she did, a little bit anyway. But it wasn't the words themselves that upset her. It was the tone he used, the way he shoved her hand off of him and rolled away from her. Normally, when they argued, they said many terrible things to one another. Years of their working relationship had expanded the limits to what could be said between them. Typically though, he didn't resist her touch; if anything, they should have been angrily tearing off each other's clothes right now and having sex.

This was anything but the usual disagreement between them though. He was proving that with each passing second. The fact that he wouldn't even look at her, the way his body was tightly coiled and tensed, as though he feared her next words like a physical blow – that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Everything about him said that she had to stop. And she did want to do what he had instructed. But she couldn't, could she? She'd made a mistake, and she had to make it right.

Because there was no way this was going to resolve itself on its own.

"House," she said slowly.

"Shut up."

She tried again. "Please –"

"No."

She waited a moment, gave him a chance to calm down, before trying again. "You're right," she said as quickly as she could. She needed to say those words before he interrupted her, so the sentence came out as one long word. This time, he didn't comment. "It's a terrible idea."

And maybe spooning against him when he was desperate to put distance between them was another one, but she did it anyway. Moving as close to him as she could, she let her forehead press against the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have said that. It was stupid."

"You don't say" was his cold reply. Capitulation was having no effect in calming him down.

Neither did "I'm sorry." She had to go further. "I just wish that you would... no, I don't want to say that." She didn't want it to sound like she was blaming him. That he wasn't already yelling at her again was a good sign, she supposed. But it wasn't proof that she had been absolved of her sins. "I want to do what's best for Rachel and –"

"That isn't it," he snarled, proof of an obvious misstep on her part.

She didn't disagree. "I know. Obviously it's not if it makes you this upset." He shifted uncomfortably at the terminology but didn't fight her. "I just… your mother doesn't have that much time left."

"Thank God for that."

"I know you don't mean that."

He shook his head. "You don't know that. And I do mean it."

"Rachel loves her. I got caught up in that, wanting to give Rachel that relationship that she will never have with my mother." She could feel him bristling at her explanation. He didn't want that, clearly. He wanted her to grovel. "I know. I didn't think about it enough. I don't think about you enough when I'm trying to make decisions like this. I'm sorry."

"Of course you didn't do that." He was calmer now but no less judgmental and hateful in his response. "You let a woman who barely sees Rachel once a year consider herself a grandmother, but I live with Rachel, and I have to beg for everything I get from you."

"That's not true."

"It is. You think I'm not good enough for Rachel but the woman who raised me? She's fine?" He laughed breathlessly, joylessly.

When it was put like that, it sounded awful. But he was ignoring an important fact, which she pointed out. "Two things," she said in a straightforward manner. "If I let her consider herself Rachel's grandmother, it was so that you would invest yourself in Rachel's future more. At that point, you had no interest in her, and I thought that that would help you see the role you were assuming in Rachel's life. More importantly, Blythe can do what she wants, because she's never going to be my daughter's father. You are," she stressed heavily.

That was what they were talking about. They could couch it in less threatening terms like "guardianship," but they both knew what they were doing, what it would mean. When they explained it to Rachel, there wouldn't be any legal terms used. Cuddy knew what she would have to say to her daughter. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

"Yes. This is harder. It should be," she argued.

"Because I would be around Rachel every day, where as a grandmother wouldn't – Oh wait," he exclaimed, pretending to be surprised where his point would lead him.

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he couldn't see her. "Well, that's not happening. But if it had, she wouldn't make decisions. I would have never let her cross that boundary."

"That's good to know, considering she would be terrible at it," he muttered.

Silently she draped an arm over him and held him close for what she would ask next. Afraid he would bolt otherwise, she wanted him to understand that she wasn't trying to hurt him, that it was just the opposite.

"Talk to me," she implored. "Your father… I understand." Comprehension wasn't thanks to him. He had never talked much about his childhood, save for a few tidbits here and there. When his father had died, House had let more information slip than he ever would have normally. Cuddy had gotten most of it second hand, thanks to Wilson, but through the years, she had received a pretty complete picture of House's childhood nonetheless. And in all she'd learned, every act of cruelty seemed to be at his father's hands. Not Blythe's.

"But your mother," Cuddy continued.

"Oh, you think you've earned the family history now? After that, Cuddy?"

"I want to understand why you get angrier the closer she gets." She hedged off accusations of stupidity by saying, "I wish I was smart enough to get it. I –"

"I would like that as well. Unfortunately for both of us, your mother drank while pregnant so…."

"Fine. I'm an idiot. Is that you want me to say?"

He shook his head emphatically. "I don't want you to say anything. I'd much rather you actually consider what it is that you're asking and figure it out."

It killed her to open herself up to criticism by saying it, but he left her no choice. She had to admit what he couldn't see. "House, I would do anything to avoid having this conversation. I hate asking. I do. But I don't understand. I don't."

He made a noise of disgust. "What's there to understand? You just have to do what you are told when it comes to my mother."

"No," she fought back. "I'm not doing that anymore."

"Putting it like that makes it sound like there was a time when you did do that. And clearly, what today has shown is that –"

"I have done just that for a long time. Every time she calls, I avoid…. Never mind. From now on, if you want me to put your mother off, you're going to have explain why. Right now. Before you've had a chance to come up with something that sounds reasonable but is a complete lie." She wasn't threatening, not really. He just needed incentive to talk to her.

"What do you want me to say?" he demanded, his words echoing hers from moments ago. "You want me to tell you every last gruesome detail of –"

"I want you to talk to me. That is all I have ever wanted from you." She was pleading. Her lips kissed the back of his neck, her hands squeezing into the skin beneath her. "She upsets you so much, and –"

"No, she doesn't."

"Don't deny it. I know you hate her."

"And that should be enough."

"It's not. And it's not for you, because if I say anything even remotely kind about her, you take it as a personal affront."

"Again, that should be enough to tell you everything you need to know."

"I'm not interested in salacious details, House." But the reassurance wasn't successful. Looking at him, she could tell that her tactics hadn't worked so far. Threats, sympathy, pleas – they weren't getting her any nearer to what she needed to know. No, she thought, rejecting the way she had worded the sentiment. It wasn't a fact-finding mission she was on. She hadn't lied by saying she wasn't asking for the specifics. That might help, but she would have settled for knowing what about his mother upset him so badly. To his mind, he would no doubt believe those things were one in the same. They might have been. For her though, there was a distinction between retelling precisely what had happened and what fears or anger he specifically had now about his mother being in his life. He wasn't going to tell her either way. She could say it however she wanted, but he lay there frozen, tensed as though he were waiting for her to strike. He of all people though would know she would never hit him, so what was he afraid of?

It was fear she saw. The realization coming to her without being asked for, she could recognize it now for what it was. He was terrified. And if the cause wasn't the possibility of physical violence, she could only believe that there was just one reason left.

Stroking his arm with her palm, she told him in a gentle voice, "I won't tell you you're wrong. Whatever you tell me… you're right. I will believe you, no matter what you say."

"Like you did when you suggested my mother move here while you knew I would –"

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry, House."

It was hard to say if he believed her or was just exasperated with the way the conversation was going. The way he let out a ragged breath, it seemed like the weight of his secrets had exhausted him. But the way he relaxed a little against her suggested otherwise.

"I keep thinking," he started off in a voice so quiet that she could barely hear him. "When I look at Rachel, I can't... I can't picture myself doing to her the things that happened to me when I was her age."

She was quick to reassure him. "I know. You could never be like that. You're a good man."

It needed to be said. The last couple of months, she had shown more reluctance toward this whole situation than he deserved. She was scared to share Rachel with him, for reasons that had nothing to do with what kind of man House was. He needed to know that. As concerned as she could be that he would spoil Rachel, Cuddy knew that he would never hurt her. She worried that she had suggested otherwise, and that anxiety wasn't lessened in the way he silently accepted the words. If he had known that, he would have made fun of her for feeling the need to state the obvious.

He wasn't doing that.

"Thing about that is: every time I think that, I also realize that you would never let it happen. If I did something to hurt Rachel... that would be it. And if you had hurt her, I wouldn't – I couldn't ignore that. I would do everything I could..." His voice trailed off, as though he was incapable of finishing the thought.

She did it for him. "And your mother didn't do that for you."

"No." He waited for a moment to see what she would say, and when she stayed quiet, he added sarcastically, "This is the part where you tell me that she didn't have the means to leave or offer platitudes like 'Things were different in those days' or –"

"I told you I wouldn't do that."

"So you did."

"I'm sorry." The earnestness with which her apology was uttered sounded foreign to her ears. She wasn't sure she had ever sounded more remorseful. "I didn't – I wasn't thinking. But you're right. She's not a good –"

"No, she's the perfect person to watch Rachel."

"Not if she makes you feel like –"

"My mother wouldn't let anything happen to her. I mean, even I can see that. All this has really done is confirm for me that it had nothing to do with her being incapable. It was me... something about me..."

The "No" she uttered got caught in her throat. "You can't –"

"Stop. Just don't." Coldly he sat up. He didn't look at her when he said, "I'm not talking about this anymore." As quickly as his leg would allow, he stood up. She wanted to grab his hand and force him into her arms, so she could hold him while she apologized and comforted him. But he purposely stayed out of her reach. He knew what she wanted, and he clearly wasn't going to give it to her. "Don't ask me about this again."

Before she could find the words to convince him to stay, he was gone. Before she'd gotten out of bed to chase after him, he had locked himself in his office. And she knew that there was no reaching him now. He would only come out when he had had time to push down every unwanted feeling she had brought out in him. It was unclear whether he would still be angry when he re-entered the rest of the home. She would be prepared if he was, but selfishly she hoped that he would forgive her or be willing to move on. Regardless, it was obvious:

They still needed a nanny.

And Cuddy would never see this part of House ever again.

End (2/3)