Author's Note: This is the first thing I've ever written for House. I've been binge-watching it on Netflix and decided I'd give it a shot. Please, don't be too harsh.

Author's Note #2: This takes place after season 7. It's AU, pretending that House and Cuddy didn't fall apart for good. Everything's much happier than it actually is in the series.

"No!"

House could hear Rachel whining from down the hall. He sighed. He was normally quite patient with her bratty behavior – more patient than he was with anyone else, at least – but he was already on edge. He and Cuddy had both worked full days, but instead of going home afterwards, they'd all gone to the park and then out for dinner. It was the first nice Friday of Spring and they should enjoy it, Cuddy had said when she'd met him in his office at 5:00 that evening. He'd agreed, if only to make both Cuddy ladies happy.

So, they went to the park and they went to dinner. It was a great evening, save for the hissy fit, screaming match, and bloody lip. Now they were all exhausted, House's leg was becoming increasingly painful, and he just wasn't in the mood for the kid's theatrics.

He liked Rachel, but for the love of God, he just wanted her to be quiet.

"I- I…w-w-want…H-h-ouse!" He heard her howl from her bedroom. His instinct, for whatever reason, was to get off the couch and head for her room. He had to stop himself, though; he didn't want to risk offending Cuddy by offering help when it wasn't needed, and he really didn't want to stand up. Besides, he was sure Little Cuddy only wanted him because she thought he'd be the good cop and would save her from the dreaded bedtime, or would read her another bedtime story.

Twenty minutes and some more wailing later, silence fell over the house and Cuddy emerged from the depths of Rachel's bedroom. "Good God…" she said, dropping onto the couch with a huff.

House involuntarily grabbed for his thigh as the couch bounced. It was a habit, but one that typically reflected substantial pain. Cuddy knew that, and she'd seen his movements.

"Long day, huh?" She asked gently.

He nodded. "Little Cuddy was a particularly rambunctious handful tonight."

"You can use her name, you know." She said, though she actually didn't care. First names weren't particularly important to House, or to her for that matter; they'd been sleeping together for two years and still called each other by their surnames. "Sorry she was so out of control."

House shook his head tiredly. "She's five. You don't need to be sorry." And he meant it. As annoying as Rachel could be sometimes – and boy, could she be annoying – he understood that it was a part of being five years old. Cuddy nodded, though he didn't see it with his eyes closed and head tilted back against the couch. A comfortable silence fell over them. After a few moments, he spoke again, "I'm going to sleep in the guestroom tonight."

Cuddy knew better than to feel offended, "Your leg?"

House nodded once, "Mm-hmm."

He'd voluntarily slept in the spare bedroom a few times before. Almost 100% of the times had been because he'd had a bad day – a painful day – and didn't want to keep Cuddy awake or have her keep him awake. She was never offended by his decision; after two years of sharing a bed with him and exponentially more years of knowing him, she understood. If anything, she was glad that he was attempting to manage his pain.

Cuddy bent over and kissed his forehead. "Can I do anything?"

"No," he kissed her before she had the chance to lean back. "I love you."

She smiled warmly, her hand lingering on his cheek. "I love you too." Then she stood and held out her hand, offering to help him up.

He accepted gratefully, letting her take his left hand while he grabbed his cane with his right. Together, they walked to their bedroom. They undressed, redressed, and brushed their teeth, and Cuddy began to speak again, "She was calling for you, you know."

He nodded.

"You could've come."

"I didn't know if she really wanted me, or if she just didn't want to go to bed."

Cuddy had to try not to frown. "House – she likes you. She really does. Yeah, she takes advantage of you sometimes, but she's five and she'll take advantage of anyone she can. She does it to me, to you, to the nanny." She encouraged him. "I know it's hard sometimes – you didn't sign up to be –"

"Don't say that," He cut her off. "I'm not stupid; I knew that you weren't going to stick a For-Sale sign on her back and kick her to the curb the moment we got together." He wasn't angry. "I like Rachel. I do. Sometimes I just – she confuses me."

Cuddy nodded. She knew how exhausted House was, could see how badly he wanted to get off his feet and into bed. She knew he wasn't as annoyed as he sounded, either. So, she decided to end their conversation before it could escalate unnecessarily into a conversation about the nature of his role in Rachel's life. Of course they needed to talk about that, but not tonight. Definitely not tonight.

"I think I should go to bed," he said at last.

"Can I do anything?" she asked once more.

House shook his head before he kissed her one more time. Then, he walked out of their room and towards the guestroom.

The soft, guttural moans were what brought House out of the depths of unconsciousness. As a doctor – well, probably as a human being – his first thought was that something with someone somewhere was wrong. He wasn't necessarily going to do anything about it, but he couldn't help being aware of it.

Reentering consciousness meant reentering reality and for him, reality was synonymous with pain. At that moment, the pain was incredible. Putting two and two tother, it took him a fraction of a moment to realize where the sounds had been coming from: him.

The more awake he became, the worse the pain got. His first thought went to Vicodin – it always did when the pain was bad, and sometimes even when it wasn't – but the thought was quickly replaced with plausible options. He could pace, but that didn't actually provide relief. He could take a bath, but that would wake Cuddy, which was a horrible idea. He could drink, he mused. He was sure Cuddy would appreciate finding her boyfriend passed out with an empty bottle of bourbon next to him when she woke up. Rachel would probably love it even more. Pacing wasn't an option, a bath would cause more problems than it would solve, and drinking was out of the question.

So, he lay there, staring at the ceiling. He tried not to think about the pain, about how the invisible vice wrapped around his leg was becoming increasingly tighter, or about the burning sensation of a fair few nails being driven repetitively into his thigh. His hands clutched at the sheets, squeezing the thin fabric as the nauseating waves of pain crashed over him. He willed himself not to get sick; it was a rarity for pain to make him vomit, but he knew it could happen.

He tried to avert his attention to other things. He tried, but it was hard. He was diaphoretic, for one. His cotton tee shirt was plastered to his heaving chest and his pajama pants clung to his body like he'd swam in them. His heart was pounding and his respiration rate was high, as well. All in all, however, it wasn't anything he had to worry about. It hurt, a lot, and the side effects were unpleasant, but it wasn't going to kill him.

Frustrated by the lack of distraction, he began reciting every mnemonic he'd ever learned. It was his equivalent to counting backwards from 100, or counting sheep, he guessed. He hadn't needed any of the mnemonics since med school, and he hadn't even really needed them then, but they kept his mind occupied.

He was on retroperitoneal structures when he finally faded off.

House was acutely aware of another body in the room. He'd just begun to reemerge from a fitful sleep, his eyes still shut tight, when he sensed her presence. He didn't know which her it was – Little Cuddy or Big Cuddy – but it was obviously one of them.

Still supine on the bed, House slowly turned his head toward the door and opened one eye.

Big blue eyes and a harsh whisper greeted him, "House?"

The stupidity of the question was House's first thought, but he'd finally learned to sensor those responses when he was around Rachel.

"Yes." He said.

"You 'kay?" Still whispering.

"Yes."

"Your leg hurt?"

House didn't know how the kid could possibly draw that conclusion simply through observation, but had to ask if the tall man in the spare bedroom of her house so early in the morning was the same man she'd been living with for nearly two years.

"Yes."

"'kay."

Rachel took a confident step forward so she was within arm's length of House. Without a word or a second glance at his face, she placed her tiny hand on his head and began stroking it, as if she were petting a horse or a dog.

House froze.

"What're you doing?" He asked carefully. Even though he wasn't angry, per se, he had to keep tabs on his tone as to not upset her. The only things that could make the situation worse were a tantrum-throwing Rachel and a sleep-deprived Cuddy.

"Mama does it when I'm sick. Feels good." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world for a five year old to be stroking her mother's 50-something year-old boyfriend's head.

"You should go see your Mom," House suggested carefully, "You can sleep on my side, have the whole thing to yourself." He figured this would seal the deal. Rachel was obsessed with sleeping in his and Cuddy's bed. Cuddy said it was just a phase, and maybe it was, but House didn't really care; he just wanted it to end.

Rachel shook her head at his offer. She didn't want to sleep with Mama because the bed wasn't warm with just Mama in it. House was the warm one, and the spot between him and Mama in their bed was her favorite place in the whole entire world. House was comfy, too, though she didn't think he'd like to know she thought that. Mama knew, though – she'd told her, and Mama had agreed, smiling.

"Do you want to go back to your bed?" House asked, not at as a threat but as a genuine question. Though Cuddy was seemingly able to know what Rachel needed before Rachel even knew what she needed, House hadn't yet picked up on that skill.

Rachel shook her head.

House sighed. He knew where this was going. He was too exhausted to do anything about it. The pain had lessened, but the earlier episode of breakthrough pain had drained him. So, he gave in. "Do you want to stay in here until Mom wakes up?" He offered.

Those blue eyes lit up.

Jackpot.

House pat the bed next to him. As Rachel scrambled up, he gave her a gentle but stern reminder, "You need to be careful, okay?" She nodded and he knew she understood; when Rachel was around three or four, there had been a period of time in which she, for some strange and inexplicable reason, thought House was a jungle gym. It had led to a handful of incidents – wrapping herself around the wrong leg, an elbow or knee or head to his thigh, knocking his cane out from under him - and a few subsequent outbursts. At last, Cuddy and House told her not just that she couldn't treat him (or anyone, really) that way, but why she couldn't. They'd left out words like 'infarction,' 'amputation,' and 'death,' but she understood that 'once upon a time, House had been very sick….' He was sure she'd seen his scar, too, though she'd never mentioned it to him.

With calculated movements, Rachel adjusted her body so it was parallel to House's. Then, after inching towards him slowly, she wrapped her arms around his left one and put her head on his shoulder.

House sighed. At least she was being careful.

Most mornings, Rachel's bedroom was Cuddy's first stop. But today was Saturday and she didn't need to rush to work and get Rachel to school, so things were calmer. And there was House. Even though he was probably out cold in the guest room, she felt she had to check on him. His leg had been bad enough for him to sleep in another bed last night, and there was a chance that it'd gotten worse as the hours wore on. She wasn't worried, really. Just concerned. She was aware of the possibilities.

Cuddy tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to wake Rachel or House unnecessarily. She walked through the half-open guest room door and glanced at House. His shirt was stained with sweat, his hair was disheveled, and the blankets were twisted and turned across the bed. He was breathing, but he looked like he'd had a horrible night. Cuddy stepped closer, wanting to get a better look at her boyfriend, when something caught her eye. Next to House's left shoulder, Cuddy eyed a tuft of brown hair and a splash of bright pink. Rachel was burrowed into House's side and was sleeping just as heavily as he was, if not more so.

Cuddy backed away from the bed and towards the door, but not without taking in the image one last time. She didn't know what had happened last night, but she didn't think it mattered. The image in front of her was adorable, with both Rachel and House sleeping as peacefully as ever. For now, that was all she cared about.

House couldn't help but groan when he woke up for a third time that morning. Every part of his body hurt. Every. Single. Part.

Upon further consideration, he found it made sense: his bladder was full because he hadn't gotten up to use the restroom all night, he had a headache because he was dehydrated from however long it'd been since he'd drunk something, his leg ached because someone had hacked a vital muscle out of it, and his shoulder and arm hurt because there was a five year old clinging to it.

The events of last night came back to him steadily. He'd gone to bed in the guest room, but had woken up around 2:00 A.M. in a remarkable amount of pain. He'd fallen back to sleep sometime later, then been woken up once more around 4:00 A.M. by Little Cuddy's presence. They'd had a short conversation, though he couldn't quite recall what it was about, and then she'd ended up asleep in his bed.

It was pushing 10:00 A.M. now. He felt better – at least, he was no longer in pain to the point of diaphoresis, nausea, or making uncontrollable noises – and wanted to get out of bed.

Very gently, House rolled Rachel onto her side and pulled his arm out from under her. Then he sat up, moving his leg with both hands, and perched on the edge of the bed. Before standing, he turned around to look at Little Cuddy once more. Besides having her thumb stuffed into her mouth, she looked fine. Comfortable. Any other day, he would've given her cute as well, but this wasn't that day. He did pull the sheet up to her chin and brush her hair out of her eyes, though, before gabbing his cane and leveraging himself out of bed.

Cuddy sat at the breakfast bar, drinking tea and scrolling through the New York Times website. She had about a hundred emails to answer, and the time before either House or Rachel awoke would be a great time to get to them, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something about the vision of House and Rachel this morning reminded her of why it was important for her not to be working 24/7: them. Rachel and House. Her family, or the closest semblance of a family she was going to – wanted to get. She loved her job, but she loved her daughter and boyfriend infinitely more. She just had to remind herself of that sometimes.

"Morning, sunshine."

Cuddy whipped around, startled by a voice she hadn't expected to hear for a few more hours. Yes, it was late, but she knew House could sleep for an entire day when he was tired enough.

She only had to see him walk to know how last night had been. She'd seen him in worse shape – during the infarction, after the infarction, whenever he detoxed, when he performed surgery on himself in his bathtub during their brief separation – but not for a long time.

"Good morning to you too," she said softly. She didn't want to make him feel like she pitied him – she didn't pity him – but she also didn't want to ignore how he was feeling, or how his night had been. It was a narrow tightrope to walk, but she had to keep moving forward, "I see you had a visitor?"

House leaned against the counter top, taking all of his weight off his right leg. "She's a little creepy, you know that? Just waltzed right in and stared at me until I woke up…" he teased before regaining some seriousness. "She came in around four. I asked her if she wanted to go to our room or back to her own, she didn't, and then I asked her if she wanted to stay in there with me. I was tired and I didn't feel like fighting with her." He explained, "She was good. I told her to be careful and she was. She only drooled a little bit. I don't even think she snored."

Cuddy knew it was hard for House to recognize and express his feelings, particularly the positive or sentimental ones. That was clear last night, and again in the way he was minimizing his exchange with Rachel. "She chose to go to the spare room for a reason, House…" Cuddy said softly.

House remained quiet. He didn't know what to think. Yeah, he liked Rachel, was liking her more every day actually, but he didn't really think she felt the same way. He was easily annoyed by her, teased her mercilessly, and wasn't big on hugs. He'd let her fall asleep on him occasionally, like last night, and had carried her when necessary, but he never made physical contact with her just for the hell of it.

"She does love you, House. And judging by the way you seem to have treated her last night – the way you treat her everyday – I'm willing to bet you love her too." Cuddy finished.

House stared at the granite countertop. He knew Cuddy had a point; while Rachel could've called out for him to use him last night during her bath, she wouldn't have gone to him at four in the morning if she disliked him. Whether or not that was actually a sign of loving him, he wasn't sure.

The pitter-pattering of footsteps stole both of their attentions. Rachel, who had been padding down the hall, now stood in the kitchen entryway. They both saw that eyes were wide with fear or anxiety, and that she instantly relaxed when she saw House.

"Oh, House," Rachel said in exasperation with a dramatic sigh of relief. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his left leg. "I thought you lefted me."

"I did leave," he corrected, redistributing his weight to catch his balance.

"No, that you lefted home. Without saying goodbye!" She shrieked.

House blinked. Then, with awkward and ridged movements, placed his hand atop her head and stroked her hair, much like she'd done to him the night before, "Well, I didn't."

Rachel clung a little tighter, nuzzling into his pajama pants. "Good. 'd be sad if you lefted with no goodbye hug."

House glanced down at Little Cuddy then back up at her mother. She was smiling warmly, the thought of House and Rachel sharing the guest bed this morning filling her mind. She took a mental snapshot of this image and filed away with that one.

House didn't know if Rachel loved him, he'd never heard her say it. And until this morning, he wouldn't have believed that she did no matter what anyone said. But as she clung to his leg like a damn koala, he decided to give both her and Cuddy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was love, maybe it was something else, but whatever it was, it worked.