Part 1

Rachel smiled at the sight of her baby sister, Sarah, approaching the beach house. She hadn't seen her since they'd laid their mother to rest beside their father in Baltimore, just a few weeks earlier.

Lisa Cuddy had passed away at their family home in the same city, nearly fifteen years to the day after Greg House, who to everyone's surprise had died peacefully in his sleep. His heart had simply given out one night, while she'd had to fight in the end — against a cancerous tumor in the kidney.

On her deathbed, she'd said their father would have appreciated the irony at the same time he'd have raged against it. She'd smiled when she'd told them that he would have given her crap about having eaten all that rabbit food when she could have enjoyed burgers and steaks and deep-fried Twinkies.

"He would have hated every moment of this, especially seeing me in pain," she'd said, bemused, eyes glassy with tears. "But he would have given me hell the entire time, just to make me smile. Or irritate me." Her smile had been secretive and tender.

And he would have, Rachel thought. That was her dad. And Sarah's dad.

The words unorthodox and unique came to mind whenever she thought of him. Along with some others that their mother liked to call him: idiot and ass. He had been bigger than life, a fun dad, but also quiet and wise. He had been a world-famous doctor, and loved music, medicine, motorcycles, and soap operas.

He'd loved their mother.

And their mother had loved him.

Both of them loved us.

Rachel's memories of them were her comfort now that they were both gone. They had been particularly keen in the last weeks, especially those of their mother.

She had been their father's equal in personality, passion, and intelligence — fierce on all fronts. She had been as competitive, too, and a respected doctor in her own right. She'd been a wonderful mom, supportive and loving, and amazingly compassionate. She'd always listened and made time for her daughters.

Rachel missed her. She missed them both. They had always made her feel safe and protected and loved. She knew Sarah felt the same.

Sarah.

Rachel remembered the day they'd asked her if she wanted a little sister. She had been so happy she couldn't wait for her to come home so she could play with her.

Their childhood had been interesting to say the least. The interesting pairing of their parents had guaranteed it.

Their mother had given them tradition and the practical. Their father had given them music and initiated them into pop culture. Everything else came from both of them.

Especially the ability to debate.

Both their parents had both been intensely skilled at discourse that was best defined as spirited. They had fought sometimes, but always behind closed doors. The rest of the time, it had been purely playful and, as Rachel had come to understand as an adult, their version of foreplay.

To the end, her father had seduced her mother daily with words that had nothing to do with sex. And her mother had adored it whether it had been matching wits over an intellectual or practical subject, or the silliest things even a child had ever heard. She would light up when he came into a room. And it had been the same for him.

And it had been amazing growing up around them, Rachel thought as she hugged Sarah close and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said to her sibling, nearly six years her junior.

"Me, too," Sarah said, pulling back and smiling. Her bright blue gaze moved to the house, behind Rachel, and tears formed.

"They loved it here," she said after several thready breaths and Rachel saw the ghost of memories she'd entertained all day as she'd aired out the place.

They had spent two weeks here with their mother after their father had died. And when he'd been alive, they'd come several times throughout the year, always one week in the Spring and one in the Summer.

"Yes," Rachel said then held out her hand to her sister.

Sarah took it and they exchanged smiles as their fingers linked loosely.

"I can't wait for you to see what I found in storage at mom's," Rachel said.

Sarah looked at her conspiratorially, eyes flashing bright with excitement. "Is it what I think?"

"Possibly," Rachel said, laughing softly. "Come and see."

Author's Note:

I know this beginning is jarring, but I encourage you to stick with it. My goal is to craft a unique story of "present" and past, and a view of House and Cuddy through the eyes of the people who lived with them day in and out - how they saw them, how they came to see them as they grew older themselves, and how living with their parents crafted who they become. And rest assured that I could not leave this as solely from Rachel's POV. There are delights to be had with House/Cuddy scenes after the events of Making Amends.