Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the characters. Oh, and I also borrowed the title. Please don't sue me.

Summary: A glimpse of House and Rachel's relationship over the years.

Rachel Getting Married

"Just admit it." Cuddy said smirking. "You like her."

House frowned, leaning back in his desk chair. Blue eyes warily glanced between Cuddy and the baby carrier on the floor next to her chair. From beneath a pink fleece blanket he could see the top of a little blonde head.

"She's four months old. There's not much to like."

"She's a good baby! And she doesn't lie to you, or say stupid things, or force you to do clinic duty…"

"But she does throw up on me." He said, scowling at the pink bundle.

"That was one time." Cuddy said, reaching down and picking up the wriggling baby. The blanket fell away revealing an equally pink little dress. "And if I remember correctly, it helped you solve the case."

"Okay. Maybe I don't mind her puke. But it doesn't mean I have to like the rest of her." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Vicodin. "You can leave now. Show-and-tell is over."

Cuddy sighed, and snatched the bottle out of his hand. Before House realized what was going on, she deposited Rachel onto his lap. Large fingers immediately gripped the baby's sides, stopping her from sliding off. Her little body was warm beneath his hands and she gurgled contentedly, seemingly not bothered by this change in circumstance.

House glared at Cuddy, wrapped one arm around the baby's midsection, and reached for his Vicodin with the other.

"Gimme." He said, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Cuddy ignored him, rising from the chair and sauntering slowly around his office. She tossed the pill bottle into the air and caught it, over and over again, intentionally frustrating House.

"She's amazing." She said, smiling, eyes focused on the flying bottle. "She's getting bigger every day."

"Hate to break it to you, but that's not exactly a talent."

"Think about it—soon she'll be talking, and walking…"

Frowning, House spun Rachel around on his lap, so they were facing one another. She blinked slowly up at him, sucking on one of her fingers.

"In five years she'll be in kindergarten." Toss, rattle, catch, toss, rattle, catch. "In 18 years she'll be graduating from high school."

"Maybe she'll even come and get you out of the nursing home for the occasion." House said, lifting Rachel up until they were face-to-face. The baby stared at him, content. He could feel her little chest rising and falling, and her baby smell was wafting into his nostrils.

House scowled. Rachel smiled.

Cuddy, steadfastly ignoring House's comment, stopped tossing and sunk contentedly back into her chair.

"God, House." She said dreamily. "Some day she'll get married."

"You don't know that. If she picks up any of your personality traits—"

"She's her own little person." Cuddy interrupted, smiling lovingly at her daughter. "With her whole life ahead of her."

"I think I'm going to vomit this time."

Rachel reached one tiny hand out to House's face, sliding it across his cheek. Her smooth baby skin felt strange against his stubble. A second later her fingers were in his mouth, gripping his bottom lip with surprising strength.

House scowled. Rachel smiled.

OOOOOOOO

"Uncle House, will you be my daddy?"

House froze, fingers hovering over his computer's keyboard. Slowly, he turned his head towards the door. Rachel stood in the doorway, smiling sweetly. House scowled.

"What are you doing here?"

"Uncle Wilson picked me up from kindergarten." She said, climbing onto his reclining chair. After finding a comfortable spot, she carefully smoothed out her dress, eliminating all wrinkles. House's eyes widened slightly, uncomfortable with how Rachel almost exactly mirrored Cuddy.

"So why aren't you bugging him?"

"Because I wanted to ask you a question."

"You asked me a question. You can go now."

Rachel frowned, again mirroring her mother

"But you never answered it!"

"You didn't come in here for an answer, you came in here to ask a question."

The little girl paused, considering this argument. After a moment she shrugged, slid off of the recliner, and trotted over to his desk.

"I'm just gonna ask you again." She said, smiling. "And again and again. Until you answer me."

House groaned. That…that was Cuddy. Frowning, he turned back to his computer.

"Will you be my daddy?"

Hmm…new article on Wilson's Disease. Boring.

"Will you be my daddy?"

Come on , please tell me Lindsay Lohan's still a lesbian…

"Will you be my daddy?"

House sighed, and looked down into her little face. Big brown eyes stared up at him earnestly.

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Lilly said that if you want to get married, you have to have a daddy."

"Lilly's an idiot."

"Lilly's my friend." She said, frowning. "She said a daddy has to walk in the church with you."

"You're six. Planning on getting married anytime soon?"

She nodded vigorously, blonde locks tumbling around her little face.

"Please, Uncle House?" She said, resting one little hand on his knee. House considered his options—he could deny her, and she would cry and Cuddy would be pissed off. Or he could say yes, and the brat would forget about it in two hours.

"I can't be your daddy."

"But—"

"Let me finish. I can't be your daddy, but if you promise to never ask me that again, I'll walk in the church with you."

Content, she ran to the door.

"Hey." She stopped in her tracks, and turned back towards him. "If you tell anyone about this, the deal is off."

Rachel smiled. House scowled.

OOOOOOOO

"Tell me again why we're watching this movie?" House asked, sprawled out on his couch.

"Because it's my turn to pick." 15-year-old Rachel said, dipping her hand into the bowl of popcorn in front of her. "Now shut up, I'm trying to listen."

"I mean, Love Actually? You've been spending too much time with your mother."

Rachel steadfastly ignored him, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

"You couldn't have picked something with guns, or blood, or Angelina Jolie?"

"Nope. Not possible."

"This movie's older than you are."

"So are you, but I still choose to hang out with you." She said, tossing a piece of popcorn at his face. It hit him in the cheek.

House scowled. Rachel smiled.

Popping the discarded piece of popcorn in his mouth, he focused his attention on the screen. At least this movie had Keira Knightley in it…even if she was wearing a wedding dress and not a corset.

"I'm glad you're walking me down the aisle." Rachel said absentmindedly, her gaze steady on the television.

House's eyes widened in confusion.

"What?"

"I said I'm glad you're walking me down the aisle." She repeated, frowning as she observed the confused look on his face. "You don't remember?"

"Of course I remember."

Pausing the move, Rachel sat up and set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. She turned towards her uncle, and glared at him.

"You're walking me down the aisle."

House gulped, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Of course the kid would have a freakish memory. He never would have agreed if he thought she would remember it almost a decade later.

"I can't. I have clinic duty." He said innocently, eyes wide.

"No you don't!"

"I have a patient. And my team needs an emergency consult."

"You don't even know when it will be!" She exclaimed.

"Neither do you!" House exclaimed mockingly, rolling his eyes. "And that was nine years ago—isn't there a statute of limitations on this kind of thing?"

"It isn't a punishment."

"Easy for you to say."

Rachel sighed, angrily throwing her long blonde hair into a ponytail. House watched warily, scrutinizing the teenager in front of him. She looked nothing like Cuddy, of course. Blonde hair, brown eyes, tanned skin from years of outdoor sports. But there was Cuddy's frown, her defiantly raised chin, her exact vocal inflection…

House shuddered. All he needed was another Cuddy running around, making his life difficult.

"Well, you already said you'd do it."

"I lied. Have I taught you nothing?"

"I never told anyone, you know. Because you told me not to." She said, tucking her jean-clad legs underneath her body.

House rolled his eyes at the pouting teenager. He was beginning to think he kind of preferred her when she couldn't talk.

"If you're anything like your mother, and you are, you won't be getting married anytime soon." He said, staring at the frozen image on the screen. "If I'm lucky, maybe I'll be dead by the time you do."

"So you'll do it?" Rachel asked hopefully, ignoring his morbid tone.

"Turn the stupid movie back on."

Rachel smiled. House scowled.

OOOOOOOO

"What are you doing here?" House asked warily, looking up from the medical journal he was reading. Rachel had let herself into his apartment, without him noticing. He could only guess if he hadn't noticed because his hearing was going, or he really had taught her well.

"I came to visit you."

"Where's what's-his-face?" Since Rachel had gotten engaged two weeks ago, the couple had been inseparable. They were pathetically in love, and House did everything he could to protect himself from their shining rays of joy.

"Mark is at work." She said, plopping onto the couch next to him and propping her feet up on the coffee table.

"Isn't that where you should be?" House asked, noting Rachel's sneaker-clad feet and sweatpants. At 24, Rachel had been a qualified social worker for a few months now, taking special interest in children's cases. Her own rough start to life having been explained to her years ago, she had felt a strong connection to similarly abandoned children.

"I took the day off."

"You took a day off? But what will the poor, neglected children do without you?"

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Can't. I have clinic duty." He said, hiding his face behind the medical journal.

"We're not at the hospital." She said, snatching the journal from his hands. "And you retired years ago."

"Clinic duty is not just part of a job. It's a lifetime commitment to the health of my community."

"You're walking me down the aisle." She said bluntly, tossing the journal onto the floor.

"Not this again."

"You said you would, under the condition that I never tell anyone. It's been 18 years, and I haven't told anyone. Not Mom. Not Mark. Not anyone."

"Wow, you're a really good secret-keeper. That should be reward enough."

"Uncle House…" She pulled her feet off of the coffee table and turned towards him on the couch. "This is really important to me."

House groaned inwardly. After all these years, the runt could still get to him. Her hair was shorter now, more mature, but those eyes were still the same. Big and brown and pathetically earnest. And that look—that pleading, don't-you-love-me? look—was so Cuddy that he almost forgot who he was talking to.

"Wilson is a way better choice." He said, averting his eyes. "If you haven't noticed, walking isn't exactly my forte."

"You've had like 30 years of experience walking with your cane. I'm pretty sure you can manage."

"Your pictures will be ruined if you're photographed next to some creepy old man."

"Your creepiness and age will make me look better." Rachel replied, grinning.

"Wilson looks better in a suit. And he still has most of his hair."

"I didn't ask Uncle Wilson 18 years ago. I asked you."

House sighed, considering his options. He could deny her, and she would probably cry and Cuddy would be pissed off. Or he could just say yes, and hope to somehow become incapacitated between now and May.

"I don't wear suits. I don't smile. And I absolutely, under no circumstances, will even pretend to be nice to what's-his-face."

"So you'll do it?"

"Give me back my damn journal."

House scowled. Rachel smiled.