Been watching House a lot and just couldn't bare the thought that Cuddy and House end the way they do. Yes, I know, cheesy. But, I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one who wished it happened differently. This is my version of what happens after Wilson's death.


It was Saturday. Rachel Cuddy was spending a much anticipated night with her grandmother. Arlene promised Rachel ice cream every night and they were probably watching Tangled for the fifteenth time. The evening fit for the fantasy of any five year old was truly a way to give her mother, Lisa Cuddy, some time to herself. She had gotten ill with the flu and needed the weekend to recoup. Sure, she could have gotten meds to help her through it faster, she was Dean of Bayshore Medical Center after all, but she remembered something that House had said…Lisa Cuddy shook her head. How did Gregory House seem to seep in her thoughts so sneakily? In any case, he had been right. The immune system was weakened every time someone used antibiotics instead of allowing their body to fight off illness. Not to mention the virus or bacteria was strengthened from being exposed to antibiotics. The super resistant viruses and bacteria were practically invented by antibiotics and the doctors who prescribed them for a little cough.

This particular flu was hanging in there though but Cuddy still was determined to allow her body to fight it off on its own. Rachel had gotten the flu first and had given it to her mother. Her daughter had gotten over it fairly quickly which Lisa envied and appreciated at the same time. A knock at her door made her put the book that she had been reading, or skimming through while missing every word due to being in thought, down. She pulled herself off the couch wearily, her lack of make-up, long gray sweater and flannel pajama pants made her a sight to answer the door, but Lisa Cuddy was used to taking care of things herself in sickness and in health.

Opening the door, her blue eyes focused unbelieving on the face of the man outside her door. She swallowed nervously, her heart pounding in anxiety as Gregory House gave her that familiar sheepish blue eyed gaze. Cuddy's jaw set as she gained her composure from the initial surprise.

"You're not surprised to see me." House said after a long moment of assessing her reaction.

"I'm surprised to see you." Cuddy responded, her voice thick.

"You're not surprised to see me alive." House corrected.

"I'm not surprised to see you alive." Cuddy confirmed.

"Wilson…"

"Wrote me." Cuddy confirmed further. After a moment of preparation, she just had to know, "Is he?"

House looked away, his blue eyes suddenly cold, "Yes."

"I'm sorry, House." Cuddy said, torn between kicking this criminal off her property and being sympathetic of his, and if she was honest with herself, her own loss of a friend, "You were with him in the end?"

"I learn from my mistakes," Was all House said as an answer.

That brought it all back. His abandonment of her when she thought she might die. He had given Wilson what he hadn't given her. Support in a time of need. A selfless support where he set his own feelings of grief and fear aside to be there for someone. "What are you doing here, House?"

"For once, I'm taking Wilson's advice. I'm making amends with people."

That answer took her aback more than she cared to admit and she was speechless, a rare quality in Lisa Cuddy.

"I'm sorry." He went on, and they both knew what he was apologizing for. When she didn't respond, he continued, "For doing what I did."

"For potentially risking my life and the lives of anyone in my home by driving a car into my living room?" She said, now finding her voice and her anger. She was so tired, her legs felt weak, her hands felt loose on the door even though she wanted to grip the handle fiercely. She could barely make a fist over the metal and knew she needed to lie down and rest.

A million snarky remarks came into his head, but he thought of Wilson and swallowed them, "I'm sorry." He finally had the guts to look up at her but his eyes suddenly assessed her as a doctor and noted how pale she was and how she seemed to be using the door for support in standing, "You're sick." He said, instinctively.

"I have the flu," Cuddy answered dismissively, "I think you should leave, House."

House ignored her, giving her a once over and shaking his head, "How long have you had the flu?"

"Did you hear me? I think you should leave now." Her eyelids drooped and her voice was slow.

"You don't have the flu." House took a step forward, her blood pressure had dropped since she had answered the door, she was paler and shaking. Suddenly, her knees buckled and she collapsed forward. House dropped his cane, catching her. She was still conscious and he laid her down on the floor inside the house, "Can you stand?"

Cuddy nodded, attempting to push herself off the floor, but her legs could obviously not hold her. House gathered her in his arms and limped to the couch, placing her on it carefully, "How long have you had the flu, Cuddy?" He needed to know.

"Two weeks."

The flu was a resistant little bastard, but two weeks was on the high end of its life expectancy, "Any improvement?"

"Yes, I felt better for the last few days."

"Do your legs hurt?"

"Yes and they feel weak. Tingling."

House fought with himself. He hadn't meant to barge into her life again, only apologize and then leave her alone forever. He couldn't leave now, though.

"What's the matter with me?" Cuddy asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He put a hand to her forehead, she wasn't warm, there was no fever, "I don't know."