Okay, so this is one of my VERY FIRST HOUSE FANFICTIONS so obviously it's not going to be as fabulous as most of the other one's on here. :)

There's a lot of thinking, and I haven't yet had the chance to scar you all with OOC Cuddy (only joking!) but please please review!!! I can update regularly if people want me to.

And before anyone bitches and complains about it...

Yes it does end on a cliffhanger- tough. And yeah, it's short. Review and there will be more!

And yes, I am new to writing House fanfiction, but that doesn't mean you can all be mean and critical (I have a friend on a different site who announced she was new to writing House fiction and everyone was horrible, because they thought they could tell her what to do and how crap it was.) I've been writing fanfiction for years. I have about five other accounts. I know what I'm doing.

Please be nice, and review!

xxx

The call came when she was in a staff meeting. She had no real idea what the meeting was about- she hadn't even known there was a meeting before she arrived late at work, and Foreman told her the news. Now she was here, she wasn't exactly concentrating. For one thing, she had a headache- whoever said it was easy to get to sleep with a baby crying in the same room was very very wrong. All Cuddy wanted to do was slink off to her office and spend the day alone, free of interruptions whilst she worked.

And there of course was the second reason her mind wasn't focussed fully on the meeting; the loss of the biggest interruption in her life. The seat on her left hand side was empty- no jacket slung over the back, no sarcastic comments coming from the person that should have sat there, no dirty looks being thrown in the direction of the constant spinning of a cane…

House hadn't liked attending the meetings; it was something she had encouraged him to do. And "encouraged" of course meant bullied, blackmailed, and threatened with suspension and hours in the clinic until he grudgingly agreed, with one finally insult concerning her baby, her outfit, or a pointed glance at "the twins."

But no he wasn't sat beside her because he couldn't be, not because he didn't want to be. Would he rather be here, sat beside her listening to the board members reading out problems with the budget- or locked away in a hospital?

The more rational part of Lisa Cuddy, the Doctor Lisa Cuddy part told herself that his stay in Mayfield would help House more than it would hurt him. The worst that could happen was that he came out furious with everybody and still addicted. So what was the best thing that could happen? That he came out full of smiles and thanks to everyone, full of apologies to Cuddy? She tried to imagine House, tried to imagine a conversation with House that wasn't split into sarcastic comments and him swallowing a few Vicodin. She couldn't see it, personally.

Whenever she tried to think about the House that would eventually return, her mind flickered back to the House that had left; terrified, empty, crushed. She hadn't understood what he was saying, but that didn't matter- it was clear that something was wrong with him, clear he needed help. She couldn't help him. A few kind words and a strictly friendly hug couldn't fix him. He looked broken- he was broken. He was ill.

Cuddy coughed and tapped her manicured fingers onto the tabletop as the people around her argued. She thought about House, and what he would be doing now. What was there to do Mayfield? She wondered. She wondered whether he was happy. Obviously, he wouldn't be. He wasn't happy even when he was here. She wondered if he was comfortable. What defined comfort for House? Food. Familiar clothes. Music. Sarcasm. Vicodin. Well, there was one he wouldn't have, she thought to herself with a wry inward smile. Wilson wouldn't tell her exactly how House was, but he had told her that he was "fine." Cuddy knew that Wilson didn't go to see his friend, instead talking to him occasionally on the phone. House was a talented liar. Just because he told Wilson he was fine didn't mean he actually was. Wilson didn't seem too worried though. She knew that the doctors called him daily to update him on House's progress, and she was tempted to call them and ask them to do the same for her, but it wouldn't feel right. Wilson was House's best friend. She was his boss. What right did she have to see how he was doing?

Cuddy sat up straighter and tried to concentrate. It was still impossible. She just couldn't get absorbed into this, the chatter and arguments that were so familiar to her. She was jittery, and it was a task forcing herself to stay still. She hadn't had any caffeine this morning, so she shouldn't be like this. It's all this worrying about House, she told herself stubbornly, with the air of a disapproving mother, He's fine. All he has to do is quit the Vicodin. Then he can come back.

"Doctor Cuddy? What are your opinions?" She jumped with surprise and looked across at the bearded doctor sat opposite her. She was aware of the others waiting for her comment. An answer to a question she hadn't even heard.

"Excuse me?"

The bearded doctor sighed impatiently.

"What are you opinions on Dean Browns idea's of changing aspects of the recovery program at local hospitals to save money that could be invested into other areas of the medical industry?"

Cuddy straightened up and coughed politely, switching into Doctor mode.

"Well-" She began professionally, but before she could finish her sentence she was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. It was Wilson, sat beside her, looking sheepish.

"I'm sorry about this, excuse me." He threw an apologetic look at her before getting up and leaving her to face the opposition by herself. Traitor. She watched him through the glass doors as he answered his phone.

"Dr Cuddy?"

She collected her thoughts.

"Well, of course we need to take Brown's ideas into consideration before making any decisions, but…" Wilson was looking agitated now, running his hands through his hair as he paced on the thick carpet. Cuddy looked back down at her notes.

"He needs to understand that more money is required nowadays in the recovery process, especially with certain categories-" Now Wilson looked angry. Cuddy wondered who was on the other side of the call, but turned her attention back to the topic at hand. "So, maybe if we make a compromise; show him that the ideas can work both ways without the whole thing ending badly-"

"Lisa?" It was Wilson, slipping his head back into the board room. "Can I have a word, please? Now?"

His voice conveyed the urgency of his request. She hesitated, then nodded, standing up and smoothing out the fabric of her skirt.

"Would you excuse me for a second? " She asked and as the men nodded she walked round the table to the door. As she was outside, they were beginning to discuss the case in further detail. She shut the door carefully.

Wilson's hair was standing on edge and the expression on his face made her wary. She kept her voice calm, cool and professional as she asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's House." He said and immediately her stomach flipped. Could he see how much those two little words had affected her? Cuddy knew what was coming next wasn't good news.

"What about him?" Her voice wasn't calm or professional any more- it was higher than usual, nervous. Wilson opened his mouth; no words escaped.

"Tell me, Wilson. " She ordered and he clasped his hands together.

"It's House. He's tried to commit suicide."