A/N: This fic might sound a little odd. It was originally a History report, and then I played around with the characters and the situations to make it House.

Disclaimer: No. As much as you probably thought I owned House, I don't. I was disappointed, too.

Disclaimer #2: My friend, the other Bloody Koala (Marie), co-authored this with me…helped me when I was stuck, encouraged me, listened to me rant throughout the odd hours of the night, all that jazz.

Cuddy briskly walked through the hallways of PPTH. The bomb had exploded in the Pediatric Ward. Deaths: 3 children and 4 nurses. Every staff member has been ordered to evacuate the remaining patients and their families to Princeton General, whose busses and ambulances were waiting outside.

Seven people had died, four of them nurses, whose medical skills were desperately needed. Whose calming prowess over children was required. Cuddy was scared out of her mind.

Suddenly her pager went off. In her paranoia, she had almost thrown it out the window. What if it was another bomb? But, obviously, it wasn't. Cuddy looked down. It was Cameron. I'll be there soon, it read. Cuddy sighed, holding in her tears. She was only one woman, after all. Those tears would have to wait till this thing was…until the patients were safe.

Cameron ran though the doors, searching worriedly for anyone. Anyone at all. She found Wilson.

"Dr. Wilson! Dr. Wilson! WILSON!" she called, her voice wavering just above 'frightened child'.

"Dr. Cameron! Are you alright?"

"How can I help—?"

"Get every patient evacuated. Princeton Gen's ambu—" Wilson tried to answer, but Cameron had heard enough to know what was necessary.

She raced up the stairs to the private rooms, passing House's vacant office on her way. She ran in, searching through his desk, and finally picking up a bottle of vicodin. Even though she was sure he carried one with him, it was a good idea to have extra. And she might need to administer pain meds to patients, as well.

Room 216, she read, before pushing through the door of the first patient room on the floor. Inside there was a blonde teen lying in the bed. Cameron noted the bandage on her throat. Her parents were pacing the floor. "What's going on? What was that noise?" They were very frightened, but the parents looked easy enough to convince.

"I'm Dr. Cameron. There's been a—we need to evacuate the hospital. Come with me." She jumped over to the bed, where the girl's medical chart lay. It said that she had had trouble breathing. If that was the case, why hadn't she just gone to the clinic? Why was she here, in a private room? "What's wrong with your daughter?"

"She had a respiratory arrest. What is going on?"

"No, before the arrest: why is she in here? Someone is bombing the hospital. You need to leave, now."

The man responded with an angry look that could have shot through the door and then some. His wife's eyes were filled with a mixture of shock, horror and protectiveness. "We're not leaving without Addie! She had an asthma attack. Very severe."

Cameron bit back a truly Housian response and grabbed an inhaler, an intubation kit, two packages of gauze, several pre-filled syringes, and several bottles of meds from various drawers and cabinets in the room. She put one of the gauze-containers and a few bottles of pills into her lab-coat pocket, and threw the rest onto the back of a wheelchair. "You need to get out of here! Bring these to the any doctor once you get outside. Come on, get in! I've got to run. Exit is directly on your left."

The parents' anxious shouts didn't stop Super Doctor. Cameron jumped out of the room, ready for action.

Cameron ran into the lobby, where assorted patients and their families were running, limping and wheeling their way out of the building. Limping! Oh, god, where was House?

She had just as soon escorted a LP patient to an ambulance when she earnestly ran for the elevators. To see House. See that he was OK. As likely as it was that several different pessimistic scenarios could hold some truth to them, Cameron didn't let her negative thoughts weigh her down.

The buttons of the panel on the wall beside the elevator shown with a soft glow, and were toasty warm to the touch. Cameron wasted no time pressing them, just the right numbers to take her just where she wanted to be. But the doors never opened. She waited, impatiently tapping her foot. Ready to sprint off and find another elevator—there was one in the Oncology hall, right? And one in the clinic, and—

An explosion, followed by a series of tear-jerking cracks, interrupted her thoughts. There was no time to think, just to look. The ceiling of the hallway was caving down around her, and the walls bent with pressure. The only way out of the war zone was straight ahead, through the elevator. The door slowly cracked open, probably by means of broken wiring, but Cameron took her chances and rushed in.

Nothing in all of her years of medical school could have prepared her for the scene she saw inside.