A/N: So, last chapter I left out Cuddy. I like to think that, because everyone's favorite medical dean is just the picture of sophistication and elegance, she doesn't need to rule the world. Naturally, I couldn't let my mind come to a single conclusion. So, here's my other scenario. Enjoy!

Note: The end is a teeny bit gory…

Disclaimer: Although I do own several of Cuddy's erratically proportioned blouses, I do not actually own Cuddy, and therefore I don't own House, M.D.

Lisa Cuddy organized some of the files waiting impatiently on her desk, each one seeming to call out, "Pick me first!" She ignored their nonexistent shrieks and her mind darted to the subject of her mental well-being—did she actually just think that the files had talked? Nonsense, she told herself, quietly opening the bottom drawer and shoveling the loudest of the files away. The poor woman hadn't slept all night, and it had taken an extra layer of concealer to cover the dark bags under her eyes.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a serious of shrill sighs. "Come in, Brenda," Cuddy said calmly, even smiling to imitate a presence of sanity.

Henceforth came the worried message. "Dr Cuddy, there's something you need to see."

"Alright. Where is it?"

Brenda stammered. "Well…I couldn't find Doctor House. I sent Dr. Taub to find him…and he came back and reported that House was in the clinic. Happily, in the clinic."

Cuddy's mouth dropped. "You—you mean to say that…House is enjoying clinic duty?"

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy. But he's also treating people with colds! Normal, not teenage sick people!"

Cuddy stood up forcefully. "Brenda, I'm worried. Something must've happened. What do you think he did? What do you think he took?"

Brenda shook her head unhappily. "I'm not sure. But I know who would."

"Wilson."

"Dr. Wilson, I—" Cuddy trailed off unhappily. The office was vacant. Dreadfully, horribly, vacant. And yet, something was different with the room. It was almost…darker than it had been before. Which was particularly intensified because of the golden Princeton spring sunlight flowing into the room. Cuddy paced the floors before tripping over a test tube on the floor. She felt a strange sensation then, almost as if a writer were watching her every move and recording it on paper. But the doctor ignored the feeling and picked up the mysterious oddly placed test tube valiantly. There was a chalky residue on the inside of it. She would send it to the lab for testing.

And then Cuddy walked out of Wilson's office. If she had to go to the front lines, so be it.

"So, sweetheart, what's bothering you?" House talked calmly, as if this was his normal demeanor.

"Umm…" replied the blonde girl whose hands-on-hips personality would usually bother House immensely. "I can't find my mom."

"Oh, don't cry!"

"I'm not. I'm almost 9. We don't cry."

"Well, here! Have a lollipop."

"…thanks. Can you tell me where there's an intercom system or something? She's like, my mom. I sort of need to find her."

"Sure thing! Let me just call for Dr. Cuddy." House stuck his head outside of the exam room. "Dr. Cudddddyyyyy!"

Cuddy heard her name being yelled halfway across the hospital. She quickened her pace from a determined walk into a horrified sprint. There was actually…sweetness in his voice. She feared the worst.

"House!" she panted, having reached the clinic. She examined him. He looked fine…except for one thing. "Where the hell is your cane?"

"Oh, that. I don't need it anymore, ever since my change in prescription." The girl in the corner slid out of the room unnoticed. She was, needless to say, a little frightened.

"What are you taking?" Cuddy's face showed nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes.

"Just vicodin. Wilson made it."

Cuddy's face whitened. "And where is Wilson?"

"In my office. I gave it to him. He says that I don't need it anymore—he's right! I'll be here, helping everyone in the clinic, and I won't even have time to solve cases!" But Cuddy didn't get to hear the last of his words. She was already running to the Diagnostics room.

The air around the room hung thick like a fog. Cuddy strained her eyes to see through the darkness. She reached out to turn on the lights, but the switch was stuck. She shuddered. "Dr. Wilson?"

A voice called out from the chair by House's desk. "Cuddy—get out of here!"

She took a step closer. "What did you give House?"

The earlier voice made a whimper, and a new sound took over. This one was definitely female. "What do you care?"

Cuddy quickly took three steps forward. The first voice called out again. She thought it was Wilson. "Cuddy! Leave, before—" And then the voice was no more.

Cuddy's medical alert turned into adrenaline. She spun the chair around, but as she did, talons gripped her arm and dug deep, penetrating the skin and holding until torrents of crimson blood poured freely from the wounds. "He warned you."

Cuddy couldn't see who the speaker was, but it was definitely the female one. She was too busy looking at the crumpled figure of Wilson on the ground. "He's…dead!" Was all she could say.

The speaker grinned a wicked grin. "And soon House will be too!"

Only then did Lisa Cuddy realize who the speaker was—Amber Volakis, Wilson's girlfriend and murderer. She had come up with the vicodin formula, messed up House's fellows, everything. And now she was going to kill Cuddy.

And then she woke up.

She jumped out of bed and wrote a single thing in her notebook: 1. ...Amber would die. But then she crossed it out. Cuddy had a strange feeling that a certain immunologist would take care of it for her.