Author's Note: The dream sequence was inspired by another author; it is not fully my idea. I promise things will be explained in due time.


A week passed. Two weeks passed. House did no further prodding, much to her surprise, and Cuddy therefore had no reason to speak about anything.

Nobody at the hospital, except for Dr. Miscolski, who had performed the procedure, of course, knew of her condition, and she planned to keep it that way for as long as possible. She found no reason to get anybody's hopes up. She found no reason to involve anyone in her personal life at all.

So far, things were relatively easy. Cuddy experienced no change in her body yet; no cravings, no nausea, no late night sweats. . . nothing. The only thing she noticed was a slightly more frequent hunger. But that was to be expected; she was only three weeks along. She had no trouble hiding the pregnancy, and, at times, it almost seemed as though she wasn't carrying a baby at all. Well. . . if she wanted to get technical, she wasn't. She was carrying a zygote- a bundle of cells, barely bigger than her thumbnail.

But she was pregnant, definitely pregnant, though it seemed otherwise. She had called to reschedule her appointment the very morning that she had read the little positive sign.


Sitting on the metal table, her legs crossed, she waited calmly for the woman to come back.

Although she felt weird, and slightly awkward, as she was vulnerable to someone of lower power at her own workplace, she also had felt it was best to have everything done at Princeton Plainsboro. It made sense. They were the best hospital around for miles, and she knew many of the doctors would make sure their dean received the utmost care. And none of them would gossip, in fear of losing their jobs.

"So, Dr. Cuddy, you ready?"

"Sure," she said with little emotion, albeit watching Dr. Miscolski with anxious eyes.

The woman looked at the paper, and then up at Cuddy. She smiled.

Cuddy swallowed.

"You're pregnant, Lisa. Congratulations."


Ever since then, besides the knowledge of her condition, nothing had changed. Cuddy felt like she should be overjoyed, but instead, she was. . . numb. It was almost as if she had gotten what she never thought possible after years and years of intense desire, and now, hadn't a clue what to do with it.

She felt something else, too, but she didn't know what it was.

Two more weeks passed, and then two more. By this time, Cuddy had begun to experience nausea- and long bouts of it, too. It was an achy feeling in her stomach, and if she did so much as press upon it, she would need to find the nearest lavatory. She found it annoying and bothersome, disruptive to her work day. But she took it as a good sign; morning sickness was a sign of a healthy baby. Her hormones were changing.

This was a high risk pregnancy. Cuddy knew it, and it worried her often. Always she expected the worst to happen. After each and every day, she found relief in getting home without experiencing any spotting. Still, when the morning sickness wasn't bothering her too badly, and when she wasn't popping her prenatal vitamins, she almost pretended that nothing had changed. It was on her mind all of the time, but it wasn't the focus of her worries. Her job was.

By this time, House was getting curious. She could tell. He was the only one she thought it would be a challenge to keep things from. One day, a Tuesday during her seventh week, House rapped on her office door with his cane. Cuddy had been on the phone, but she rolled her eyes- she knew she wouldn't be for long.

House entered.

"Since when do you place restrictions on Youtube?"

Cuddy looked up at him, still holding the phone. "Hold on, I'm going to have to call you back." She hung the phone up; it hadn't been an important conversation anyway, and then raised both brows at him. "Come again?"

"Mommmmmyyyyy, why don't you give me permission to watch videos at work?" House continued in a whining voice.

"I don't believe I gave you permission to enter, either."

"Seriously though, a twenty minute restriction? A PASSWORD protected firewall? Have you no sense? I need that website so I can watch people who have had cases with similar symptoms!"

"House, you need that website so you can watch soft core porn."

"YouTube doesn't allow nudity. You lose, boss-lady."

"Ah. So nudity is soft core for you. I'm sorry, I didn't know where your sick, perverted mind had its mindset at."

"Oooh, look at that, you made a pun. You're so clever!"

"House, what do you want?" Cuddy mused, bringing both legs up to rest on the side of her desk.

"Oh, just permission to cut into a guy's head and play with his brain, nothing too serious."

"If you use those terms with me, you'll have more restriction in your life, pal. You're not going to 'play around' in someone's head."

"Come on, you know what I mean. Anddd you and I both know it's pointless for you to pretend to be professional, so let's save each other the time and trouble."

Cuddy gave him an irritated look. "Why do you need to cut into this patient's head, what is his diagnosis?"

"Don't have one yet. That's the reason I need to cut into his head. Duh. Gosh, Cuddy, sometimes I wonder-"

"House. No games. I'm not in the mood today. Give me a valid reason as to why you need to cut open someone's head, and I will grant you permission. Then you go in there, cure him, and move on with your life." She gave a forced grin. "That simple."

House raised both brows and shot her a smug expression. "You like me, don't you?"

"What?"

"You enjoy that I'm in here, giving you attention. You just have to pretend that you don't so you can stay in power. So you can be a good boss."

"No House, you're actually really irritating me, don't worry."

He was using a distraction technique. Trying to throw her off.

House, still holding his smug expression, continued. "You think that anything I have to say, no matter how pointless and annoying it may be, is worth listening to. You secretly look forward to when I barge in here and make a ridiculous claim, because you want to indulge in my behavior. Otherwise, you would've sent me out already, because I obviously just need a yes from you. Otherwise, you wouldn't have hung up that phone."

Cuddy's eyes traveled to the phone for a moment, and then back to him. "Give me a reason, and trust me, I will send you out of here in the meanest, most unlikeable way possible." He was unbelievable.

House grinned, looked down at the floor, and then spoke. "He's got a brain clot. I need to see what's causing it."

"Well, can't you just give him an MRI?"

"Won't be accurate enough. The problem's deep in his brain. Actually, I don't think it's a brain clot at all, I think it's a parasite. If we open his head, either way, we'll be sure to find out. It's got to be one of those two."

Cuddy gave a loud sigh and brought her hands up to her temples, massaging them. "So. . . you're saying I should allow you to completely skip over the MRI to cut open this guy's skull, expose whatever condition he may have to millions of other's in this hospital-"

"Quarantine," House said matter-of-factly.

"-and then go from there?" She ignored his interruption.

"You forgot the part where I cure him and sew him back up."

"Because that part might not even be in the equation. You can't just cut open someone's head with an unconfirmed diagnosis hoping to find something. He could die during the procedure!"

"Just let me do this, I know what it is," House said, his voice becoming more frustrated.

"I can't, House. I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be pathetic. You're not sorry, and you can," He looked back up at her; his grin was gone. "You just don't want to, because you think he could die. Well, if I don't find what's causing his brain to short fuse and backfire everywhere, he will. You're saying no based on some random, unlucky chance; a chance that's less likely to kill him than whatever thing he has in his head is."

"Fine, find out what it is," Cuddy snapped, her voice becoming just as fierce. "Give him an MRI. If that doesn't give you your answer, go back to the drawing board."

House sneered, but he knew her word was final.

"You're killing this man."

"So are you, by standing around bothering me."

"I need your approval. State says. Otherwise, I'd have sawed into his head and he'd be out of your hair."

"Well, you didn't get it, House! My answer is no. Go do your job, or I WILL."

He fell silent for a moment, scanned her, and then looked at her in an interested way.

"What's gotten you so cranky?"

She looked at him, he looked right back; their eyes met. Did he know? His tone hadn't been as ignorant as she would have liked. It sounded more. . . curious.

No, she was being paranoid. Or was she?

Without another word, House spun around and walked out. She watched him go suspiciously. It wasn't often that he didn't put up more of an argument.

Picking up her phone and dialing quickly, she reached Dr. Eric Foreman.

"Hey. It's Lisa. Yeah. Make sure Dr. House doesn't try anything."


Cuddy lifted her head out of the sink, looking at her sweaty reflection in the mirror. She had just ridden her body of both her yogurt and fruit salad lunch, and her dinner.

"Whatever," she thought apathetically. "I hadn't wanted to eat you anyway."

With a shaky sigh, she tightly gripped the edge of the sink and lowered her head again, closing her eyes. This was the worst she had experienced any morning sickness yet. The nausea was creeping up again, intense. . . it made her stomach clench. . . and then it passed. It was gone. She opened her eyes.

Her Blackberry went off in the other room. She let her hair down and then rinsed the sink quickly. It was eleven thirty at night; whoever had wanted her must have a good reason. Probably an emergency down at the hospital.

She checked her phone, being careful to skip the squeaky board in front of Rachel's bedroom. It was from House, marked urgent.

She picked it up quickly. "House, you are not cutting open your patient's skull. No, I don't care what his mother says!"


She was in a room. A dark room. The lights came on; she looked around. She was in the conference room at the hospital.

But it was still so dark in here. Why was it so dark? The only light that was on was weak, and the room was gloomy. The head of the hospital board was up at the front of the room talking while the rest were seated around the table. Nobody else seemed to notice that the room was so dim, nor care.

She was trying to watch intently, to listen, but there was a dull distraction. She squirmed in her seat; she was uncomfortable. Her belly was big, not that big, but big enough to be noticeable. She squirmed again, vaguely realizing that her seat was wet.

Something lit up in her. It had been wet for a long time, but she just realized that it was abnormal. She slowly reached her hand down and felt beneath her skirt. When she pulled it out, a crimson liquid dripped from three of her fingers. She looked down toward her lap and saw a trail of blood, flowing off of her seat onto the floor.

Wow, there was so much blood. She had never seen so much blood. For a moment she thought it was menstruation, but realized stupidly that that didn't happen during pregnancy.

She was losing the baby.

She turned her head and focused on the speaker again. The light was so dim, she started squinting. She couldn't hear. It was too hard to see or hear. She was getting angry; how was she supposed to know what to put on file for today if she had no idea what the hospital expenses were in the first place!

"Hey," said the man sitting next to her. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah," Cuddy said, looking down at her blood again. There was a pool on the floor now. It was weird how it was just coming out of her; she thought miscarriage was supposed to be a long and sometimes painful process. "I can't hear, can you hear?"

"I can hear."

She was more aggravated than ever. She couldn't hear! Why was she the only one having trouble hearing? It was essential she know this information!

She pursed her lips together and tried to listen. But now it was impossible. She leaned forward in her chair, and said, in her most authoritative voice:

"Excuse me. I need you to speak up."

Everyone looked at her for a moment, and then continued, as though she hadn't even spoken. She was irritated, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Hey!"

"Wow," the man next to her said again, looking down at her stomach. "It's like you don't even care."

What else had she been expecting?

Cuddy awoke, drenched in sweat. She felt queasy, but not too queasy. It was only a dream. Thank God it was only a dream.

But now, she had figured out what else she was feeling, besides numbness, toward the pregnancy.

Pessimism.