A/N: Sorry this one is going so slowly. I've had a few people ask if I mean to finish it, which I definitely will. I just have an insane schedule - two jobs, music activities, farm, Dad still fighting stage IV cancer, things related to my book on Mom's illness, plus the bonus push on a deadline at the moment of having to get my old house completely cleaned out and demolished by the end of the year. If it's still here 1/1, extra taxes for two houses due to the new house I put in this year. Love the new house, but the old one is being a pain at the moment. I'm not only sorting the last of everything out of it but finding homes for the furniture I didn't want - again, all must be done and it razed by 1/1. Will be glad to have it gone.

But nothing's wrong with the writing or with the stories in my series to come after this. They are mentally on file and aren't going anywhere. I'm definitely not going to start the next series story before finishing this one, though. Hard enough finding time to update one, much less two.

Things will start rolling faster in the plot from this current twist, though. We're probably 3/4 through.

Enjoy!

(H/C)

Brenda proved an excellent ally. She promptly produced a list of people who seemed to hold a grudge against House, and she also added her own observations on those. Like most nurses, she had an excellent eye for what went on in her hospital and could describe personalities very well. She and Cuddy spent a few lunches out together going over things, and Cuddy also typed up her own list - names only, Brenda's too-inside information omitted - and took that one to the sessions she had nearly every evening with Wilson. She passed that list off only as the result of asking longer-term employees around the hospital who had disliked House. No harm in letting Wilson help her track the current whereabouts of these people.

Very few of them were still at PPTH. Those remaining were the easiest to check up on. Cuddy even took to watching them surreptitiously every chance she got, and as hard as she tried, none of them looked like a murderer to her.

"But what does a murderer look like?" Wilson asked one evening. He was, as usual, on the couch next to her, a little closer than was casual, going through computer search results that evening. She appreciated his diligent help but still wondered what was in this for him. She hoped he wasn't getting the wrong idea.

"I don't know," Cuddy sighed. "Damn it, I wish it was that easy. That we could just look at somebody, and an alarm goes off. But we can't see under the surface of people."

Unlike House. The Maestro had such a knack, even long distance, for zeroing in on what mattered in a patient. If she could only get him to care, get him fired up to actually work on this case himself, she was sure that he would be a better detective than Wilson, Brenda, and herself rolled into one.

"Lisa?" She jumped. Wilson was looking puzzled.

"Sorry. I was thinking."

"Kind of noticed that." He put the papers aside temporarily. "Lisa, what is it that makes this case so important to you?"

"It's unsolved," she replied.

He shook his head. "There's more. Wouldn't you like to tell me?"

His warm eyes, his inviting tone, were hard to resist. She made herself look away. "It's just the thought of him hiding out there somewhere if he's innocent. Plus how much good he could do as a doctor if he weren't hiding. Even people who hated him admitted that House was brilliant at medicine."

Wilson reached out and put a hand on her arm. "I wish you'd tell me what's really going on," he said. She remained stiffly silent. After a minute, he backed off a token inch. "Okay, then. We'd better get back to tracking suspects. Of course, it could be somebody not even on this list."

"I know." She knew that all too well. "But we've got to start somewhere."

"Okay." Wilson pulled her list - Brenda's revised list - back out and put it on top. "Anderson, Matthews, and Zwigert are still at the hospital. Haven't killed anybody that we know of in the last ten years. Respected practitioners. Branson is in California at UCLA. Rudzinski is in Atlanta. Morrison and Nguyen. . ."

Ah yes, their two lost sheep from the bunch. "You haven't found anything so far, either?"

"Not since four and five years ago respectively."

At that moment, the phone rang. Cuddy answered, and it was House's Aunt Charity. "Hello, my dear. I just thought of something the other day about Greg, and you seemed so interested in him. Did you ever find out anything further about that crime?"

"I..." She looked at Wilson, sitting there apparently ignoring her but obviously all ears. "Excuse me a minute, Charity. James, I'm sorry, but this is private. Could you please excuse me?"

He looked at his watch. "I was hoping after we worked on this a while, we could..." He gave in at her expression. "All right. See you tomorrow, Lisa." He stood reluctantly and left.

Cuddy relaxed a little. "Thank you for waiting, Charity."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disrupt your evening with a young gentleman. Is he kind? That's the most important thing, you know. They have to have a good heart underneath it all."

"Yes, he's got a good heart. Now what were you going to tell me about House?"

"It was something I got to thinking going over that case again. You know Blythe died earlier that day; you were asking me if she'd had symptoms. I wonder if Greg blames himself for that. The stress from his illness, I mean, and how it impacted her. That might explain why he ran, and it wasn't because of the murder after all."

Cuddy stifled her sigh. This woman meant well, but Cuddy, Brenda, and even Wilson were already several steps ahead of her down that road. If Blythe had been anything like her sister, no wonder John House had been the driving force behind everything in the family. House had to get his intelligence from somewhere, after all, even if John had applied his in a twisted form.

She made herself sound grateful. "That's a wonderful idea, Charity. It would help explain things. I'd even wondered that myself."

"Well, I won't keep you from your young gentleman. Maybe you can catch him before he gets home and tell him to come back. I didn't mean to impose, dear. If you find one with a good heart, that's so important. They're worth putting some time into."

"Yes, I know. Thank you, Charity." Cuddy hung up and let herself sigh aloud as she looked at the stack of papers. Morrison and Nguyen, the two lost from PPTH. Where were they? Of course, it could be anyone else, or someone not on the list at all, as Wilson had said.

Wilson. Maybe she was too focused on this and should be more in pursuit of the activities that Charity obviously thought she was. Wilson would definitely be willing. But the Maestro, House... The man haunted her dreams at this point. She couldn't just walk away from this.

How could she possibly make him care, stir him to action? If only he would join the fight, she had no doubt that they would win.

With another sigh, she gathered her car keys. She hadn't meant to go back out tonight, but she found herself driving back to PPTH, picking up a Big Mac at McDonald's on the way.

It was growing late; third shift had just come on. Cuddy went up to the roof and crossed to the fence. "Maestro. Maestro. I brought you something."

Nothing but silence. Even the shadows were still tonight. After a minute, she tossed the bag lightly across, then turned away. He probably wasn't even here; it was much later than usual for a visit from her. She had wasted her money, and he would find a cold Big Mac in the morning, assuming that birds or mice hadn't found it before that.

She was almost to the door to the stairwell when it opened, and Wilson stepped out. She jumped. "James! You startled me. What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question. What are you doing up here? I thought you had an important phone call."

"I did." She was scrambling. "I just decided to take a drive after that."

"To the roof of the hospital?"

She fired a challenge back at him. "You're here yourself."

"I came by to check on a patient after you kicked me out. Thought I might as well do something useful. I was just leaving when I spotted you across the lobby heading in. I called you, but you didn't hear me. Why would you come up to the roof?"

She was edging toward the door. "It's a good place to think. Let's go out for a late snack or something. Or what was it you said you had in mind for later?"

He looked around. "Actually, this isn't a bad setting. Peace, quiet, solitude, stars overhead. Nobody around but us."

She took another half step, but he didn't move. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. Dropping to one knee, he opened it. "Lisa, I've never known a woman like you. Never. Let's spend a love, a lifetime together, not just chasing some mental exercise but being with each other. Anywhere you go, I want to go. I think part of me knew even as a little boy that we were meant to be together. Will you marry me?"

Cuddy stared at him, absolutely stunned. Neither of them saw the abrupt shift in the shadows beyond the fence as one set of eyes opened even wider than hers, and a breath caught with a sharp hiss that was concealed by her own gasp.

Wilson looked up at her, waiting.