Warning: I am not a doctor. I did do research the best I could, but odds are the facts are not exact. Please suspend your disbelief and have fun reading.

After a few hours, it was clear that whatever had effected Cuddy was not getting any better and was not caused by Influenza. Her body was getting weaker by the moment. Even after sleeping, she could not stand on her own nor could she make a fist. Her hands were following the same path as her legs in becoming completely useless.

"It's not paralysis," Cuddy confirmed, "I can still feel my legs." She complained of muscle pain and said her fingers were tingling.

House swallowed, considering, "I have to take you to the hospital, Cuddy." He limped around, found the closet and gathered what he guessed was her coat. Even in the midst of this fear and worry, he noted that there was no coat that could have possibly belonged to a man. He also noted that her coat smelled like her and memories began to trickle in.

She only nodded, "I have to call my mother." She reached behind her on the end table for the mobile phone. It tipped into her weak hand and she pulled it to her chest. She could barely move her hands with any dexterity now and dialing was impossible. With sudden horror, she knew that, if not for House, she would have been here alone and unable to call for help for another whole day. Depending on what this was, that could have proven fatal.

He saw the phone on her chest as he approached with her coat, and picked it up, "Number?" She recited it and he dialed, observing the horror on her face as she slowly lost control of her motor functions. "Mom," Cuddy rasped after House put the phone to her ear, "I'm going into the hospital. I've gotten worse." There was a pause and an urgent voice on the other end, "No, stay there and keep Rachel. I'll call you when I can."

House looked understandably worried as she spoke to her mother. Any word of him would cause the wrath of hell to come down on his head and it was likely she would turn him in. It ended in less than thirty seconds and his blue eyes questioned her. "I don't want her to worry until I know more." She explained, "At least until I get to the hospital." Was she protecting him, she wondered.

He pulled her into a sitting position and began to put on her coat, noting that she was barely able to assist him. Her arms still had function, but her hands and legs were so weak, she had little control. He tried to fight the warmth that came over him as he pulled her close and felt her hands on his chest as he pulled the coat on her, "Where are the car keys? All I have is my bike."

"In the bowl by the door."

House hobbled to the front door and fished inside the wooden bowl sitting on a stand. Producing a set of keys, he flashed them at her and got a nod. Pocketing them, he sat beside her again, gathering her in his arms. It was slow going out to the car. With House limping and Cuddy hardly able to hold on, he had to gain his grip again more than once. Finally, he placed her in the front seat of the car and limped back inside to grab his cane and lock the door. He called Bayshore and got a surprised look from Cuddy, "It's where you work, right?" He asked, knowing it was not all that far from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching nodded, knowing she shouldn't be surprised that he knew so much. She had tried to get away and Bayshore was as far as she had gotten. It was still in the district of the schools she wanted to send Rachel, still near her mother and sister, and still near her old life. The one she missed.

At the hospital, they were greeted by some staff and a wheelchair because House had called ahead. Now, he knew he should leave. She was in good hands and only bad could come out of his sticking around. He could hear her voice becoming more faint as she explained what was going on to the medics and waves of dread washed over him repeatedly. The staff began to talk to him, ask him questions too and he had little choice but to follow her inside. Once he had answered every question he could, his mind reeled with the question of what could be wrong with her. An infection that mimicked the flu seemed most likely, in which case, they would find it easily and antibiotics would cure her. But, then she wouldn't have been feeling better for the last few days. He would stay long enough for them to find the infection, he decided. That should only be a few hours.

Those few hours had not proved to be the clarifying difference in the case that he had hoped. After several tests and a good dose of antibiotics, it was clear that they were not dealing with something simple.

"She's asleep," the doctor told House who had been sitting in the waiting room, "We're confident the antibiotics will soon take effect." He spoke down to House, obviously never dreaming that he was a doctor. House knew that his words were bullshit, however and limped into Cuddy's room, his blue eyes intently fixed in her.

She awoke some time later as he was sitting by the bed, tipping his cane back and forth, his eyes distantly staring at the wall, "House," she rasped, a bit surprised that he was still around.

"They have no idea what's wrong with you." He said bluntly, "Your white count is way down, blood pressure is down, and the broad spectrum antibiotics are having no effect." He had to keep it business, he had decided. He was making amends, not trying to barge in like he had with Stacy.

"House, what's doing this, what's wrong with me?" She asked again.

He was no more wise about it now as he had been the first time, she had asked back at her house, "I don't know." With that, he stood, limping out quickly and found Cuddy's doctor filling out some paperwork at a nurse's station."Hi," he slapped his cane onto the counter and over the paperwork and gave the handsome doctor a false smile, "Dr. Cuddy wants an MRI, and blood tests to cover all the bases."

"Excuse me," he brushed House's cane off his work, "I was going to check up on Dr. Cuddy in a few moments, but her symptoms are vindictive of a virus and the antibiotics-"

House cut him off, "It's not a virus and if you looked at her symptoms for more than twenty seconds, you'd see that. Or maybe you wouldn't, maybe your head is just peaking it's way in between your butt cheeks and going full throttle into your ass."

Doctor Michael Kincaid's face turned bright red, "Sir, I can understand you're upset, but I know what I'm doing. Dr. Cuddy's symptoms are consistent with severe influenza. She has had the flu for over a week now. She-"

House never let him finish, "You're basing your diagnosis on her symptoms from a week ago? Did you even look at her?" House found himself shouting now, "If you were right, we would see an effect, she'd be getting better."

"It's tough to tell from the first few-"

"Tough by not impossible. I know the subtle signs of improvement under antibiotics, but she's getting worse."

"Sir, I must insist you trust my judgement, you're not a doctor, and-"

"I am a doctor." House shouted, "What I'm wondering is how you ever became one. Buy your degree on EBay? I'd say you slept with every professor you had in Med School to pass, but something tells me you're stupid and impotent."

Dr. Kincaid was truly angry now, his face flushed and his brow furrowed, "Get the hell out of my face!"

But House's attention had been diverted. Nurses were running toward the direction he had come." He rushed away from the doctor and followed and found exactly what he'd been afraid of. The monitors were beeping incessantly and one long note alerted House that Cuddy's heart had stopped. He stood in the doorframe, paralyzed in fear.

"Push one cc of epi!" A nurse called out.

The room that held Cuddy was full of urgent life. The only still thing in the room was Cuddy's heart.