Name: "MOM"

Plot: A prequel to "DAD". It follows Lisa Cuddy as she finally begins to admit her feelings for House but only as she dies from a serious aliment. She asks House for one final request. Is he up to the task? Can he stop himself from falling back into old habits? And how does he cope when having another person dependent on him?

I have set this during the 6th season, though I have not seen it, I have a general idea of what happens. So, if I do make a mistake, anywhere at all, please alert me and I can change it

Author: SironaFlett .o.x.o

This fanfiction can be read on its own, but it is a spin off Prequel from my other fanfiction "DAD".

I do not own House M.D it's characters and so on. That ownership lies with David Shore.

House limped into the building and signed a few forms. He picked up a pink piece of paper and stared at the words. He sniffed and scrunched it up.

"Good morning Dr House," Came a voice.

House looked up and saw Cuddy marching up to the nurse's desk. She was wearing a tweed jacket that fell just above her knees. Her pinstripe skirt complimented her shins nicely. Her leather clad gloves were curled around a cup of coffee and a leather briefcase. She smiled up at House.

"Good morning, Cuddy," House said. He began to limp off.

"Is that it?" Cuddy asked, following him to the elevator. He stopped and turned looking at her politely. "No remarks about what I'm wearing or glib remarks about Ra-"

"How is the little bastard?" House asked pleasantly.

Cuddy smiled suddenly reassured. "You've used that one on me before. Rachel is developing a rash-"

"Who said I was talking about Rachel?" House asked. "I was talking about Lucas,"

"Lucas is not a bastard,"

"Nope," House replied. "But he is little. In every sense of the word. Sha-zing!"

"Are you on vicodin again?"

"Is that an accusation?"

"I'm pretty sure it was a question," Cuddy retorted. "You're wisecracking is more speedy today than it usually is."

"Well you see, that is because I don't have the vicodin clouding up my thoughts," House said, pushing the elevator button. The doors slid open.

"Are you in pain?" Cuddy asked.

"I'm always in pain," House replied. "There is an enormous assed one following me right now."

"Oh thanks,"

House smiled at her. "Just being the kind old doctor that you expect me to be," He said. He watched as some other doctors joined him in the elevator.


"Cuddy!" House shouted, mocking her.

"No, House…" House looked at her as she clung to the wall. Her face was suddenly pale. She was struggling for breath. "Something's wrong,"

The elevator doors began to close. House held out his hand to stop it. Then he threw away his cane in enough time to catch Cuddy as she fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Cuddy?" He shouted, checking her pulse. "Cuddy!" Her heartbeat barely struggled to get past 40bpm. "I need a crash cart!" He bellowed as Doctors and nurses surrounded them.


House woke with a start. There was a sharp shooting pain through his right leg. He shoved back the covers and slowly lifted himself out from the bed. He rubbed it slowly, wishing for a vicodin. He couldn't though… He couldn't go down that route again. If he did… Then his father was right.

He frowned for a moment, and then remembered his dream.

House was not one to believe prophetic dreams. In fact he quite occasionally mocked them beyond normal. But this dream was so livid. He knew that his subconscious was trying to tell him something. But he wasn't sure what yet. Slowly he got up and began to get ready for work.


Cuddy woke up feeling like crap. Rachel was crying in the next room. She looked to her side. Lucas wasn't next to her. She then remembered that he was involved with an all night case. He had told her not to expect him home for a while. She rolled onto her side and rubbed her head. She couldn't call in a sick day. She had an organ transplant meeting, two inventories meetings with the budget committee. Then a meeting with Wilson to discuss new equipment for the oncology department.

Rachel wailed even louder. She was hungry. Cuddy could tell. Her adopted daughter was quite a quiet baby, she never usually put up a fuss unless something was really bothering her.

Slowly Cuddy got up and got ready for work. As she sat up, she felt dizzy. She hated the feeling but nevertheless she continued.

"So you think that your dream was trying to tell you something?" Wilson asked sceptically.

House looked over at his friend. "Perhaps," He held out a paperback book. It was battered worse than most fish and its binding was completely ruined. Wilson took it and read the title.

"Sigmund Freud; Theory of Dreams?" Wilson asked incredulously, he looked up at House. "Are you serious?" He asked.

"Don't mock," House said, pulling on his blazer over his crumpled blue shirt.

"I'm not mocking," Wilson replied. "I just never anticipated you reading a psychology text before."

"I've been reading up on books that Nolan suggested." House took the book from his friend and flicked open a page. "'Freud theorized that one's dreams were a link into thoughts and ideas that the person's subconscious picked up. Furthermore, these dreams picked up the insignificant details that many miss due to their day-to-day activities,'" He paused and looked at the bewildered oncologist. "Much like the way I tried to induce hallucinations to determine what caused the bus crash."

Wilson flinched at the memory, but did not reply. "So you think that there is something wrong with Cuddy? Depression perhaps?"

"Nah, if it was depression she would have stopped the diet and break open a tub of Ben & Jerry's cookie dough fudge a long time ago." House said.

"Alright, that's a lame one," Wilson said.

House nodded. "I know," He said. "I don't like the thought of something being wrong with Cuddy… I mean who's gonna sign my pay checks?"

"Well yes, that is the major concern. It has nothing to do with the fact that you've been pining after her for nearly 20 years, and now she finally has someone else in her life and you're jealous,"

House frowned. "You read way too much into things." He tossed the book onto the coffee table and grabbed his rucksack. He pulled it over one shoulder and grabbed his cane.

"I'm not reading into things," Wilson said, following House out the apartment. "I'm using your theory here-"

"Freud's," House interrupted.

"Whatever," Wilson shrugged; he opened the door to his car and letting House in. "You think that there is something wrong with Cuddy. In your twisted mind, that could be anything from dating Lucas to liking low-fat yoghurt!" He got into the drivers seat and looked at his friend. "I'm right aren't I?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah," House said. "Aren't you just the best Oprah impersonator ever?"

Wilson frowned, he started the car. "What does Oprah have to do with anything?" He asked driving away.

"Sorry," House said. "When you wisecrack all day, some are just bound to run out on ya,"

Rachel had a tiny cough. It was nothing serious, but Cuddy playing mom was worried as hell. She didn't leave the apartment until she was positive that her daughter was alright. She kissed her forehead and thanked the nanny. She stopped at the doorway. She felt dizzy again. Breathing, slowly, she left.

She got into her car and turned on the engine. She felt like crap. Nevertheless, she pressed on the gas and released the clutch. The car began to roll smoothly down the hill.

As she drove, she began increasingly aware that something was wrong. She couldn't concentrate. She wanted to pull over. But there wasn't a lay-by free.

She… Couldn't… Think…

Everything went black.

Her eyes shot open and she spun the steering wheel of the car, so she wouldn't crash. There was a buzz of sirens. Cuddy rolled down the window, her identification between her fingers.

"I'm Dr Lisa Cuddy," She murmured incoherently. "Call an ambulance… Get House! Princeton Plainsbro…"

She drifted off into unconsciousness again.