Disclaimer: I do not own any of the a characters, nor do I claim to have any affiliation with the show "House" or it's production. This applies to the entire story and all that it entails.

Chapter 1: It Ends Tonight

The moon was an ominous slit hovering among the stars, the select few that were visible through the impenetrable crepuscule. Not a single sound threatened the eerie serenity, the inconceivable veil of sleep which was draped so carefully over the city as if God had placed it there himself. The darkness hung, seeping in through the blinds and engulfing the room, filling each of the corridors, bending at the corners and climbing the walls. The blackness lay thick between the carpet and the ceiling, and not a shadow dared to materialize. Outside, the blades of grass were bare, the dewdrops not yet formed upon them.

A figure wriggled beneath the sheets, but the silence abruptly returned. The sheets shifted again, and the figure awoke, blinking and gazing up at the ceiling, cringing. A wave of pain overtook her, flooding in swiftly and staggeringly. Her eyelids fell shut as wrinkles appeared within her forehead and at the bridge of her nose. It subsided, to her relief, and her eyes drifted shut again.

Another wave crashed to shore, this one submerging her and taking her for its own.

A cry was all she could manage, a cry so disruptive against the quiet midnight, so desultory to the world in its slumber.

A single, ear-splitting shriek. An agonizing scream.

A sudden awakening.

Tossing.

A panicked face appeared above her own.

Gasping.

His lips moved, creating words incomprehensible to her.

Tearing.

"Lisa!" He nearly yelled, "Answer me, Cuddy!"

Agony.

A dial tone. Dialing.

Hands grasped the sheets, her knuckles whitening.

"I need an ambulance!" The voice on the other end sounded like an imperceptible mumble.

A realization:

"My wife..." he paused,

Her legs were damp, and her hair was sprawled in a hundred different directions on her pillow.

He refused to say it, but is blatantly obvious. It did not take a diagnostician to comprehend what had just occurred, or what had begun to occur.

Sweat?

"Just get me an ambulance," he spat.

But she already knew.

"144 Fairway Drive," he uttered distractedly, watching helplessly as Cuddy's body convulsed beside him.

Tensing and then relaxing. Folding. Arching.

House's heart hammered against his ribs, and he strained his eyes to find Cuddy's silhouette through the darkness. He stopped responding to the voice emanating from the phone once the dispatching of an ambulance was confirmed.

Her fingers stretched, reached downward and grazed the puddle beneath her.

He slammed the phone back onto the receiver.

She choked back a sob.

"What happened? How bad is the pain?"

"Turn on the light," she commanded.

He sighed heavily, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "On a scale of 1 to 10," he questioned, repeating the question she had so often asked him and opting to ignore her demand.

"Turn on the light," she barked, and then grimaced.

This time, he did as he was told. Leaning over, he switched on the lamp. Before he could even glance over at her, his world was shaken by an earth shattering scream.