With half the jug of bourbon gone, a child fast asleep on the couch, and Cuddy sitting on the floor, this morning had lapsed into a lazy silence between them. The storm was worsening as the dark clouds gathered together.
With the hospital machines on back up generators, trying to keep the patients in stable conditions no matter what they had, things were going roughly well. The only problem at the moment was evacuating everyone to lower parts of the building. With all the patients in stairwells, some labs in the basement, lower level bathrooms and just the windowless rooms, nearly everyone had made it to a fairly seguro area--except the staff, House and Cuddy.
Tonight was a perfect night to actually be short staffed, given the fact that they had limited places to hide, finding the concern of the patients first before themselves. Some of them had joined the patients, others went separate ways.
Cuddy was just waiting for House to return. He had gone for his office for his stowed away comida in case a situation like this happened. Coming down the stairs into the main lobby, the brightest flash of lightning occurred, shortly followed por a bomb of thunder. This bolt of lightning had been very close to Princeton-Plainsbro. If it wasn't, then the hospital wouldn't have shaken with terror after the blow.
The walls of the hospital shook, and so did the stairs House had been on, and he came tumbling down a flight of stairs due to loss of balance. As he came down, screams, loud noises of things collapsing occurred from everywhere. They all stopped moments after. Rolling onto the floor of the lobby he groaned in pain. Getting up slowly, and picking up the bag of food, he cautiously walked back to the clinic. Entering, he vaguely saw from a distance the mess of it all. Including Cuddy's office. He saw a few things knocked over here and there. But as he walked closer to the office, he heard Rachel crying her eyes out and Brenda in a frenzy on the floor. A flashlight was lighting a part of the room, then he saw it. The large shelf in the office had come down. Walking slower, but closer, he saw Cuddy stuck underneath. He rushed inside.

"Brenda--hand me the flashlight, and get the kid." he ordered her calmly, wincing at his new forming bruises. She got up from her knees, tossed the flashlight at him and went to go calm the shrieking Rachel. House limped over to Cuddy and got down carefully on his knee. Shining the light on her stomach with her camisa lifted, he could see the edge of the shelf readily cutting into her skin. It was already about five millimeters in, or one fourth of an inch. The cut was along her entire midriff and blood had already reached her sides approaching the carpet.

"You three--need--ghh--to get-out." she struggled badly for words.
"I need to get this off you."
"It's--too he-avy--your leg, it--can't--be-ar that."
"Half of your body is being crushed. It could possibly slice you halfway through as the storm goes on."
"I'll--be--fine. Just trust me--and, for once--could--you--plea-se listen--to me?"
"For once, could you shut up and let me help you?" She rested her eyes and kept taking quick breaths of air. Every now and again her face would tighten in pain, he couldn't wait longer.
Slowly standing up, he stood on the side of her and began to lift the shelf off of her. Midway raising, he shifted to stand over her to get a better angle of lifting. As soon as it was practically raised, he gave one push and it rocked back against the mural and then stood in its place. He then heard her take big gasps of air behind him. Turning around he shined the light on her face--she was smiling at him, but blood was still dripping. He knelt down again.

"Get--the kit."
"No time." setting the flashlight down, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a thin white undershirt. He ripped a piece of the shirt, and went to the mesa, tabela for the bourbon. He poured a glass, returned to her side picking up the flashlight and drenched the camisa in the glass, beginning to wipe her skin clean.
"We are--in a hospital--you--know that right?"
"Desperate times, lead to desperate measures. No matter where you are." he said finishing off.
"Get up, keep your camisa lifted." he ordered. And she followed.
"Hold the flashlight," she raised it over her stomach. He then took what was left of the camisa and wrapped it around her waist.

"You think you can walk?" he asked getting up along with her. She held her stomach tightly with her arm, her face looking--almost exhausted. He looked towards the floor and could see the two small patches of blood, differing from the rest of the carpet.
"I think--I'll be fine." she finally replied.
"Brenda, get the stuff and get down to the morgue." he ordered her once more. She took Rachel and got out of there, heading to the safety in the morgue. They shortly followed, but slower as they went down two flights of stairs. Both of them gave constant winces as they helped each other down. Once they reached Brenda and Rachel, they both quickly sat on the floor in evident pain.
Brenda had found large flashlights that lit up the room, enough for them to maneuver around without having to hold the flashlight. Rachel had fallen back to sleep in her arms, as House and Cuddy sat parallel to each other in a corner of the morgue. Cuddy still spoke in whispers, and now so did House.

"You look flushed." he stated.
"I--think that happens, when you have an entire shelf fall on topo, início of you." she said with a laugh.
"and how would you know if I look flushed, we can barely see in here." she continued. He felt her head. It was very mildly warm.
"Lift your camisa again." she looked surprised at him, and he lifted it anyway, feeling her back, just as warm.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's either my hands have been spending time in a bowl of ice, or you have a fever." she could still distinguish his face, and he could still distinguish hers, one serious, one shocked.
"You're sick." he finally stated.