Cuddy paused mid-step in the middle of her office holding a small bunch of folders as Wilson rushed into her office, his lab coat fluttering behind him, his wide eyes cluing her in to the reason for his sudden arrival before he ever opened his mouth.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Wilson pointed to the folders in her hands. "Are you, uh, busy?"

"Meeting. Is House all right?"

Wilson shifted his feet. He looked like a child with a full bladder. He started chattering. "Shit, the board meeting. I forgot all about it. Shit."

Cuddy's face was serious. She stepped close to him. "Wilson, is House okay?"

Wilson spoke with the speed of a professional auctioneer and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I didn't have time to stop by his place before work, so I've been calling periodically for the last few hours," he said. She stayed quiet and let him continue. "I must have called eight times. He never picked up. At first, I thought maybe couldn't reach the phone in time or maybe he finally rediscovered the shower. But he's not busy enough to miss that many calls and he doesn't have the willpower to ignore it for that long."

Cuddy nodded her head in agreement.

"I keep thinking that he's, uh, downed all his Vicodin." He paced a tiny path back and forth near the door, running a hand through his hair. "Or his alcohol, and he's passed out somewhere-"

Images reeled through her head as he rambled-House half-conscious on his floor, too far away to reach the phone, an empty pill bottle in his hand, his eyelids permanently closing. Wilson had called her last Christmas, after he had found House in his own vomit with a vial of stolen pills, and now she was not only driven by an urge to make sure House was all right, but also by the desire to relieve Wilson of his self-perceived obligation to share the weight of House's burdens. It was possible, however, that both of them were overreacting, that perhaps House had fallen asleep or had crashed on the couch with a pair of headphones over his ears. Despite that, she was hesitant to send Wilson off to a repeat of the previous Christmas and she could not rid herself of the need to see personal proof House's safety.

Cuddy was torn from her thoughts by Wilson's voice. "Maybe I should, um, try one more time."

"No, I'll do it," she said, throwing her folders onto the chair and picking up the phone to dial. She let the machine answer before she hung up, not bothering with a message, and circled the room for her purse, leaving her folders abandoned on the chair.

"I need to see if he's-if he's-" She hesitated, and looking for another word other than the worst one. If he's hurt. If he's dead. "-all right."

"You shouldn't miss the meeting," he said, not insistently and with a reluctant tone of politeness.

"The meeting," she said, groaning and turning back from the door. "No, it's okay. I'll reschedule." She returned to the phone and informed Dr. Eastman, another board member, that she couldn't attend the meeting due to a medical emergency and it would have to be rescheduled. He assured her that she would receive a memo with a revised date and time. She sighed as she replaced the phone in its cradle and looked to Wilson. "Go home, Wilson. Let me take care of this. I'll call you as soon as I can." Her voice sounded weak. Her fingers fumbled with the straps of her purse as she strung it higher onto her shoulder. She walked on unsteady legs from her office, Wilson following her.

They parted ways in the lobby. She headed to the parking lot, upping her pace as she left the building, her car key already out in her hand.