AN: As i got a review today, i'm feeling generous so i thought i'd give you this one today instead of tomorrow.

House had left the apartment feeling low again; the weather had mimicked his mood and the rain beat against his helmet. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't know what time he would return. The road would take him anywhere, and he wanted to go anywhere. So long as it was away from everyone.

After a few hours he pulled over at a gas station and found a payphone. He dialled the hotel's number and got the person at the reception.

"Hello, Jones Hotel, how may I help you?" came the silky voice of the male receptionist.

"Yea hi, I need to be put through to Katrina Flintoff's room"

"Straight away sir"

As House waited he mumbled to himself trying to think of an apology for his behaviour this morning. He was also thinking about how he could explain that he loved her. Unfortunately as he got through to her line it turned out to be engaged.

"Damn it!" House cursed making a few people who were coming out of the gas station shop turn and look at him oddly.

"Haven't you ever seen a cripple curse before!" he shouted at them, taking the bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and throwing the pills down his throat. Although they helped his leg they didn't help his mood.

He decided to go back and remained in a melancholy mood for the rest of the day.

Wilson wasn't any better; he had opened a bottle of scotch and had already drunk half the bottle by the time House returned.

"You had a party without me" House asked as he walked through the door. The sarcasm was there but his heart just wasn't in it.

"I'm not in the mood House. Just let me drink in peace"

"Well that's my scotch and this is my apartment. So why don't you let me drink it in peace!" he shouted grabbing the bottle of scotch out off of the table and putting it straight to his lips.

"What's the matter with you?" Wilson asked

"None of your business!"

"House, you're my best friend. I always make you a part of my business."

"Wilson, just leave it. I think you've known me long enough to know that I don't do the sharing feelings bit. It's just not me."

"Fine. Be that way" Wilson spat as he poured himself some more scotch into the shot glass and downed it within a blink of an eye.

House ignored him and walked into his bedroom and fell on the bed. He felt shooting pains making their way up his leg and House reached for his bottle of Vicodin which was waiting silently for him to open. After he downed two pills he lie on the bed staring up at the ceiling wishing the bed would swallow him whole. He eventually fell into a restless sleep once again like the night before.

Back in the living room a drunken Wilson lifted the receiver of House's phone and dialled the hotel number.

"Good evening, Jones Hotel, how may I help you?"

"I'm wondering if I can speak to Katrina" he slurred.

"I need a last name sir."

"Oh, erm, what is it?" Wilson was kneading his knuckle into his forehead "F…f…Flowers?"

"I'm sorry sir; we do not have a resident of the name of Katrina Flowers in the vicinity."

"Ok, erm it begins with f, I know it does" Frustration was building up within himself, he should've known this. For gods sake! He'd known her for ten years and he'd forgotten her last name.

"Maybe you should ring tomorrow" the receptionist suggested

"I will not ring tomorrow! I need to speak with her now" he replied impatiently.

Luckily for Wilson, Katrina had wanted some room service and had found the front desk engaged. She walked down to the foyer and found the receptionist on the phone looking frustrated.

"Sir, I cannot put you though if you do not know the guest's last name" there was silence while the caller retaliated to the receptionist's response. "There is more than one Katrina in this facility sir"

Katrina eyed the receptionist and shot a look of pity for him "And your name is James Wilson…"

"Excuse me!" she interrupted "I think that call is for me"

The receptionist gave her a look of thanks and handed over the phone.

She could hear a drunken Wilson ranting and raving with an occasional slur, she hadn't realised that he had took her actions so seriously.

"James, shut up!" she said sternly.

Wilson became silent wanting to hear her speak again to him.

"James? Are you still there?" she asked

"Yes" he replied in a small voice

"You've been drinking" it wasn't a question. It was a fact.

"A little" he sighed "Not much. Just a shot or two" It was at that point he started feeling sorry for himself. Why did he turn to drink when his problems got to him? He ended up acting irrationally every time.

"Yes…" she paused knowing he was lying. "I vaguely remember that it took you ages before you got drunk when we went out to the bars in England. Are you drunk because the scotch is stronger here in America?"

"You're getting to be as sarcastic as House"

That sentence hit her like a dagger. She thought she'd made her mind up.

'Obviously not', her thoughts retaliated

She laughed nervously.

Wilson didn't pick up on the nervousness. He was too drunk.

"We can talk more when you've sobered up"

He gave a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

She was normal again he thought.