"Do you see him?"

Wilson was on his hands and knees peering under the furniture while House was the coffee table trying to put Steve's battered cage back together.

"No," Wilson said, looking under the bookcase.

"Keep looking."

"I am." The oncologist crawled to the TV stand and the piano. "I don't see anything."

"Keep looking."

"Would it kill you to help me, Greg?"

"Jimmy, I can't crawl around on the floor like that."

"No, but you can walk and look."

Sighing, the older doctor stood up and limped to the middle of the room. "Satisfied? I don't see him anywhere, either."

"Maybe he went into your bedroom," Wilson groaned, getting up to his feet. "Has Steve had his shots?"

"Yes."

"Does he bite?"

"It's a rat, Jimmy, not a fucking wolverine."

"Yeah, well, you can't be too careful."

House eyed his friend. "If you don't keep looking you're going have a lot more than a stupid rat to worry about."

"Okay...okay..." The younger doctor huffed to the master bedroom with his friend trailing behind.

Wilson checked under the bed, "Nothing here."

"He didn't just teleport out of here," House grumbled, looking behind the hamper. "Where the hell are you, Steve?"

"There!" the oncologist cried, scaring House so badly he dropped his cane. "He's back in the living room!"

By the time House picked up his cane and caught up with his friend, Wilson was crawling all over the place again.

The older doctor stood over him and said, "You didn't see where he went, did you?"

"No," Wilson grunted.

"Are you blind?"

"Dammit, Greg...you didn't see him, either"

"Outsmarted by a rat, Jimmy?"

The younger doctor looked up and smirked, "When you catch him, Greg, you can say that I was."

"Next time I'm getting a wolverine. I'll check the kitchen."

"Are there any beers left? Can you check?"

"Sure, Dr. Ratcatcher," House mumbled.

He was halfway there when a chirping sound filled the room. Both doctors froze, perplexed. Another chirp. It was coming from Wilson's coat, hanging on the back of the sofa.

"My phone..." Wilson gulped and scrambled to the coat. "Julie? Yes...I'm listening...yes..." He stumbled to the spare bedroom and locked it.

Unable to squash his curiosity, House limped to the door. Wilson's voice was low and muffled; the older doctor could only pickup a few garbled words. He could have unlocked the door, but knew his younger friend would give him a matching bruise under his eye plus a few extra, so he waited patiently outside the room.

Ten minutes later Wilson came charging out, clutching his phone as if he would die if it wasn't in his hand. He nearly fell over when he the older doctor right there, inches away.

"Well?" House cautiously asked, trying to read his friend's red, splotchy, tear-stained face for clues.

Leaning into the doorway like a man who had just finished a marathon and was trying to catch his breath, Wilson said with a cracking voice, "She apologized for the ashtray."

"You two didn't spend the last ten minutes talking about a fucking ashtray."

"No," Wilson gasped. "No, she...uh, she wanted to know if I was willing to go with her to a marriage counselor."

"Jimmy," House grinned, "you damn well better have said yes or I'm throwing you to a pack of a wolverines."

The stupid joke brought a smile and fresh tears. "Goddammit, of course I said yes! Julie wants me to come home. I need to get my stuff..."

Wilson gathered up his things and was out the door like man possessed.

House was lounging on the sofa, listening to the sudden silence when a scratching sound came from under the bookcase. He reached for the phone and dialed an all-too-familiar number without looking at the buttons.

"Lisa? I need a huge favor. Can you come over?"