Author's Notes: Hello everyone! Good news - I just passed my driver's test! Yay! But... I suppose you don't care, so welcome to my favorite chapter in this entire story, and thank you for everyone who's sticking with me for the next three chapters. I've taken a few liberties with Wilson's parents, as we've seen hide nor hair of them on the show, so... deal. Not much to say, so I'll just shut up and let you read -enjoy the chapter!

Get Out Alive

Chapter 4
(Of Defeat)

Cuddy was worried. Three of her hospital employees—two of them department heads—were missing. Not only was she worried for their safety, but if the media got a hold of this information, her hospital would become a camping ground for reporters. The thought of a dozen reporters gathered about on her front door roasting marshmallows and comparing the juicy details that they'd uncovered made her want to cry. Or throw up. Or perhaps both. She wouldn't stand for a publicized investigation of her hospital.

Cuddy had alerted the police of the three missing doctors, but she'd also asked them to use the utmost discretion during their investigation. Detective Morgan, a strange man with no eyebrows, had assured her that all of his men were nothing but discrete, and she had no choice but to trust in him. She expected that they were roaming about the hospital right now, talking to people. She tried to bring her attention back to her day planner, where she was attempting to lay out her meeting schedule for next week, but her mind was just not into figuring out how she'd managed to schedule a meeting with the Head of Pediatrics at the same time as her conference with the CEO of Princeton General. Cuddy was worrying about House and Wilson and Chase. If House had been running low on his Vicodin yesterday, they would have been all used up by now and he'd be in sheer agony. On the other hand, if it had been full, then the pills might last him through to tonight.

That is, if he wasn't dead yet.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy looked up, relieved for a distraction from her thoughts. However, upon seeing who had entered her office, she had second thoughts about her relief.

"Hello Dr. Cameron," she said, preparing herself. Cameron was either here to go on a moral tangent or to have an emotional breakdown. Neither one was Cuddy particularly feeling like dealing with. But she smiled nevertheless. "How can I help you?"

"Was it you who called the police about..." Cameron choked before she could get the names out, and tears suddenly sparkled in her eyes.

Cuddy nodded. "Yes. They haven't turned up with anything so far, unfortunately, but I'll be sure to keep you updated." There. Problem solved. But Cameron did not leave. It was times like this when Cuddy wished that she could be House, if only for a few minutes, so that she could get people to leave her alone for a while.

"They found Wilson's car here, at the hospital," Cameron said. "They think that something might have happened in the parking lot. They think that someone had this all planned out. For weeks. Someone had been watching them, gathering information like... like some kind of..."

Cuddy nodded again. She'd already heard these theories from Detective Morgan about an hour ago, but Cameron had clearly just been interviewed and discovered this for herself. "Yes, that's right. They told me that they were going to run through the security camera footage at the entrances to see if any of them ever made it inside. There really isn't anything more you or I can do to help. When they have something, I'm sure that they'll tell us right away."

"Have you called their families?" Cameron asked. She seemed to have recovered, for the tears in her eyes had receded and her jaw was set stubbornly, and her eyes watched Cuddy unblinkingly.

"No," Cuddy admitted. It hadn't even occurred to her to do so. But now that Cameron had said it, it sounded like a good idea. In fact, she was almost embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it herself. "I will, though."

Cameron nodded. She opened her mouth to say something more, but then shut it. Anything else she said would be just hot air filling the room.

Chase was certain that he'd never gone this long without drinking or eating. This wasn't really a fair statement, because he had no idea how long he'd been held captive, but if he had to guess he'd say it had been about three days. Time didn't pass normally for him—sometimes, it would fly by in the beat of a heart, but other times it would drag by, slower than coal turned to diamonds. With a clinical sort of reasoning, he knew that this was because of the lack of food and water, of the lack of warm air and the lack of exercise, but that didn't do him any good. So what if he knew why he felt like shit?

Across the tiny cell, Wilson was still sitting there with House. He'd asked him to take over, Chase remembered, but how long ago had it been? Minutes? Hours? A day, even? He couldn't remember.

Something wet splashed onto his hand, and Chase was surprised to see that it was a tear. He was crying.

"Chase?" Wilson said softly. He appeared to notice Chase's tears, and his brown eyes were soft with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, bloody fantastic," Chase snapped, his voice completely broken from his lack of use. At Wilson's hurt look, Chase felt regret flicker in his chest. "I'm sorry..." he muttered.

"We can't do this forever," Wilson said, his eyes holding an accusing note.

Chase closed his eyes and tried to ignore Wilson's stare. He knew that he was right, but didn't want to think about it right now. He didn't want to think about who would be dying, who would be left behind in the tiny room while the other two walked away. Just for a little while more, he would put it off.

Cuddy knew that she had to dial her three employees' families. Technically, she could have handed the job over to the police, but a sense of guilt rose up inside of her whenever she thought about it. These were her people—she could make a damn phone call for them.

The first trouble in this was who to call first. Wilson came from a tight-knit family, with a loving mother and father and a brother, who no doubt would keep her on the phone for an hour or so, pressing for details and seeking comfort. Finding anyone for Chase was going to be wild goose chase (no pun intended, she thought with a small smile), for both of his parents were dead and any family he would have lived in Australia. And Cuddy knew House's parents well enough to know that his mother would begin sobbing hysterically and his father would most likely blame House for not standing up to his captor.

She decided to get Wilson's parents out of the way first.

"Hello, Wilson residence, Joseph speaking," a little boy recited, and Cuddy could hear laughter in the background. She felt a stab of guilt as she realized that there was a party going on.

"This is Dr. Lisa Cuddy from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," Cuddy said formally. "May I speak with Chayim Wilson, please?"

"Sure," the boy said. There was rustling sound as the receiver was set down, and Cuddy him holler, "Hey Grandpa! Phone's for you!"

More shuffling on the other end, a man asking Joseph why he was wearing his muddy shoes inside of the house, and then came the thick voice of Chayim Wilson. "Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Wilson," Cuddy said, trying to inject a little pleasure into her voice. "This Dr. Cuddy from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital—your son, James, works for me." Yes, that was right. Works. Nothing was concrete yet.

"Yes," Chayim said, sounding a little confused. "Is something the matter?"

"Yes... Mr. Wilson, I'm sorry to say that your son has gone missing," Cuddy said in a rush, logic telling her that if she said it faster, it would lessen the initial shock of pain. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

"Missing?" Chayim repeated blankly, as if he didn't even know the word.

"He, Dr. Gregory House, and Dr. Robert Chase have all been reported missing since yesterday," Cuddy said. "The police are looking into it as we speak, but they haven't found any leads as of yet."

"You say that House character is missing, too?" Chayim asked, and Cuddy knew what he was going to say before the words had even left his mouth. "I always knew that man was trouble—he's probably dragged James off to the Bahamas or something. Just like him to cause all this havoc..."

"No, Mr. Wilson," Cuddy said wearily. "It was not Dr. House who took your son. His car was found at his house, and your son's car was parked here, at the hospital. There hasn't been any activity on their credit cards, either. I'm sorry, but James really has gone missing."

"Let me talk to the officer in charge," Chayim demanded. "This is nonsense. They obviously aren't looking hard enough if they haven't figured out that it was that House who stole James away. Wait a few days and they'll turn up. You'll see. I know my James."

Cuddy opened her mouth to continue arguing with him, but realized that he was as stubborn as Wilson was. She changed tact and tried again. "I don't know where the detective is right now, Mr. Wilson, but if you'd like to come up to the hospital to speak with him, it could be arranged. And this way, if there is any news of James, you will be the first to know."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, and Cuddy waited with baited breath. If this didn't work, she would have to talk to Mrs. Wilson, which she didn't want to do. The subsequent hysterics that would follow might tip the balance of her control, and she couldn't afford to start freaking out right now. Her hospital still needed her, now more than ever.

"Abigail and I will be there soon," Chayim finally said, and Cuddy let out a breath of relief.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

House was next. She punched in the number that was entered on his Emergency Contact, and waited impatiently while the phone rang. It rang six... seven... eight times, and she tapped her foot while she waiting. But no one picked up, and an answering machine played instead.

"This is Dr. Lisa Cuddy from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital—I'm calling about your son,. Gregory House. Please call me back as soon as you can, it's extremely important that you hear this news."

She set the phone back down on its cradle, leaning back in her chair and fighting the tears that had welled up in her eyes. Everything would be okay.

"Chase," Wilson said.

Chase opened his eyes tiredly to look at Wilson. "Yeah?"

"I..." Wilson looked down to House, who was sleeping soundly. "I don't know what to do."

Closing his eyes, Chase forced himself to stop and think. "I don't know either," he said. "It's been too long already." It was only a matter of time until they both got sick, too weak to move or speak, and they would all starve to death down here. The thought of it made Chase shiver, though he told himself that it was just the cold, underground temperatures, and he stared down at the ground.

"We've got to do something," Wilson said, and in that instant Chase hated him for being right.

House was unconscious. Chase knew that he would be too sick to feel pain, to know what was going on, and the thought made him both sick and comforted. He shifted his gaze from House to Wilson, and brown eyes locked onto blue. A beast roared in Chase's stomach as he knew what had to be done. There was simply no other way, and he could not deny it any longer.

Cuddy had just finished putting the phone down when the doors to her office were opened. She'd just gotten off the phone with Linda Chase—Robert Chase's stepmother, who had apparently never even seen Chase before. She hadn't been able to find anyone to contact for Chase, and she welcomed the distraction from this depressing realization. Especially since it was Detective Morgan.

"Any news?" she asked right away, not even bothering with a greeting. But Detective Morgan did not even look remotely offended.

"Well," Detective Morgan said delicately, "the security footage shows nothing as of yet." Cuddy looked down to her desk and tried to hide her disappointment. "But we do have something."

Cuddy's head shot up so fast that her neck cracked. "What?"

"An eyewitness. Said that she saw a man force three men matching Drs. House's, Chase's and Wilson's descriptions into the back of a van, at gunpoint." Detective Morgan said this all in a tone that clearly meant that this information was a good thing. "She doesn't remember anything more than a dark van, but it's something that we can go off of."

Cuddy felt the faint stirrings of hope for the first time in over a day, and it caused a wide smile to spread over her face. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much."

It was Wilson who agreed to do it. Chase sat down on the ground, as far away from House as he could get, and watched Wilson as he stood directly beneath the hatch. There was a tension vibrating throughout the room, like electricity pulsating, and Wilson looked sudden terrified. His eyes bored into Chase's, brown swirled with fear like cinnamon sugar.

"Do it," Chase whispered, just wanting to get it over with and done. "Just do it."

Wilson tore his gaze away from Chase and swallowed. He nodded to himself.

"Hey?" Wilson called, sounding meek and afraid. When there was no answer, he inhaled and seemed to screw up his courage. "We've—we've made our decision!"

No sooner did the words leave his mouth than there was the familiar sound of metal scraping against metal as the trapdoor was unlocked. Wilson backed away from the area directly underneath it, pressing himself against the wall and watching the hatch with fearful eyes. Chase watched, too, as the metal door was lifted up and blinding white light poured inside of the cell.

He shied away from the light, putting his hand over his eyes and turning away from it while his head spun from the sudden exposure. In the background, he heard two loud clatters, and then the loud bang of the trapdoor being shut again. Blinking to clear his vision of the dancing white spots, Chase looked around frantically to see what had happened.

There was still Wilson and House in the tiny room, and neither one appeared to be dead. House was still sleeping, and Wilson's face had lost all color and was twisted in an expression of horror as he stared at something on the floor.

There on the floor, directly under the closed hatch, lay two axes.