077. What?

Not Yet Dead

"What?" Wilson said in disbelief.

Cuddy sighed and sat down, her shoulders slumping. "It looks like he was hit by a drunk driver who ran the red light. He…he was already dead when the paramedics arrived. They said it was probably quick…he didn't suffer."

Wilson snorted. "He suffered everyday," he said with bitter anger.

Cuddy sighed again and hesitated. "Dr Wilson…James…they need someone to identify the body."

Wilson flinched and ran one hand down his face. He drew in a long shuddering breath then nodded once.

"Where is he?"

"I…asked them to bring him here," Cuddy replied, looking weary beyond belief. "They agreed. He's…down in the morgue. The police just need a positive identification."

Wilson nodded again and slowly pushed himself to his feet. "You…haven't been down there?"

Cuddy shook her head. "He was your friend," she said simply.

Wilson stared at the floor then abruptly strode out of the office. He would not…could not…meet anyone's eyes as he made his way down to the morgue. He had no idea if they'd heard the news but irrespective of that he didn't want to see their false sympathy or hear their hollow words.

When he got to the door of the morgue, he hesitated for a long moment before slowly pushing the door open and walking in. One of the pathologists was waiting for him and he gestured to the far table without a word, his expression calm and professional. Wilson appreciated that and he slowly walked over to the indicated table. He could see two police officers standing in the next room, talking with another pathologist but he ignored them for now.

The body was covered in a crisp white sheet and Wilson didn't want to pull it down. Didn't want to have to see what was under it. Didn't want to have to accept that his best friend…and as of three nights ago…his lover was dead.

He let out a shuddering breath and reached for the sheet with a shaking hand, slowly pulling it back and looking down into the face of the dead man. For a moment he stared then he blinked and frowned and looked again. He drew the sheet over the dead man's face again and turned around to face the pathologist.

"That's not him," he said in a voice that was eerily calm.

"What?" the pathologist said, striding over and pulling back the sheet with a frown. "Are you sure?"

"He's…about the same age and build but that's not House," Wilson said firmly.

Something occurred to him and he walked around the table until he was level with the dead man's right leg and he pushed the sheet back. What he saw actually made him smile; no scar…an intact right thigh.

"This isn't Greg House," he said firmly, all of his grief falling away.

"Damn right it isn't."

Wilson looked up to see House limping into the morgue using a cane that definitely wasn't his normal one. He looked bruised and battered, with abrasions on his face, and from the way he was standing he had other injuries as well. He was also looking distinctly disgruntled.

"House!" Wilson yelped, just barely restraining himself from rushing over and hugging the other man. "What happened?"

Amusement gleamed in House's eyes for a moment and Wilson knew that House had seen that almost infinitesimal first movement he'd made and knew what he'd wanted to do.

"I was motorcycle-jacked," House said with an infinite amount of disgust. "I didn't even think that was possible. Some jerk ran over when I was stopped at a stop sign, pushed me off the damn bike and tried to ride away on it."

"Tried?" Wilson said, glancing down at the body. "Looks like he was successful."

"Yeah, well, eventually," House griped as he limped over, ignoring the pathologist. "I made a couple of attempts to stop him. Damn leg."

By this time House had come to a halt in front of the table and he looked down at the covered body. He almost casually reached over and pulled the sheet back from the dead man's face and scowled down at the corpse.

"Yeah, that's the bastard," he growled.

"I'll…get the police," the up-until-now ignored pathologist said hastily.

"You do that," House said, turning and heading for the door. "But tell them to come up to my office. Dr Wilson and I will be up there."

"We will?" Wilson said mildly, almost automatically falling back into their usual routine though the intense feeling of relief was new.

House paused and glanced over his shoulder, a grin accompanying the leer. "I need someone to soothe my aching body. If I remember correctly, you volunteered for that job."

The pathologist stared at them for a moment then shook his head abruptly and almost ran for the other room. Wilson rolled his eyes at House and smiled.

"Yes, I think I did," he said as he walked over and joined House.