This was his chance.

He was alone, in public, for the first time since Wilson had taken him. They were at a gas station about an hour from Wilson's house, and Wilson had gone into the gas station to pay. Before leaving town, he'd stopped at an ATM machine and apparently withdrew all the available cash he could from his bank account and credit cards.

Wilson had handcuffed House to the door handle of the car with his hands in front of him. House was fairly certain that even with his hands bound, he could still have managed to get the door open, or at the very least draw someone's attention, if he tried. There were at least three other cars parked outside the station, and two people pumping gas.

All it would take was a moment to let someone know what was happening to him.

But what if Wilson has the gun? What if he shoots somebody because of me? It won't work. No matter how good the chances look, it won't work, and he'll get us out of here before anyone can do anything, and then when he gets me alone again he'll kill me he'll be so angry…

Wilson's return to the car broke off House's frantic mental ramblings, and he turned his head away as Wilson got into the driver's seat, desperately hoping that Wilson could not see the guilt on his face, proof of his disloyal, disobedient thoughts and half-formed plans.

As the car pulled out onto the road again, House closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window and trying to shut out the rush of sight and sound that seemed far too much after so long in sensory deprivation. The funeral just days earlier actually made it a little easier for him to deal with, but it was still overwhelming.

At the moment, trying not to think about the opportunity he'd just let slip past him was a sufficient distraction.

Moron. That was your chance. Are you too far gone to even try anymore?

House wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

A few hours more down the road, just across the state line, Wilson stopped outside a tiny, nondescript motel. He parked the car before half-turning in his seat to give House an approving smile.

"You've done very well so far today, House. I'm proud of you. I think you're finally starting to get it."

House lowered his eyes, feeling a confusing mixture of relief and pride at Wilson's approval, and shame that said approval meant anything to him at all.

Get what? Broken? Brainwashed? No… please, no…

"I'll be right back," Wilson informed him in a reassuring voice as he got out of the car. "I can see the car through the front window." He paused, leaning across the seat to roughly grasp House's hair in a grip that was utterly in contrast to the softness of his tone. His dark eyes flashed with something wild and frightening and just barely restrained as he concluded, "Don't disappoint me, House."

House bit his lower lip, his breath quickening with fear, and he shook his head as best he could to indicate his obedience. Satisfied for the moment, Wilson released him and got out of the car. As he disappeared inside, House began the mental struggle for mastery of his own fears, trying to work up the will to do something, anything to try to escape before Wilson came back.

Wilson came back – and House had not so much as attempted to move.

Wilson's beaming smile made House feel sick to his stomach, as his former friend reached over to gently rub the back of his neck in a spontaneous display of affection. He held himself still with an effort, forcing himself not to flinch from Wilson's touch. He never knew anymore whether he was going to receive violence or gentleness from Wilson's hands.

But at the moment, Wilson seemed very pleased with him.

When he had pulled the car around behind the building, a few yards from the door of the room he'd rented, Wilson got out and came around to House's side of the car, opening the door and crouching down to unlock the cuffs.

Wilson was so near to him, House didn't dare look around at his surroundings, though he was desperate to know if anyone was near enough to notice what was going on if he did something to draw attention to them. Of course, there probably wasn't anyone. Wilson would have made sure of that already.

House couldn't resist a surreptitious glance over his shoulder as Wilson led him swiftly toward the door, one hand locked like a vise around his forearm, the other on his shoulder. Although he saw no one around, House considered the option of trying to escape. Though he was sure Wilson had brought it with him, House hadn't glimpsed the gun since they'd gotten into the car. Perhaps it was packed with the few things Wilson had gathered on the way out.

He was bigger than Wilson, and at one point had been stronger. Perhaps some of that strength yet remained, and could help him to overcome his captor if he tried to fight.

Perhaps if he just pulled away from Wilson's grasp and made a break for it… Wilson wouldn't be able to stop him.

But then, they were in the dimly lit little room, and Wilson was locking the door behind them and locking the cuffs back onto his wrists, fastening them around the side handle of the dresser so that House was forced to sit on the floor beside it. He stared at the floor in front of him in weary defeat, despising himself for the weakness that had kept him from trying any of the many options that had crossed his mind.

"House?"

House knew enough by now to immediately respond, looking up at Wilson who was now standing over him. He tried to decide whether or not Wilson would expect him to verbally answer; but before he could make a decision, all thought was driven from his mind in an explosion of pain, as Wilson struck him hard across the face, knocking his head back into the wall behind him.

Not giving him a chance to recover, Wilson grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, dark eyes blazing with fury as he snarled low and menacing in his face.

"This is all your fault, House. If you hadn't tried to hide it from me that she was there… if you had told me when I first came down with your lunch… then maybe none of this would have happened, and we'd still be safe at home!"

"But I… I didn't know…" House attempted a weak explanation, which was abruptly cut off by another slap.

"Don't you dare lie to me, House," Wilson snapped at him, shaking him. "I knew something was off when I talked to you – I asked you about it – and you looked me in the eye and lied to me!"

"I-I'm sorry," House stammered, tense and trembling in dread of the next blow, desperate just to appease Wilson before things went any further. "I'm sorry, I… didn't know what to do…"

"Well, you're the big genius, aren't you?" Wilson sneered, the derision in his tone making House's face flush hot with shame. "You're the brilliant doctor who saved hundreds, maybe thousands of lives – and yet you can't figure out what to do in a situation like that?" Wilson lowered his voice, his face inches from House's as he added, "Well, Cuddy's one patient that you failed, House. Miserably. Because you made the wrong call… she's dead. She's dead, because of you!"

House stared at Wilson in stunned horror, barely comprehending the words. He shook his head slowly as Wilson released him and straightened to his feet. He couldn't make sense of what Wilson had told him. It didn't seem to fit with what he remembered of what had happened, but… but how much had he really been able to understand, just from the sounds he'd heard from the basement? And Wilson was crying now, covering his face with his hands as he sat on the foot of the bed, devastated by what had happened… what House had allowed to happen…

It was true. It had to be true.

No… oh, Cuddy… I'm so sorry…

*******************************

Oh, House… House, I'm so sorry…

"I shouldn't have left," Cuddy remarked aloud, aching with regret and worry as she watched the police officers moving around Wilson's house, searching for evidence. "I should have waited, and then I could have followed them when they left…"

"No, you couldn't have, ma'am," the young police officer taking her statement gently corrected her. "Judging by what you've told me, you would probably have been killed if you'd stayed. You definitely did the right thing by leaving and calling us. Don't worry; we'll find them."

Cuddy wished that she could have been sure of that.

When she had left Wilson's house, she had immediately called the police and let them know what she'd seen. The 9-1-1 operator told her to stay on the line until she told her that the police had arrived and secured the area, and that she would tell her when it was safe to return and give the police her statement.

By the time the police arrived at the house, there was nothing to secure.

Wilson and House were long gone.

The first thing that had caught her eye upon walking into the house was House's cane, still where she'd seen it last, next to the front door. Her heart seized up inside her at the thought of House out there somewhere without it, and she felt a fresh rush of fury toward Wilson for having forced him to leave it behind.

Of course, he wouldn't let him have anything that he could use to defend himself…

Now, she held the cane in her hands, turning it over and over as she recounted the details of what had happened to the officer. Her worried gaze kept drifting toward a dark spot on the carpet, beyond the coffee table, which the police had surrounded with tape, marking it to be tested later.

Cuddy was already sure what it was.

It's blood… House's blood…

"Don't worry, ma'am," the policeman reassured her again when he saw where she was looking. "We'll find your friend in time."

Cuddy wished that she could be as sure.

Her fingers were white-knuckled on the cane as she twisted it around and around, in a manner reminiscent of how House used to play with it when he was deep in the midst of his diagnostic process. She felt a deep ache in her chest, edging up to her throat, and she swallowed hard, blinking away the burning tears that rose in her eyes.

"Ma'am, um… I'm afraid you'd better give that to us," another officer sheepishly informed her, gently reaching to take the cane from her hands. "It… might be evidence."

Cuddy reluctantly relinquished the cane to his grasp, staring after him as he carried it away. It felt like her last link to the man who, though she would rarely have admitted it, was one of her dearest friends.

Oh, House… please hold on… we'll find you… I promise we'll find you…