Missing

Wilson's dinner date was a bust. He was completely distracted, and once his date found out why, it was over. He felt himself lucky to get a date with anyone who had even remotely heard of Gregory House, MD-asshole extraordinaire. He had to promise her he wouldn't take any calls or mention House's name while they were together. James thought it would be easy. House had changed just enough after his stint at Mayfield that he was no longer the first priority. It was so good, in fact, that Greg was released back into the wilds of Baker Street. They had boundaries now.

Or so he thought. Greg's call had initially pissed him off. If felt like they were falling into old habits. Their conversation was short. "Need you." James even told him he didn't sound right. Flat affect. He said he was in pain. A vague statement for House. Said with flat affect. Maybe he was out of Ibuprofen. Maybe he was out of antidepressants too. All he wanted was for Wilson to stop off at the pharmacy and pick them up.

And what had he said? "Take a bath." He scolded himself for being so foolish and selfish. He had let his friend suffer for two hours just to have dinner with a woman he was only physically attracted to.

He called House's cell. It rang four times before going to voicemail. "It's Wilson, I'm going to try your home phone." He got the same reception there. It was very possible House was sulking. Wilson decided to head over before going home.

When he drove down Baker Street he looked for House's car. It was there. The apartment, however, looked very dark. James was worried about his friend. Even if he was sleeping, he'd knock and make sure Greg was alright. See if he needed anything. Worst case scenario, he'd use the spare key on the lintel.

To his chagrin the apartment was empty. A real conundrum for Wilson since his friend "needed him" and was "in pain". Probably walked over to the nearest bar to get hammered.

"Nah, not in this crap," he mumbled to himself trudging through the slush and ice. James went to see if he was in the car. Nothing. He turned back to face the building, pulling out his cell phone again. "Where in the hell are you," he said aloud as the connection was made. He could hear the phone ringing in both ears. Something wasn't right.

Maybe it fell out of his coat pocket into the car. He called the number again, pulling the phone away from his head so he could listen with both ears. The ring tone was further away. He kept calling using this weird echo location until he found House's cell on the curb.

"I guess he did drop it," he mused. That thought was quickly followed by "why isn't he home?" James was beginning to worry. Where could House have gone?

He was standing next to his car, dumbfounded, when of the neighbors got into a vehicle to leave. There was an odd 'crunch' a 'pop' that startled both Wilson and the driver.

The guy got out of his car to see what he had run over. "What the-" He extracted a mangled back pack from under the rear wheel.

Wilson's eyes widened with horror. He ran across the street, slipping and sliding until he steadied himself on the car. He was on his knees in seconds looking under the vehicle. "House…House?"

"Unless your dog or cat was in this knapsack, I'm pretty sure I didn't run him over. This must belong to that dude."

Wilson recognized the now shattered cane splintered against the curb. "Oh God," he clutched at his chest, his breathing ragged, knees weak. He sank to a sitting position on the curb.

"Mister, are you having a heart attack?"

James looked up at him hopefully. "Did anything happen out here tonight? Police cars, ambulances, anything like that?"

"Well there were no flashing lights that I heard or saw. But a dude did get laid out in the street."

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago. I just got home from work and was picking up my mail when I saw it."

"What did you see?" Wilson was back on his feet and anxious.

"Some chick putting the dude in her SUV."

"Why didn't she call for help?"

The guy shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe she hit him and decided she could get him to a hospital faster.

Wilson threw his hands in the air and began pacing. He was trying to wrap his mind around what the neighbor had said, but his brain kept sending images of his friend laying unconscious in the middle of the street.