House took a moment to gasp in shock as the full force of his nose-dive tore through his body. Oh God...he thought as he tried to straighten out his right arm. Something told him that this would be the first of many new injuries.

He heard Wilson jump down from the window above, no doubt reeling with all sorts of scoldings. He'd have to wait in line, House hadn't finished mentally cursing himself yet.. Hands shaking, he pushed his body from the cold ground, hissing as he found another source of severe discomfort – his knees.

As Wilson intervened by grabbing his arm, House wondered if it was possible for someone's kneecaps to become embedded in solid ground. Nothing would surprise him right now. He braced himself against Wilson's shoulder, swaying slightly and missing his cane more than he'd care to admit.

"Are you alright?" Wilson hissed, half dragging the taller man towards his parked car. "House?"

This is bad, House thought as he allowed himself to be led ungraciously across the dimly lit parking lot. You're numb, but your head is still throbbing – and Wilson's so mad he's forgotten to call you an idiot yet! He grunted in a delayed reply, relying on the Oncologists impressive interpretation skills to kick in and shut him up. House couldn't trust himself to speak yet for fear of what might drop out of his mouth. A 'thank-you for coming to pick me up' could just slip out – and that was something he couldn't take back! Wilson would file that one away for future use for sure.

They reached the car unnoticed, both breathing heavily from the mixture of fear and adrenaline that coursed their veins. Wilson fumbled for his keys whilst leaning House towards the rear of the car, trying to juggle both tasks in vain. His hands refused to comply in his bid for a quick exit however, and he was forced to look to the sky and take a deep breath just to keep that ounce of composure intact.

In a moment of fleeting absurdity, he imagined that he were on a late night shopping trip and that House was simply a large bag of groceries that needed to be placed gently on the back seat. A very large, very testing bag of groceries, the kind that could break the bottom of the bag at any moment. You need to get the groceries in the car before disaster strikes, and you get tomato sauce all over the place his mind calmly told him. The quirky thinking seemed to help, the locks sprung open, Wilson opened the car door and smirked triumphantly, something to which House frowned upon as he let go of his Oncologist-shaped anchor and collapsed on the back seat.

He was having trouble keeping any kind of logical thought together. One thing that really bothered him was that he wasn't in nearly as much pain as he knew he should be. He knew his leg hurt like hell...but it wasn't getting past the haziness in his mind, the almost drunkenness nature of his thought process was telling him that alarm bells should be going off around about now. He couldn't hear the alarm bells as clearly with Wilson revving his car up and making their getaway, maybe they'd fade away soon – along with all memory of this nasty little hospital. He leaned his head back and let the sound of rolling roads and passing cars lull him into a dead-eyed trance, trust Wilson to break the quietude with the first of many annoying questions. Just because he'd 'rescued' him, doesn't mean he deserves answers after all.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" the would-be saviour asked, using the rear view mirror to glimpse briefly at his pale, shocky looking fare.

House didn't even bother to grunt this time, in the hope that Wilson would be easily tricked into believing that he'd fallen asleep. No chance buddy.

"House? You expect me just to – to pick you up, with no explanation – nothing, not two words?" he stumbled over the words, catching a passing reflection from another car's headlights that accentuated the deep sigh his passenger exaggerated, purposefully, to show his own frustration.

"Hookers and Pimps...that's three words right there..." House growled lazily, keeping his gaze on a mark on the inside of the roof to Wilson's car. How was it even possible to get dirt there? When was the last time Wilson had actually used the car other than to travel to work? Maybe he'd been kidnapping people too – tied them up on the back seat and watched them kick his roof with their dirty feet... Oncology doesn't pay as well as it used to, why not raise a little extra on the weekends?

"House? Are you even listening to me?" a frustrated voice cut through his wandering thoughts. Apparently he'd zoned out completely with his musings of Wilson's extortionate business venture. "I think...I don't know where we are..."

House's ears pricked up at that. "Go back the way you came," he offered unhelpfully whilst pulling himself away from the smudge of dirt to try and focus on the road ahead. Shit...too blurred. "Where the hell are we?" he asked angrily, covering the worry that was now plaguing his mind.

"I was hoping you'd know that." Wilson admitted, slowing down drastically to take note of a small roadside sign. It was beyond useless due to the fact that he recognized none of the town names printed on it. Great, now you're lost too – could this night get any worse? "Put your belt back on" he ordered sharply, ignoring the look that House shot back at him. "The last thing I need right now is for you to shoot through the windscreen and end up back in the ER-"

"Yeah, been there, done that – and all I got to show for it is this damned hospital gown!" House croaked back, reaching through to the front to grab Wilson's sweater from the passenger seat. "Don't ask" he warned, wrapping the garment around his right elbow. He knew Wilson would throw a fit if he could see the amount of blood that was now smeared over the rear of his car seats. He should have gotten black leather in this House reasoned to himself, and you should have realised that you were bleeding everywhere...he stared accusingly at the trail of blood that wound it's way messily from his arm down to Wilson's once immaculate interior.

It didn't particularly hurt much, but it throbbed to a rhythm that seemed to be playing out in his head. His thumping headache, bane of his night so far, seemed to be breaking all the records in terms of pain levels. It was the only constant, the only thing strong enough to remind him that he was still alive.

He couldn't even convince himself that maybe this was all a bad dream. If it were, Wilson would have brought Julie along for the ride, and House could have gotten his ear well and truly chewed off for daring to drag the younger man away from his marital bed. If they still slept in the same bed, House was becoming increasingly aware of the late nights that Wilson seemed to pull on a regular basis at the hospital. At first he'd been convinced that there was another woman involved on Wilson's end (literally!) but now he wasn't too sure. Maybe they're both at it...

He shuddered involuntarily, catching Wilson looking at him again in the mirror, turning the heat up in the car for him. Shit...how long has he been watching me? Staring blankly, vacantly at his own arm – that was a new one, even for him. How would he explain that? 'Yeah, I think I'm losing my mind – but don't worry, I'm sure it all stems from one of the many drugs that may or may not still be floating around in my system. Oh yeah, or it could be from the drugs that are now missing from my system due to the sadistic docs in the ER you just busted me out from...' That ought to do it.

If there was a pattern to his increasingly hazy mindset, it all stemmed from that damned receptor drug of Weber's. Which meant he could only think of one person who would be able to shed some light on what was going on with his head...and he wasn't going to be too pleased to see him so soon after he'd ruined his career...

"House? I said are you warm enough?" Wilson had apparently been asking repeatedly, worrying more as every second dragged by in silence.

House glanced up, weighing up how exactly he was going to lay out his plan to his potentially reluctant chauffeur. The way he saw things, he had two sensible options – he could go with 'Wilson, I need you to drive me to see Evil Von Lieberman, sworn enemy and all round pain in the ass tattle-tail so that he can tell me exactly what his drug's done to my head...' or 'Hey Wilson, pull into the next town - we need to score twenty year's worth of LSD and Antidepressants before I go completely insane.'

He decided he'd better choose carefully before pitching his thoughts to Wilson...

TBC...