House was sprawled on the couch, bottle of scotch in hand. Wilson had been gone almost a month. He knew the day was coming, for 6 months, he knew, but still he felt blindsided. He let his arm fall off the couch, dangling dangerously close to the pill bottle on the table. Sighing heavily he sat up and reached for it, looking at it as if for the the first time.

"James Wilson." he said aloud "take as necessary for pain". But what about HIS pain? It would have been so easy to pop the cap and down what was left in the bottle. Shaking his head, he tossed it back on the table and began to pace. The one thing that Wilson had asked of him, was to promise that he wouldn't use his death as an excuse or justification to go back on the pills.

He hadn't really intended to quit taking Vicodin. But when it got close to the end, Wilson needed more meds than he could safely get at a pharmacy without raising suspicion. The significant stash he had managed to accumulated had helped to keep the pain manageable, and House found that he didn't even miss it that much. Until now.

He looked out the apartment window, towards the street below. Why in the world had Wilson decided that he wanted to die here, of all places, in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. Any normal person would want to spend their last months on a tropical beach, or at the very least, someplace warm. He shook his head. Wilson was anything but normal.

The cell phone had been ringing off and on for an hour. Taking another swig of the bottle, he finally stood up, grabbed it from the table and flipped it open.

"In case you haven't heard, Dr. Foreman, we are no longer in need of your prescription writing services" he said gruffly

"House..." Foreman asked with uncertainty in his voice. "How are you doing?"

"I would think that someone with your background would understand the meaning of 'going underground' What part of that don't you get?"

House was irritated by the call, but even more so by the nagging feeling that he had. Something told him, Foreman wasn't calling to check on his well being. Something else was going on.

"There's a problem..."

"Dr. House may have had a problem." he said matter of factly, taking a swig of the scotch, and stretching out on the couch. "Me, however, I'm without a care in the world."

"It's Cuddy."

" I told you when you came and got me out of prison, I don't care. That hasn't changed. Now don't call me at this number again."

"House, wait!" the urgency in his voice was clear "It's about Rachel"

There was silence for a good ten seconds, and Foreman could tell that he had not hung up the phone, so he continued.

"Cuddy was on her way here for a medical conference, and there was an accident."

House stood up and started pacing, running a hand through his hair. He never wanted to hear Cuddy's name again, let alone speak it. It had taken him years to push all of his memories into that separate compartment in the back of his mind. He had no intentions of opening that up again. Still, he had to ask..

"Is Rachel all right?" he finally asked

"Yes and no. House, Cuddy never made it to New Jersey. There was pile up on the interstate. She's pretty banged up with some brain swelling. She's in a hospital near Philadelphia, in a medically induced coma. Her sister Julia was killed."

"Rachel?" he asked again, more urgently this time.

"She's fine, she wasn't in the car. But Cuddy had Julia as her guardian. Wilson was next. The hospital where Cuddy is called here looking for him."

He let out an audible sigh of relief. He felt next to nothing upon hearing of the death of Cuddys, sister, but the thought of something happening to Rachel...or Cuddy...

"I'm dead, Foreman. Wilson is dead. What do you want me to do about all this?" he was feigning indifference, and probably not very convincingly

"House, I know that you have a fake ID in Wilson's name. He told me that's how you were picking up his prescriptions for him when he couldn't go out anymore."

"He always did have a big mouth. I still don't see the point."

"For all anyone knows, you are Dr. James Wilson."

House's eyes widened for just a second, as he realized what Foreman was getting at.

"Cuddy's babysitter is ready to call childrens' services for Rachel. I told her Wilson was out of town, and convinced her to give us until tomorrow. There's no one else to take her. "

"Seems to me Cuddy had a mother. It's her problem now."

"We cant locate her. Apparently she's on some world cruise. Nobody knows anything."

"How convenient. " he muttered.

House walked over to the desk drawer and pulled out the stack of hundred dollar bills that Wilson had left for him. Enough for him to move out of the dingy apartment they had rented in the last month and at least start a new life. It was enough money to get him a place to stay, and take care of Rachel until...He shook his head angrily at himself. This was crazy. He might as well march right in to the police station and turn himself in. He slammed the drawer shut.

"A few days in foster care won't kill her. Shes a strong kid."

"House..it's going to be more than a few days. If...when Cuddy comes out of this, she's probably going to have a long recovery. And we don't even know if there's brain damage..."

"Look," House said, talking over Foreman so that he couldn't finish that thought "Even if I were willing to do this, sooner or later Cuddy's mother is going to come home. She despises me. She would like nothing more than to toss me in the slammer. This time they will throw away the key"

Foreman sighed "I don't think so. I left word with Cuddy's doctors to have her call Wilson, but I left my cell number. I'll have time to give you a heads up."

"So, you've got this all figured out."

He was angry at himself for even considering it. There were so many way that this could go wrong. Still, it would be something to occupy his mind, a challenge. Something that had been lacking in his life since Wilson died.

Foreman was silent, waiting for a response. He knew better than to push, but it was a good sign that House was even on the other end of the phone.

"All right." he said, grabbing a tablet and pen, "Give me the address."

House scribbled down the house number and street, but when he got to the city, his hand froze.

"Say that again?"

"Penn Hills. It's a suburb of Pittsburgh..."

House couldn't help but smirk.

"Wilson, even when you're dead, you're a manipulative bitch."

"What are you..."

"I'll be there tomorrow. When I'm sober."

With that, the phone went silent. Foreman saw that the call was disconnected and tossed the phone on his desk. He threw himself down in his chair and glanced sideways towards the doorway.

"Well it's done. He's going to pick up Rachel tomorrow. ….I feel like I'm setting him up. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Arlene Cuddy stood with her arms crossed, a pleased smile on her face. She turned towards the doorway.

"Well my daughter may not think so. But in the end, I think she will see that I know what's best."