Chapter Text
The night was still.
It wasn't a calm stillness; suspense was strung in the air, and an unnerving tension was bound to the street.
It was strange – as soon as House stepped out of his car, he was consumed by a sense of dread.
Something's wrong.
Yet the street was empty.
The kind of empty that didn't make sense. The trees stood frozen in their crooked positions; not a gust of wind dared brush against their leaves. Not a cricket chirped its song into the darkness, and every flickering streetlight seemed to hold its breath.
House's grip tightened on his cane, the handle strangely cold in his sweating palms. He wasn't the superstitious type; it was strange for him to feel so shaken by something as minor as a quiet road, but something felt off.
A metallic stench hit his nose. So strong he felt he could taste it, and a warm sting pierced the side of his neck.
And then—darkness.
Consciousness slipped away like smoke in the wind.
The next day unfolded with the usual chaos. The hospital buzzed with a frenzy of patients; nurses shuffled from room to room, and the sobs and sniffles of sick children filled the air. But something was missing.
It was well past midday, and House still hadn't arrived at work. While it wasn't uncommon for him to be late, Wilson still felt a twinge of concern when he didn't stride into his office unannounced, as if he owned the place, demanding he pay for lunch or making sarcastic comments on his ties.
Wilson found himself checking his watch more times than he would like to admit. There was, inherently, no reason for his worry; this wasn't the first time House hadn't turned up to work and likely wouldn't be his last. So what? It was his job to worry.
What if he'd gotten himself into a car crash? What if he passed out drunk on the streets, without a clue where he is?
What if—
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a light knocking on the door of his office.
"Yes?"
Cuddy gently opened the door, wearing an overly revealing blouse and a face full of concern.
"Are you busy?"
"Not particularly," Wilson had seen the majority of his cancer patients already, the only one he hadn't seen, cancelled the appointment for a party. "What's up?"
"You haven't heard from House have you?"
"No- is there a problem?"
"There's a new case, an interesting one, patient arrived with flu-like symptoms before falling into a coma with no apparent cause, the ducklings are working on it at this moment, it's just, I've tried to contact House, but none of my calls have been going through, they just rung out, I even sent him a voicemail and—" she paused to take a breath.
"What I'm trying to say is House hasn't called once and I'm worried."
Wilson sat listening intently, feeling rather anxious about House's strange disappearance, particularly now that he could see Cuddy's obvious distress over the situation.
"Could you check up on him if you have the time? I'd rather not have him die of an overdose in his apartment or try,"
It didn't take long for Wilson to arrive at House's apartment, he'd been so many times, he could recite the route by heart. He took a deep breath and stepped out of his car.
He felt a chill run through him as he approached the door to House's apartment, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, as if attempting to warn him against something. His breath steamed into puffs and dissipated in front of his face; the outside temperature was unusually cold for the time of year, he could swear it was warmer when he left.
Strange.
The whole street felt uninviting, curtains drawn shut in every house, neglected trees stretched out their arms to the rooftops, and not a single soul strolled down the street since he had arrived, and he presumed nobody would any time soon.
Suppressing his paranoia, he finally approached the apartment and gently rapped a closed fist against the cold wooden door.