Wilson's reaction was the very one he'd be gunning for--shocked and appalled, throwing his limbs around almost as though he was seizing. Not quite, but House wondered if he could say enough to make Wilson vibrate straight out of the car. Although, House was mildly surprised that Wilson kept asking questions. "You know, Jimmy," House said, still looking out the window, studying the passing streets and landmarks, trying to figure out where Wilson was taking him. "Just because all you care about is sex, it doesn't mean we all think with our dicks."

As far as House could tell, they were headed for the opposite end of town. Or downtown itself. A skip across the bridge and a few right turns, and they would be at the hospital. A cut across town and less than a mile west and they'd end up in Foreman's neighborhood. Not that House cared. Not that Wilson was actually headed that way. There were shorter ways to go, and he would have been en route by now. But he still couldn't figure out where Wilson was going. It was starting to bug him. When Wilson answered, it was entirely unbelievable, even though they were close to the hospital. Wilson brought work home with him, mostly because he had nothing else to do with his pathetic life, other than watch Spanish soap-operas, apparently. But if Wilson wanted to bring work home, he would have done it yesterday. "On a Saturday night? You just remembered now? After I called you to pick me up because I can't drive? You're lying." House sat up a little in his seat, fixing Wilson with a narrow-eyed glare. He tried to pick up a tell, hating that he couldn't always tell when Wilson was lying for sure, but looking anyway. "What is it? What do you need to get, right now, on a Saturday, that you happened to forget yesterday?"