Chapter 3

Oh my gosh, you guys who reviewed made me feel so bad for leaving you hanging like that! But, hey, I got your attention, right? I don't know about you but I like cliffhangers…I just don't like the cliffhanger endings. So if that's any consolation I won't write a cliffhanger ending. But forget that, I'm nowhere near the end. I'll try and update ASAP. From the way things are looking, I might be able to do twice a week. Be happy I even updated today. I have a calculus test tomorrow. YIPES!

I don't own House.

House breathed in and out quietly as he slowly took his eyes from the gun to the man. He had dark brown eyes and equally dark hair and wore an expression that told House he wouldn't hesitate if he really wanted to pull the trigger. He had no idea who this guy was.

House realized he was alone. This time, if he got shot, he'd die there. He wasn't at a hospital, he wasn't even out in the middle of the street where people would see him. If the man got pissed off, House was dead and he'd have a hard time talking his way out of that.

okay, guys, I did my research. In season 6, House is 50. Since this story is taking place in season 3, he's gotta be 46 or 47.

"Oh, come on, I'm almost fifty…there's nothing here…" House started, nervously. Yes, he was nervous. No, nervous was an understatement. He was terrified and he knew the man could easily tell. Wilson would have gotten a kick out of this if the situation wasn't this extreme. House? Terrified? Oh, good Lord, he was thinking of Wilson during what could possibly be his last moments on Earth.

The man grinned. "I don't need anything here. Drop the cane."

House couldn't help it. He rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I would've done that years ago were it not for the gaping hole in my--."

The man's gun clicked and House stopped talking.

"I said. Drop. The cane."

House reluctantly let it go and felt the cold metal barrel press on the back of his neck quick as lightning.

"Okay, this is how it's going to work. I've got a white van parked right outside. The back is open. You're going to crawl into the back and shut it behind you. If you try anything funny, I pull the trigger. Right now. Simple. Got it?"

He didn't wait for answer, which was probably good because House would have given him one he didn't like which would have lead to his death. His captor pushed him toward the apartment entrance and slammed the door behind him. Surprisingly, even for him, House did exactly as he was told, no questions asked.

There were no lights in the van and the back half was completely cut off from the front unlike most. There were no windows so House was left in complete and total darkness. The room smelled like dead rats and old Chinese food, and he definitely knew what the latter smelled like.

He rested his head on the side of the van and sat up. If he was being kidnapped, the guy probably wanted a ransom. He'd probably go to Cuddy for the money and considering she was as mad as hell right now…

He sighed and reached into his pocket for Vicodin but found it empty. He quickly checked the other but it wasn't there either. Where was it? He never left anywhere without it; it was always in his pocket. He had taken one once he got home and then he had…thrown the bottle on the couch.

"Damn it!" he said though no one could hear him. He'd be in pain, maybe even detoxing by the time someone got him. Or by the time the crazy guy finally decided to pull the trigger. Whichever came first, and House had a strong feeling it was going to be the latter. Whether the man got his money or not.

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Cuddy was locking up her office just as Wilson passed her.

"You're going home late," Wilson noted.

Cuddy turned around and said, "So are you. Besides, it's not too late, is it?" Cuddy checked her watch. It was 9:30. "I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on."

Wilson nodded and walked with her out to the parking lot, trying to think of a way to bring up House and Cuddy's argument earlier that day.

"Wilson, what do you want to know?" Cuddy said, looking up at him, smirking.

"Me? Nothing. I'm just--"

"I've known you long enough to know when you've been talking to House." Wilson shrugged and Cuddy continued, "Wilson, we had an argument, not World War III."

"You guys have lots of arguments but House never tells me the details."

"What details?" she asked suspiciously. Of course House would blabber to his best friend…Jesus, he didn't need to tell him everything though.

"Ah ha!" Wilson said snapping his fingers, grinning. "So it's something important! Something you would rather I didn't know…oh, this has to be good."

Cuddy rolled his eyes as she opened the front doors. "He didn't tell you anything, did he?"

"All I know is that he messed up your date. That's it. He didn't tell me much which is really weird now that I think about it. But it's been bugging him all day. You've been mad at him before but apparently you were completely irrational."

She frowned. "I was NOT completely irrational."

"House's words, not mine."

"He had it coming. What, did he think I'd never explode? I swear, Wilson, that man pisses me off…thinks he has some…divine right to mess with my life and--" she was rambling now, forgetting Wilson's presence.

"Uh…" Wilson interrupted. When she stopped he said, "You're rambling. You're angry and since you "exploded" – your words exactly –I think you should go talk to him."

"Why, is he angry?"

"No, he isn't angry. But…Cuddy, it's chewing at him…whatever you said obviously hit him somewhere. He'll never admit it to you or me, but he's probably at home thinking about it."

"Of course he's thinking about it. He's dissecting it. A fifteen second explosion and he's trying to fit everything back together again so he can come and taunt me tomorrow. Besides, if I call him I'm only indulging his obsession. That's just an extra piece that he can mess around with. You're the one who tells me to stop enabling him."

Wilson shrugged. God, I hate being everyone else's conscience. "Talk to him. Or at least call him and rant about something."

"Like what?"

"Anything! If you don't want to add a puzzle piece just call and…tell him that you caught Chase doing his clinic duty."

Cuddy scoffed. "I never call him. He calls me. He'd just dissect it." I feel like a high school kid, Cuddy thought to herself.

"Then…talk to him tomorrow. Even if all you do is tell him to do his clinic duty. At least he'll know you don't hate him."

Yes! That's what he needs to know! I hate that man. "I don't hate him," Cuddy murmured to herself.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," Cuddy said as she approached her car. "Night, Wilson."

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When House woke up, his leg felt like a piece of shit, his head felt like someone was hitting it with marimba mallets, and, perhaps most importantly, he was feet and hands were tied.

Well, this is degrading, he thought to himself as he tried to get his bearings. He was in a basement-like room with no windows as far as he could tell. The walls were black and grainy and his captor was nowhere in sight.

How did he get here? He remembered being in the back of the truck and the God awful smell but after that… idiot must have drugged him. He had no idea what time it was, where he was….

"You've only been out for an hour."

Okay, so apparently the guy was in the room.

House moved his fingers, trying to get some feeling. "You know, most thieves steal things not people."

"Well, obviously I don't need anything you have."

"I know. You want a ransom."

He heard his captor shuffle some papers in the corner. From what House could tell, he could be no more than twenty feet away. "So why did you suggest I was a thief?" he asked angrily and pissed off.

You're pissed off? I'm the one who's supposed to be eating Chinese and watching General Hospital. "Well, I was trying to be polite. What can I say? That's just who I am."

"You don't know when to shut up do you?"

House had heard those words just this morning. But the circumstances had been much different. Back in Cuddy's office, he was in charge (well, in his own, twisted way) and…he wasn't tied up. "I don't have family so don't expect a big wad of cash to come bouncing your way tomorrow morning."

"You've got parents. But you're right; your dad probably wouldn't pay up. And your mom wouldn't do anything about it. She never did, did she?"

House was silent. One point for Crazy Maniac with Gun. He grinned devilishly, though House couldn't see it, and continued, "Oh, I'm sorry, is your daddy taboo? No, I wasn't going to go there for the money, I was thinking Lisa Cuddy. Heard she has thousands of dollars set aside just for your lawsuits. Think she could spare a couple? Besides, she's hot. Think I should invite her over and have my way once I'm done with you?"

House ground his teeth. "I swear to God if you touch her, I'll--"

His captor interrupted sighing slowly, "—be able to do nothing about it. You'll be dead in seventy two hours. And I intend to make those 3 days living hell. Before I pull the trigger, you would have begged for me to do it days ago."

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Cuddy was lying in her bed and still couldn't sleep. She turned for the third time that minute and looked at the clock. 10:45…still. She sighed out loud and kicked the covers off, trudged to the bathroom and opened her medicine cabinet. She was tired even though it wasn't all too late, but she still wanted to sleep.

After taking a sleeping pill, she collapsed back in her bed and closed her eyes. Why couldn't she sleep? She wasn't an insomniac so there was no real medical reason. It wasn't House. She knew that much…

In the end, she had decided that he would play with his mini puzzle until he got bored or got a bigger one…like a real case. She'd have to go hunt one down for him tomorrow.

But she still had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. A premonition…maybe something bad was going to happen tomorrow. Had she switched off the stove after making dinner? Did she lock her office when she left? Where was her driver's license?

She sighed. Who was she kidding? She picked up the cordless phone next to her bed and dialed the house number she had memorized years ago. Might as well get this over with.

After five rings, she heard the answering machine.

This is House. I'm dead or don't want talk to you. Don't leave a message and don't expect me to call back.

Beep.

"House, it's me. Pick up…Now…I know about Chase doing your clinic duty….I'm only wearing underwear…" she goaded. When House didn't pick up she continued, "Okay, I guess you're not really there but...I've got a case for you so you need to pick up now. I'll call your cell." And with that she hung up.

Damn it, why did she tell him she had a case? He'd either call back, which was highly unlikely, or show up to work tomorrow expecting a case. And when he realized she didn't have one, she'd never hear the end of it. He probably won't listen to his messages anyway, she reassured herself. She tried his cell phone and when he didn't pick up, didn't bother leaving a message.

Well, she had tried, hadn't she? That's all that mattered. She'd talk to him tomorrow. She closed her eyes and slammed her face against the pillow, willing herself to sleep despite the gnawing feeling in her gut.

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The second time House woke up, his leg didn't feel like shit. It felt like a shark was biting into it in a constant steady motion. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but he knew that was exactly what it would feel like a few hours from now.

His leg spasmed – hard. House shut his eyes together and bit his lower lip, stifling a groan. His first instinct was to grab his thigh, but his hands were still tied behind his back.

"It's about seven in the morning now," his captor said. "Oh, and you're girlfriend called your phone. Didn't leave a message though." When House said nothing he added, "I would have woken you up but I was just being polite. What can I say, that's just who I am," stealing House's very words. "I'm Ethan by the way."

House couldn't care any less if his name was Ethan or the Devil Incarnate. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, he was starting to sweat, he was hungry and his leg hurt like hell. Every wave of pain followed the next in an entire movement, without a break. All he felt was pain, and he knew it was going to get a lot worse.

"Does that hurt?" the Ethan asked. There was a small window in the corner of the room where light was finally seeping through. Ethan stood up from a desk he had placed by the window and walked up to House with a gun in his hand. With a swift motion, he kicked House in the thigh – right where it hurt the most.

House cried out in agony but remained seated upright. Ethan held the gun to his head as House gasped for air. He barely heard his captor whisper in his ear menacingly, "Did that hurt too?" With that, he lifted his gun and struck House's head inches above his eye. House was immediately dizzy but still managed to sit upright as his eyes rolled back into his head. He could feel his own warm blood trickling towards his eye and he closed them to keep the blood out. One last time, Ethan kicked House in the thigh and House was forced to lie on his side, gasping, Oh, shit…God… Oh my God, it hurts so damn much…

Ethan bent down and whispered once more in his ear, taking some sadistic pleasure in House's pain.

"Welcome to hell, House."

Dun dun dun….another cliffhanger. Well, it's not as bad as the last one, right? I'll update soon but I've got a lot of work to do the next couple days so we'll see…hey, fingers crossed another chapter comes out by Friday!

my secret closet readers….review!!!!!!!!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!! Any sort of review gives me motivation and who knows, if I get a lot…that chapter you're looking for may come out slightly earlier…as in Wednesday?? MMHMM…got your attention now haven't I?

But seriously guys, review. You have NO idea how motivated I become after reading them.

Oh, and constructive criticism is always welcome! Or any facts I messed up. I know some people corrected me about Don's name so thanks to those people! :)