A/N: I promise House hasn't lost his mind. There's a method to his madness... really.

House hoped Wilson had been kidding about the Backstreet Boys, but when he saw the small pink - yes, pink - ipod in his hand he groaned aloud.

"Do me a favor and don't break this," Wilson said. "It's not mine."

How the hell did you phrase that one? House wondered. Did you say, hey baldie, I know you're dying in agony and would love your music to keep you company, but I actually need to borrow your ipod to torture a friend with this weekend?

Wilson correctly guessed what he was thinking. "She forgot it in my office the other day," he explained. "Her parents decided not to bother driving in again for it; I'm holding onto it til her next appointment. At which time I will return it to her intact."

House rolled his eyes. I wouldn't hurt someone's music.

Although he almost reconsidered that when he heard Wilson muttering, "Now how do you get it to do one-song repeat again... ah there we go." The earphones descended onto his head and he winced.

Show me the meaning of being lonely...

Wilson gave the pizza guy a huge tip and slammed the door quickly, to minimize the chances that he would happen to look in and see what was going on in the living room.

Not that he actually expected House to squeal for help - he'd now had several different chances to try and get himself released, and had declined to take them. Apparently he didn't mind being a captive. The psychology behind that might be a little weird, but Wilson would deal with it later. First, it was time to eat.

He got plates and silverware, cut a slice into pieces, and turned off the Backstreet Boys. Then he tried to stop looking domestic and start looking tough. "Okay. I'm now going to give you pizza," he declared. "If you take the opportunity to start talking, or... or any other form of misbehaving, then you're... not going to get any pizza. Instead, um..." he cast around for a threat but the best he could do was, "I'll feed you something gross."

House was writing. Soap? he suggested helpfully.

"Thanks. It's so fortunate I have you to guide me," Wilson agreed. "Making someone's life miserable is your specialty, after all. Fine - soap it is. If you don't behave for pizza, you get soap."

He sincerely hoped House wouldn't test him, because he wasn't sure he was prepared to follow through.

Luckily though, nothing much happened when the door-flap was unstuck and pizza poked in. House ate and didn't say a word. He even wrote Thx on the pad.

"You know, I haven't even taken you to the deepest circle of Hell yet," Wilson said conversationally during the second slice.

House paused his chewing a moment and popped up his eyebrows.

"I know annoyance is very hard for you to handle, but there's one thing you hate even more." And best yet, it's something I have no qualms about doing to you.

House cocked his head. He seemed to be trying for nonchalance, but Wilson could see he was getting nervous.

"Boredom," he explained. "After lunch I'm going in the other room to get work done, and you're going to sit here, doing nothing, with the TV off. Blindfolded," he added on sudden inspiration. "There will be nothing of interest for you, nothing to do or look at, all afternoon."

He got pretty much the reaction he was expecting - House tilted his head back with a groan, then smiled. Nodded. Wrote: Well played, sir.

"Damn right. Oh," he added innocently, "And in case you were thinking of going to sleep... you might notice those last couple bites of pizza have been a little... bitter? Almost like I sprinkled them with ground-up No-Doz?"

He stuck the doggie-door closed again and pulled a hat down over House's eyes. "Have fun. Bwuahahaha." It was one of the better evil laughs he'd ever produced.

Then, figuring House would hold out for at least an hour before making some kind of a stink, he headed into the bedroom to get some work done.

He used the bathroom, fussed over himself in the mirror for a bit, set out his books and papers, got everything all organized, and then sat down to work.

The moment he opened a file, though, before he'd even read a single word, a terrific crash came from the living room.

Wilson jumped up and ran in there. On some level he already knew that the perfect timing meant House had done it on purpose just to piss him off, but still he couldn't help worrying.

The prisoner had somehow tipped himself over, probably with the help of his bad leg, and was now lying on the floor gasping and ashen.

Wilson knelt by him and tried to sound annoyed. "Nice. Idiot. Did you hurt yourself?"

House shrugged his shoulders and glanced down.

"Just your leg?" He got a nod, and stopped worrying. He spent the next few minutes trying to get the chair rightside-up again, but House was far too heavy and besides was laughing at his pitiful efforts. "Fine, you know what? You can stay like that," he decided. The fall had obviously hurt some, so he gave House a shot and then sat on the floor himself. "You okay now?"

House nodded and began tapping for his pen, which had gotten lost in the chaos. Wilson had to get up and get him a new one. "What?"

Get any work done?

Wilson wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe both. "This is unbelievable," he breathed at last. "House..." It was almost a plea for mercy. He winced. I am the worst kidnapper ever, he thought. I'd score worse than Dr. Evil on a villain-competency exam.

House doodled thoughtfully for a moment and then gave him some advice: You'll never get anywhere as long as I'm having fun. The syringes are a mistake.

Wilson read it twice to make sure. "Are you saying... I should withhold your pain meds?"

House met his eyes fearlessly and shrugged.

"But that's... that's not like shorting your sheets, House, that's serious. That's torture. You wouldn't think it's funny, you'd... hate me for it."

True. But I would respect you for it. And it would end this once & for all.

Wilson tried to read him, and got nowhere. "No. Come on - I wouldn't do that to you."

Tried the nice route, and look where it got u. Expect that to change?

Well, yes. Yes, he'd figured eventually House would suck it up and just commit himself to the brief, annoying task of giving advice. He'd figured the friendship was worth that much to him at least. That he'd take the slightest notice of my needs for a change, Wilson thought bitterly. Aloud he said: "Yeah - I'd hoped."

Then: u idiot!, House scrawled. Nice didn't work. Push me didn't work. So: Break me. He made hard eye contact for a moment before ordering: D/C THE MEDS.

"I can't," Wilson insisted, even though the knew the idea was a good one. It would without doubt be successful. And it wouldn't even be all that cruel in the end; House hated the mere thought of not having access to his medication and so would probably cave well before experiencing any serious pain.

But no. It was cold, drastic, nasty. That's where the fun stops, as House would probably say. Forget it. "No," he said again, meaning it.

House sighed and wrote: Allow me to inform you that we're not going anywhere until you change your mind.

Wilson stared at the words, the very same words he had used this morning. He applied his entire intellect to the task of figuring out what the hell was going on in House's brain right now... and had even less success than usual.

TBC.

Credit where it's due: the idea of a "villain-competency exam" came from a fanfic I read a long time ago... don't remember what it was or even what fandom, but if it's yours, I hope you don't mind my borrowing!

Let me know what you think so far!