Title: In the Basement

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House and Wilson were sitting on the couch watching "The Food of the Gods" a great classic from the 70's when suddenly the light went out. Wilson didn't want House to know he was afraid of the dark so he said, "I know how you have nightmares watching scary movies in the dark. Since I don't want to deal with your screaming I'll go get a lightbulb." He rose and paused, "so where are they?"

"Oh I thought you liked it when I scream?"

"Ha ha, very funny."

"In the fridge with my screwdriver."

"Greg..."

"James..."

Wilson huffed and walked off towards the basement. I would keep my lightbulbs in the basement... he thought to himself.

House watched as Wilson walked away. His eyes grazed Wilson, mmm Wilson. He thought about what his next move would be. He could see operation get Wilson sloshed was well under way. Now for my next plan 'lock him in a room with me and a rat.'

Wilson stumbled around the basement looking in various boxes. He found some interesting things like leather chaps and handcuffs but no lightbulbs. "Greg," he shouts, "tell me where they are!"

House headed towards the basement figuring Wilson was frustrated enough. "Coming dear," he said in his best impression of a dutiful husband.

House carefully locked the basement door behind him and then walked down the stairs. He placed the key, his Vicodin, his spare handcuffs, his tube of lube, whip cream, bottles of water and condoms on the shelf above the stairs. Those might come in handy later if all my plans go well.

He hobbled down the stairs to "help" Wilson.

"Hmm where are those lightbulbs?" he mumbled as he poked boxes with his cane. He lifted the box flap with his cane, wonder if James saw that...heh heh heh

"EEEEEEEEEEEK" Wilson squealed like a little girl.

"Don't start without me Jimmy." Noticing the paleness of his complexion House grew serious, "what's wrong?"

"A r-r-r-rat," Wilson stuttered as his trembling hand pointed to the corner.

"Wilson 'fraid of the wittle bitty mouse? I'll save you!" He flourished his cane and whacked the rat on the head. The rodent twitched and tried to run away, so he whacked it again and this time blood splattered. House whacked it one more time for good measure and the rat was dead.

House looked down at the blood all over his favorite outfit, and he could feel it soaking through his pants already. Something would have to be done or the clothes would stain, but a solution had yet to present itself...

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A/N: That's it for now, but there is still one vital question left to be answered; How will House get his clothes clean? Ah, the suspense!