That night passed much more easily than the previous nights House had spent in the basement of Wilson's new house. Wilson gave him another Vicodin that night before going to bed. While it was barely enough to take the edge off the extreme agony he'd been enduring, it was enough to allow House to sleep through the night.

He was barely beginning to wake up the following morning when he heard Wilson's footsteps on the basement floor. Immediately alert, House jerked against his bonds, instinct momentarily overpowering the knowledge that complete compliance was the best course of action at this point.

He fought to stay still when he felt Wilson's hand on his shoulder, terrified of angering Wilson with his resistance, however slight. When he felt the vaguely familiar sensation of a needle pressing through the skin of his bound arm, however, House couldn't help but try to pull away, his frightened protest muffled by the gag.

"Shhh," Wilson soothed him, his voice revealing no trace of anger, only patience and understanding. "It's okay, it's not gonna hurt you…"

Unfortunately, House knew all too well how swiftly Wilson's mood could shift from sympathy to rage. Within moments, the decision to remain still and compliant or to resist was taken from him, as whatever drug Wilson had injected him with began to flow through his bloodstream, making his head feel heavy and fuzzy. He felt himself relaxing, despite the panic that filled his thoughts – and then even those panicked thoughts were drifting away.

As he felt the gag removed from his mouth, House forgot Wilson's earlier orders, mumbling in a voice that was slow and slurred. "Wh-what… what did you…"

"It's just a very low dose of a very mild sedative, House, nothing to worry about. You'll be fine. I just need you calm and cooperative for the next hour or so," Wilson explained. "It's been days since you've bathed, but surely you understand that I can't allow you to bathe by yourself for a while. Not after what you tried the last time."

A part of House's mind was aware that he should have found the situation humiliating – and probably would once the drugs wore off – but for the moment, his thoughts seemed cushioned by a pleasant haze. He couldn't have resisted if he'd tried – and he didn't particularly feel like trying – as Wilson unfastened the bonds at his wrists and left ankle and helped him to sit up.

Wilson was taking no chances, and cuffed House's hands behind his back again before dragging him to his feet with an effort. Wilson groaned under the weight of his friend as he stumbled toward the door, House's arm slung across his shoulders. Through the drugged fog that filled his mind, House felt a slight measure of satisfaction at Wilson's difficulty, a final coherent though slurring through his mind.

Should have thought about this before you… kidnapped me… chained me up in your basement and… drugged me out of… control of my own body. Too bad. Sucks to be you, Wilson.

The trip up the basement stairs seemed to take forever. House instinctively tried to find the steps with his feet, though he couldn't see them, and barely had any control over the direction in which he was moved. For a moment at the top of the stairs, he thought about counting the steps to the bathroom, in case he might need to remember the route later; but by the time that thought had fully formed in his mind, they had already reached their destination.

Wilson helped him to sit down against the wall, and House shivered at the sensation of cool tile against his bare legs and back. He heard the water begin to run, and knew that Wilson was filling the tub. Wilson added bath salts, and soon the pleasant, steamy scent of the water added to House's general feeling of well-being.

Finally, Wilson put his arms around House and helped him get to his feet, guiding him the few yards across the room and helping him to get into the tub. Once again, House knew that he should be embarrassed as Wilson gently, thoroughly bathed his body. However, the gentle, nurturing touch after so long with only fear and violence felt so good that he found himself relaxing, allowing himself to enjoy it, despite the fact that the sedative was beginning to wear off.

The entire process took over an hour, due to House's nearly complete inability to help Wilson in moving and manipulating his body. However, as far as House was concerned, it was over all too soon, and Wilson was helping him out of the tub. He helped House to sit down on the floor again, where he'd spread out a large, soft towel, then cuffed House's hands to the piping behind the tub.

"I'll be right back. Be still and don't do anything," Wilson warned him, leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Wilson was gone for what seemed like a very long time to House, chained and shivering on the floor. The cold seemed to speed the fading of the sedative, and as House's mental faculties began to return to him, he realized that Wilson had probably used far too small a dosage, in fear that whatever he'd used might interact badly with the Vicodin already in House's system.

At least he's still thinking about things like that. At least he's not completely lost his mind.

That thought was grotesquely funny to House, and he found himself laughing almost manically as he leaned his head back, resting his neck against the cool porcelain behind him. He felt the edge of the tub's rim against his shoulders, and suddenly went still as an idea occurred to him.

He'd been without sight for days now, and was desperate to get some glimpse of his surroundings, his physical condition – something. He was pretty sure that he could bend down and use the rim of the tub to push the blindfold up off his eyes; but he knew better than to risk Wilson's wrath for such a small and short-lived advantage.

The bottom line was, seeing where he was would do him no good if he couldn't get his hands free to escape.

But if I could just see… if I could just get some idea of where I'm at… and then push the blindfold back down before he comes back…

It seemed a simple enough task, and the idea of actually seeing anything after so long in the dark was almost too tantalizing to resist. He could get a quick look around the room and have things just as they'd been when Wilson left again in a matter of seconds. The idea of Wilson catching him, however, was utterly terrifying. And the fact that it was terrifying was extremely disturbing.

He's getting to you. It's twenty freakin' seconds, moron. Quit freaking out over nothing and do it.

************************

Wilson really didn't mean to leave House alone for so long. He went to the cupboard to get a couple of towels, but got distracted when his cell phone rang. He went to the living room and picked it up from the coffee table, frowning in frustration when he saw who was calling.

It was Cuddy.

Again.

She had called him a couple of dozen times over the past three days, and he had yet to answer a single one of her calls. That in itself was suspicious, he knew – but it could still be explained away. He could tell her that he'd been out of town and left his cell phone, or been in a place where he couldn't get service. There were several plausible excuses that wouldn't arouse her suspicions.

Simply refusing to take her calls for an indefinite amount of time would definitely draw her suspicion.

If she isn't suspicious already… and judging by the number of calls she's been making, that's a definite possibility. Or she could just be assuming that if anyone knows where House is, it'd be me… and she wouldn't be wrong. No, it's probably best to just answer…

He sat down on the sofa, took a deep breath and tried to steady himself before flipping his phone open. He kept his voice calm and even, trying for a tone of friendly, pleased surprise.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Wilson?" She sounded relieved and incredulous, as if she could hardly believe that he had actually answered. "Where have you been? Why the hell haven't you been answering your cell phone?"

Wilson put a trace of confusion into his voice, doing his best to sound concerned. "I've been out of town. I figured a week in the mountains was just the thing to clear my head after… everything that's happened. I got back last night and got your messages, and I was going to call today, but…"

Cuddy let out a heavy sigh, and Wilson could almost picture the rueful, guilty expression on her face as she realized that she had just yelled at him without a valid reason. "I… I'm sorry, Wilson. It's just… I've been trying to reach you. I'm a little worried, because… well… House took off suddenly. Gave me his notice, and then… was just… gone. I've tried to reach him, but his phone's disconnected and he's moved out of his apartment…"

"My God," Wilson cut in with exaggerated drama. "House did something reckless and irresponsible without giving you fair warning that he was going to do it? That's one of the signs of the apocalypse, you know…"

"Wilson, I'm serious. I think he might be in some kind of trouble." Cuddy's voice was taut and trembling, sounding suspiciously close to tears.

Wilson bit back his own sigh, rolling his eyes and doing his best to infuse his voice with as much gentleness and sympathy as possible. He thought about the letter of resignation he'd left her in House's name, and frowned, trying to remember exactly what he'd written.

"Did he leave you any indication as to where he was going?" he asked thoughtfully. "Was he taking a job somewhere else, or…?"

"His letter said he was going home to spend some time with his parents."

"Well… I'm sure he needs a little bit of a sabbatical after the accident and all," Wilson reasoned. "That's not too much to ask. In fact, amazing and surreal as it is to be saying this at all… he left you notice… told you where he was going… and then apparently followed through with his plan. It sounds like for once in his life, he's actually behaving reasonably."

Cuddy was silent for a long moment, and Wilson mentally congratulated himself, knowing that she could not really argue with his logic. Finally she responded in a quiet, uncertain voice.

"Has he contacted you at all? His number's no good, and I don't want to bother his parents… but… if you've heard from him…"

Wilson latched onto the opportunity she had inadvertently provided him to throw her off track. "Actually, I did hear from him just after I left the hospital, but… before he left. He left a message on my cell phone and told me he was planning to go…"

"What was the number he was calling from?"

"Unknown," Wilson answered without hesitation, sounding suitably apologetic. "Sorry."

"But… he did tell you he was going to do this." Cuddy sounded both doubtful and reluctantly relieved.

"Yes." Wilson paused a moment before adding reassuringly, "I'm sure he's fine, Cuddy. He was just… wanting to get away for a while, you know? I'm sure he'll contact us again when he's ready."

Cuddy was quiet for a moment, a trace of disbelief in her voice when she replied, "And… you're okay with that?"

"I haven't really got a choice," he pointed out. "And besides… I… well… I guess I can relate. This past week has been… just what I needed. I think maybe getting away from everything will be good for him."

They talked for a few minutes longer, and Wilson carefully gauged her tone while trying to maintain a façade of normalcy and friendship. When he was satisfied that he had alleviated her fears as much as possible, he politely excused himself and disconnected the call. He glanced at his watch, sucking in his breath through his teeth when he realized how much time had passed, with House alone and cold and wet and naked, chained up on the bathroom floor.

Well, at least he can't go anywhere. A little cool air won't hurt him… and neither will a little humiliation, for that matter. He needs to get it through his head that I'm in charge, and having to wait a little while can only help that along…

When he walked into the bathroom, at first everything appeared to be as he'd left it. A closer look, however, revealed that a small detail was off. Wilson stood in the doorway, trying to rein in his anger and frustration at being once again defied. When the sound of the door opening was followed by only silence, House began to tremble slightly, his body taut with apprehension, though he didn't dare to speak.

But he'll be speaking in a second, all right. Oh, yes, he will.

"House…" Wilson's voice was low and dangerous, trembling with rage, as he slowly crossed the room to stand over his kneeling, helpless captive. "What did you do?"