The familiar sound of Wilson's footsteps on the stairs was far more unsettling than usual to House, given the strange and frightening circumstances of Wilson's last departure. He had no idea why Wilson might be angry with him; he hadn't done anything to incur the wrath of his captor, having been perfectly obedient and submissive to him for several days at this point.

His mind racing, trying to figure out what might have happened to explain Wilson's behavior, House braced himself for impact as Wilson swiftly closed the distance between them. Coherent thought was replaced with panic as Wilson's hands roughly unfastened House's wrists and ankles from the bed, then grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up onto his knees.

Don't fight, don't fight, it'll just make it worse…

House reminded himself over and over again to keep still and pliant in the younger man's grasp, well aware that resistance would only further infuriate Wilson. House flinched as Wilson unfastened the gag and tore it from his mouth, then yanked the blindfold off without even bothering to untie it.

House kept his eyes closed for a long moment, swallowing hard to moisten his dry mouth as Wilson pulled slowly but insistently on his hair, forcing House's back into a painfully bent position. His hands trembled at his sides, but House didn't dare move them, didn't want any slight gesture on his part to be misinterpreted as resistance. He felt Wilson's breath against his ear, his voice low and softly menacing.

"You going to be good and cooperate with me, House?"

House nodded as best he could, trembling with dread and the strain of resisting his fight-or-flight impulse. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Wilson…"

House couldn't hold back a startled yelp of fear as Wilson abruptly grabbed his arm and turned his body so that he could slam him hard against the wall next to the mattress. House opened his eyes as Wilson's right hand locked around his throat, squeezing just enough to be threatening without actually restricting his breathing.

House's eyes widened with horror when he glanced down to the see the pistol in Wilson's hand. House shook his head slightly, searching Wilson's cold gaze with mounting panic.

"Wilson… what… please…"

Wilson's expression did not change as he cocked the gun with pointed deliberation, pressing its muzzle under House's chin to slowly, firmly push his head back. House felt his stomach drop at the feel of the cold steel against his skin, and the knowledge that Wilson could kill him in an instant if he chose to do so. Wilson's voice was soft and edged with warning when at last he spoke again.

"Are you supposed to speak without my permission, House?"

House shook his head, his breath ragged and shallow as he struggled to control his own panic. He bit his lower lip, fighting back the impulse to apologize, to try to reason with Wilson, possibly even to beg for his life – none of which options would have been in the least helpful.

"That's right," Wilson affirmed in the same unsettlingly low, even tone. "And who decides what you are and aren't allowed to do, House?"

"Y-you do," House whispered, his eyes downcast.

"Right." Wilson slowly nodded his approval, raising a gentle hand to run soothingly through House's hair in a gesture in stark contrast to the steady pressure of the gun against House's throat. "And you're going to do exactly as you're told, aren't you? You're going to listen to what I tell you… and obey… and not do anything at all to make me think that I might need to use this… aren't you, House?"

"Yes," House readily agreed, nodding hurriedly. "I'll do whatever you say, Wilson… just… don't…"

"Shhh."

The warning reminder to silence was all the encouragement House needed to halt his desperate, pleading words. He closed his mouth, struggling to steady his breathing, his shoulders sagging with relief when Wilson finally removed the gun and placed it in his own pocket. Wilson was quiet for a long moment before finally offering some semblance of explanation.

"I need to run an errand… and I need to take you with me."

House's eyes went wide with disbelief, his thoughts swirling with a mixture of excitement and hope and uncertainty and fear. He felt an uneasy sick sensation in the pit of his stomach with the realization of how nervous the idea of going outside made him at this point, after so long spent inside.

I should be feeling nothing but excitement about the idea… so why does it scare me so much? It's not just because he's got to be up to something. It's at least partly because he's gotten to me these past few weeks. Have to keep your head clear, can't let his mind games work, or you'll never get out of here…

House's mental self-rebuke was abruptly cut off as Wilson held the gun in his face again. House flinched slightly, drawing in a sharp gasp as Wilson traced the cool metal slowly along his jaw line.

"If you try anything…" Wilson softly stated, with a chillingly calm certainty that made House's stomach clench. "… if you resist me while we're out, or try to let anyone know what's going on… I'll have no choice but to kill anyone that you manage to involve in our personal affairs. Do you understand?"

House nodded, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. "Yes… I won't, Wilson, you won't h-have to…"

"Not if you don't make me," Wilson amended with a severe, warning look. "But I will if you make me. And then, I'll bring you back here and remind you who's in charge, House… no matter what it takes."

"Okay…"

House whispered, hurrying to ease Wilson's concerns and reassure him that he would cooperate. His heart was pounding, his thoughts swirling madly as he tried to make sense of the situation. Why would Wilson take him outside? Was it some kind of a test? Would he get the opportunity to get away? How could he be sure when the time was right? He kept his eyes averted, submissively downcast, afraid of what Wilson might see there.

"I'll do what you say, Wilson. You… you can trust me…"

House remained quiet and pliant as Wilson led him upstairs, the gun safely tucked into his pocket. It was the first opportunity House had received to get a good look at his surroundings when he was unbound and in only a moderate amount of pain, and therefore able to more freely focus on the nature of his prison.

He chose not to look at it too closely, anyway.

He knew Wilson was watching him closely, and didn't want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

Wilson led him into the bathroom where he helped him to bathe, and House repressed his embarrassment and simply submitted to the gentle invasion of his dignity. When the bath was finished, Wilson left House with a couple of clean, soft towels and instructed him to dry off, while he left the bathroom. It momentarily crossed House's mind to try to slip out of the bathroom, and possibly out of the house; but he quickly dismissed that idea.

How far could he get, naked and with no idea of where he was? Wilson would almost certainly catch him before he could get away.

Wilson returned with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which he handed to House with instructions to get dressed. House stared at the clothes with a blank expression for a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of wearing clothes again after so long without them.

"Go ahead," Wilson ordered, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "Get dressed."

House felt his face flush with embarrassment at the awkward clumsiness of his motions as he obeyed, his efforts hampered by his trembling, weakened limbs, as well as the indignity of being watched so closely as he dressed. Still, he managed to complete the task within a few minutes, marveling at the simple pleasure of soft fabric against his skin, of being covered after his long period of forced nakedness.

Once he was fully dressed, Wilson moved forward to grasp his arm, his free hand moving to rest over the pocket where the gun was hidden. House tensed, but forced himself not to pull away as Wilson led him from the bathroom and toward the front door.

The daylight seemed impossibly bright, despite the overcast sky, as they made their way to the car. Once his eyes adjusted, however, House found himself automatically slowing his pace, staring around him at the light, the trees, everything… just blissfully taking it all in.

"Move," Wilson snapped, jerking him sharply forward by the arm.

House abruptly lowered his gaze, obediently quickening his pace as they neared the car. He remained silent and subdued as Wilson started the car and drove them only a couple of blocks to the corner store. He waited, unsure what to do, as Wilson got out and walked around the car, opening the door for him and expectantly waiting for him to get out.

"Stay close to me," Wilson ordered softly. "And don't say a word to anyone unless they speak to you first. If they do, you mind what you say."

House nodded once, a nervous swallow visible in his throat, but did not speak.

They only spent a few minutes in the store, as Wilson picked out some snacks and a couple of magazines. House wondered why he had chosen to bring him along on what seemed like such an unnecessary trip, especially when he'd had no trouble whatsoever leaving House alone for hours on end. When they approached the check out counter, House found himself longing to speak up, to say something to the guy behind the counter to let him know that he needed help – but he didn't dare.

If Wilson kills him, because of me… no. It wouldn't do any good, and I couldn't live with that…

As Wilson led him back out to the car, House felt his hope slipping away; but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

The opportunity he had hoped for simply hadn't come.

Next time, he told himself. Next time… I'll find a way…

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

As soon as they were through the front door, Wilson ordered House to undress again. Disappointed, but knowing he had no choice, House obeyed, giving the pile of discarded clothing a single, longing look as Wilson took his arm and led him toward the basement.

Once there, Wilson sat him down on his mattress and chained his wrists behind his back. House was just relieved that for the moment, he was not chaining him down spread eagle and blinding and gagging him again. He was finding that in this state of such extreme captivity, freedom was a very relative term.

"You did very well, House," Wilson declared with a gentleness that had not been in his voice before their little excursion. "You were obedient, and I'm very proud of you."

House was angry at himself for the pleased warmth that stole through him at Wilson's approval, but couldn't make himself not feel it.

"Why didn't you try to get away?" Wilson asked. "And don't lie and say you didn't want to. I know better than to believe that."

House's heartbeat quickened, his mind racing to find the right answer. He hesitated a moment before answering with quiet honesty. "I… didn't want you to hurt anyone. I knew if… if I tried to get away, and… and someone got hurt… it'd be my fault…"

Wilson was quiet for a moment, and House held his breath, waiting for Wilson's judgment of his answer. When Wilson finally spoke, it was with solemn, calm acceptance, and House felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

"Thank you for being honest with me," Wilson replied. He was quiet for a moment before continuing in a slow, thoughtful tone. "That guy at the store was a stranger… and yet you cared whether or not he ended up hurt because of your actions."

House nodded slowly, cautiously, uncertain as to where Wilson was going with this.

"How would you feel about it if it wasn't a stranger? If it was your own friends or family that was placed in danger due to your own carelessness?"

House felt a slow, squeezing sensation in his chest, alarm building in his mind at those strange, unsettling words. He shook his head slowly in confusion, silently indicating that he needed clarification.

Wilson let out a heavy sigh of resignation, reaching out a gentle hand to rest on House's arm as he drew in a deep breath.

"House… I need to tell you something very important…"