House braced himself for the worst as Wilson led him out of the main room where the mourners were gathered and into an empty room off to the side. No sooner were they out of sight than Wilson's grasp changed from firm to painful, as he locked the door, then turned to face House, shoving him against the wall, hard.

Wilson raised his hand as if to slap him, and House flinched, drawing back against the wall behind him. Wilson glared at him, visibly struggling with is own fury as he slowly lowered his hand again, shaking his head slightly.

They both knew he couldn't afford to leave a mark on House's face – not until they got home, anyway. At that point, it wouldn't matter how badly bruised House was.

There'd be no one there to see.

For now, however, Wilson had to restrain himself. His hands clutched House's arms with painful force, pinning him against the wall as he leaned in close to his face, his voice low and menacing, every word slow and pronounced.

"You had better get it together, House. Do you understand me?"

House nodded, his words a breathless, shallow whisper. "Yes… yes, Wilson… please…"

"Do you want someone else to get hurt, House? Do you really want someone else's death on your hands?"

House's stomach lurched at the soft, threatening questions, and he shook his head desperately, thinking of his mother and Cuddy and the other innocent people in the next room. "No," he whispered. "Please, Wilson… I'm t-trying… please…"

"Well, you're going to have to try harder. Did you actually think you were not suspicious out there? Because you were. Very suspicious. You're not going to convince anyone that way, so you'd better get focused on making this look right…"

It seemed to be becoming more difficult to process the words in his mind, and House struggled to focus on what Wilson was saying through the drug-induced haze that coated his thoughts. Panic began to creep coldly through him, his body beginning to tremble, as he shook his head again, his eyes submissively downcast.

"I'm sorry, Wilson… I'm sorry, I'll… do better. Please… please, don't…"

Wilson released him with a disgusted hiss, shaking his head in a derisive way that made House's face flush with shame. "So stupid," he muttered. "You are so pathetic. You really are completely helpless, aren't you? If I wasn't here, there's no way you'd be able to pull this off."

If you weren't here, I wouldn't have to worry about pulling anything off…

"Hey! Are you even listening to me?" Wilson snapped, smacking his palm against the wall next to House's head.

House flinched, nodding hurriedly. "Yes. I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'll… I'll do whatever you say…"

"You'd better," Wilson warningly replied. "We've still got to go to the gathering, and your mother and all these people will be there, and you had better keep it together and not let on what's going on to anyone, or I promise you you're going to be very, very sorry, House."

"Okay," House assured him, swallowing hard and suppressing a flinch as Wilson roughly grabbed his arm and jerked him toward the door.

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

Just outside the door, Cuddy scrambled backward in sudden panic, darting into the darkened doorway of the next unoccupied room. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning with the implications of what she'd just heard. She waited in tense apprehension until Wilson's and House's footsteps had faded away before slipping out of the empty room and making her way back toward the chapel, which was now mostly empty.

She needed to think.

Instinct and suspicion had driven her to follow when she'd seen Wilson leading House away from the rest of the mourners. She knew something was wrong; there was something they were keeping from her, and she wanted to know what it was. The door to the room was thankfully quite thin, and with her ear pressed to it, she could clearly make out the words of the two men.

She almost wished she hadn't.

It was deeply disturbing to her – the obvious fear in House's unusually subdued voice, the cold menace in Wilson's words. House was the man who was never afraid of anything, who always risked even the most severe consequences in a never-ending battle to prove that he could not be controlled or dominated.

And yet, Wilson had been berating him, threatening him, and House had not yelled back insults and scathing words at Wilson – hadn't even defended himself. As strange and surreal as the entire scene seemed, House seemed genuinely terrified of Wilson.

She wondered what the secret was that Wilson had so emphatically instructed House to keep to himself. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that it couldn't possibly be anything good. Instinct told her that House was likely in some kind of serious trouble, and as difficult as it was to believe, Wilson appeared to be directly at the heart of it.

She returned to the group and tried to blend in as they began to file out and make their way toward the cemetery. She kept her eye on House and Wilson throughout the brief, simple service, never letting them leave her sight. Once they returned to the funeral parlor for the wake, she lingered, offering her condolences to Mrs. House, and making casual conversation with strangers, as one did at these awful things; but her attention was never far from House and Wilson, who stayed close together throughout the entire affair.

With the exception of their inseparability, there was nothing else that appeared to be suspicious – much to her frustration. She was hoping for something else to indicate what might be going on between them, but she was sorely disappointed. She stayed until everyone began to leave, lingering even past the time when friends closer than her to the House family had left, just hoping for something to help her understand what was going on.

Frustration made her nearly frantic as the crowd began to thin out, leaving only the closest friends and family. She was well aware that once House left the building, he would go back into hiding, and there was no way of knowing how long it would be before she had the chance to talk to him again.

And she simply could not allow that to happen.

Something told her that he was in serious danger, and she couldn't let him slip away into oblivion again without knowing that she had done everything she could to help him.

When she could tastefully put it off no longer, Cuddy said goodbye to Blythe House, then gave a stiff, somewhat awkward farewell to House and Wilson as well. Wilson gave her an apologetic smile as she turned to go, as if House was the one who was irritated by her presence, and he simply couldn't do anything about it.

Cuddy barely managed to conceal her suspicion.

She went to her car, but she did not drive away – not yet. She couldn't just leave, not knowing what was going to happen to House. She had to make sure that he was okay. As she sat there waiting, though she wasn't sure what she was waiting for, an idea began to take shape in her mind.

Her car was parked far enough down the street so as to not be conspicuous, even to someone who would recognize it. She waited until, nearly an hour after the last guests had left, House and Wilson walked out of the funeral parlor in the company of House's mother. Wilson hugged Blythe, and then House hugged her, as they prepared to leave. Cuddy felt her throat constrict slightly as Blythe seemed to hold onto her son much longer than was necessary, as if she was afraid to let him go for fear that he might not come back.

I know the feeling… Don't worry, I won't let him get far…

As Blythe went back into the funeral parlor to finish up the business aspect of the funeral with the funeral director, Wilson opened House's door for him, waiting until he got inside and closing it for him as well before going around the car and getting in on the driver's side.

She started her engine, leaving her lights off as Wilson pulled his car out into the street. She waited until he was almost out of sight before turning on her lights and starting after him, gradually allowing herself to catch up a little without making herself conspicuous.

He rode here with Wilson, so Wilson has to be taking him home. There's no way that Wilson would let him drive in this condition… and I have to know where he's staying. I have to know that I can find him if he's in trouble, or… or…

Cuddy wasn't sure what exactly she was afraid of. The idea that Wilson might somehow hurt House was preposterous, and she had no idea what else might be going on with House, that Wilson was somehow a party to. She just knew that what she had heard, in combination with the strange behavior she had observed from House, was enough to set off alarms in her mind.

Something was just not right – and she wouldn't have any peace of mind until she knew what it was.

Cuddy realized that, as she had no idea where House was staying, she had no idea how far away it might be. She knew that she could end up driving so far out of her way as to miss work the following morning, or at the very least be terribly exhausted when she did get to work, but she felt that she had no choice.

She just had to know.

She was somewhat relieved to find that they were headed back in the general direction of Princeton. About an hour away, Wilson turned onto a smaller highway, leading out into a more rural area. By the time he stopped, by Cuddy's estimation, he had only taken her about a half an hour out of her way.

Cuddy frowned with confusion as Wilson pulled his car into the driveway of a large, unfamiliar house. She drove on by the house, not wanting to draw attention to herself, before turning her lights off and turning around to park a couple of houses down and on the opposite side of the street.

Fortunately, Wilson seemed to have no idea that he'd been followed. Cuddy watched as he got out of the car, wondering why House didn't get out as well. Once again, Wilson walked around the car and opened House's door for him, reaching down to take him by the arm and help him out of the car.

Where the heck are we? This isn't the new address Wilson left for me… and this doesn't seem like the kind of place House would choose…

As she sat there wondering, Wilson pushed House against the side of the car, leaning in close to him and speaking in a very intent manner. House flinched away from Wilson, visibly cowed by Wilson's intimidating manner. Cuddy felt all the air rush out of her lungs when Wilson abruptly raised his hand and struck House across the face, hard. Her heart raced with shocked dismay when Wilson grabbed House by the hair and shook him, then jerked him toward the front door.

She sat there for a few moments in overwhelming shock, trying to reconcile the impossible images her eyes had just taken in with everything she'd ever thought she knew about the relationship between House and Wilson, and what Wilson was capable of doing.

She considered just walking up to the door and knocking, asking Wilson what was going on; but she was fairly certain that he would just lie to her. And if he did, there was little that she could do about it. She couldn't very well contact the authorities, knowing that House would likely deny that anything had happened. He was a grown man, and fully capable of defending himself.

When he's not drugged out of his head and not thinking clearly with grief…

She frowned, frustrated, unable to decide what was the best course of action. She thought her best chance of getting the truth about the situation was to talk to House without Wilson present. She stayed silent, warily watching as Wilson came out of the house again a few minutes later, only to open the trunk and take out his and House's bags and take them inside.

How can I manage to get House alone? Wilson wouldn't leave his side for a second tonight…

But… he has to go to work at some point, doesn't he?

Cuddy started her car, and pulled out into the street again, a new plan beginning to form in her mind. She wasn't going to just let this go and leave House to whatever trouble he had managed to get in this time.

She was leaving for the night… but she was not leaving for long.