"Mercy Medical Center, how may I direct your call?"

Cuddy put on her most pleasant voice, smiling into the phone as she responded to the bored-sounding woman who'd answered the phone. "Yes, Dr. James Wilson, please?"

The receptionist's tone didn't change as she replied without hesitation. "Dr. Wilson is out for the day. Can I take a message for him?"

Cuddy frowned, troubled by that news. In her experience, Wilson never missed work unless he was terribly ill or had an extreme emergency. He had seemed fine the day before at the funeral; and any emergency she could think of that might have come up could not possibly be good for House. She made no effort to hide her distraction as she quickly made her excuses to get off the phone.

"No, it's not important. I'll just… call him at home. Thank you."

An unsettled feeling came over Cuddy as she tried to decide what course of action to pursue next. If Wilson was at home, then it would do her no good to go and see House. She had a feeling that whatever secret they were keeping, she'd have no luck in getting it out of either of them if they were together.

I'll just wait and call again tomorrow. He has to go back to work at some point, and when he does, that's when I'll go see House and make sure he's okay. I haven't taken a personal day in five years; I think I'm entitled to a "personal emergency" by now.

She tried to put her concerns out of her mind for the moment and focus on her work, though it was difficult to think of anything besides the disturbing things she had seen and heard the day before.

How bad could it be? she reasoned, trying to reassure herself. This is Wilson. I don't really know what I saw… what was going on between them. House probably said or did something ridiculously offensive, and a single blow in a heated moment – is it really such a big deal? Wilson would never hurt House too badly… would he?

But she knew better.

She knew that the threatening words she had heard, the inexplicable fear in House's voice and actions, spoke of more than just a single blow between two male friends in a moment of anger.

Maybe there's something else about the situation… something I missed. There has to be some kind of explanation for it. Wilson wouldn't just hurt him for no reason. I just have to find the reason…

She sighed, closing her eyes as she struggled to focus.

I just… have to make sure he's okay…

She picked up her pen and began to work again, focusing on a single determination.

… and I will. Tomorrow.

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

House spent the night following his father's funeral in misery.

After he brought in their luggage, Wilson returned to the basement and stripped House of the clothes he'd allowed him during the funeral. House couldn't seem to hold back a pleading stream of babbled explanations and promises to do better as Wilson chained him on his knees with his hands behind his back. Wilson didn't speak a single word until he had finished securing House's bonds.

Then, Wilson drew back his fist and backhanded him hard.

"When are you going to learn," he hissed out, his voice rising in volume and intensity until it became a roar of rage, "to keep your stupid mouth freakin' shut!"

House flinched as Wilson grabbed him by the hair, shaking his head, trembling as he struggled to get out an apology. "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Wilson, please… please don't…"

Wilson pitilessly struck him again, snarling, "Shut up!"

House did his best to stay quiet and still as Wilson shoved the gag into his mouth and tied the blindfold over his eyes, then jerked his head back by the hair, leaning in close so that House could feel the damp heat of his shaky, erratic breath against his ear.

"You're going to learn that you are not in control here, House! You will not decide what I do or don't do to you. If I say keep your mouth shut, you'll keep your damn mouth shut, do you understand me?"

House nodded hurriedly, desperately, relieved and yet bereft when Wilson released him abruptly and stalked toward the basement stairs.

He was terribly confused, his thoughts swirling in circles as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened to him that day. He'd told himself he'd look for a chance to tell someone what was happening, that there was no way he'd allow himself to be brought back to this basement prison. In fact, he was fairly certain that there had been a time or two when Wilson was a little distracted and he might have been able to get a few words out to Cuddy or his mother.

And yet… he hadn't.

He'd been too afraid.

He'd simply been quiet and cooperative and done his best to stick to the story Wilson had given him. He'd played his part so well that no one had caught on to the idea that anything might be out of the ordinary. He'd done everything in his power to keep Wilson happy and keep anyone from getting hurt.

Despite all his efforts, Wilson had still ended up furious with him.

Gotta do better… gotta just do what he wants, keep him from getting angry… gotta be good…

Even as the desperate thoughts circled through his mind, House was horrified by them, aware of what such a mindset said about his mental state. He was trying so hard to maintain his sense of self-awareness, trying not to fall prey to the mind games Wilson was playing with him.

And he was failing.

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

House barely slept that night.

Wilson had chained his wrists so tightly, so near to the floor, that it was impossible for him to move from the kneeling position in which he had been left. By morning, his back, his arms, and especially his thigh were screaming in anguished protest at their mistreatment. He was hungry and thirsty, trembling with pain and exhaustion.

When he heard Wilson's footsteps on the stairs, House's entire body clenched in preparation for more punishment. He flinched when Wilson stopped beside him, and he felt Wilson's hand move toward his face; but he dared not pull away as Wilson slowly crouched beside him, one hand running gently through his sweat-dampened hair. Wilson's voice was soft, calm and patient as he asked a question that made House's stomach drop.

"Have we learned our lesson, House?"

House wasn't exactly sure what lesson he was supposed to have learned. He knew by Wilson's reactions that he had somehow failed him tremendously, but he had no idea how he had done so. He had done his best to do what Wilson wanted.

It didn't matter.

He nodded deeply, his head lowered in submission, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"No thanks to you and your pathetic failure to do even the most simple things I asked of you," Wilson explained in a soft, even voice, "no one caught on to anything suspicious yesterday. I managed a little bit of damage control, and was able to explain away your behavior so that no one was any the wiser."

House was not surprised by that, but his heart still sank with disappointment at the words. He remained tense, terrified by Wilson's continued displeasure with whatever unknown mistakes he had made. Wilson was quiet for a long moment, his hand stilling before he finally spoke again, his tone gentle and compassionate.

"I know you tried, House. I know you didn't mean to screw it up. You never do."

House felt his face flush with shame at the words, and he lowered his head further, swallowing back a sob.

Wilson's voice was unsettlingly distant, tinged with a frightening, quiet sort of madness as he continued. "Don't worry, House. It's okay. I forgive you. I'm not mad, okay? You did your best… even if it wasn't good enough. That just means… you won't be going anywhere else for a while. You have to understand – I have to keep you safe. I have to protect you, and I will… no matter what it takes. Do you understand?"

House nodded again, a trapped feeling of despair overwhelming him with those words. His opportunity for escape had come and gone, and as he had feared, he would not get another one. Wilson was not going to give him the chance to disappoint him again. No, he was going to spend the rest of his existence in this basement, at the mercy of a madman who could turn terrifyingly violent without a moment's notice.

His best chance was to try to keep the madman happy – to avoid further punishment.

Wilson gently removed the blindfold from his eyes, laying it aside, and House blinked against the bright morning light drifting through his small window, angled just so as to fall upon his face. He flinched slightly, drawing in a soft, sharp breath when the backs of Wilson's fingers brushed against his cheek, then reached around behind his head to unfasten the gag.

"Look at me."

House dared not disobey, eyes wide and terrified as he met Wilson's tranquil, smiling gaze.

"You know that I love you, right? And I'll never let anything hurt you?"

House nodded, holding Wilson's gaze as he swallowed hard then choked out a hoarse whisper. "Y-yes…"

"You know I have no other choice. You were too reckless, left to your own devices – too much of a danger to yourself. I had to take these drastic measures. If I hadn't – you probably wouldn't even be alive by now. You know that… right?"

There was a quiet, troubled concern in Wilson's eyes, and House tried to imagine what the other man might be thinking. It was difficult to rationalize the thoughts of someone who'd lost his grip on sanity; but it almost seemed as if Wilson was seeking reassurance of his own choices, affirmation that he was doing the right thing.

House didn't want to give it to him, but he didn't dare give him anything less.

"I-I know," he whispered, nodding slowly, eyes downcast. "I know, Wilson." He hesitated a moment, tears welling in his eyes as he choked out pleading words. "I… I'm sorry. I… I didn't mean to… to let you down. I… I t-tried…"

"I know you did, House," Wilson assured him gently, stroking his face with the tenderness of a lover, no traces of violence in the gesture now.

House hated himself for leaning into the rare comfort of that touch.

"I know you don't mean to upset me… to do things to make me angry. And… I don't like to be angry with you. But… we're both going to try harder, aren't we?"

House nodded in automatic, eager response to the leading question, willing to agree to anything that would keep Wilson satisfied and calm.

"We're not going to let this keep happening. We're going to make things work from now on… aren't we?"

"Yes," House whispered, a fervent promise in his voice. "I-I'll do whatever you want me to do, Wilson. I swear it. I won't… I won't give you any more reason to… to not trust me. I'll do whatever you say…"

Wilson smiled, tears forming in his eyes, clearly pleased with House's words. "I know you will." He nodded, giving House's face one last gentle caress before reaching behind him to unchain his wrists. "I know you'll earn my trust again, House… in time."

House remained utterly pliant and passive as Wilson maneuvered him onto his feet, even biting back the cry of pain that came with the movement to his stiff, sore right leg. Wilson noticed his pain anyway, murmuring soothingly to him as he supported him with an arm under his shoulders, leading him slowly and patiently toward the stairs, no doubt for a much-needed bath.

Grateful for that small luxury, anticipating the soothing feeling of the hot water on his sore muscles, House never allowed the idea of escape to cross his mind.

At this point, it was all he could do to figure out how to survive.