Cuddy frowned with concentration as she tried to work the padlock on the mysterious door open with only the use of a hairpin. It was more difficult than she had anticipated, and becoming more and more frustrating with every minute that passed by. She was about to give up, when she suddenly froze at an ominous sound from just outside the house.

A car had just pulled into the driveway.

Panic seized her, and Cuddy abandoned her task, rushing back toward the back door through which she had entered. Her heart pounded with an overwhelming, if possibly unfounded, feeling of terror. She wasn't sure exactly what she was afraid of; she just knew that she could not allow herself to be caught here, in Wilson's house, when he was not home.

Breaking and entering charges are reason enough, she reminded herself. But she knew she wasn't afraid of legal charges. As difficult as it was to understand and accept, she knew the troubling truth.

She was afraid of Wilson.

Cuddy slipped out the back door, locking it and pulling it quietly shut behind her. She crouched down against the side of the house, trying to catch her breath and keep silent as she listened closely for some indication of where Wilson might be at that moment. She didn't dare go around the house and toward her car until he had gone inside.

He can't possibly be home for any longer than a lunch hour… and it's not very likely that he'd come back here during that time… she silently reassured herself, swallowing to moisten her dry mouth and throat. My car's parked down the street, so if I just stay low and quiet until I'm sure it's safe, then there's no reason why he should ever know I was here…

She felt ridiculous, huddled down beside the back steps, her back against the wall of the house, her expensive suit probably acquiring grass stains while she hid from her former employee. Somehow, however, she knew that it was a necessary thing for her to hide from him. She was breathless, trying to control the mounting fear that came with the very thought of Wilson finding her here.

She held her breath as she heard the car door open and then shut, followed a few seconds later by the sound of the front door as well. She waited, thinking that if she could only give Wilson a few minutes to get inside – and hopefully away from the windows – she might be able to make a dash for her car down the street.

As she waited, however, her gaze fell on a tiny basement window in the wall against which she was leaning, just a few inches above ground level.

The basement! Maybe that's what that door leads to!

Curiosity got the better of her, as she reasoned that as long as she was stuck there hiding anyway, it wouldn't hurt to see if she could catch a peek inside through the window. She leaned back against the wall, trying her best to stay out of sight while still trying to get a good view of what it concealed.

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

The sound of the front door opening upstairs was quite possibly the most terrifying sound House had ever heard. Cuddy's caution in closing the rear door after her had served to leave House believing that she was still inside, and dreading the consequences for her – and maybe for him, too – when Wilson found her there.

He listened closely for the sounds of a confrontation, his body taut and trembling as he tried to keep still and silent, straining to make out even the slightest sound from upstairs – but there was nothing. As he heard the basement door being unlocked, then saw Wilson's feet as he descended the stairs, House braced himself for the worst, his mind racing with questions.

Where was Cuddy? Was she still in the house? Had she hidden before Wilson could find her? Or had Wilson simply managed to incapacitate her so quickly and efficiently that he hadn't heard anything? He studied Wilson's face closely as he approached, looking for some sign of whether or not Wilson even knew she had been there at all.

No such sign was forthcoming.

House quickly looked down as Wilson reached him, unwilling to draw any undue attention toward him. The last thing he wanted was to give Wilson a reason to be suspicious if he wasn't already.

Wilson was carrying a brown paper bag from a fast food restaurant, which he set on the floor within House's reach, before unfastening one of his wrists and taking a step backward.

"There you go," he said in a weary, vaguely impatient tone. "Lunch. I'm sorry it's not better. I didn't have time to cook anything."

"It's fine," House assured him in a quiet, subdued voice, as he took the burger and fries out of the bag and started eating. He hesitated before adding softly, "Thank you."

Wilson stood there for a few moments, just watching House eat; and House was acutely aware of his scrutiny, wondering why he was staring, what he might be thinking.

How much does he know?

The silent, focused attention alone was enough to make House jumpy and self-conscious, and he tried not to look at Wilson, afraid that his fears would show all too clearly in his face. He focused on his food, keeping his eyes downcast, hoping that Wilson wouldn't notice that anything was out of the ordinary, and would go on his way back to work without incident.

"House…" Wilson's tone was slightly suspicious when at last he spoke, and House braced himself for the worst. "… is something wrong?"

House swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his heart pounding as he fought the almost irresistible impulse to look toward his window. It was merely self-comfort at this point; that tiny window had come to represent every last shred of hope that still lingered in House's heart and mind. In this instance, however, such a glance could serve to place very dangerous ideas in Wilson's head.

House shook his head emphatically, his words coming out in a hoarse whisper. "No. Everything's f-fine. Why would you think…?"

The words broke off in a muffled whimper as Wilson abruptly moved in closer, violating his personal space to grab his face in a rough grasp and force his head up to meet Wilson's narrowed, suspicious eyes. He studied House's face intently for a long moment, and House felt the remnants of his resolve crumbling under the pressure, his insides quaking as the impulse came over him to just confess, just tell Wilson everything because he already knew anyway and he was going to be so angry with him for not telling the truth…

"You're not trying to hide something from me, are you, House?" Wilson's voice was soft, chillingly controlled, his hand like a steel vise biting into House's bruised sensitive skin. "You know better than to do something that stupid… don't you?"

"N-no," House stammered out in a breathless whisper, fighting off panic. "No, I'm not… I w-wouldn't…" Then, almost as an after thought, barely over a breath, "… please, Wilson…"

There was a very tense, terrifying moment when House thought that it could go either way. Wilson could believe him and accept his words and go back to work none the wiser – or Wilson could already know the truth and be playing games with his mind, deliberately trapping him to catch him off guard and gain the excuse to reinforce his power over him.

Finally, Wilson released him with a dismissive wave of his hand toward what was left of House's lunch. "Go ahead, finish eating. I have to go back to work."

House hurriedly finished his sandwich and fries, then drained the soda, knowing that he'd have nothing else to drink for the next four hours. Wilson then unchained him and led him up the stairs to use the bathroom. The entire trip upstairs, House held his breath, unsure what he'd see when they reached the upper floor. Was Cuddy still hiding somewhere in the house? Where had she gone? Was she all right, or had Wilson caught her and done something to her already?

To his surprise and relief, there was no sign that Cuddy had ever been in the house at all, at least that he could tell. Wilson let him use the bathroom, then took him back down to the basement and chained him up again, promising to return in a few hours. House shook with tension and dread as he listened to Wilson's footsteps upstairs; and that tension released itself in a violent tremor as he heard the front door finally close, and the sound of Wilson's engine starting in the driveway.

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

Cuddy crouched beside the tiny window, eyes wide as she watched Wilson finally leave the basement, leaving House chained on his knees on the floor as he had been when she'd first seen him there.

She still couldn't believe she had seen it at all.

It was like something out of a horror movie, not something that could actually exist in reality. Wilson, keeping House chained as a prisoner in his basement, for – who knew how long? It simply wasn't possible.

Except for the fact that it obviously was.

Her heart was pounding in her throat, her breath quickened with fear as she rose to her feet, trying to make her mind stop spinning long enough to figure out what to do. It was difficult to focus, however, amid the swirling question that overwhelmed her thoughts.

This just doesn't make sense. Why would Wilson do a thing like this? How has he managed to keep it from everyone for so long? I just saw House at the funeral; why would he allow this to happen? Why didn't he say something to me – to someone?

But she knew the only way to gain the answers to those questions was to help House, to get him out of there. She waited quietly, listening as she heard the sound of Wilson's car door opening and closing, and his engine starting up. She waited in tense silence for the sound of its backing down the driveway, eager for Wilson to leave so she could go back inside and get House out.

Impatience mounted as Wilson's car continued to idle, without any sound. There were any number of things he might be doing in the car before leaving – making a phone call, or looking at a patient file, or anything – but Cuddy's irritation rose as she waited, tapping her foot against the ground, wanting to be sure that Wilson was really gone before she made her move.

She crouched down again, glancing through the tiny window, her heart aching at the sight of House kneeling on the cold, stone floor, bound and helpless and visibly trembling. Her chest tightened, tears threatening, as she thought of how painful such a position had to be for his damaged leg.

How is Wilson capable of this? How is he capable of this, and I never saw it?

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

It was Wilson's usual voice, calmly curious and tinged with amusement, but Cuddy still felt a chill of fear trickling down her spine at the sound behind her. She spun around to face him, eyes wide, knowing she was probably disheveled and totally obvious about how freaked out she was.

The cool smile on Wilson's face was deeply unsettling, as he glanced between her and the tiny window through which she'd been looking. He shook his head slightly, giving her a disarmingly questioning look.

"Is there... something I can help you with?"