This is set in the CollarRedux universe created by oflymondddreams though it is AU to their stories.
If you aren't familiar with the CollarRedux stories you should stop and go and read them first, and if you enjoy them please review the author to encourage them to keep writing :)
As a quick recap this universe is a version of PPTH where Greg is a slave, and Wilson is extremely interested in him :)
Warning for this story - Contains implications of non-consensual sex by various parties with the slave Greg House although no actual depictions of such events.
He has dismissed his fellows for the day, they've gone home to whatever lives they have carved out for themselves away from the hospital. He rarely hears them talk of friends or family, it seems that their lives might be nearly as empty as his, he wonders why.
He has been a slave now for nearly as many years as he was a free man, he knows he will die with a collar around his neck, there will be a quick burial at the slave cemetery and he will be swiftly forgotten. They will take the collar off when he dies, clean it up and give it to another newly made slave to wear for life.
Although being free is a distant memory now he will never forget what it was like, and what he has lost.
He limps his way out of the conference room, casting a wary eye around. Wilson is still in his office, he limps as quietly as he can, hoping that the other doctor stays behind that wooden door. Although Wilson seems benign on the surface he knows he cannot trust the man. Behind the easy smiles and the friendly face there is a man who enjoys a slave's pain.
A guard stands at the end of the hallway. There is usually one stationed there, ostensibly to stop stray civilians from wandering into the office area without appointments. He knows that the guard's main purpose is to keep an eye on an unruly slave. He takes a certain pleasure in costing the hospital as much money to maintain as he can. It is a small pleasure but there is little else in his life that he finds amusing.
He gives the man a wide berth as he passes. Once he had cultivated a couple of friendly guards in the hospital, set them up to do him little favours in return for him doing them little favours in random offices and closets. That had stopped though when it had become clear to all hospital staff that he didn't need to be bought, they just has to corner him and take what they want. Now the guards watch him pass with hungry eyes, forbidden to do anything else while on duty. Those same guards, as soon as they come off duty, stake out the elevators and deserted corners of the hospital, hoping to catch him by himself.
He avoids the elevators, no need to offer himself up on a plate, and heads for the stairwell. It's a long climb for a crippled man but worth it. As he enters the stairwell he sees the guard speaking into his phone, conveying information on the slave's whereabouts.
He struggles up two flights of stairs, it's been a long day and he has two hours before he can pick up his pain pills from the pharmacy and start his evening clinic shift. These two hours are a small slice of time where he can do as he pleases – within the limits they set for him of course. He could be visiting the slave groomer but he has discovered it doesn't pay to keep himself looking too nice. The scruffy look suits him fine. Dinner will be being served at the slave canteen but Wilson gifted him with a large lunch today and he doesn't want to spend his precious time eating the slop they serve there, being stared at by the other slaves who seem to think he is favoured in some way. Only the lash marks on his back tell them otherwise.
Finally he reaches the heavy fire door, pushes it open, and exits onto the roof of the hospital. He used to come up here a lot when Stacy had him tagged. He's only recently starting come up here again. He expects that Cuddy will one day ban him from the roof, he knows that the guards report to her every time he makes the climb. Until that day he will come up here when he can.
He wanders to the edge and stares out at the city of New Jersey. It is dusk and there is a chill to the air, he is glad he slipped his worn overcoat on before leaving his office.
Breathing in the fresh air he sits down on a ledge. Taking a quick glance around he fumbles at the waistband of his jeans, pulling out a couple of pills from where they are hidden. It is amazing how careless people are about medication in a hospital, he pilfers when he can, stashes them away for when he needs some extra. These are Tylenol 3, not as good as the Vicodin he used to get, but enough to stave off the pain for a couple of hours until he can get his regular dose of Oxycontin. He quickly swallows them both down. A small triumph against the system.
From a pocket he produces a squashed looking donut. Wilson had given it to him this afternoon, with the air of a man giving a treat to a favoured pet. House had ignored it,and Wilson, and eventually the man had gone away, all sighs and wistful smiles. House munches on the donut with a satisfied grin. He wonders what else he can get Wilson to bring him if he plays his cards right.
He settles back against the wall, enjoying the few minutes of peace he has made for himself. As he looks down at the ground he watches as the hospital and university staff make their way home. He watches the free people and he imagines.
He used to be able to leave the hospital with Stacy, to go out there where these people are going, to have a little test of freedom. Now when he leaves it is on the end of a leash or crouched on the floor of a taxi cab going to Wilson's hotel room, or handcuffed, chained and gagged in the back of a limousine. Now he just wishes to be left alone.
He stays there as night falls and the stars emerge. Staring out at the city, beholden to no-one for just these few minutes. Up here he can pretend to be free. When the darkness is complete he knows it is time to go back in again. He stands up and limps back to the stairs. As he pulls the door open he takes one last look down at the world that will never be his again.
He goes inside and starts the long journey back to the fourth floor.
Time to be a slave again.