The guards drag him away from his patient and the clinic as he yells in protest. His arms are twisted up behind his back. The cuffs bite into his wrists. His head is being held by his hair and as they round a corner it's slammed into a wall; he falls silent, his legs crumbling beneath him. The guards either side of him drag him through the corridors watched by silent inmates who turn away at the sight. Rather him than them.

He's taken down to the basement of the prison and stripped to his skin. The baton blows fall down onto his body until they become a blur of agony and then finally, blissfully, the world fades out.

When he wakes up he's lying on the floor of a dark cell in solitary, still naked. An orange jumpsuit lies next to him. There's a bowl of water in the corner and a bucket for his waste. The only light comes from a grimy window out onto the corridor. There's a small sliding panel set low in the cell door, and, as he watches with puffy eyes and blurred vision, it opens and a tray of food is slid through, then the panel slams shut again.

He eases his way gingerly into the jumpsuit and crawls across the floor to the tray, settling himself against the floor next to it. His head is killing him, and his stomach is cramping. Food is the last thing he wants but he knows better than to give back a full tray. He starts to scoop the mush out onto the floor and then sees it. A small piece of paper wadded up in the middle of the tray. With shaking fingers he unfolds the paper and reads the words, ' you were wrong, he died', it's in Adam's handwriting.

He wraps his arms around his aching ribs and leans his head against the filthy wall, his failure bitter enough that it takes the sting out of his physical wounds. He had been so sure of his diagnosis. So sure that he still had his gift. That he could be something other than prison scum.

He stares at the opposite wall, alone and forgotten, buried here deep below the earth.

The standard time in solitary is thirty days. He takes a finger and drags it through the dirt next to his head.

This is the first day.

"Doctor Park, come in."

Park had been hovering in the doorway to the men's bathroom on the fourth floor, looking nervously from House to Wilson. House was sitting on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror, Wilson was standing over him, an electric shaver in his hands. As Park watched he turned it on and applied it to House's overgrown facial hair, gradually making his way along House's chin, his cheeks, and above his lips, trimming the scruff that had grown there. He appeared totally focused on the simple task, as intent as he would be in surgery.

"I believe you are having some problems with Andrews." Wilson said, tilting House's head back with one hand, exposing his throat. He carefully swept the razor up the underside of House's chin. He held his head there, the long length of throat beneath his hand. His fingers rested lightly on the orange collar around House's throat as he turned to talk to Park.

"I punched him," Park blurted out. "That night, when we were alone after the operation, he tried to..." she looked away, her words trailing off and her features hardening. "I punched him. Nobody does that to me."

Wilson nodded, moving his hand to rest on House's shoulder and letting House's head go. "Understandable, but not very wise. Andrews is a lousy doctor, but he does have friends here. You need to learn to control yourself better than that."

"Or put him out of action for good next time, a quick kick to the balls should do it." House couldn't resist putting his opinion in and Wilson tightened his hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight warning shake.

"Maybe I could drive a car through his house," Park said and both men stared at her. House shot a veiled look her way and Wilson's eyes turned cold for a moment and then he laughed.

"I can see why you want her, House." He gestured to a pair of scissors sitting on the bench. "Hand me those, Park."

She picked them up and passed them to him, noticing that they were surgical scissors, their edges finely honed.

Wilson turned back to House, running his hands through the length of hair. He held up the scissors, opening and closing the steel sharp blades.

"Andrews won't bother you again." He began to trim House's hair, his hands moving deftly with the scissors as locks of hair fell to the ground.

"What would I owe you?" Park asked bluntly. "Because if it's what Andrews wanted, you can forget it."

"I don't take that from people who don't want to give it," Wilson said mildly. "You won't owe me anything. You have nothing that interests me. House needs people to work with him, he's chosen you. Your loyalty is all that I ask you to give."

"My loyalty to him, or to you?"

"They're the same thing. House needs you, and if House needs you, I need you." Wilson kept snipping away at House's hair while House sat perfectly still on the stool. Another doctor pushed open the door to the bathroom, looked from Wilson to House and quickly left again. Wilson smiled and kept at his work while Park stared at her new boss having his hair cut. From below the overgrown hair a much shorter style emerged, without being a scalping. It took years off his age and she could see now why House was apparently considered desirable around the hospital.

Wilson finished with the scissors and took a step back, admiring his handiwork. "There, you look much more respectable now, House. A new life, a new look." He caressed the collar again, fingers lingering over the control box at the back. "This should be black, orange doesn't suit you."

"Or blue, to bring out my eyes." House shot back, a mocking edge to his voice.

Wilson tightened his fingers in the collar and House squirmed in his seat. Park watched both of them with wide eyes. Wilson let go of the collar, giving House a final pat on the shoulder.

"Go to work, House. There's a surprise waiting for you in your old office."

House limped into his old office, looking around in appreciation. All the old furnishings were back, and his toys, and his books. It was set up exactly as it had been on the last day he worked here, back over a year ago now. Wilson must have saved everything. His name was gone from the door but that didn't matter.

He went further into the office and ran a hand over the bookshelves in appreciation. There was even an Eames chair was in the corner, Wilson was nothing if not thorough.

He looked down at his desk and saw that it had been set for dinner. On a fine china plate was a steak, with all the trimmings. There was elegant silverware next to it, a wine glass, and set next to everything a small bottle of Vicodin. He picked up the bottle, staring at it longingly. It had been too long. Pain drugs in prison had been difficult to obtain and he'd learned to make do on not many. To have his own supplier again, and to be able to take them whenever he wanted was nirvana.

"Oh, come to papa, I have missed you so much," he crooned to the bottle, kissing the label with Wilson's name as the prescribing doctor. He popped the lid and gulped down two. He found that the wine glass was full of crystal clear water and downed that. He tucked the bottle of pills away in his jeans pocket, patting it afterwards, feeling the comforting weight sitting there. He sat down behind the desk and took up the silverware, preparing to eat.

"You're going to eat that? At nine in the morning?" Park asked.

He looked up, he'd forgotten she was there. He looked back down at the steak, it was cold, and the sauce it swam in was congealed looking, the vegetables shrivelled. He had no doubt that it was a mirror of the dinner Wilson consumed yesterday, at his fund raiser. Wilson had put it here for him to eat. He would not be pleased if House didn't eat it, but there was no danger of that happening.

"Of course," he said, taking a bite of the steak and chewing obnoxiously in her direction. Compared to prison food this was easy to eat.

Park shook her head in disbelief. She was still clutching a file, the one she had been carrying all morning and he held his hand out for it.

"It's not much of a case, it looks like dehydration," she said, handing the file over. "I don't know why it has been given to us."

House flicked over the first page of the file and leaned back in his chair, smiling. "The patient is sick, rich, and prone to giving money away. That bastard Foreman isn't an idiot after all."

"You don't have to send two gorillas just to get me to your office, Foreman. Asking nicely would do it." House complained as he was shoved through the door into the office by two security officers. They'd more or less hauled him here, all the way from his office on the fourth floor.

"Somebody for you to meet, House. I believe you know Doctor Adams?" Foreman gestured with his hand to an elegant woman seated before his desk. "She's been telling me some very interesting things about your stay in the prison. Apparently you were the talk of the place, I believe the guards found you very entertaining. Maybe we can arrange more of the same for you here."

House shot a look at Adams. She'd patched him up a couple of times after particular bad beatings, but had never pressed him for details. The medical staff at the prison were expert at not seeing things that it was better for them not to see. He dropped his gaze from her cool, calm expression and glared at Foreman instead.

"What's she doing here? Last I heard she got her ass kicked out of the prison and was up on charges herself. Thought she'd be doing time as some woman's bitch by now."

"Fortunately for Doctor Adams she escaped a prison sentence, despite her reckless actions. She has been placed on probation for six months and will be doing community service here, working for you." Foreman leaned back in his office chair, a rare smile on his face. "She does not require a salary while she is on community service so that works out nicely. Doctor Wilson has indicated to me that he believes you will need more than one fellow."

"I need Chase and Taub, not another clueless newbie."

"You've got Adams and Park and you're lucky to have them. Now get out of here and go cure the rich, white guy. Get what you can out of him and I might throw you another bone if you beg nicely."

House opened his mouth to retort but then felt a light tingle all over his body and a slight vibration from the box sitting at the back of his neck. He looked at Foreman who was holding a small control, and still smiling that smug smile as he played his fingers over the control's surface. He shut his mouth and turned to go.

He turned back at the door for a parting shot. "Thanks for the office and the girl, Foreman. Knew you wouldn't hold out for long."

The tingle increased in intensity and he gritted his teeth against the pain, but he was rewarded with the smile disappearing off Foreman's face.

"You lied. I was right, I saved his life."

Adams shrugged. "Everybody lies, you told me that. It was a parting gift. If he died I'd be rotting in a jail cell somewhere."

"You might wish you were, some day." House muttered. He looked up. Park was walking down the corridor to meet them.

"First rule of prison, what happened in prison stays in prison. Keep your pretty mouth shut about it," House told Adams as he thrust the file at her. "Now take your little sister and go and find out what's bugging our patient, and think about how we can lighten his wallet at the same time. Guy's handing out cash left right and centre, if we miss out on our big wad Foreman's not going to be happy."

Adams held the file in her hand and stared at him. House noted that she'd been spared the orange collar, and the prison shirt that he wore but on her pretty blouse was a tag, with 'Community Service Offender' written on it.

"I lost my job thanks to you, and got stuck with this," she waved her hand at her tag. "Why should I give a fuck about your 'rules' ?"

"Because you know what happened to the last woman who pissed me off."

Wilson sat behind House's desk, calmly flipping through the patient's file when House entered with his 'team' in tow.

"House. My patient died, I thought you'd like to know. If only your patient hadn't deteriorated on the table my patient could have had his kidney."

"It was unfortunate, but nobody could have predicted it." House said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving Wilson's.

"Indeed," Wilson said. He looked past House towards Park. "What do you have there, Doctor Park?"

Park looked down at the shoe box she was carrying, as if seeing it for the first time. She glanced nervously at Doctor Adams.

"Um, some shoes. Doctor Adams gave them to me."

"Let me see," Wilson nodded at the desk and Park took the shoes out of their box and put them on the desk. Wilson lifted one up. "Somehow I can't see you wearing these, Doctor Park. Perhaps we can find a better use for them."

Wilson slammed the sole of the shoe down against a small sculpture that sat on the desk, shattering it into shards. Park gasped and Wilson smiled.

"Yes, these will do nicely. Leave us now please, Doctor Adams, Doctor Park. Good work today. You can return tomorrow, I need to have a talk with Doctor House about loyalty."

The two women left the office and Wilson shut the door firmly behind them, and then the blinds rolled down the windows.

"Damn," said Adams as she gathered her things together. "Those were good shoes."