House could see the doctor treating a flesh wound on the other side of the big room. The guard watched it for a moment, too.

"You are a doctor, right?", he suddenly asked him.

House shook his head.

"No, I'm not."

"But it says so in your file.", the guard went on.

"Then my file is wrong. I was a doctor. But there is a rule. When you kill a patient they take away your stethoscope."

The guard shrugged. "But you still know that shit. That's something."

"Wasted knowledge. I'll never treat a patient again."

"Behave yourself and you are allowed to work. Dr. Norfolk has been looking for help in here for a long time now."

The doctor was done with the stitches and came over. The watchdog explained House's problem and handed over the file. Dr. Norfolk opened it and started reading. He didn't get far.

"You are Dr. House? Gregory House?", he asked immediately.

House rolled his eyes. "Mr. House actually nowadays.", he said.

"You are a genius.", Norfolk went on.

"Obviously not. No genius would ever end up in here.", House mumbled.

"But you…", House cut him off.

"Can we please forget this? Yes I was a doctor a pretty good one but this is over. Now I'm the patient. Your patient at the moment so can we get to the part where you do something about my leg pain?", he yelled.


The guard put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, House!", he said. House took a deep breath. He turned around and looked up at the guy.

"Could you just not touch me for let's say 2 minutes? I'm not about to start a killing spree right now.", he snapped.

The guardsman increased the pressure on his shoulder.

"Watch it! Last warning for today. Next time it's the isolation cell for 48 hours. Got it?"

House turned back to the doctor but the guard padded him on the shoulder so he faced him again.

"Didn't you forget something?", he asked him.

House sighed again. That was ridiculous. Stupid moron. Probably had not have good sex for a while.

"Got you, boss. I'll behave myself now."

The custodian nodded and stepped back from him.


The two doctors started a discussion about the right treatment for his leg. House needed only half a minute to realize that this doctor was a total idiot. But what else would one expect in a state prison. It was easy for him to convince Dr. Moron that Vicodin would be perfect for him since a change of meds provided nasty side effects and more pain.

"I'll give you four of them every day.", Norfolk decided finally.

"Showing up here 4 times a day would be pretty annoying.", House suggested.

"We can leave your pills for each day with the guards on your block.", Norfolk informed him.

House was really desperate for painkillers now but unfortunately he was the only one in the prison who needed those meds. Norfolk had to make a requisition first. They would probably arrive the next day. House groaned. Another night in pain.

"What about the pills I brought along?", he asked the guard but the guy shook his head.

"Those are off-limits now.", he explained.

House shook his head. "This is ridiculous. They'll expire by the time I get them back. Plus, state says I have to stay in here for 5 ½ years. It doesn't say anything about torture. And this is exactly what this is."

The warden looked at Dr. Norfolk who nodded. "This pain must be really hard to bear. Muscle cell death is very painful. You should find this man some pain relief."

"I'll see what I can do.", he said. "First we have to move you into your place. Let's go."


This time the guard carried the sheets and towels for him allowing House to find as much support on walls and bars as he could get.

"What do you do with paraplegic criminals or guys with only one leg? Do they have to crawl around on the floor all the time?", he asked his watchdog on their way to his block.

"You know we can't give you a cane. You could use it as a weapon and in your case it's highly likely that one of the other convicts will kill you with it sooner or later."

House thought about it for a moment. That was probably true. Still, it was more than annoying.

Wilson spent the rest of the day in House's apartment. It took him a while to recover from his crying fit. Finally he started going through the stuff. The desk was cleaned out except for some documents regarding House's insurances and some old tax papers. House had always complained about the high taxes. Now he could get some of that money back given that he was living on state's cost for a while. Wilson smiled for a moment. House would show them all. He would get back his taxes even if he had to go to prison for them.

His closet was almost empty most of his clothes were gone. House had got ridden of them himself.

The bathroom was cleaned out as well. No soap, no deodorant no towels, nothing. Just one roll of toilet paper.

Finally he got back to the piles of books covering the floor in the living room. House had sorted them and had put notes on them telling Wilson how much he could get for them. Some of the books were worth much money. House never had taken care for himself but his stuff was always in top shape. He had read all those books probably more than once but still they looked like new ones. Except for his rage attack he had never done any harm to them. Same went for his piano.

It was another sharp pain stabbing Wilson's heart. He looked at the instrument. Nothing in this place was more important to House but this instrument. How could he just sell it?

But he had no choice. House had many bills to cover he could need any cent he would find. So Wilson did what House had asked him for. He sold his property. It would keep him busy for a week.


Together with the guard House arrived eventually at his new home. Block C. He looked around. He had seen that place before. Not in reality though but in those prison movies. That made it once again hard for him to realize that this was not just a bad joke. A long wide floor with cells on both sides. All together three floors combined with iron stair cases. Actually a lot of metal in that place with all the bars and stairs. Concrete and metal that was all he could see. Apart from the ugly light brown floor. Could have been linoleum decades ago.

"Over there.", the custodian guarded him to one of the cells on the ground floor. At least no stairs. First nice thing that had happened to him this day. Good, what a bad day.

He stepped inside after the guard had put down his stuff on the bed. Now he locked the cell up and vanished. House just stood there. He heard the laughs and yells of the other inmates. He heard doors cracking loudly some guards shouted orders around. House closed his eyes. As if he could escape by pretending not to be there. Finally he opened them again. The small window at the rear end of his cell showed him that it was getting dark outside.

So this was it. His first night. The first one of many countless nights he would spend in here. Probably the worst. Hopefully the worst because House felt so messed up right now, horrified, frightened and miserable that he couldn't imagine feeling any worse any time. He spread his arms and could reach both walls of his "new room". For a minute he stayed in that position because it relieved his leg. Of course he could have sat down but he was not ready for it. As if he made a silent agreement and accepted this as soon as he would settle down in this place.

Finally he admitted how pathetic that idea was and sat down on his bed.


Suddenly his cell opened once more. An elder guard he had not seen so far entered.

"You missed dinner.", he said and put a trey next to him on the bed. "I got your pills for you.", he added and handed him one of his Vicodin.

"First night in jail?", he asked him and House nodded.

"Don't worry. There's just one of those. Tomorrow it'll be the second one."

Charles Stamford had been a guard on this block for nearly 30 years. He was popular with the inmates. He was tough but fair. Often enough he had a word of encouragement for those who needed it. And sometimes when he was in a good mood he would make some jokes with mocked him every now and then, saying that he was the worst amongst them since he had to spend a lifetime in here.

House looked at the pill in his hand and back at the old guy.

"Thank you.", he said and swallowed it. And this time he meant it.


Stamford nodded and locked up his cell. House leaned back against the wall and waited for pain relief. He looked at the trey still placed next to him. Something that could be defined as mashed potatoes and the brown flat thing could be some meat. He grabbed the fork and started eating. He was starving now and although it tasted like shit he cleared the trey completely. He put it on the sink and lied down. The pile of bed linen and towels were pushed on the floor. The woolen blanket was folded and supported his leg right now.

He pondered about the first impressions of his new life and sighed. It was an easy equation. 5 years 8 months, 2080 days leap years not included. So long he would stay here. And what would happen during this time was not important. It didn't matter whether he would spend his days in this cell or in some hole downstairs. So he was not afraid of them and their threats and nightsticks. He was used to pain. That was nothing one could fear him with. Plus, his pain killers worked for bruises as well. He was sure they had many ways to punish misbehavior or guys with snappy comments. But he had just lost everything. His job, his friend, his freedom. It was just him right now. His dignity, his pride and his mind. And he would fight for these. But could he win that fight?

Could he take another punishment every time he wouldn't just nod and say "Yes, boss!", "Thank you, boss!", "Go fuck yourself, boss!"?

And what about the other inmates? He was the new kid on the block literally. He was down there on the lowest step possible. Education and knowledge meant nothing in here. It could get you into trouble. Plus he had his physical handicap.

House thought about it for a while and finally he drew a conclusion. They would break him in here. His dad couldn't do it although he put lots of effort into it. But here he would meet his match. All he could do was trying to fight it as long as possible.


Wilson was still busy with House's personal library. He went through the last pile of books and looked at every one of them. He would be House's best customer. The oncologist had always envied his buddy for his great collection of books. Now there had developed an extra pile for books Wilson would keep himself. It didn't matter whether he paid for them or someone else. House would get his money anyway. Finally he picked up the last book. This time the note was different. It didn't just tell him its price but also here he finally found a note for him. Actually it was the only personal item of House left in the entire apartment.

"Hope is for sissies!", he could read there and chuckled. It was another insult but it was also the proof he needed. He still mattered. Of course House had known that Wilson had believed in a miracle escape from this situation in the end while House had resigned all hope before it could develop.


The next morning Stamford was not on duty in block C. Officer Hank Weston took over for the dayshift. He was the opposite of his colleague. He was the senior officer in that block and loved the power that came along with it. Unfortunately he lacked the responsibility that came along with that power over the men in here. For him only one thing mattered. He was the boss and everyone had to follow his orders. Contradiction was not accepted in his world.

The block was still quiet. It was half past 5 am. The inmates were woken at 6 am every day. Weston took the time to stroll along the cells making sure everything was in order.

This morning he didn't come far. Third cell on the right on the ground floor kept a new inhabitant. That was not the problem though. But this inmate lied on his bed still completely dressed. On the floor in front of the bed he had distributed his clothes, sheets and towels.

He waved over his colleague.

"Who is this guy?", he asked him.

"Gregory House. Doctor who killed a patient and bought almost 6 years for it.", the guard told his boss.

Weston gave him some orders and told him to hurry. He looked back at the sleeping convict.

"Gonna teach you a lesson, newbie!", he mumbled and went on with his round.


10 minutes later House startled. Weston had banged his nightstick against the bars.

Confused he looked around. That was not his bed room. He saw the bars and an angry face behind them. Right. He was in jail. Damn!

"What the hell do you think you are doing?", the angry face shouted now.

"I'm sleeping?", House stated the obvious.

"You think we clean your laundry in here for nothing?", he pointed at the pile on the floor.

House leaned over and remembered.

He shrugged. "Must have fallen down."

Weston was furious. That guy showed no respect at all for him. He unlocked the cell and stepped inside. He built up in front of the convict who was still sitting on his bed.

"Must have fallen down???", he yelled and shook his head.

"These sheets are supposed to cover your mattress. Your extra clothes are put on that shelve together with your towels. You're waiting for a cleaning lady or what?"

House rubbed his tired eyes. "Look, it was late last night and I…", Weston cut him off. He had discovered the dirty trey.

"Oh you were late? That's why you ordered room service? No food allowed in the cells! And why are you sleeping in your clothes?"

House had a headache. And this shouting was definitely not improving it. The dirty trey was not even his fault.

"I'm right here. Can you please stop yelling.", he mumbled instead of answering the question.

Weston boiled with rage.

"You want to tell me what I should do? Are you out of your mind? In here I'm your mummy, your daddy, your priest and your boss in other words, I'm God!"

Here he was again in that situation. Time to shut up. Time to apologize and tidy up his place. Time to give in.

"I can see the similarities. You and my dad totally the same. But I'm sorry. I'm an atheist."

Now Weston grinned.

"I'm gonna have fun with you. Your ass is mine and I'm gonna enjoy it to bust it over and over again."

He stepped out of the cell.


"I take it you have no problem to distribute your stuff on the floor. Very well, enjoy another take out meal.", he said took the trey his colleague had gotten from the kitchen and threw it upside down in House's cell.

He couldn't say what it was but it had the consistency of oatmeal gruel and matched the ugly color of the floor perfectly.

"Now clean this mess up!", Weston told him while he locked the door.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot. Your pill.", he searched his pockets for the Vicodin and brought it out finally. House knew immediately he could kiss that one good bye.

Why was he always right?

Weston grinned when he threw the pill through the bars making sure it landed in the toilet.

"Ups.", Weston exclaimed. "So tell me gimp. What are you gonna do now?"

House starred at him very pissed.

"I'll clean up this mess.", he said.

Weston nodded. "Good. Why?"

House exhaled deeply before he answered. "Because you told me to do it."

"Good boy. And who am I?", Weston really enjoyed this.

"A stupid ass who feels inadequate in the big wide world so he has to get horny by playing the big guy in here.", House thought. But it was his first real day in here and there was no need to make too many enemies at once.

"My boss.", he forced himself to speak out finally.

"Lesson learned.", Weston smirked and vanished.


House got up and limped over to the toilet. He saw his white friend down there in the water.

Terrific! He picked up the trey with that sticky not identified mass. Could be last night's dinner mixed with this day's coffee. Fortunately the rest of it had only soiled one of his towels and the floor. While he folded his clothes the other inmates were woken up by a loud signal. The cell doors opened and the convicts stepped out. All of them except for one.

To prevent anymore conflicts that morning House just wanted to clean up and didn't care for the noise out in the hallway.

"Hey, you need an extra invitation?", Weston shouted when he saw the gap in the line of prisoners. He hurried over to House's cell.

"Get your ass out of there and on this line!", he shouted.

"You really should distribute some manuals. How am I supposed to know this?", House said when he limped outside.

"Use your brain. I've been told you can do that pretty good!"

The guards made sure no one was missing. Time for breakfast. Again all of them except for one.

"You already got your breakfast.", Weston told him and pushed him back inside. "Finish your spring cleaning!"

A pissed off senior officer in his block, a lost Vicodin and no breakfast. And this was only his first day.

These 5 ½ years would be very long.


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