A/N - Medical case taken from the show
Present day
A couple of days passed without further incident, and then Wilson received a call from the hospital. He had to go in - one of his patients was having a crisis. Wilson was officially on leave for another week but this was a patient he had been treating for years, and Wilson was the only doctor he trusted.
"I'll stay here," House said. "Just chain me to the bed before you go."
"No, I'm not leaving you alone again." Wilson knew that something had happened to House when he was in police custody although House refused to discuss it - saying that it was nothing that hadn't happened before. He was still moving stiffly although better than a couple of days ago - the Vicodin helped with that. "It's too risky. The SAC are due for another visit."
"If I'm chained it will be okay."
Wilson didn't like to think what would happen if the SAC came to the apartment when Wilson wasn't there and they found House chained to the bed. He'd be completely at their mercy – and after their last encounter Wilson didn't trust the SAC. Wilson might pass the inspection but at what cost to House? Besides that he couldn't bring himself to do that to House - to chain him to a bed for hours on end, with no one to free him in case of an emergency.
"No! You'll come with me to the hospital. I am not chaining you to the fucking bed."
House seemed to shrink in on himself at Wilson's stern tone and he bowed his head. "Yes sir, sorry, sir."
The transition from a seemingly normal House to a cowed slave was something Wilson had seen a few times now, and it never stopped saddening him. Two years of abuse had gone into House being this afraid.
He gentled his tone. "Look, I just don't want anything happening to you while I'm not here."
House didn't say anything, he just nodded mutely and Wilson sighed. He constantly felt like he was in a no-win position with House. He needed to protect both of them, but any time he asserted his 'authority' he felt like he was joining the ranks of the owners - the masters and distancing himself even more from his old friend. In all their years of friendship he'd never felt a need to censor his words around House, it was one of the thing he enjoyed most about the relationship they had - that he didn't have to put on a persona around House. They'd often hurled cruel barbs at each other, and still been able to have a beer at the end of the day. Now he realised that what he said, and even the tone of voice he used, did impact upon House - whether House wanted it to or not. He didn't know much about how slaves were trained to obey - but from what he had seen so far he realised that House had undergone that training. Some of how he reacted was completely beyond his conscious control. Wilson would have to be very careful around him to avoid triggering that reflex reaction.
"Come on, House. We need to get going. It'll be okay." He said and led his silent friend out of the front door.
In the car he helped House with the harness and then the hood - hating that he had to secure him like that. It all seemed totally unnecessary and just done for the purpose of humiliating the slaves. When he'd said that to House once House had laughed at him. "Of course, slavery is supposed to be punishment, Wilson. The idea is to never miss a chance to remind a slave just what he is."
Now as Wilson looked at him, a black hood covering his head, his body completely immobilised with straps, he knew that there was no chance of a slave forgetting what they were - not even for a moment.
By the time they arrived at the hospital the night shift had started so mercifully the staff parking lot wasn't full but as he led House into the hospital at the end of a leash Wilson began to realise why House had been so desperate not to come here.
They entered the foyer and the nurse at the reception desk looked up. She was a nurse House used to be particularly rude to and her eyes widened when she saw who Wilson had at the end of a leash. Then she smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"You'll have to leave the slave in a Slave Cell, Doctor Wilson." She called out, indicating the cells that lined one wall. They were small, each just had a bench for a slave to sit on and a water bottle affixed to the wall. The fronts were clear so everyone could see the slaves. One was already occupied by a slave.
"Don't be ridiculous. House doesn't need to go in one of those." Wilson protested.
"Staff aren't permitted to have slaves with them in the hospital because they can't properly supervise them while they're working. He needs to be left in a cell. Hospital regulations. No exceptions."
Wilson remembered a memo going around to that effect a year or so ago. He couldn't remember paying much attention to it at the time, or the reasons for the directive.
They were attracting the attention of the night security guard who came forward, a hand on the gun at his waist.
"Is there a problem with this slave?" He looked House over, his lip curling in disgust. "He needs to be put in a cell while you're here." He opened the door of the nearest one and gestured to House. "Get in, slave or I'll put you in myself. Leave the cane with your owner."
House handed his cane over to Wilson and entered the cell, sitting down on the bench facing out into the hospital. The guard shut the door and slid the bolt home.
"He'll be fine here Doctor Wilson. Can't have slaves wandering around the hospital, you know that."
"That 'slave' used to be a Department Head here only three years ago - you know that."
The guard shrugged. "Well, he's not now. Now he's just a piece of trash slave who has to sit in a cell." He swaggered off, taking a stance near the row of cells.
Wilson looked at House in despair but House's head was down as he stared at the ground.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, House. I'll talk to Cuddy when I come back to work about changing the rule for you." There was no answer and after a moment Wilson left, hurrying off to be with his patient. He needed to deal with that situation and then get House the hell out of here.
Once he was gone the nurse, Josie, smiled. This would be good. She called a relief to come over to the desk and approached the cells.
"Look up, slave."
House didn't look up and she frowned. "Look up or I'll get the guard to come over here and make you. He's bored; it will be a bit of fun for him."
House looked up, contempt in his eyes. "Still haven't done anything about that donut habit I see," he drawled, his eyes going to her fairly ample padding.
"And you're still an asshole." Josie said. "Is that a literal asshole, Doctor House? I hear that slaves make good fuck toys. Maybe if Wilson brings you here a lot we can put you on a roster. There'll be a lot of people wanting to try that out. Maybe we can do it in front of the clinic to keep the patients entertained."
The memory of Tritter, and what he had done, and threatened, and the fear of what he was going to do flooded through House and he looked down again.
"I said, look up, slave! I have a present for you."
When he looked up again she spat in his face, messily and then again. Spittle ran down his cheek. The guard laughed and Josie smiled. "We're going to enjoy having you here to play with, Doctor House."
It was eight at night when Cuddy returned to the hospital. She'd already left once, but had forgotten some papers she needed to prepare for a fundraising meeting in the morning. They were hoping to raise money for the ER department, the most neglected area of the hospital. They were desperately in need of new equipment and human resources.
When she walked into the building she could immediately see a nurse and two guards gathered in front of the slave cells. She felt a flare of anger. She hated that the slave cells were necessary but it had been worse when staff, and patients, had been allowed to keep their slaves with them. The last straw had come when she'd found that the head of cardiology was using his slave as a reward system for the interns. She'd issued a directive that all slaves were to be kept in the cells while their owners were in the hospital and that the hospital wasn't providing a baby-sitting service for slaves. The few staff members who owned slaves had made other arrangements.
All the staff had also been informed that the slaves in the cells were not to be harassed. That went double for when the staff were supposed to be working. She wouldn't have mistreatment of slaves while she was in charge of the hospital.
She stalked up to the cells, startling the staff who were gathered there. "Don't you all have work to do? You're not paid to harass some poor slave." They quickly scattered, murmuring apologies in their wake.
She glanced into the cell to check on the slave and make sure they hadn't come to harm and then gasped when she realised that the 'poor slave' stuck in the cell was her former department head and one time lover.
"House! What the hell are you doing here?" What had Wilson been thinking, bringing him here?
House was sitting on the hard bench in his cell and rubbing his face on the long sleeve of his jacket. He scowled at her and she got the impression he'd rather that she hadn't seen him.
"Role playing being a slave," he said, the sarcasm forced. "With that black power suit you could be the mistress but next time leather is hotter..."
It was a weak effort, and it broke her heart rather than annoyed her, but she rewarded him with a roll of her eyes. Act normal, she told herself, that's what he wants. He doesn't want your pity.
She looked around for the errant security officer. "You, come over here and open up this cell."
"But, Doctor Cuddy, your order was that slaves not working in the hospital have to be kept in the cells," he protested.
"He'll be in my custody. Now do what I asked unless you want to have your ass out of here by end of shift."
He shot her a look but opened the cell door up. "Get out here, slave." He roughly ordered, trying to get back some authority.
"That will be all," Cuddy said and then turned her back on him, watching House make his slow way out of the cell. There was a trace of gratitude in his eyes as he nodded at her.
"Come with me, I need to pick up some papers from the ER," she said briskly.
He followed her - where else would he go? He didn't talk as he had nothing to say. While they made their way through the corridors of the hospital he caught the hostile glances of the staff and patients. He dropped his gaze and stared at the floor as he walked. He didn't think he could fall lower than he had in the last three years, but walking the hospital as a despised slave, when he had once been a world famous diagnostician broke something inside of him that he didn't think was still there.
Once they were in the relative safety of an empty elevator cabin she asked her question again.
"So, what are you doing here?"
"Wilson had some dying patient who needed him to hold their hand. He didn't want me to stay at the apartment alone, after the scene with the SAC the other day. So he decided to do the 'bring your slave to work day' thing."
"I'm sorry that they were giving you a hard time back there. I hope no one hurt you." She asked it half as a question, half looking for reassurance.
He just shrugged. No, they hadn't hurt him. What was a little humiliation, and some saliva in his face, after what Tritter had done to him?
She didn't look satisfied but the elevator doors opening stopped him from having to answer.
Once they were in the ER she went to the office in the corner to get her papers while he lingered outside, his ears catching the various conversations that were going on. The nearest to him was a teenager sitting on a gurney, his parents beside him.
"Night terrors can be explained by post-traumatic stress disorder," the young doctor attending them was explaining to the worried parents. "Have you experienced any trauma in the last few months?" He addressed the boy, who shrugged in typical teenage fashion.
"No, nothing like that," the mother said. Then she thought for a moment. "Oh,he did get hit in the head in a lacrosse game a few days ago."
The doctor nodded and made a note on his clipboard. "That will be it. The symptoms fit with concussion. He'll be okay once he's had chance to heal."
House wasn't so sure. The teenager had been swinging his leg on the gurney and House had seen the kid's leg jerk. There was something wrong, more than some concussion from a lacrosse game.
"It's not concussion!" He approached the small cluster of people. The parents looked up, surprised, and then surprise turned to anger when their eyes focused on the collar around House's neck.
"What the hell? Get away from our son, slave!" The father yelled at him, standing right in front of him, blocking his view of leg jerking kid.
"Something is messing up little junior's brain and this moron," he indicated the doctor, "this moron thinks it's just a concussion. Now, let me have a look at your spawn and I'll tell you what's wrong with him. Besides being sixteen and mute."
He tried to step around the man blocking his way. The man pushed him away and then punched him hard on the chin, and kneed him in the groin on the way down. House went down, drawing himself into a ball of pain on the floor.
"Oh my God!" Cuddy cried, coming out of the office and dropping to her knees next to House.
"Doctor Cuddy? What is happening here? Who is that slave?" The junior doctor asked, his eyes flashing from the still angry father, to the slave on the ground, to his boss.
House groaned and rolled over to a sitting position. His jaw was already sore, and his balls felt crushed. Fuck, he was too old for this shit. With an effort he focused on the kid who still sitting on the gurney, mouth hanging open in shock.
"Are you tired?" He asked the kid.
"What? No, I'm not tired." The kid looked more confused by the minute.
"Then why did your leg twitch?"
"Get the fuck out of here, slave! Before I pick you up and throw you out." The father screamed at him. House looked up at him.
"That leg twitch is what we call a myoclonic jerk. It's very common when you are falling asleep. Your respiration rate falls and your body sometimes interprets this as the body dying so it sends a pulse to wake you up." House used his sleeve to wipe at his face again. This time a smear of blood showed up on the cloth.
"So?" The junior doctor said. "So what?"
"So he's not asleep, he's awake." House said brusquely, his tone clearly indicating that he thought the other doctor was a moron.
The doctor's face reddened and took a step forward, his foot raised - ready to kick the helpless slave.
"Wait!" Cuddy called out, moving to stand in front of House. "Doctor Jacoby he might be right. You are new so you don't know. This slave used to be the head of diagnostics here. This is Doctor House, I'm sure you've heard of him."
Jacoby stared down at the slave sprawled on the floor. Of course he'd heard of Doctor House, who hadn't? The man was infamous. He'd disappeared a few years ago. If this slave was Doctor House…
He realised the parents of the boy were watching on in confusion.
"I... I... he might be right," he admitted. "We'll have to do some tests."
"Admit him," Doctor Cuddy ordered, "Doctor Foreman's team will take over the case tomorrow."
Jacoby nodded and drew the parents away without any further words to the slave. As the teenage boy passed House he muttered a 'thank you'.
Once they were gone Cuddy helped House up off the floor.
"Are you insane? What is your problem? What the fuck did you think you were doing?"
House didn't answer her; he seemed far away, staring after the family. After a few moments she heard him say, 'cool', accompanied with a tiny smile.
"I still got it," he said to Cuddy. For the first time in three years he felt like a doctor again, like someone who had some worth. Even the father and Jacoby yelling at him hadn't made him revert back to a timid grovelling slave. For a few moments he'd been himself again as his professional abilities came surging back.
He wanted to keep on feeling like that. He wanted his puzzles back. He wanted his life back.
Wilson finished with his patient as fast as he decently could, considering the man was dying. He hated having to leave House locked in a tiny cell in the lobby of the hospital. It had never bothered him overly seeing slaves there before - it had seemed the safest place for them - but now it was his best friend being caged it seemed cruel and inhumane. Everything about slavery seemed designed to humiliate and degrade the slave as much as possible - from the hood and harness in the car, to the metal collars around their necks and the cells they were put in.
He hurried back to the lobby and House's cell but he wasn't there. Panicked, he hurried over to the reception desk and asked if anyone had seen what happened to him. The nurse on duty shrugged.
"Doctor Cuddy took the slave with her. They're in her office I think."
He started to go in that direction and she threw after him. "Better knock before you go in." She smirked. "Everyone always said that Doctor Cuddy was hot for him - now she doesn't even have to ask."
He glared at her but hurried off. Cuddy wouldn't take advantage of Greg's situation, would she?
He entered the office without knocking and instantly saw Greg lying down on the couch, Cuddy was bent over him.
"Cuddy! What are you doing to him?"
She looked up, puzzled. House looked startled for a moment and then leered.
"Did you think she was fucking the poor helpless slave?"
Wilson blushed and Cuddy rounded on him in anger.
"How dare you! Do you think I would?"
"No, no..." he spread his hands. "I just... what are you doing?"
He looked again at House and saw that his face was bruised and his lip split.
"What happened to you?"
"Patient's father hit me, of course." House looked happier than he had since Wilson had bought him. "I still got it."
It was hard to reconcile the idea of House diagnosing some kid with leading a slave through the parking lot on the end of a leash. Wilson had talked with Cuddy and House about him getting back to work in some capacity. He hadn't seen how it would work until Cuddy proposed the solution.
House would work in the hospital as a janitor every day. As Wilson's personal slave it was his right to put him to work wherever he wanted - the SAC couldn't object to that, and he wouldn't have to leave him chained up in the apartment all day.
For it to work though House would really have to be a janitor for most of the day. Cleaning the floors and toilets, a collar around his neck. The word 'slave' written on the back of his coveralls.
When someone needed a consult they would call him in. It was like the Baraku in House's story about Japan. The janitor from the lowest social caste who was called in when all the other doctors failed. That aspect appealed to House, even if the cleaning didn't.
Of course their plan meant Wilson would have to lead him into the hospital every day on the leash. Wilson felt sick at the thought.
They got to the car and House got in the back. Wilson fastened the chains of the harness around him.
"It won't be easy, House. You have a lot of enemies in the hospital and I can't watch over you all day. "Wilson said sadly.
House swallowed hard. "I know, but what else can I do? I can't sit in that apartment all day - chained up like a dog waiting for you to come home. And this will be a chance for me to work again - as a doctor. When I was diagnosing that kid, I wasn't afraid."
Wilson fingered the black hood.
"I need this, Wilson. It's not going to be easy but you're going to have to treat me like a slave when we're in the hospital. You need to make it look good. You're going to have to do worse things than put a hood on me. I need you to be able to do this." House looked at him intently.
Wilson nodded and took a deep breath, slipping the hood over House's head. "I will House. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe." There was no verbal answer but Wilson could see his body relax somewhat, even with the hood in place.
Wilson drove home, his heart heavy. He'd do whatever it took but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to work with House like they had before. Side by side, having lunch in the cafeteria, watching people from the balcony outside their offices. Not like this. Not as owner and slave.
Well, as House would say - you can't always get what you want. At least he had what he needed. House back in his life. For better or worse.
Three Years Earlier
Wilson came to bail him out in the morning. House stood silently through the paperwork and the ritual handing back of his possessions. Wilson did his usual job of charming everyone in sight. House was sick of the whole thing. The night in jail had been the hell it always was and all he wanted was his Vicodin and enough scotch to get drunk and forget everything.
"You were right about Timothy," Wilson said once they were alone outside. "The heavy metal test showed that gold was off the chart. Of course your stunt with the stannous chloride isn't admissible in court but it's enough to get the police investigating. The scans show evidence of past abuse - which no doubt you knew about."
"None of it matters now, patient's dead."
Wilson shook his head. "It matters if you want to keep your ass out of prison, and your medical license intact. So far you're guilty of not reporting suspected child abuse in a timely manner and serious assault. Brad had two fractured ribs from your cane. "
"He's a military veteran, I'm a crippled doctor - how's that going to look in court?"
"Court may be the least of your problems. You assaulted a patient's family member. Cuddy's under pressure from the Board to show you the door. You may not have realised it but she was leading around a group of donors when you were going all vigilante. Two of them have already withdrawn their pledges, and the rest are wavering. After that mess with Tritter the Board's been itching for an excuse to get rid of you, and you just handed them a huge one."
House shrugged. "I've got tenure."
Wilson shook his head. "Unprofessional conduct will lose you that, and you can't get much more unprofessional than assaulting the father of a patient."
"A murderer. Let's not lose sight of that. Pretty sure that's against the law too."
"He's a decorated war hero, House."
Yeah, well so was my Dad, House thought, and look what an asshole he was. His father had never managed to kill him, but that was about all he hadn't done. Timothy might be better off dead than in a living hell like that.
He began to walk down the sidewalk. Annoyingly Wilson followed him.
"House! House, wait up. Where are you going? The car's this way, I need to take you back to the hospital so you can explain what happened. Cuddy's waiting for you."
Fuck that. He kept walking. Wilson grabbed at his arm, pulling him off balance. House stumbled and then swung around, his grip tightening on his cane as he lifted it.
Wilson let go of his arm and held his hands up. "Whoa, House. What the hell has gotten into you? Were you going to hit me?"
House lowered his cane. "No, I was going to stick this where the sun doesn't shine." He turned away and began walking in the opposite direction. Wilson kept yelling at him but House hailed a passing taxi and made good his escape. His last sight was of Wilson, standing hands on hips in the middle of the road looking after him.