Stern shook his head. Yes, House was a convict, but he was not mentally impaired and highly intelligent. To lock him up in this low-key stimulus place was certainly not going to do any good and qualified hardly as reintegration. Any person could be broken only Stern did not believe that was part of his job-description.

The rest of his day House spent reading. Finally something interesting! Something from the outside world. He devoured every single article, surprised how much of medical development he had missed during those past years. His brain was getting back on track already.

When House was brought to Stern next day – unwillingly as always – he wore socks and slippers. Staff had already confirmed that House had not been walking barefoot since the past session.

"Hello Dr. House. How are you today?"

Again, there was no reaction. And TODAY House had something that distracted him wonderfully from Stern's obnoxious babbling: in his mind he recalled one of the articles he'd read and put together a list of mistakes and false assumptions the author had made. During the first half hour he did not hear a single word of what Stern was hurtling at him – if that was what Stern was doing.

Then somewhere something heavy fell to the ground and House started. Immediately Stern attacked: "I saw you play the piano."

//ha. Ha.//

"In the other ward there is one. Maybe you would like to be there for a while?"

//you goddamn son of a bitch. What's the price for that?// House shrugged indifferently – a mistake he realized almost immediately! His yearning had made him let his guard down.

A few nights later House had a terrible nightmare. For no apparent reason he suffered an anaphylactic shock. His throat constricted, swelling shut and the doctors around him were watching him impassively – he had betrayed their codex and now was not worth the effort to save him.

House woke, mouth agape – and couldn't breathe! Opening his eyes he saw a fellow patient bent over him, choking the dear life out of House. Black spots were already dancing in his visual field and only with the very last strength did he manage to ram his knee into the attacker's groin. The madman groaned and rolled on the ground, writhing in agony.

House sat up and gulped down air like a fish on dry land. His throat hurt like hell. Staggering and stumbling he fled the room and headed for the nurses' station. That was not how he wanted to die! At least he would set the rules for that.

For his own safety the put him onto a locked single-cell.

The only comfort of that situation was that he and he alone now was in control of the TV-program.

"Hey, Doc!" Gabe, one of the orderlies, stood in the door to his room. A giant with an angel's face and matching patience. "The boss wants to see you."

House shuffled in lee of Gabe down the hall. He slept a lot since he'd been singled out: boredom was a slow but merciless killer for his mind.

"Dr. House, you have a visitor." Stern greeted him.

When had been the last time he'd had a visitor? He couldn't tell. True, the TV was blaring all day long, but he wasn't really listening any more – House had lost all sense of time because each day blended into the next without any difference, an endless monotony of sleeping, walking, eating. 'Having a visitor' wouldn't have been the proper description anyway. 'refused a visitor' would be much more fitting a description. He had gotten used to them being completely in control, dictating his daily rhythm, everything. So this time he didn't even think of refusing when they led him to the visitor's room.

Wilson.

Well, who else? House was being sat at a table, across from Wilson. Gabe settled into a corner on another chair.

Wilson was shocked. It had been a year since he'd last seen House and what he saw now was… horrific! Facing him was an empty shell. "House. How are you?"

//are you blind, you little idiot?//

"I.. brought you something." countless times Wilson had carried his gift along, but he had wanted to hand it over to House personally. So he had to take it back home just as often because House had always refused to see him. Finally Wilson could hand over the box – faded at the edges from all those journeys: a small keyboard with batteries.

House was staring at the box that Wilson was now pushing across the tabletop. The oncologist watched as the long, slender fingers slid across the colourful cardboard. How he craved to know what went on in the other's mind right now. Was House delighted at this small gift?

"Pease say something." eventually Wilson could not hold on any longer

//blah blah blah//

"House, you're not doing yourself any favour with this."

//Thanks, Wilson! The only reason for me to be here is YOU.// he glared at the younger doctor. Oh Lordy, Wilson had grown old! There were wrinkles around his eyes that had not been there a few years ago, deep lines around his thinning lips and gray hair even! To House, Wilson had always been the epitome of the eternal youth. When did this happen to Wilson?

"They will put you under tutelage if you continue like this."

"I AM de facto under tutelage already!" House croaked

Both Gabe and Wilson stared with shock at House. Wilson because of the obviously untrained voice and Gabe because it was the very first time he'd heard House say anything.