Doctor Jessica Adams is working in the prison clinic when they bring him in. His hands are cuffed behind him, and there is a hood over his face - a device she knows the guards use to subdue a fighting prisoner. Two guards hold his arms tightly and as they drag him over to a bed she can see he is lame in his right leg and struggling to keep his footing.
The guards dump him on the bed, roll him onto his stomach and remove the cuffs. They quickly strip his bloodied prison clothes off, leaving him in a grimy pair of boxers and then shove him over onto his back and use the built-in restraints to fasten him to the bed. His ankles are spread to the corners of the bed, and his wrists are held down by his side. They leave the hood on and she gestures to it impatiently.
"I'll need to examine him and talk to him. Take that thing off."
One of the guards rips it off his head and she can see he is gagged underneath the hood - a standard punishment for a prisoner that talks back to the guards. Over the gag a pair of bright blue eyes glare at her and she smiles at him, her blood quickening at the sight of the helpless man.
"Take that out as well and then leave, I'll call you if I need help."
The gag is taken out and dumped on the side table, along with the hood. Then the guards leave.
She conducts an examination on the prisoner but finds only superficial wounds. He's been beaten but whoever it was they've done no real damage.
"I'll clean you up and then you can go back to your cell, there's nothing serious and no need to keep you here," she tells him and he stares at her intently.
"Make something serious."
She's astonished into silence and he gestures with his head to the instrument tray.
"I need a day or two in here, or I'll be in the prison morgue. Buy me some time."
"I can't..."
He laughs, although his eyes remain cold and steady. He stares at her, seeming to see straight through her into her soul. She thinks that it is as if he knows her every thought. Her entire life is laid bare before him. She shakes off the thought. He's just some waste of space prisoner.
The prisoner is still talking. "Yes, you can. And you want to. A helpless man, bound to a bed? I could see how much you were turned on by the gag. I bet you want to put that hood back on me now, gag me again and then ride me until you get off. You can do that if you want, I don't care. Do what I ask and you can do whatever you want, just give me a couple of days in here."
She fingers the hood where it lies, discarded by the guards, and looks back at him. She doesn't want that, she doesn't want to take him, but she does want to hurt him.
She picks up a scalpel and approaches him, looking for the right place. He nods to his side.
"In there, make it clean, in and out. Stitch me up and then put me on the sick list for a couple of days. No-one will ever know."
"Close your eyes," she orders and he obeys.
She smiles as she trails the scalpel along his skin. Today is a good day.
He doesn't even scream.
House was sleeping in his old office, now that Wilson had gotten it back for him. The Eames chair was comfortable enough, and Wilson had supplied him with a couple of luxurious blankets and a pillow. House had pulled the blinds enough to give him some privacy, but not so much that he couldn't see who was coming. He knew he was fairly safe from hospital staff now that Wilson had claimed him back. There weren't many who would want to risk his wrath, but a stranger had walked in off the street once and shot him and House wasn't going to forget that in a hurry.
He lay under the blankets, watching the sunlight gradually creep into the office. Wilson had fed him dinner last night, and had promised breakfast this morning so that House didn't have to go down to the canteen and be given scraps. His Vicodin was comfortably within reach and he was warm and safe. His ass was smarting but that took the edge off the ever present growling of his leg. It was a good morning.
It was his leg that finally drove him to get up, demanding a chance to stretch out. He did a few laps of the corridor, visited the bathroom and then returned to his office. His gaze lit on a pair of red shoes, tossed in one corner. He picked them up, noticing that they now looked very much the worse for wear. Wilson must have been working out while House was rotting away in prison. He went to drop the shoes in the trash and then smiled, retrieved the box they came in and took them to Park's locker.
"Andrews is bringing me up charges," Park said as she hurried into his office. House looked up from his laptop.
"You punched him. What did you expect? That he would send you flowers?"
"Doctor Wilson said…"
"Nobody is going to jump you in the elevator, but it's not some shield of invincibility. Andrews wants to look like a pathetic moron who can't handle someone half his size, nobody can stop him charging you. Why didn't you file on him for trying to rape you?"
"I thought punching him would be enough."
"Now you'll have a hard time proving anything. You won't get a prison sentence, not for a punch, but you'll be looking for another job. Nice to have known you." House turned back to his laptop. Park came over and slammed the lid down. When House looked up she was smiling at him.
"I won't get fired. You want me working for you; Wilson likes to give you what you want. That's how he controls you. I bet he won't let me get fired."
"Oh, you don't want to bet with me." House smiled without humour. "And you really don't want to say things like that about Wilson, he doesn't like it. Now, stop whining about Andrews and go and see about our patient. Another rich white guy, we're having a run of them - let's see if we can't do better with this one."
As she went off he heard a whining sound from the office next door, the office that used to be his conference room. He looked over there. Some idiot from orthopaedics was using a cutter to remove a cast from a patient's arm. The noise was intolerable. He hadn't survived prison so that he would have to sit here listening to that all day. Luckily he knew what to do about it.
"I had a complaint about you today."
Wilson was on their shared balcony, lounging on the chair he kept there, smoking one of his Cuban cigars. Standing in front of him House breathed in the heady aroma. Wilson wasn't likely to give him one while he was lecturing him.
"Only one?" He quipped. He knew he wasn't in serious trouble; if he was Wilson wouldn't waste time like this.
"From a Doctor Jade Morgan. Apparently you shone a light in his eyes and made him sick." Wilson said dryly. Wilson had little time for people who wouldn't fight their own battles. "Was there a reason or were you just being a bastard to make my life more difficult?"
"He's in my office."
"Orthopedics was given that room when you decided to get yourself thrown into prison. If you want it back you'll have to do more than shine lights in people's eyes." Wilson gestured to a spot near him with the cigar and House moved to kneel by the chair where Wilson indicated. His leg protested but he knew that Wilson wouldn't accept that as an excuse. Wilson waited until he was settled, quietly puffing on the cigar, and then took it out of his mouth and placed it in House's. His fingers came down to tangle in House's hair, petting it. House inhaled the smoke from the cigar and then breathed it out, watching the smoke ring rise up into the cool air until finally it dissipated. He smiled as he thought about Morgan. If Morgan thought he could win their little battle he should start making out his will, House played for keeps.
"Andrews has dropped the charges." Park told him as she was leaving for the night.
"What did you do to him? Threaten to kill him if he didn't?"
Park produced a pair of red shoes. "Somebody left these in my locker. I suggested to Andrews that I would mail them to his wife, with a note saying that he left them in the hotel."
House looked up at her deadpan expression and then laughed. "Good for you. Probably would have been easier if you'd threatened to shove them up his ass instead."
"What makes you think I didn't do that as well?" Park gathered up her things and departed, leaving Adams behind. House picked up the red shoes and dropped them on her desk.
"Your little sister is growing up. Get rid of those things and come to my office. I have a job for you."
When she went into his office there was a belt sitting curled up on the desk between them.
"Time to have some fun," he said and stripped his shirt off. Adams took up the belt and smiled.
Wilson had come into the hospital early, intending to feed House some breakfast before he started work. He was enjoying the restrictions that had been placed on House. The collar around his neck, the inability to leave the hospital, the dependence that it had imposed on House. Wilson now knew exactly where to find him when he wanted him, and had more control over him than ever before. Even the coarse prison uniform appealed to him. It was frustrating not being able to take him out of the hospital when he wanted to, and show him off, but he could live with that in return for all the other benefits. For a while anyway.
He pushed open the door to House's office, expecting to find him still asleep in his recliner chair, but instead he nearly fell over a body on the floor.
His heart caught as he realised it was House. Not dead, but bound and gagged. Shirtless and face down on the floor, hands twisted behind him, legs locked together. His prison shirt had been tied around his head as a blindfold.
Wilson bent down and realised that the bonds were white, hardened plaster - used for making casts. House was held as tightly as if bound by iron chains. Across his back were angry red weals, he'd been beaten, probably by a belt by the looks of the marks.
He released the leather gag that was muffling House's words, pulling it out of his mouth. House looked up at him, jaw working, trying to get moisture back into his mouth. He went to the sink and poured a glass of water, holding it to House's lips so he could drink.
"Morgan didn't like my trick with the light," House said, gesturing to one side. Wilson followed his gaze and saw the light was smashed and lying on the carpet.
"Morgan did this to you?"
"And a couple of his goons. Said I had it coming." House paused, taking a deep breath and then another sip of water. "He said that if I didn't leave him alone next time he'd shove the plaster saw up my ass and turn it on."
Wilson stood up and looked next door, but the orthopedics room was deserted. He went through and picked up the plaster saw, coming back and putting it next to House.
"Park and Adams will be here in a minute, they can cut you out of that. Then the three of you stay away from here for the day. I will take care of Morgan."
Their patient was cured that evening, House having figured out the diagnosis while he was lying on the floor of his office, it hadn't been a hard case but it was a lucrative one. The patient had been persuaded to make out a generous 'donation' check to the hospital. Even after Foreman and Wilson had taken their cuts there was more than enough to fund Parks' salary with some left over. House, of course, would not receive a cent for himself. Well not officially anyway, he'd had some action on the side involving some share trading which had helped to swell a bank balance Wilson didn't know about.
When House and the two fellows returned to the office they were greeted by the sight of the orthopedics office in darkness and deserted. Curious, Adams pushed open the door to the office and stepped inside.
Every piece of orthopedics equipment except one been removed from the room, cleaned out as if had never been there. Adams' gaze was drawn to the only thing remaining.
Suspended from the ceiling with a hangman's noose around its neck was the teaching skeleton the orthopedics doctors had used. Park gasped as she entered and caught a sight of it, and Adams stared, entranced.
Every bone of the skeleton had been broken in half, and around the skeleton's neck was one of the official hospital staff name tags - the name tag belonged to Doctor Jade Morgan.