House was crashed out on the bed, too drained to move. Wilson had given him the long slow fucking he'd promised, along with bonus extras. Wilson had used the collar around his neck to give him a buzz just at the height of his arousal, setting every nerve tingling and causing an amazing mix of pleasure and pain which had tipped him over the edge and had him coming as hard as he ever had in his life.

His whole body tingled with the after effects and there was a pleasant soreness in his ass. His leg barely hurt at all, so drowned out had it been by all the other sensations. On top of all that Rubio had knocked out his opponent in the third round and House had collected a nice two hundred in winnings from Wilson. And Foreman had been defeated. Life was as good as it had been for him for quite some time.

He lay there bonelessly while Wilson went through his nightly primping ritual. It was apparently a lot of work keeping up those boyish good looks. House's bedtime ritual was usually stripping off his clothes, taking his Vicodin and having a pee. He was already naked, Wilson had popped the Vicodin into his mouth after their mind-blowing sex, and the peeing could wait for a bit.

He was just drifting off to sleep when the door to their suite swung open and four uniformed policemen entered. He jerked back up but all he had time for was a brief shout of protest and then they were on him.

He was rolled over and pinned down to the bed, his hands pulled back and cuffed behind his back, his legs pinioned by shackles. Rough hands pawed all over his body. Then he was grabbed off the bed and manhandled into a kneeling position on the floor. His mouth was forced upon and gloved fingers pushed in and felt around. Then hands were run through his short hair. When they found nothing his shoulders were pushed down and another gloved finger penetrated his sore ass. When he squirmed he was pushed down harder until he struggled to breathe. Finally they seemed satisfied and he was allowed to come upright in the kneeling position.

"He's clean," one of the men reported.

"Well of course he's clean, he's been with me all evening and we attended a medical conference before that where he gave the keynote speech. What do you mean by bursting into my hotel room like this?"

That was Wilson's voice, as calm as ever but House could hear the steel in it. Wilson was not pleased by the presence of the police. Which was good, because neither was House.

"You're Doctor Wilson? You have custody of this?" The officer waved his hand at House where he was kneeling, naked on the floor.

"Yes, he attended a conference with me earlier tonight; it was approved by the Department of Corrections. He was granted special permission to leave the hospital. Doctor Foreman arranged it."

"Well Doctor Foreman reported that the prisoner also attended a boxing match tonight, which apparently was not authorised. I have orders to take him into custody tonight, and he'll be sent back to the hospital tomorrow so the appropriate action can be taken."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. House recognised the beginnings of his charm offensive but he had dim hopes of it working here.

"Look, officer, he's been good, he gave a good speech and I thought he deserved a treat, so I took him to the boxing."

"And then you brought him back here, to your hotel room." The officer looked around the room, with the king sized bed, the only bed in the room, the rumpled sheets and the naked man on the floor. "Doc, I'm not going to argue with you. My orders are to take the prisoner into custody. Which is what I'm going to do."

"At least allow him to get dressed, and to get off the floor. He's disabled; he'll be in pain in that position."

The man conceded that that would be acceptable and in short order House was stuffed into his shirt and trousers. His hands were locked behind him again, but they left his legs free at Wilson's behest.

House was taken down to the hotel's reception area and marched out to the waiting van. The last Wilson saw of him was the closed expression on his face as he was pushed in the back of the van and the door slammed shut.

Wilson cursed Foreman for interfering with his plans for the night and then returned to the hotel room. He'd sleep and then go back to Princeton by himself in the morning. The police had promised to have House there for eight.

House was taken to the local lock-up and shoved into a steel cage by himself. As a convicted prisoner it was deemed best that he didn't mingle with the yet-to-be-convicted drunks at the local police station. The cops hadn't removed his handcuffs so he sat with his hands between his knees at the back of the cage, in the middle, keeping a wary out on the cages either side of him.

In one of the cages there was a solitary man, yet to be joined by any other drunks. He was weeping in the corner of his cell and House rolled his eyes, if he was crying now how was he going to handle it if he ended up doing a stretch?

"Hey, shut the hell up, your wailing's keeping me awake," he yelled at the guy, keeping an eye out for the cops. They didn't like it if you yelled.

The man looked up, his face a picture of desolation. House could see he was well and truly plastered, and he had a black eye.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just...it's the anniversary of my son..." He started crying again, "oh...Drew..."

House was pissed. An hour ago he was in a comfortable post-fucking haze in a hotel room, with prospects of round two in the morning and now he was stuck in a steel cage listening to this drunk whine about his dead son.

"He was so healthy, just a boy, so bright..."

"And then you back over him with your car and killed him. Yeah, shit happens, you'll never be the same again, when you get out of here go kill yourself and save everyone the trouble."

The crying man looked up and straight at him.

"I didn't kill him. Why would you say that? He died of fucking kidney failure, we went to four fucking doctors and none of them knew what was wrong with him. Fucking useless doctors."

"Yeah, idiots the lot of them," House agreed. "His kidneys were fried? Why didn't they transfuse?"

"They did, and then his lungs failed. And then he fucking died. Just like that. My poor boy."

"And one year later you decide to get plastered and get into a fight to celebrate. Good going."

The guy stared at him, anger chasing the grief off his face. He lunged for the bars that separated them.

"You...You shut the hell up! Shut up! Shut up!" He screamed bashing his hand against the bars.

"Keep your voice down or..." As House spoke the guards advanced on the cage, hands on their batons. "Too late. What's your name?"

The guy was still screaming and House yelled at him again. "What's your name moron?"

The cops burst into the guy's cage and took him down, making good use of their boots and fists. They hauled him away with the guy now sobbing in pain, blood running out of his mouth and nose, and then there was a sudden silence as he shut up.

Damn. Oh well, he should be able to find the case by the kid's name - Drew, died a year ago today. He filed the information for future reference. Fried kidneys, fried lungs - cool.

A cop came past the front of his cage and banged on the bars.

"You, keep your fucking big mouth shut for the rest of the night or I'll find a better use for it. Got it?"

"Yes, boss," House answered contritely, no point in riling these guys up. He laid down on the hard bench, hands going to his thigh to massage it. It was going to be a long night.

Wilson arrived at the hospital at eight, walking straight towards Foreman's office. He paused as he went through the outer office. House was there on the hard chairs, hands cuffed in front of him, ankles shackled together. There was a bloodstain on the front of his filthy shirt and a cut along his right cheekbone. A police officer stood over him. House was staring expressionlessly at the far wall but Wilson could see that he was tense and nervous, most of his bravado gone. Whatever had happened to House in prison Wilson knew that he was scared of going back.

Wilson gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and reassurance and then went through into Foreman's office. Foreman was alone, sitting at his desk, writing busily on some pieces of paper although Wilson was sure that he was merely putting up an appearance. He'd been waiting for Wilson.

"I'm going to send him back to prison," Foreman said, apparently deciding not to bother with pleasantries.

"You can't," Wilson said, his eyes focused on Foreman. "This hospital needs him, you know that."

"He's a criminal, and he's taken every chance he can get to disobey me, and to make a mockery of his status."

"He's done everything you asked, including funding his own department and giving a speech at a conference, the first one he's been to in years, let alone spoken at."

"You took him to a boxing match, Wilson. When he should have been locked up he was at a boxing match with decent people, and then you took him back to your hotel room to fuck him - I should have asked the police to charge you as well."

"You need him, and you damn well need me. I backed you for this position Foreman. I can take that support away just as easily. He's done nothing wrong, I took him to the boxing, and I took him back to my hotel room. Neither of those things were House's choice. I decided to reward his good behaviour. If you hadn't interfered he would have had a good night and I would have brought him back here this morning with some of his frustration at being confined to the hospital gone. Ready to earn more money for this hospital, and to get this hospital back up in the rankings before we're all out of a job."

"If I don't send him back then it just sends a message that he can do whatever he damn well pleases."

"If you do send him back you'll lose everything that Diagnostics, and he, bring to this hospital."

"Then we lose them."

Wilson played his trump card. "You will also lose my support. In a battle between you and I the Board will support me, and you know it."

Foreman looked at the outer office where House was sitting, his face clouding in anger.

"You hate him," Wilson said, following his gaze. "He humiliated you for years, belittled you, and when you tried to break away you couldn't. You resent him for being a far better doctor than you'll ever be, and being able to take chances you can't. So you want to use your position now to take revenge on him, to humiliate him. Except, you can't, because he's not you, and what you do doesn't matter to him. You can destroy him, or you can use him. He's a tool, Foreman, use him and he'll do you a great deal of good."

Wilson threw the remote control to House's collar on the desk.

"If the only way you can run this hospital is to use that, or to send him to prison, then you don't have any control at all - and that's what you'll be telling everyone."

House looked up as Wilson came out of the office. Wilson paused and looked down at him, a slight smile crossing his face, and then kept going out of the office. House relaxed slightly, only to tense again as Foreman came out, fingering the remote control.

Foreman stood in front of him, looking down at him.

"I could send your sorry ass back to prison, but I'm not going to. You'll do another ten hours of clinic a week, and you'll do them without complaint." He looked at the police officer standing nearby. "Take his shackles off. I've got him from here."

The police office roughly hauled him to his feet and spun him around, jerking the cuffs off his wrists and then bent to remove the shackles. When he was done he leered at House.

"See you next time, maybe we'll have some more fun." With that he left. House watched him warily until he was out of sight and then he relaxed and stretched out his sore limbs. He looked back at Foreman.

"Get me a cane…" he started to say only to be felled by Foreman's punch to his jaw. As he fell to the ground Foreman caught him and kneed him in the groin. Then he dropped him and House fell heavily to the floor, doubled over.

"Get your own damn cane and get out of my sight," Foreman growled. He turned on his heel and stalked back to his office, leaving House in a heap on the floor.

House looked up through a haze of pain and saw the shocked faces of various members of hospital staff who had been passing by. He grinned to himself, Foreman was sending a message, okay, well he could deal with that. He hauled himself up using the chair and limped out the door.

The fellows looked up at him in shock as he got to the conference room. He guessed he did look pretty rough.

"What did you make, Chase?" House asked, easing himself into his chair.

"Park bet $100 you were going back to prison."

"Sucker." House told her. "Or wishful thinking? What about you, Adams? Who was your money on? I know Taub wouldn't bet, too busy with the kiddies."

Park avoided his gaze and pushed a file across the table. "We have a case. Patient had an idiopathic anaphylactic reaction. It stumped two E.R. docs and an immunologist from Johns Hopkins."

After he'd conducted the differential and dismissed the troops to do their thing House signalled for Chase to remain.

"You're lucky Foreman didn't catch on that is was you who arranged for him to miss that conference."

"Keep your mouth shut about that. Foreman's an ass but he's not stupid. He's gunning for me and Wilson now. Remember if we go do down you go down."

"I know. Don't worry, he's getting nothing from me."

"Good." House lent back in his chair and surveyed his long term fellow, observing that he'd had both a manicure and an eyebrow wax since he'd seen him last. "I checked out the hotel's live porn feed while I was there, before we got on with... other activities, saw a familiar face. Looks like someone has been doing a little moonlighting on the side. 'Doctor Down Under'."

Chase's eyes lit up. "Pretty good wasn't I? 'Course the whole Aussie shtick was overdone but what can you do?" He eyed House appreciatively. "Private performance for you whenever you want, boss. Or you and Wilson if you prefer, with or without the ropes."

"Later. Got a job for you. Four year old boy called Drew died a year ago yesterday, unexplained kidney failure. We're going to cure him. Well, metaphorically speaking, seeing as he's dead."

"Curing a dead kid, sounds cool. Foreman know you're doing this?"

"Of course not."

Chase grinned. "Great! I'll see what I can find out."

Foreman looked up as the attractive young woman walked into his office.

"Ah, Doctor Adams, have a seat. We need to talk. I have a proposition for you."