A/N - The 'SAC' are borrowed from the CollarVerse, created by Oflymonddreams. Any medical cases in the story are borrowed from various episodes of the show.

Present Day

His decision was made - he was going to 'buy' House.

He couldn't forget the image of finding House, like that, so broken. On his knees wearing stained working clothes, and a black metal collar around his neck. His best friend, the friend who had diced so many times with death and disaster, and always won, was a slave. After the supervisor had dragged House away at the end of a leash - a leash! - Wilson had puked in one of the toilets that House had just cleaned. He'd spent the rest of the evening caught between utter shock and a frantic need to set things right.

Chase and Foreman had had to return to work, leaving Wilson alone in New York. He'd assured them that he wouldn't be leaving without House.

The time for being shocked had passed - now he had to set his plan in motion and save his friend.

He parked his car at the headquarters of Rent-A-Slave in New York. He'd done some research on the company and learned that they both hired out slaves and also sold them to interested parties.

He walked to the front desk trying to project an air of confidence; he knew these people were not going to sell House to him if they thought he was trying to help him. It was against the law for people to buy slaves for that purpose. He had to project an air of indifference. He was just buying a car, he told himself, there was no need to get emotional about it.

There were no slaves in sight and the reception looked like any other reception in any other building. There was no sign of the trade in human lives carried out here.

"How can I help you sir?" asked a female receptionist. She was young, with blond-red curly hair and big green eyes, a little skinny but Wilson thought she was hot...what House called his "Wilsonian" side was already kicking in, he really didn't need that at the moment.

"My name is James Wilson - Doctor James Wilson. I would like to buy a slave," he said awkwardly.

"Is this going to be your first slave, Doctor Wilson?" she asked politely but with a slight knowing smile.

"Yes, my first one," he said, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck.

"It´s okay sir, many people feel uneasy when buying their first one. You don´t have to be ashamed, slaves are useful tools if you know how to use them and discipline them. They are designed to be purchased and used after all." She sounded matter-of-fact, as if she was talking about someone buying a new dishwasher. "But I am afraid that the slave exhibition - that's where you can inspect the slaves - here is on Thursdays and Saturdays, and you also need a reservation to attend. They're very popular. We have no openings for next week but we can set you up for -"

"Wait, wait -" Wilson said, putting his hand up in a 'stop' gesture and interrupting the flow of words. "I don't need to attend an exhibition. I already know which slave I want to buy." He said firmly. "I know he works here."

The woman's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, that's... unexpected. Not a lot of people come here with their choice already made but it does happen occasionally. I suppose you've seen him somewhere on assignment and want him now? Do you have the number from his collar?"

"Er... no..." Wilson said, flustered.

"Well, did you ask him his name? I need to find him in the system. We have a lot of slaves as I'm sure you realise."

"Gregory John House," Wilson said, his voice thick with emotion he didn't want this woman to hear.

"He told you his surname? Slaves aren't supposed to have one."

"I asked him, when he just said Greg I asked him what his surname used to be," Wilson explained hastily, tense with anxiety. He hoped he hadn't screwed things up. This had to work. He had to take House with him.

The woman was frowning at him. "You don't know this slave from his former life, do you? It's against our policy to sell them to anyone they used to know."

"No, no of course not. I just saw him when he was cleaning the bathrooms at the hotel and I er... wanted him for myself."

"Well, do you have a physical description? I have twenty seven 'Gregs' in the system and we don't have their former names. Where did you see him exactly?"

"He's tall - more than six feet, has blue eyes, looked to be in his forties, maybe fifties, he has a limp. He was at the Four Seasons Hotel in New York during the medical conference that was there last week."

The woman pecked at her computer while Wilson held his breath. Finally she nodded.

"Yes, I have him. You are fortunate; he hasn't been assigned anywhere today so he's working here. I'll call his supervisor to have him brought out to confirm he's the one you want, and then a sales clerk will take care of you. Take a seat over there, Doctor Wilson."

Wilson nodded and started walking but she called him back before he had gone far. "Doctor Wilson," she said, crooking a finger at him, beckoning him closer. "If you want that slave you need to have a better poker face, you need to convince them that you're just interested in buying a slave." She looked at him significantly and he nodded his understanding.

"Thank you," he said softly but sincerely.

It took only a short while for the sales clerk to appear and usher him into a small office. Once inside the office he saw his friend kneeling, naked, on the floor by the desk, with his head bowed and his hands shackled behind his back. A thin chain ran between the handcuffs and the collar around his neck. A large man, who must be the supervisor, was standing beside House, holding a thin cane. Fortunately he wasn't the man Wilson had seen abusing House in the bathroom of the hotel.

"Please take a seat, Doctor Wilson." The sales clerk gestured to a comfortable chair in front of the desk. Wilson sat down, trying to appear at ease with the process of 'buying a slave'. He didn't look at House but was acutely aware of his nudity and the position he was in. Just kneeling like that must be agony on his leg. House would hate Wilson seeing him like this.

"I understand you wish to buy this slave - known as Greg. It's uncommon for people to come here and ask for a slave by name. Before we proceed I need to know what has prompted this."

"I saw him and decided I would like to own him. Do I need another reason? A slave is a slave." He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "If you prefer I'll buy a different one. Or take my business elsewhere." It was a bluff of course; he was gambling that the company would jump at the chance to sell a slave in House's condition - at a no doubt inflated price.

"Not many people would choose a middle aged, disabled slave for themselves."

"He is appealing to me. I want to use this middle aged, disabled slave for sex. Is that what you want to know? I like them damaged." Wilson answered coldly, his eyes fixed on the young clerk. "Now, do you need to know anything else about my sexual preferences before you sell him to me? What sort of whips I like to use? How I'll make him scream?" He saw House flinch out of the corner of his eye but kept his face calm. He could explain everything when they were done here, and House was safely with him. House's future depended on his ability to stay in character with these people.

The clerk smirked and glanced down at the kneeling slave. "I understand, sir. No, we don't need any further details. I'm sure this slave will be happy to fulfil your needs." He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Wilson saw that they were titled 'Slave Ownership contract'. "Thomas here is one of Greg's supervisors. He will give you full disclosure on the slave and then if you wish to proceed you can read through the contract and sign if you accept the terms. We can supply a written report on the slave if you wish to wait a few days for it to be prepared."

"No, a verbal one is all I require."

The clerk nodded and gestured to Thomas to continue.

Thomas prodded House's shoulder with the cane. "Look up, slave."

House looked up, his face devoid of expression.

"This slave - Greg - came here two years ago, straight from the Slave Administration Centre where he had undergone the usual processing. He was reported to be a class 5 - difficult - slave who required strict handling. Over the last two years he has become an excellent slave. He works hard, doesn't get distracted, and responds well to discipline. He can learn easy tasks and has shown signs that he might eventually be able to undertake some more complex tasks. "

"The slave came to us with a pre-existing injury to his right leg. He is mobile but walks with a limp - but can move quite quickly despite that. The injury seems to give him some chronic pain. We give him ibuprofen, 600 mg, each meal. Incidentally that provides a handy discipline tool - simply withdrawing the medication for a day or two encourages compliance. Sometimes even with the medication the pain can be extreme, and he needs to be restrained and gagged so he doesn't disturb the other slaves with his moaning. "

Wilson's stomach was twisting with this cold description of House's pain. Although he used to think that House exaggerated it for the sake of keeping up his constant supply of Vicodin Wilson knew that he'd be in agony without any medication at all.

Thomas looked down at House. "Spread your legs, slave, let Doctor Wilson have a good look at you," he said, prodding House's groin with the cane. House quickly did so, exposing his genitals to everyone's sight. Thomas lifted his cock slightly with the cane. "He is fairly sensitive, sexually. Would you like me to get him to stimulate himself so you can see him fully erect? Or, if you prefer, you can do it yourself."

"No... no, that won't be necessary," Wilson said, struggling to maintain his composure. "I'm not particularly interested in his pleasure. As long as he has an asshole and a mouth he will suffice."

Thomas laughed and the clerk smiled. "He has both of those all right. You won't go wrong with him there. I'd let you try him now but that is against policy."

"He's fine. I'll take him." Wilson perused the contract. "This all seems in order. How much do you want for this crippled, difficult, slave?"

"Standard price for our slaves is $30,000. We are prepared to offer a discount on this one due to his imperfections. He's a second after all, like a fridge with a dent in it." The sales clerk laughed at his own joke. "How about $25,000?"

"That will be fine." Wilson took out his checkbook. He didn't want to pay these creeps money for his friend. House wasn't a piece of furniture to be bought and sold - he was a person. He wanted to grab House and take off that damned collar and let him walk out of here with his head held high.

He handed over the check, not even blinking at the loss of a good chunk of his savings. House was worth a hundred times that. "Can I take him now, I'm a little anxious to get started... experimenting with him." He saw House flinch and swallow hard. He felt terrible speaking about House like this but he was role playing - House would realise that.

The clerk smiled. "Of course, Doctor Wilson, but procedure has to be observed. The handover has to be formalised at the police station. Thomas will transport your slave there in our van while we finish here."

Thomas tugged on the chain that bound House's hands to his collar. "On your feet, slave."

House made a choking sound as the collar grabbed at his throat and then struggled to his feet. His eyes met Wilson's and Wilson was startled to see him looking defeated. Then he turned away and began limping towards the door, Thomas following closely behind him.

"It was a pleasure to do business with you, Doctor Wilson. I hope you enjoy your new purchase." The clerk held out his hand to shake Wilson's and Wilson took it with distaste. "If you wait in reception your tag will be brought out to you and also your copies of the paperwork. Then you are free to go and collect your slave from the police."

Wilson waited anxiously in the small area set aside for prospective purchasers and after a few minutes the receptionist called him over to the desk and handed him a round tag, made of metal and engraved.

Owned by James Wilson

SAC-RSN 1106590

He owned a slave.

He owned Greg House.

Three years earlier

"So how is our patient?" House asked cheerfully as he entered the diagnostics conference room.

"What are you doing here? Thought you were going to take the weekend off?" Foreman asked.

"If I answer that, is it going to help you diagnose this kid? Oh no! I guess not, let leave the small talk for my birthday party."

Foreman rolled his eyes and Chase ignored their conversation and just updated House with the latest test results on their patient.

"No evidence of arsenic, lead or mercury on the tox screen."

House sat down, put his feet up on the conference room table and pulled his PSP out of his bag starting to play with it. He didn't look up. "Well, do the test again, but do it right this time."

"It´s not heavy metal poisoning," Foreman said in a bored tone of voice.

"Symptoms say it is," House said, concentrating as his on-screen avatar walked into a dangerous situation.

"Test says it isn't." Cameron said, walking into the room.

"Then what are you going to believe, the tests or the symptoms? Do it again, what about food allergies Chase?"

"Dairy, grain, and legumes were all negative, but the kid had burning sensations in his feet while I was doing the allergy test... I had to give him gabapentin to stop the acute pain."

"Might have been nice if you'd mentioned the new symptom at the beginning of the DDX." House dropped the game on the table and stood up, going over to the whiteboard to add it to the list. "Why were you withholding that little gem? Dramatic effect?"

"Er... because we were going in order?" Chase answered tentatively.

"We don't go in order of intelligence in the DDX you idiot, otherwise you'd never get to speak. Symptoms have priority over Foreman's negative tests. Excruciating pain in the lower extremities is a new symptom." He threw down the marker and walked towards the door. "I'm going to go see the kid; maybe he knows how to present his symptoms."

After he was gone the three fellows stared at each other. House was always rude and impossible to deal with, but this was setting a new standard even for him.

"Okay, well someone got up out of the wrong side of the bed," Chase said, dropping into the closest chair with a sigh.

"Or the wrong leg... "Cameron added, looking at the scrawled writing on the whiteboard.

"I thought he was taking the weekend off," Foreman muttered.