Present day

By the time he reached his apartment the door had been kicked in and there were several SAC officers yelling at House to ' get the fuck down, now, slave!'. He was held back from entering by one of them but he was just able to see House lying on the floor. The men tore at his clothes, ripping them off his body and held his face to the ground as they cuffed his hands behind him and ran a chain from them up to his collar. When he was helpless they ran gloved hands all over him, including spreading his ass cheeks and jamming a probe up inside him. When they were finished they picked him up bodily and stood him up, face jammed against a wall. One officer held him in that position. Wilson could hear House's breath coming in agonised gasps.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" Wilson yelled and he was finally allowed in the room, a horrified Cuddy on his heels.

"This your slave, sir?"

"Yes. I... I just bought him a couple of days ago. Why are you doing that to him?"

"Slave was alone in the house, and not restrained. We came around to inspect the premises and saw him through the window, playing your piano. Didn't know what had happened to his owner."

"Nothing! I just went for coffee with a friend."

"The law is that you secure the slave if you're leaving. Chain him up. Slaves are not to be left unattended and unrestrained in residential premises at any time."

"I didn't know." Wilson swallowed down his anger at House's treatment and struggled to look repentant. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Slave should have told you." The officer went over to House and yanked his head back. His fearful eyes met Wilson's and then widened when he saw Cuddy staring at him. "You piece of dirt - getting your owner in trouble like this. Well - you know what's coming to you."

He looked around and pointed to Wilson's couch. "Put him over that," he said to one of his men.

House was dragged over to the couch and forced over the arm until his face was smashed into the cushions and his naked ass was on display to them all. The officer kicked at his legs until he spread them widely.

"Got your own cane?" The officer asked Wilson.

"No. Look, this isn't necessary. It wasn't his fault."

"It was both of yours. But I can't cane you." He unclipped a long thin cane from his belt and rested it against House's twitching buttocks. He tapped it lightly a couple of times and Wilson could see the flesh tightening in anticipation of the blows to come. His eyes were drawn to the scars that he'd only glimpsed before. Thin white lines, littering House's back and ass. He'd been caned before, many times.

"Slaves are scum, Doctor Wilson. They're criminals and you can't trust them. They need discipline." The officer drew the cane back and whipped it through the air to slash at House's ass. Wilson flinched at the sound it made when it connected with the flesh. An angry welt immediately appeared. House gasped but otherwise made no sound of protest.

"Count the strokes, slave." The officer said, dragging the cane back over the red mark, causing House to flinch away. The officer cuffed him on the shoulder. "Stay still."

"One, sir." House said, his voice hoarse.

The officer turned to Wilson. "If you don't discipline him, we will." The cane came down for another blow.

As Cuddy and Wilson watched House received six strokes of the cane. Each stroke caused a red line to appear and the last two blows brought drops of blood along the line. The officer stayed calm throughout, as if this was routine. He lectured Wilson on his responsibilities as a slave owner between each one. From what Wilson could gather his responsibility was to be as brutal as possible to his slave.

When it was finally over House was released from the couch to collapse on the ground, his breath coming in heaving gasps. His whole body was trembling in pain.

"Thank me." The officer placed a boot on House's naked thigh, dangerously near to his scar. "For disciplining you."

House dragged himself to a humble kneeling position, one that must have caused agony to both his leg and the wounds on his ass.

"Thank you, sir, for teaching this slave."

The officer put one booted foot out in front of House. "Kiss it."

House lowered his lips to the boot and kissed the surface. Wilson heard Cuddy crying behind him and was torn between doing the same and tackling the SAC officer to the ground.

"Good boy." The officer bent down and patted House on the head, as one might a dog that had learnt its lesson. "Now get back over the couch while we check out your master's place and see if he'll be allowed to keep you."

He watched as House dragged himself over to the couch and resumed his former position, head down in the cushions and tortured ass on display. The officer gave a quick smack to the worst of the welts and then turned to Wilson.

"Please show us the rest of the apartment, Doctor Wilson. As you are aware there are certain requirements that must be met if you are to keep this slave here."

Wilson looked at House, lying draped over the arm of the couch, naked, six vivid red lines slashed across his buttocks, dried blood on the ends of some of them. With an effort he dragged his attention away and forced his feet to take him in the direction of the hallway.

"Where would you like to see?"

"First, let's see the place where the slave sleeps."

Wilson winced at the way he said it. He wasn't expecting House to have a bedroom. Was he expecting a sheet dropped on the floor of the kitchen so that House could sleep besides the dishwasher? Maybe a cage or a dog basket for him to curl up in at night?

With a sinking heart he led them towards House's room.

"This is the room the slave sleeps in," he said, as harshly as he could.

The officer and two of his offsiders crowded into the room, their eyes wide.

The youngest officer laughed. "The slave's room is larger than mine. Are you his owner or are you his?"

"That's enough, Harris!" The older officer snapped. "I'm sure Doctor Wilson has an explanation for this."

He turned to Wilson. "I apologise for my partner's remark. I am wondering why your slave sleeps in a room that is made for people. Slaves are not supposed to use furniture, let alone furniture like this. Your slave is used to a mat on the floor - that is all he needs."

Wilson had had enough of these people, coming into his home and treating House like dirt. He decided he had to stand up for himself.

"I really don't care what other people do with their slaves. This is my home, he is my slave, and I will decide what he needs. My slave is crippled as I'm sure you've noticed. I want him to do a full day's work, every day, so I need him to sleep off the floor and on a bed that will leave him able to move in the morning."

The officer regarded him sceptically but then nodded. "Okay, the bed can stay, but the other furnishings must go. If there is a smaller room available he should be put in it."

After a tour of the rest of the apartment they came back to the living area, where House was still bent over the arm of the couch. Cuddy was standing nearby, still with a shocked expression on her face. She was looking anywhere but at House.

The SAC officer who had stayed in the living room was holding something up. He looked at his superior, an eager expression on his young face.

"Sir, I found this in the slave's clothing."

Wilson realised with a sinking feeling that he was holding up a bottle of Vicodin - the one that he'd obtained for House yesterday. House had been wearing an old pair of Wilson's sweats, and the bottle had no doubt been in the pocket of those.

The older officer took it off his junior, examining it closely.

"You prescribed these for the slave?"

Wilson nodded casually. "Yes, he has a pre-existing condition as you've noticed. He experiences incapacitating chronic pain for which he was on medication at Rent-A-Slave."

"Did you let him keep these on him? Or did he steal them while you were out?"

Which was the better answer? Wilson realised belatedly that slaves probably weren't allowed to keep pills on them. But stealing them would be even worse.

"I told him to keep them in his pocket and take them three times a day," he said. "Is that wrong?"

The officer sighed. "I don't think you understand what you are dealing with here, Doctor Wilson. This here," he indicated House with a sweep of his arm, "is a slave. A criminal. You can't trust him to wipe his own ass let alone take medication on a schedule. He cannot keep those pills on him. You need to give them to him personally. Have him open his mouth and put the pill on his tongue. Check his mouth afterwards to make sure he swallowed it. Like you would a dog. And as it's only pain medication you can also use them for discipline. Withhold them if he misbehaves." He passed the bottle to Wilson. "Don't give him anymore today. There's no point caning them and then letting them take something for the pain. By the morning he should be ready to be more obedient."

Wilson took the bottle and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cuddy and he shot a warning glance at her. He could see she wanted to intervene but they had to pretend to go along with all this lunacy. For House's sake.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, hoping there wasn't. He wanted these people out of his house, and he wanted to check on House.

"What about food, what are you feeding him?" Harris, the officer who had been reprimanded in the bedroom asked. "They should only be fed a plain diet, with occasional treats for good behaviour."

"I have a jumbo pack of Slave Chow in the kitchen, it's in that corner," Wilson indicated the direction with a wave of his hand. "One scoop in the morning, one at night."

With an effort Wilson made himself move to House, and ran a hand through his head. He felt House shudder and hoped that his friend realised why he was doing this. "If I'm pleased with him he can have the scraps off my plate. You enjoy that, don't you, Greg?" There was a pause and then House answered in a quiet voice. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good boy," Wilson said, still patting House's hair.

The older officer eyed him narrowly. "Well, this is mostly in order. Your chains and cuffs are good. You'll need a restraint harness for your car and bars on the window. We will give you a week to comply and then come and inspect again."

"Yes officer, I've already made arrangements for the bars."

"And don't forget - he must be restrained when you're not here. You can't let him roam around by himself. He might escape and hurt someone - a neighbour, or a child."

"Greg, look at me," Wilson said sternly and House twisted his head around to look. "What did I tell you before I left the house this morning?"

"To wait in my room, sir. You were going out for ten minutes, sir."

"And what did you do instead?"

"I left my room and came into the living room. I started to play the piano, sir. This slave is sorry, sir. It won't happen again, "House said, playing his part well. He sounded like a scared slave.

"You can bet it won't. Next time you won't be sitting for a month - and not just because I'll cane your ass black and blue."

"It won't, sir."

"So, we're done here?" Wilson asked and the officer nodded. He went to House and roughly unlocked the chains that still bound him, handing them off to one of his men and telling House to stay put.

He gestured to his men and they trooped out of the house.

The officer in charge paused at the top of the stairs, as his men went to the truck.

"It's a good act, Doctor Wilson. But I don't believe for a minute that you're the sort of man who'd own a slave without an ulterior motive. If you've bought this slave to give him an easy life then you're preventing him from being punished the way he should be. If we can prove that we'll take the slave in a heartbeat, and you'll be up before the court. So if you have something to say, say it now."

Wilson didn't say anything and the officer nodded. "We'll be keeping an eye on both of you. Goodbye, Doctor Wilson."

Wilson watched them go with mixed feelings of relief and dread. This whole thing was turning out to be a lot more difficult than he could ever have anticipated. For one moment he wanted to stay out here and not go back inside and face what waited for him in there. Instead he took a deep breath and went back into the apartment, closing the door firmly behind him. For the time being, at least, they were safe.

House was standing up from the position he had been in, Cuddy was hovering behind him - one hand half raised, as if she wasn't sure whether she should offer support or not. House's right leg was visibly trembling.

Wilson was there, inserting one shoulder under House and helping him to lie down on his side on the couch. House stiffened against him but allowed the help. Wilson grabbed a throw rug from the side of the couch and quickly threw it over him, covering his nakedness up. House stared straight ahead, his body trembling in reaction.

"House, I'm so sorry..." Cuddy said. "If I'd known what would happen... I never would have... "

House couldn't meet her eyes. He stared at the surface of the blanket, curling in on himself and turning his head away. He didn't speak.

"Maybe you should go," Wilson said. He knew House wouldn't want her to see him like this. She'd already seen too much.

"I need to... "she trailed off and Wilson wondered what she needed to do. To fix this? Their friend was a broken slave - and had to remain one for years. There was no fixing this. All they could do was try and give House a little dignity.

"I need to treat those wounds. Please leave Cuddy. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"But..."

"Please Cuddy, just leave. There's nothing you can do." His eyes met hers. For House, he said silently and she glanced at their friend, still curled on the couch and nodded.

"If you need anything, anything at all, call me."

She went reluctantly and Wilson turned back to House.

"You should give me back. I'm only ever going to cause you problems." House said, his voice hollow, his eyes averted. "You might even get a refund."

"NO!" The last thing he was going to ever do was give House back to the people who had done this to him. He'd be whipped himself before he ever let that happen. "You're never going back. I promise you that, House."

He regarded his friend. He needed to examine House's wounds and then get him cleaned up. He wanted to get House away from the couch and from the memory of what had just happened so he urged him to his feet - still wrapped in the blanket - and supported him as they went to House's bedroom.

"Lie down and I'll take a quick look," Wilson said, "and then you can take a shower."

House laid face down on the bed and let Wilson remove the blanket. His compliance was yet another sign that this was not the old House that Wilson was used to.

The old lash marks stood out starkly against his pale skin. Wilson bit his lip as he looked at them. House had been whipped, many times and soundly. What else had happened to him?

First things first, he grabbed the Vicodin and gave House a couple of pills - that would at least take the edge off the pain. Then he put some gel on the welts on House's ass. It would help heal and also soothe the burn from the cuts but House wouldn't be sitting comfortably for a while.

Wilson worked quickly, keeping his touch professional. It wasn't the first time he'd seen House naked, but the circumstances were bizarre. His friend had been utterly humiliated in front of him. There was nothing Wilson could say that would make that better.

When he was finished Wilson tidied the first aid kit away and went in search of some more of his old clothes. When he returned he was dismayed to see that House hadn't moved while he was gone, not even to cover himself.

"Here," he said briskly, "put these clothes on after you take a shower. I am going to cook some pasta for dinner." He left the room, his heart breaking for his friend.

Once he was alone House dragged himself off the bed. He'd been told to shower so he needed to do it, although all he wanted was to lie on the bed, covered in the blanket and pretend nothing had happened.

In the shower he ran the water as hot as he could tolerate it and scrubbed himself as hard as he could, trying to rid his skin of the touch of those men. Their hands had been all over him, and it had all taken place in front of his friends. What Wilson and Cuddy had witnessed... he'd never wanted them to see anything like that - even if it hadn't been as bad as many of the things that had happened to him over the last two years. They weren't used to it. They still saw him as 'Greg House' not the slave he was.

The wounds on his ass stung as the water hit them and his tears of pain mingled with the hot water of the shower until he couldn't tell one from the other.

Wilson's old clothes fitted poorly, the sweatpants were short, and the t-shirt hung off him. One thing slavery was good for was losing weight. House was a shadow of his former size. Still they covered up his former nakedness, and they felt better against his skin than the coarse slave clothes he'd worn. A hot shower and fresh clean clothes - luxuries he hadn't had for two years.

As he walked into the kitchen he imagined for one moment that he was just hanging out with Wilson again, like they had so many times before. They'd have a few beers and watch the game on TV, and then in the morning they'd go to work at PPTH.

The illusion didn't hold. He could feel the heavy, cold, metal collar locked tightly around his neck, and the humiliating tag hanging from it. The tag that marked him as Wilson's property - not his friend, but his property. He was marked as an animal would be - so he could be returned to his owner if he strayed. So that everyone would know who owned him.

He took a seat at the table, hissing when his ass made contact with the hard surface of the chair. He composed his expression - he wasn't going to show his pain to Wilson, or ask for a cushion.

Wilson put a plate in front of him and then sat down with his own and started eating. House stared at the food - waiting for the order to eat. Slaves didn't eat without express permission.

Wilson stopped eating and looked at him, puzzled. "House? Aren't you hungry? You like pasta don't you?" Then understanding dawned over his face. "House, you don't have to wait for me to give you an order. I told you, you're not a slave here."

The hell I'm not, House thought. He didn't say anything aloud - just nodded at Wilson and took up his fork clumsily, eating slowly, and enjoying eating real food and not the Slave Chow that had been his only meal for the last two years. He was conscious of Wilson's unease as he tried to act like everything was normal. Wilson hadn't come to terms with what House was now - a slave, a piece of dirt, less than a human being, even less than a fucking house pet. At least pets were valued by their owners.

"Why did you talk to Cuddy?" asked House quietly still eating his food. Wilson was struck again by how quiet he was now - the spark that used to light him up was gone, only occasionally showing in glimmers.

"She needed to know, she was worried like hell about you disappearing. She's your friend, House. She never stopped looking for you, not for a single day." Wilson didn't tell him that he needed to talk to someone, to share the burden of knowledge, if only for a few minutes. Wilson couldn't do this by himself.

"She doesn't need this, Wilson. You should have asked me first. You saw how she was crying during that fucking pathetic scene. This is too much for someone like Cuddy. She'll feel guilty and we'll all drown in her tears," House said angrily but Wilson could see fear in his eyes. House was scared of talking like this to his owner. Wilson felt sick. Is that how House would come to see him?

"I couldn't hide this from her forever House! What do you want me to do? Keep you hidden in this apartment for the next five years?"

"Yes! I don't want her to see what they've done to me. You know Cuddy; she'll want to fix it. She can't handle this sort of reality, Wilson." House wasn't meeting his eyes and Wilson's heart broke for him - again.

"House, seeing that was hard for me too. I didn't mean for her to walk into a scene like that - I had no idea the SAC were coming. But you shouldn't be worrying about how we feel about it. You were the one being hurt. What they did to you..."

"... was nothing. Shit, if you think that's bad... If you think that hurt me..." House stopped, choking up. He shook his head. "I told you before, you should send me back. What I did - I brought this on myself. This is my mess, nobody elses. It doesn't matter what happens to me. I deserve this. You don't. I don't want to drag you down with me."

Wilson looked at him incredulously; he couldn't believe what his friend was saying.

"What the HELL are you TALKING ABOUT, no person deserves this House, it's barbaric!" He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the plates to jump. House cringed away from him. His hands were shaking and his lips trembling. He slid out of his chair and knelt on the floor, head bowed.

"I am sorry, sir. I didn't mean to make you angry. This slave will do better, sir. I promise."

Wilson stared at him, frightened for his friend. House was more traumatised than he had ever realised. He'd gone from his old snarky self to a trembling slave in an instant.

"I'll be good, sir. Please don't hurt me." House continued, in almost a whisper.

Wilson knelt on the ground next to House and engulfed him in an embrace. They had never hugged... before. But now he needed the contact. He needed to bring House back from wherever he had gone.

"It's me, it's Wilson, House. I'm not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you. I'm sorry - I'm sorry I yelled." He hung on tight and gradually House relaxed against him. "You didn't do anything wrong. This is not your fault. Nothing is your fault."

"Thank you, sir," House whispered. "This slave is grateful. I'll do better..."

They stayed huddled on the floor for a long time.