Present day
Wilson spent a restless night, struggling to sleep. His dreams were filled of uniformed officers invading his home and beating his friend. Twice he got up and went to House's room and stared in at him through the open door, making sure he was still there. Eventually he dropped off, exhausted, only to wake a couple of hours later when he heard movement in the apartment.
He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on some old clothes. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes he went to the kitchen, only to find House already there. House had always been a later riser, and very much not a morning person, but here he was, and for the look of things he'd been up for some time. Just another thing that showed how much his friend had changed.
He looked around, blinking his eyes. The dirty dishes from the night before were nowhere in sight. All the bench surfaces had been cleaned until they sparkled. The floor had been swept and House was on his hands and knees, cleaning it with a rag and bucket of water. The tiles were shining. Wilson had never seen the kitchen this clean.
"What the hell are you doing, House?"
House looked at him, startled, his eyes wide.
"Cleaning."
"You don't have to do that. I told you - you're not my slave. You don't have to..." he waved a hand around the kitchen, "... clean."
House went back to his scrubbing. "I have to be your slave. The SAC are watching us. That little performance we put on yesterday didn't fool them. If I'm to stay here you have to treat me like a slave. I can't... I can't afford for them to think I'm not one. If they come in and the place isn't spotless they'll know. I'll have to go back. You said you didn't want that."
"I don't want this either."
"Well, suck it up." He kept speaking without pausing in his work. "You need to get rid of some of the furniture in my room too. And put the chains in there ready. One set attached to the bed. And get a cage."
"I'm not putting you in a fucking cage! Surely they didn't do that to you!" House froze in place, trembling at Wilson's angry tone. Wilson reminded himself that he had to stay calm, for House's sake. He put one hand on House's shoulder.
"Sorry. I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at them."
"Cages aren't all bad." House shrugged and wrung out his rag in the water, going back to work. "They can't do anything to you when you're in one."
Later that day, after House had done a thorough job of cleaning the apartment, Wilson decided to start working through the things they needed to do. He passed House one of his old rolltop sweaters and a jacket.
House raised an eyebrow. "And you've given me this rolltop to wear because?"
"If you wear that you can conceal the collar. It will make it easier for you to go shopping," Wilson said. Truthfully he didn't want to be seen out in public with a slave at the end of a leash.
House thrust the top back at him. "This," he pointed to the collar around his neck - the one Wilson could barely look at. "This is not the collar, this is my collar, and I can't just conceal it. I can't pretend it doesn't exist."
"Do whatever you want. I thought you'd like to hide it." Wilson was tired of having all his ideas rejected. He was trying to do his best for House, and all his efforts were being thrown back into his face.
"Of course I'd like to hide it!" House said angrily. "You think I like having a fucking metal collar around my neck? But what happens when someone sees the tattoo on my cheek and realises that I'm a slave, and I'm hiding my collar? That's attempted escape. Fifty lashes of the whip, minimum, and chains for the rest of my sentence. No thanks."
"Fine! You're right, let's just go then." Wilson turned towards the door and House picked up the leather leash that had been lying on the table by the door since their trip here. He thrust it at Wilson.
"You need to put this on me."
Wilson looked at the leash and at House who wasn't looking at him. He took a deep breath and clicked the leash onto House's collar. He had to get used to this. He would never get used to this.
When they got to the car House got in the back seat and Wilson dropped the hood over his head.
He drove in silence.
They had to park at a distance from the stores. House wasn't entitled to a disabled parking permit now. Wilson held the leash and House walked behind him. A man and his young child passed them and the child stared at House.
"Daddy, why is that man walking on a leash?" The child asked, in a loud voice and the father looked at them and then away.
"He is a slave; the other man is his owner." He bent and picked his child up; as if afraid that House would attack him.
"Is he a bad man?"
"I told you, he isn't a man - he's a slave."
Wilson turned to say something to the man and House touched his arm lightly. "Don't," he said quietly. "Not here."
"He shouldn't talk about you like that, not to that child." Wilson protested but he was already turning away.
"So now you're going to be some sort of advocate for slave rights? This sort of shit has always gone on - you only care now because I'm a slave and it's in your face."
They had arrived at the store and House diverted Wilson's attention by looking at the name.
"Lacoste? You want to dress me like a mini-you?"
"There's nothing wrong with the way I dress. It will do you good to look a bit fashionable for once."
"Lacoste is expense. Slaves are more 'dressed by Walmart'. Buying me fancy clothes is not going to help convince the SAC that you don't care about me. All I need is a pair of jeans, a few plain t-shirts, some socks and underwear and one pair of sneakers. I don't need sweater vests and ties. I'm just a fucking cleaning slave."
Wilson sighed, defeated. He hated hearing House describe himself like that. But he was right. He looked around to the next shop. It was no Walmart but it was less expensive. "Okay, I don't want to drive someone where else. This one will do." As they changed course to the other store a businessman walked past them, not paying attention and crashing into House's cane.
House fell and Wilson felt the leash jerk as it tightened. He quickly let go and House fell heavily to the ground. The man was about to apologize and help him up when he saw the collar and leash. Instead of apologizing he kicked at the fallen man.
"Fucking slave, getting in the way like that. Moron. Should be caged not walking the streets." He turned to Wilson. "Are you supposed to be in charge of him? Keep a better hold on the damned leash."
He stormed off and Wilson knelt down to check on House.
"Are you okay?" He put out his hand to help House up. House batted his hand out of the way with an angry wince and used the cane to lever himself back up to his feet.
"Yeah, I'm fucking fine," he said under his breath, "Fucking free people." The last was almost whispered, and only said after a quick look around to check that no-one was within earshot.
A sales clerk came up to them and Wilson wondered how much of the scene outside he had observed.
"How can I help you today, sir?" The clerk smiled at Wilson, totally ignoring the slave by his side.
"I need to buy some clothes for my slave." Wilson played his role, pointing at House with a casual gesture.
"Okay, we'll just put the slave in one of the cages and pick out some clothes for him."
"Oh, that's not necessary," Wilson protested. The clerk shook his head.
"Sorry, it's store policy that all slaves be caged while they're here."
Wilson had never taken much notice of the slave cages in shops before. Most shops had one or two; banks and restaurants usually had several. They were just there, part of the furniture of the shop. Sometimes there were slaves in them, and Wilson had glanced at them and never thought much of it.
Now, as he led House towards the ones in this store, he wondered how he could have never let himself question it.
The cage was at least clean, if bare. It was a shallow upright one, placed discreetly in a corner. There was a small bench House could sit on if he wanted, and carpet on the floor. The clerk unlocked it and Wilson ordered House into it, his voice hard.
Once House was locked inside the clerk whistled at him to get his attention. "Give me your leash and strip off. Leave your underwear and socks on." He looked at Wilson. "Unless you want them off as well, sir?
"Um, no, that won't be necessary," Wilson said, blushing. The clerk gave him a curious look and then turned back to House.
"Hurry up, slave. Your Master doesn't have all day."
House unclipped the leash and handed it back through the bars and then awkwardly stripped off in the narrow space. He did it without any of the smart comments or arguing that Wilson would have expected. Wilson averted his eyes from the sight of his friend standing in a store in a cage, clad only in boxers and socks. His scar could be seen clearly.
"That's a good boy. Now behave yourself while I help your master find some clothes for you." The clerk was no more than twenty, and hearing him talk in such a manner to House made Wilson's blood boil but he had no choice but to turn away and allow the clerk to help him pick out some clothes.
He picked out some dark blue jeans and some black ones, some t-shirts that had the sort of designs that House used to favour. Then some button down shirts and some socks and underwear. It felt weird picking clothes out for House, like he was a dress up doll that Wilson owned. The clerk took them back in turn and had House try every piece of clothing on.
"Stand up straight. Master wants to see you looking good in these nice clothes." He stepped back and surveyed House from top to bottom. "Yes, that looks a lot better, don't you agree, sir?"
"Yes, he looks good. I'll take all those. Leave him a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to wear now." Wilson looked apologetically at House, hating to have to talk about him this way but House was staring off into the distance.
Once the clothes were packed up and paid for the clerk unlocked the cage door and let House out. He handed the bags to House to carry.
"Now, say thank you to your kind master for buying all these clothes for you," the clerk ordered. "Not many slaves get to wear such nice things."
House knelt at Wilson's feet.
"Thank you, sir. This slave is very grateful for your generosity."
Wilson couldn't choke out an answer; he just nodded and took hold of the leash. House rose to his feet and they left the shop.
"Pick the sneakers you like House" said Wilson when they walked inside a sports shop. Thankfully this one didn't have a cage in it. Instead it had a hitching post that a slave could be tied to.
"It doesn't matter, Wilson. It´s not like they have to coo-ordinate with my collar." House kept his voice down so they wouldn't attract attention.
"Just...pick a pair," ordered Wilson. He was tired of this. He just wanted to get out of there, away from all these people who treated House like dirt. House quickly picked out a pair of Nike running shoes. They were black with red details. Running shoes were useless for him, he couldn't run because he was a cripple, he couldn't run because he was a slave. Even if he could run where would he run to? At least he could imagine with this shoes. Imagine what it would be like to be free, and to be able to run.
"Thank you, Wilson," House said sincerely when they were back in the car. He meant it. The kindness Wilson had shown him in buying these clothes and shoes for him was more than anyone had shown him in three years.
"You are very welcome, House." Wilson smiled softly and then, after a nod of approval from his friend, he dropped the black hood over his head - sending him back into darkness.
Three Years Earlier
"Well Mr Greene, the treatment is working as expected. If you look at the scans..." Wilson said with a smile to his nervous patient. Then he was interrupted by the arrival of House, who entered the room without knocking and threw himself down on Wilson's office couch.
"Excuse me Mr Greene." Wilson smiled again and then turned towards House. "With a patient, House."
"Oh, don't mind me. I'm sure you can give him the 'you're dying' speech while I'm here." House stretched his legs out onto the coffee table.
"He's not dying," Wilson said through gritted teeth. "He's doing very well with chemotherapy."
House gawked at his patient. "Oh, well I guess you have to win one every now and then."
"I am here," Mr Greene said, raising his hand slightly.
"Okay, well if he's fine you can buy me lunch." House said.
"House..." Wilson said, throwing his hands up.
"Doctor Wilson, it's okay. If your... friend, needs you more than I do I'll be going. I think you were almost finished anyway?"
"Mr Green, I..."
"The friend who recommended you to me said that you had a little problem," his patient eyed House, "that was part of the whole deal. As long as the scans keep looking good I'll keep coming."
Wilson glared at House again but he'd pulled his Gameboy out and was busy playing with it. His patient was already halfway to the door and Wilson gave up.
"I'll see you next week, Mr Greene."
Once the door was shut behind him Wilson stalked over and grabbed the Gameboy.
"Hey, I was playing that!"
"And I was with a patient!" Wilson put the Gameboy into his labcoat pocket. "You need to stop doing this, House."
"Lunch?"
Wilson sighed. "Lunch."
While they were eating lunch in the hospital's cafeteria Wilson wondered why House had pulled that stunt. He was always obnoxious and demanding but didn't often interrupt when Wilson had a patient in his office. Something must be bothering him, and being House he couldn't just approach him like a normal human being to talk about it. Wilson knew that Diagnostics current patient was a young boy. House was always drawn to his patients when they were children. He treated them as rudely as he did anyone else, but the children all seemed to get on well with him. Maybe the case was going badly.
While they were eating a man walked into the room, a slave walking behind him. The man grabbed a hamburger and some fries and made his way to a table and sat down. The slave stood next to his chair until the man made a hand signal and then the slave knelt beside him, his head bowed and his hands behind his back. The slave was thin, too thin for his height. He was young, about nineteen Wilson guessed.
House was staring at the pair, his food forgotten on his plate.
"House?" There was no response and Wilson tried again. "House!"
House looked at him. "What?"
"Are you okay? Is that slave... upsetting you?"
"Why would seeing a slave 'upset' me?" House said, turning his gaze away and fiddling with his cane.
"You seemed a little..."
"I was thinking about my patient." House said and stood up. "I've got to go. You can have my fries."
He quickly walked off; taking a direction that led him away from the man and his slave.
"Okay, that wasn't weird at all," Wilson said to himself. He glanced back at the slave. The man was hand feeding him the scraps of his burger, making the slave beg for every bite. Wilson grimaced. Slaves were slaves, but there was no need to make a spectacle out of them.
He quickly finished his own meal and went back to work, putting the mystery of what the hell was up with House on the back burner.