When Wilson went into work on Monday it was with House on the end of a leash. House was dressed in a pair of fluorescent orange coveralls with the word 'slave' printed on front and back - in case anybody didn't see the collar around his neck or the tattoo on his cheek. The colour and markings were required for all slaves working in public places - both to humiliate and to deter them from attempting escape. House thought they might as well paint a target on his back.

Wilson had to put on a good show for anyone who might report them to the SAC so he gritted his teeth and led House right into the hospital lobby, still on the leash, and then handed him over to the guard on the door.

"See that he gets taken to the janitorial department and put to work. He'll be here when I'm here. Any problems, or complaints, come to me and I'll take care of them. No-one is to touch him but me, understand?"

The guard leered at House and took the leash from Wilson, gripping it tightly.

"Yes Doctor Wilson, I'll see that he's taken care of."

Wilson wasn't reassured but he had no choice but to leave House there. As soon as he could he would ensure that diagnostics had reason to call for him. He picked up his messages and went off towards his office without a backward glance.

"You, kneel over there out of the way and I'll get somebody to come for your sorry ass." The guard said to House. He pointed to a hitching post by the slave cells.

House bowed his head and went where indicated, kneeling down and putting his hands behind his back submissively.

His head was suddenly yanked up and back as the guard tied the leash to the post. It was tied high enough so that in a kneeling position he had to have his head stretched as high as possible to relieve the pressure on his throat.

The guard bent down and whispered in his ear.

"You might belong to Wilson, Doctor House, but there are people here who still remember how you used to treat us. You thought you were better than us, smarter. Well, look at you now you piece of shit. You're nothing but a goddamn slave. You're not so smart after all, are you? You think your life as a slave is bad - it's about to become ten times worse. Now, you just kneel there and think about that. Don't even think about getting off those knees of yours." The guard looked around to make sure no-one was watching and then kicked House square in the balls. House tried to double over but the leash started to choke him and the guard laughed.

"Keep those hands behind your back, slave. No touching the merchandise."

House straightened back up, tears coming to his eyes at the pain. The guard watched him for a moment more and then went back to his post. House continued kneeling, his eyes on the ground and his hands firmly clasped behind his back as the pain slowly receded. Around him the business of a busy hospital went on. Patients and their families passed through the lobby, doctors and nurses hurried from place to place. There was a familiar buzz in the air - something that he'd been part of for many years. He thought of all the years he'd worked here, as a doctor and as a Department Head. That time had never been smooth sailing, there had always been challenges for him, but he could never have anticipated something like this happening to him, not even in his lowest moments.

When he saw a member of the janitorial staff approaching him, leash in hand, it was almost a relief. Working as a cleaner wasn't what he wanted, but it would be better than kneeling here, watching something he would never again be part of.

Wilson had really intended to go straight to diagnostics and get Foreman to request House's presence on a case but the team weren't in the office when he arrived and then he got waylaid with a consult on an urgent case. He was back in his office, about to go grab a sandwich and check on House, when there was a polite knock on his door. He looked up to see a guard standing there with House on his knees next to him, leashed and still wearing his slave coverall.

"Your slave was getting himself into trouble down in the ER. Apparently you left orders that only you were allowed to punish him. Otherwise we would have just caned him and put him back to work. "

Wilson stared at House - he would have thought that House could have behaved himself for just a few hours, given the circumstances. He guessed he should have known better.

House had yet another bruise on his face and now Wilson looked closer he could see his hands were manacled behind his back. The guard followed his glance and shrugged.

"We had to restrain him."

"Okay, I'll take it from here."

"Need you to punish him, sir. If he's going to be working here he needs to understand he can't behave like that."

Wilson looked at House and wondered what he was supposed to do? Then he saw the guard was holding out a thin cane. He was supposed to hit House with that? He saw red - he'd had enough of this whole damned thing. He was not going to cane House. That was insane.

"No. I'm not caning him."

"You need to, sir."

"I don't need to do anything. This slave is my slave. I am his owner. I decide what he needs and what he doesn't need. Unlock those cuffs and leave him here."

"I'll have to report this to Doctor Cuddy," the guard warned, roughly wrenching at House's hands as he took the handcuffs off.

Wilson smiled coldly. "You do that. I'm sure she'll see it my way."

The guard left and Wilson went over to House who was still on his knees.

"House, are you okay?" House was shaking slightly.

"Oh my God!"

Wilson looked up at the exclamation and saw Cameron in the corridor behind them - her hand up to her mouth in horror as she stared at House. Foreman and Chase were standing behind her - their faces frozen in shock.

"House? You're a..." Cameron started to say and House looked up for the first time.

"Slave is the word, Cameron. You'll love me now, I'm really damaged." He looked at the other two. "You didn't tell her? Good choice. I'm sure she would have bought me before Wilson had a chance. I'd be wearing a pink collar."

It was a brave show but Wilson could see him trembling slightly. Having his former fellows see him like this was difficult for him, very difficult.

"Why have you brought him here, Wilson?" Foreman said. "This isn't a safe place for him. With all the people he's pissed off in the past..."

Chase was holding out a hand to House, to help him to his feet. His gaze was averted, not making eye contact with his old boss and mentor.

House ignored him and struggled to his feet himself, rubbing his wrists where the manacles had bitten into them.

"House, you look..." Cameron started and then stopped, her hand reaching out but also stopping midway at House's glare.

Truthfully House did look awful. His face was bruised, and the skin pale - the slave tattoo standing out sharply against it. His once unkempt hair was gone, replaced by a buzz cut. The horrible collar around his neck was the most damning evidence of his new status.

"Look, let's all go into diagnostics and I'll explain." Wilson said, ushering them out of the hallway before they attracted unwanted attention.

"He's here as a janitor?" Foreman smirked at Wilson's explanation. "Well that's ironic."

"Just stay out of the closets," House rejoined. "If I find Chase and Cameron in one I may never recover."

"He has to work as a janitor but he'll be available to diagnostics if you need him. But you have to be discreet. The SAC are on our back. If they get a hint that House is not being treated as a normal slave they'll confiscate him and sell him. It's difficult for everybody but he has to be treated as a slave, in public at least."

The other three kept their eyes on him and nodded solemnly. They were finding it hard to look at House.

"Speaking of which, why were you causing trouble in the ER?" Wilson asked.

"Patient some moron was diagnosing with lupus," House explained. "It's never lupus."

"You can't just..."

"What? Act like a doctor? Like I haven't forgotten every scrap of medical training I've had? Do you want me to mop the floors like a good little slave and keep my eyes and mouth shut and let people die?"

"I don't want that, House, You know I don't. But I don't want you being..." he looked around, aware of the fellows listening in. He wasn't going to refer to the abuse House had suffered from free people here, in front of them.

"Just, try and be discreet, House. You can't go around calling the staff morons - not anymore. If you see something like that, contact Foreman and let him deal with it. He's in charge of diagnostics now; he'll call you in if he needs to."

"And in the meantime I can go and clean the bathrooms." House said bitterly.

Wilson had no answer for that, there was no way out. House was what he was.

"I'm sorry, House."

"Don't be, I brought this on myself," House answered. He stood up reluctantly. "I'd better get back to work."

They watched him limp away from them, a lonely figure in bright orange coveralls. The lettering on the back proclaimed to the entire hospital what he was now.

"Wilson, this is never going to work." Foreman said when House was out of earshot.

Wilson ran a hand through his hair. "What was my alternative? Leave him at Rent-A-Slave cleaning bathrooms?"

"You didn't need to bring him in here."

"If I left him at home all day he'd have to be chained to the bed. Do you think I should do that?"

Foreman shook his head. "No, but there has to be some other way."

"When you think of it let me know. In the meantime we have to make this work. We have to do everything we can to make this as bearable as possible for House - without getting him sent back to the SAC."

House's long first day was nearly over. He was stuck in the hospital until Wilson went home but Wilson had promised he'd leave at five today, and every other day that he could. Five was only half an hour away; he could drag his tired body around for another thirty minutes. He wearily walked along the corridor outside the third floor offices. He knew half the doctors who worked here, and some of them had been taunting him on and off all day as he cleared out their trash baskets and cleaned the bathrooms.

As he walked past Doctor Ayersman's open office door a voice called out to him.

"Get in here, slave."

With no choice but to obey he entered, standing just inside the doorway.

"What do you want, Ayersman?" It wasn't wise to talk like that to a free man but House was beyond caring.

"Shut the door."

House felt the first stirrings of fear. He'd blackmailed Ayersman once into doing a risky transplant procedure - and then gone back on his word and told Ayersman's wife he'd been having an affair. Ayersman hated his guts. Now House was powerless against him.

"Now!" Ayersman had stood up, and was staring at him, his eyes cold.

He turned and obeyed, feeling trapped. "Look, Ayersman..."

"Shut your big mouth. Better yet, come here and I'll shut it for you." Ayersman had a gag in one hand. House swallowed hard.

"Wilson's expecting me..."

"In half an hour. Plenty of time for this." He held the gag up. "Open your mouth."

House clamped his jaw shut. Ayersman could turn him in for disobeying a direct order, but that would be better than whatever the other doctor had in mind.

"If you don't open your mouth I'll report you to security. They'll take you to Wilson to be caned. When he doesn't do it - and we both know he won't - I'll make some calls to the SAC. I hear that they frown on slaves being owned by people they used to know. I bet they're all over the two of you. They'll take you back. Maybe they'll try and get Wilson charged with obstructing justice as well. Wilson would look very good in a collar, don't you think?"

House couldn't take any chance of anything happening to Wilson. Not because of him. He blanked his mind and opened his mouth wide.

Ayersman smiled approvingly and put the bit in his mouth, and then buckled it around the back of his head.

"Strip down," he ordered and House took his coverall off, hesitating at his underwear.

"Those too, you can keep the t-shirt on. Wouldn't want you to get cold."

He pushed his boxers down and stepped out of them, feeling exposed. Ayersman leered at him, his eyes flicking over House's genitals and the ugly scar on his thigh.

"I bet they were glad to get rid of the defective slave. I hope Wilson didn't waste too much money on you."

He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a chain leash which he clipped onto House's collar.

"Now, let's make you comfortable," he said, tugging on the leash. He led House over to the office desk, and then left him standing there while he cleaned the surface of the files and paperwork that was accumulated there.

"Bend over. Grab the desk legs with your hands."

House reluctantly bent over the desk, his chest against the hard surface, his legs uncomfortably bent. His hands wrapped around the legs of the desk on the other side. Ayersman secured one end of the leash tightly to a locked drawer so that House's head was kept pressed down, the collar half choking him.

Ayersman laughed. "The famous Doctor House. Think you're so special don't you? Cuddy's pet genius. Well, you're a pile of crap, and you always were. I'm going to enjoy this."

He slapped House's naked ass.

"I'm sure you know what to do by now, slave. Spread your legs like a good little slut. This is the only thing you're good for now."

House stubbornly kept his knees locked together and Ayersman cursed him. House heard the sound of something cutting through the air and then the sharp pain of a belt on his naked ass. Three more strokes followed.

"Now spread them, or I'll use this belt on that crippled leg of yours until you can't walk. You'll have to crawl back to Wilson. And then I'll ring the SAC."

House shuffled his feet apart, there was no use courting more pain and delaying the inevitable. Ayersman kicked at his ankles until they were wide apart. House heard the sound of Ayersman's fly being opened.

At least he used lube and a condom. He wasn't gentle but House was used to pain. He sent his mind far away while Ayersman was rutting into him and then tried to ignore the trickle of semen down his asscrack when the man finally came. His contorted position, and the gag, made each breath difficult, and he wanted desperately to be released.

Ayersman took his time pulling out, one hand pressing House further down into the desk's hard surface. Then finally he went around the desk to release the leash, taking the pressure off House's throat. House stayed bent over until Ayersman gave him permission to rise.

Straightening up was painful in itself and House moved slowly. Ayersman kicked his clothes back to him.

"Cover yourself up."

House did so, glad to be clothed, even if it was in the hated orange coverall.

Ayersman roughly took the gag out of his mouth.

"You're not going to tell Wilson about this, are you my little fuck toy?"

"I'm tagged - you shouldn't be using me without permission from my owner," House said flatly, his eyes on the floor.

Ayersman laughed. "Well, it's not like Wilson is going make use of you is it? Tell him what happened, and I'll make your life a living hell - and I'll contact the SAC and tell them he's giving you special favours. Maybe I'll tell them that you two were lovers. That should do the trick. You understand me, Doctor House?"

House had no intention of telling Wilson about any of this anyway. He nodded and Ayersman patted him patronisingly on the ass, making sure to hit the four vivid stripes there. House flinched and Ayersman laughed.

"There's a good slave, I knew you'd see it my way. Limp along now, and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll make sure I have some friends here."