The men have found a new use for the slave. He's naked, on all fours, on the tiled floor. His cock and balls have been forced into a too-small cage, a dildo rests in his ass, and a large gag fills his mouth. A pizza box lies open on his back and the men help themselves from it, dripping cheese and toppings over the slave as they eat.

When the pizza is finished the box is taken away and the slave relaxes, hoping the ordeal is over. Instead four plastic glasses are filled with beer and placed on his back.

"If you spill any you can clean the floor with your tongue. Now, be a good piece of furniture and hold yourself nice and still for us."

The men keep watching the game and drinking their beer while their human coffee table struggles to hold himself still. His bad leg trembles with the strain but he holds fast until one of the men pulls the dildo out and then rams it back in. The slave bucks and the glasses crash to the floor, spilling what remains of their contents.

The gag is taken out and the slave bends his head to lick at the floor. He keeps at it until all the beer is gone. Then he's grabbed and taken outside, to be thrown over a rough wooden table. Hands grab the dildo, removing it and forcing his legs apart.

His hair is grabbed and his head is yanked up. He looks up into familiar brown eyes now filled with hatred.

Wilson is holding a whip.

"Please Wilson, don't... you said that you weren't going to hurt me... that I wasn't really your slave, " the slave says, flinching away.

"I told you that, and you let that piece of shit Tritter fuck you anyway. Did you enjoy going to him? I found you, spent a shitload of money for you, took you in and all I have to show for it is a fucking whore of a slave who lied to me and delivered himself to the hands of that sick bastard."

"Wilson, please, I didn't want to go, he threatened... "

"Shut up, I don't want to hear it," Wilson commands and pushes him back over the table. He trails the whip down the slave's spine.

The slave tries one more time. "Please, Wilson. I'm your friend," he begs. "Please don't. I'll be good. Please."

"You're no friend of mine, you're just a pathetic slave who let himself be taken by these assholes. Well, I'll show you what happens to sluts. Count!"

"One!" The slave yells out as the whip cut his bare skin for the first time. He's been whipped before, but he never thought it would happen at Wilson's hands. The pain is doubled. He begins to sob as the whipping goes on

After the events of the evening Wilson couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop reliving what had happened. His mind was racing around in endless circles of anger, doubt and recrimination. He was pacing the living room when he heard sounds from House's room. House was mumbling in his sleep and making sounds of distress. Wilson had turned towards the room, uncertain whether to intrude or not when he heard a shout.

"Please, don't," House yelled out. Wilson ran to his room, his heart pounding. House seemed to be having a nightmare; he was thrashing around frantically in the bed. "You said you wouldn't hurt me!" he cried out.

"House! It's just a dream, wake up!" Wilson turned on the lights, shaking his friends shoulder slightly. "One!" House yelled, his eyes still closed, pain written across his face. Tears stained his cheeks.

"House, wake up!" Wilson said again, shaking him more firmly this time. "Wake up!"

House's eyes opened, and he stared right through Wilson, without seeing him. He abruptly sat up, his breath coming in harsh pants. Wilson wasn't sure if he knew where he was.

"House, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. You're safe now." Wilson frowned as he stared at House, he looked flushed. He put a hand out to touch House's forehead and gauge his temperature.

"Don't, don't touch me," House said, looking embarrassed and ashamed. He stared down at the sheets but he didn't move away.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Wilson asked, frowning. The covers were tangled around House and he tried to pull them away. House grabbed the covers firmly

"I... I wet the bed," House said, still not meeting Wilson´s eyes.

"Oh," Wilson said, taking his hand back. He pulled himself together. He was a doctor, this was nothing new. "It's okay. You were having a nightmare and couldn't wake up. Go and clean up and I'll turn the mattress and change the sheets."

"No! Please... just... leave me alone for a moment," House requested. He was still avoiding Wilson's eyes.

Every protective instinct Wilson had made him want to stay but he had to grant his friend privacy if he wanted it. House had little enough to call his own. Wilson couldn't deny him any dignity he could carve him out for himself.

"Okay, but call me if you need me," Wilson answered with a reassuring smile his friend didn't see.

As he left the room Wilson was already thinking about a diagnosis of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. The problem was that House's trauma was still ongoing. He was still a slave. Wilson could try and make his life easier but the stressor would always be there. Not for the first time since he'd 'bought' House Wilson wondered how the hell they were going to survive this.

By the time Wilson returned with clean sheets House had showered and was dressed in a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging down, exhausted and clearly in pain. Wilson gently urged him off the bed and quickly turned the mattress and remade the bed with fresh sheets.

When House was back in bed Wilson brought him some Vicodin and some water. House was still avoiding his gaze.

"It's okay. Nightmares are to be expected after what you've been through, and after what happened tonight..."

"What would you know about what I've 'been through'? You have no damned idea. You probably think Tritter is the worst thing." House laughed hollowly. "He doesn't even make the top ten. You have no fucking idea what this is like."

"Then tell me." Wilson didn't know if he could stomach listening to it, but he wasn't going to leave House to carry those memories alone.

House shook his head. "No. I'm never telling you."

"House..."

House closed his eyes and turned away from him. "You're the one good thing left in my life, Wilson. I'm not going to poison our friendship by telling you exactly what I've become or the things people have done to me. You can barely look at me now. Please, go away."

"House..." Wilson said again, helpless. He touched one huddled shoulder and felt House flinch away from him. "House, I'll go - but I'm here if you need me." He reluctantly left the room, leaving the light on for his friend. Maybe it would help to chase the dreams away.

When House emerged in the morning he was limping heavily – pain written large in every movement. He avoided Wilson's gaze, muttered a quick 'good morning' and went straight to the closet to get out his cleaning equipment. Wilson was ready for him. He'd barely slept the night before after House's nightmare and he'd had plenty of time to think about how he wanted to approach this, and to make plans.

"No need to do that this morning. I already did it," he said. He'd spent a good hour going over the apartment quietly while House slept. With the constant work House put into it the apartment was the cleanest it had ever been. Not even the SAC could fault it.

"Don't see a collar around your neck," House muttered, still staring at the floor.

"This is my apartment too. I'll do my fair share of the cleaning work." Wilson blocked his access to the closet. "Besides, we're taking the day off and I want to make an early start. I've made some pancakes for breakfast."

House finally looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his expression was uncertain.

"I have to work."

Wilson shook his head. "No, you come into the hospital because I go in. If I don't go in, you don't go in. And I'm not going in. I've already contacted Cuddy and told her."

"Your patients..."

"I have a whole department of doctors to take care of my patients." Wilson put some pancakes on a plate and passed them over to House. "Eat those and then we'll get cleaned up and go."

House ate gingerly - like he was expecting something to happen the whole time. He kept glancing nervously at the door and sat on the edge of his chair perched for flight. Wilson tried to keep up a steady stream of chatter but House's replies were mono-syllabic and in the end Wilson left him to eat in peace. Last night's events lay awkwardly between them.

Wilson wished they could dispense with the leash and the hood, and the damned harness but they couldn't take a chance so they went through the usual ritual. Wilson made sure he told House where they were going first. There were some woods not far out of Princeton. Wilson had taken a date out there once. There were some areas that were isolated, and there were unlikely to be other people there on a workday. It was a chance for the two of them to get away for a few hours - with no fear of the SAC turning up unexpectedly.

Once they were there Wilson snagged a picnic table for them and then produced some sacks out of the trunk of his car with sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. It was a warm day and he sat back and breathed in the fresh air. House was still looking a little apprehensive but he slowly began to relax as he realised that there really wasn't anyone around.

Wilson talked quietly for a while, running through a case or two that he was having problems with. House always felt more certain when he was dealing with medicine and he offered his usual acerbic opinions. Wilson poured them both a mug of coffee and pushed House's over to him.

House stared down at the drink and then back at Wilson.

"What's all this about, Wilson? I'd suspect that you were trying to get me drunk so I'd talk about my feelings but coffee isn't going to do it - unless you've hidden half a bottle of my friend Jack in there."

Wilson smiled softly. "No Jack, sorry. I just thought you could use a break from everything. I know I can."

House tapped his fingers on the table, looking around them. He took a gulp of the coffee and then looked away.

"You used the GPS in the collar to find me last night," he said at last.

"Yes," Wilson admitted. "I didn't know what else to do. You wouldn't tell me where you were going. After how you were the first time... I knew you were in trouble. I thought someone from the hospital... "

House looked back at him sharply, his face colouring slightly. "What? You think someone there lured me away for a night of wild sex or something. And I agreed to that?"

You agreed to be abused by Tritter, Wilson thought.

"I didn't know what else to think. The first time I thought maybe you had an escape planned."

House's eyes widened. "And you let me go? You would have been in trouble for letting a slave walk out by themselves like that."

"If that was what you had in mind it wasn't my place to stop you. I'm not holding you against your will, House. You may have that collar but you're still free as far as I'm concerned."

House stared at him, clearly surprised. After a while he dropped his gaze.

"I'm fucked up, Wilson." he said quietly. "You thought I was fucked up before but I was the poster boy for mental health compared to how I am now. They do things to you... when they make you a slave. They teach you that you're nothing. Less than nothing. They condition you to obey - instantly. Whatever it costs you. Sometimes... I'm not going to be able to control what I do, how I react to you, and to other people. If people know the right buttons to push they can get me to do almost anything."

Like go with them when you don't want to and bend over a table while they rape you and laugh about it. Wilson was sickened. House had always been a person who knew his own mind. He'd never do anything he didn't want to do. Now he had no choice.

"I need to protect you," he said slowly. He couldn't let anything like that happen again and he was in the best position to help House.

House reluctantly nodded. "From other people and from myself."

"Then you need to let me protect you. Tell me what is going on if you're having problems. If people are trying to make you do something that they shouldn't."

"You want to hear when people are being mean to me? I'd be running to you every minute."

"If you want to tell me I want to hear it," Wilson said firmly. "And I do want to hear when anyone is abusing you like that. They don't have the right, House. Not while I 'own' you." He made air quotes with his fingers so that House wouldn't misunderstand.

"The SAC..."

"We can't live under the threat of someone running to the SAC. Otherwise anyone can do anything they want to you, using that as blackmail. We're doing everything right. They've approved the apartment. You're doing a menial job at the hospital. You're wearing those ridiculous orange coveralls. They know we used to know each other and they haven't taken you away. And if they ever try I'll hire every lawyer in Princeton to get you back."

"And Tritter..."

"Won't bother us again. I've got a tape of he and his buddies... what they were doing. They can't legally do – that - while you're wearing my tag. Forget about Tritter. He's a coward - he's not going to do anything to jeopardise his own safety."

"Easy for you to say," House muttered.

House was right of course, it was easy for Wilson to say that Tritter wouldn't be in their lives again. He had no real guarantee of that. Wilson would do everything in his power to keep House safe, or as safe as possible, and that's all he could say.

It was late in the afternoon, when they were packing up the remnants of their impromptu picnic, that House raised the subject again. Then it was just one word, said so low that Wilson had trouble hearing it.

"Ayersman."

Wilson knew who Ayersman was of course, the man managed to combine being the worst transplant surgeon in the hospital with being the most arrogant. He'd had several run-ins with House back when House was working at the hospital. But why was House dropping his name into the conversation? A chill ran up Wilson's spine as he realised why.

"He did something to you," he said with certainty. House nodded slightly, eyes downcast.

"That first day, back at the hospital. He called me into his office. Said he'd contact the SAC if I didn't... co-operate."

Wilson cast his mind back to that day. He remembered House coming into his office, desperate to leave.

"What did he do?"

"What you're thinking," House said bitterly. "What else is a slave good for?"

Wilson thought that he'd never hated anyone quite as much as he hated Ayersman right then.

"That one time, or... "

"Just the once. I've stayed out of his way since then."

"And nothing else..."

House shrugged. "Nothing like that. Just general harassment. Ordering me around, name calling, pissing on the floor after I've just cleaned the bathroom. Nothing major."

Nothing major, Wilson thought. Just routine humiliation. Nothing a slave shouldn't expect to deal with. Nothing that House wasn't used to. Nothing compared to what Ayersman, and Tritter had done to him. Nothing major.

"Thanks for telling me," he said, keeping his voice steady. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but one thing was certain - Ayersman would never touch House again.