The next day they went back to work. Wilson had thought about just calling them both in sick for a few days - or resigning and spending the rest of House's sentence at home with him. He knew it wouldn't work though - he'd go crazy cooped up all day with House, and the time that House spent working on diagnostics patients was a lifeline to him. It might be difficult for him to be working as a slave in the hospital but glimpses of the old House were there as he pored over medical files. To sentence him back to a life of cleaning Wilson's apartment floor was not a solution.
Instead he went to visit Ayersman.
The surgeon was working in his own office when Wilson found him. Wilson entered without seeking permission and then turned around and closed the door behind him.
"Wilson? What the hell do you want? I'm busy here." Ayersman greeted him, his eyes cold.
"Keep your hands off my property, Ayersman."
Wilson kept his voice cold, and his face hard. He was getting plenty of practise at pretending House was nothing to him but a possession. It wasn't true, and would never be true, but creeps like Ayersman wouldn't understand that.
"Your property?" Ayersman feigned confusion.
"My slave, House. He's mine, he's tagged to me and he is not to be used by anyone besides me. Ever."
Ayersman smirked at him, leaning back in his office chair.
"You act tough, Wilson, but we both know that you bought House to 'save' him," he said, making little air quotes around the word save. "House always had you wrapped around his fingers like a little lap dog. You were always running after him to clean up his messes for him. You were too stupid to realise that he was ruining any hope that you had of a normal life - or of progression in this hospital. You're tainted by your association with him."
"I did buy House to save him. But then a strange thing happened. I found that I liked having him like this. I can control him now, I can make him do anything I want. He's obedient and compliant. He's totally dependant on me. No more stupid games, no more getting me into trouble. If I tell him to get on his knees and suck he does." Wilson leaned on the desk and stared into Ayersman's eyes. "I like him like this."
Ayersman looked interested and Wilson knew he had him, a creep like Ayersman would have no problem believing that someone would enjoy owning a human being.
"Then you could share him around. I've got a few friends I could invite over for an evening of fun."
Wilson shook his head, not dropping his gaze. "No, I like him like this. He's mine, and mine alone. After all the crap he's put me through over the years, now it's my turn. I don't share my toys."
Ayersman smiled at him. "Well, if you don't want to share, I guess I'll have to give my contact at the SAC a call. Tell them what's going on here, and how close you two were. It would be such a shame if your toy is taken away. Maybe if he comes onto the open market again, I might buy him. That slave owes me a great deal. I'd enjoy taking it out of him, one piece at a time." He sat back as if he'd just played his trump card.
"You could do that." Wilson nodded and waved his hand in Ayersman's direction. "They'll probably come out and have a look. We've been inspected before, and I have everything set up properly. They can't take the slave unless there's some proof that I've been going easy on him. They already know that I knew him before. Of course I can produce evidence that he nearly destroyed my practice, twice, and that I have plenty of reasons to want to take my own revenge on him. I can show them that he's working constantly - here and at home, that he's under strict discipline. I can do all that."
He leaned in again. "But I won't have to do that. Because if you make that call, I'll make a few calls of my own. You're the worst transplant surgeon in this hospital, Ayersman. I'll make sure that every hospital administrator on the east coast knows that - and a few other things about you. I hear you're looking to move - you'll never get any further here - there's too many better people ahead of you."
He could do it - he had a lot of contacts in other hospitals. He didn't want to - he wanted Ayersman out of this hospital and out of their lives - but he would to protect House.
"So, it's simple - don't go near my slave again - and I won't blackball you."
The two men stared at each other and finally Ayersman looked away.
"He was a lousy fuck anyway. Just keep your piece of crap slave out of my way, Wilson. If he comes sniffing around here looking for seconds I'll kick his ass so hard he'll bounce on his way back to you."
Wilson's left hand balled up into a fist and he thought momentarily about how much better he would feel with one solid punch to the asshole's jaw. Then he thought of House and instead nodded tightly.
"It's a deal."
He got out of there before he could do something he would regret and once safely in the corridor outside leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes momentarily, exhausted by the confrontation.
He heard a noise and opened his eyes again. At the end of the corridor the distinctive orange slave coveralls could be seen, their wearer hunched over a mop as he cleaned the floor. At first Wilson's tired brain thought 'slave', but then he realised it was House. He casually made his way over to him, noting that House didn't look up.
"What are you doing here, House?" he asked, keeping his voice down. Ayersman's office door remained closed but there was no point in taking chances.
"Cleaning the floor, boss," came the laconic reply, along with a vigorous push of the mop which made Wilson's shoes wet. He cursed but inwardly he smiled, any sign that his old friend was still there, buried deep underneath the trauma of what had happened to him, was welcome. Even the ass-like behaviour that would have exasperated him a few years before.
"And you just happened to be in this part of the hospital?"
Now House looked up, his face drawn. "Knew that you would come here first thing. Couldn't resist trying to 'rescue' me again." His words were clipped, strained. "When should I expect them to come for me?"
Wilson shook his head, reaching out to touch House lightly on the arm. "It's not going to happen. Ayersman won't make any trouble for you - and he won't touch you again. I made sure of that."
House glanced down the corridor towards the office. "Can't see any blood."
"I didn't shoot him, House! I just pointed out that it would be in his best interest to back off. I don't think it was the hill he wanted to die on." Or sacrifice his career on.
"Too bad." House was totally expressionless - Wilson didn't think he was joking. He couldn't blame him for wanting the man dead.
"Hey, you, slave!" A voice rang out and they both turned to see a nurse calling them from a patient room. Wilson didn't recognise her, she must be new. "Clean up in room 506. Be quick about it." She seemed to notice Wilson for the first time. "Oh, sorry, Doctor - were you using the slave?"
He shot a glance at House but he had to shake his head. "No, I'm finished. He can do your clean up for you."
He watched as House took his mop and bucket and went into the patient's room under the nurse's steely gaze. Shit, this whole situation was fucked up. He hung around for another couple of minutes but in the end he had to go and leave House to it.
He'd get Foreman to make sure he called in House for a consult today if he had to go trawl through the Emergency room and come up with a patient himself.
Their lives settled into a pattern, a bizarre pattern that Wilson still thought of as a waking nightmare, but a pattern nonetheless. House would invariably get up early and start cleaning up the apartment, and Wilson would join him. Then they'd have breakfast together, clean up and go to the hospital. They'd part in the hospital lobby - Wilson to go to his office, and House to report to his 'boss' - the head of the janitorial department.
Wilson, Cuddy and the fellows had reached out to every hospital in the state and beyond, and done everything but advertise for patients. The diagnostics department had a waiting list of patients a mile long and Foreman was regularly taking on two or three at a time.
Of course with the added patients they needed House more and more, and his time mopping floors dwindled until it was nothing more than a token. He still had to wear the orange 'slave suit', and subject to being searched when he left the hospital but the majority of his time was spent in the diagnostics office, surrounded by files and books. He couldn't see patients, of course, which House seemed to count as the only positive of his new life, but the fellows followed his instructions as they always had. Foreman might have felt resentful at the usurpation of his position by House but, like all of them, he could see that this was helping House. House was beginning to look more like his old self, and less like the cowed slave they'd found in a bathroom in New York.
Their apartment had been visited once more by the SAC but it had been a much more superficial visit - a quick check that the harsh living conditions for slaves were being enforced. Wilson was beginning to hope that they'd slipped off the SAC radar for the most part. Tritter hadn't made any further approaches, and neither had Ayersman as far as he could tell.
So he wasn't expecting a panicked phone call one Wednesday morning.
"Wilson, there are two SAC officers in the hospital. They're coming up there to see you," Cuddy spoke quickly and quietly when he answered the phone.
"Did they say what they wanted?" Wilson asked as he stood up.
"They say that they are here to inspect his working conditions. They'll be there in a minute - I couldn't stall them."
Wilson glanced into Diagnostics. House was standing there, leaning on the whiteboard, clearly leading a differential. The team were seated around the table. He terminated the phone call without another word and rushed in there.
"House, the SAC are coming. Get out of here."
House kept staring at the whiteboard, his eyes staring into the distance. "We're missing something."
Foreman stood up, grabbing the whiteboard marker out of House's hand. "House, we got this. You need to get back to janitorial."
House kept standing there, his mind clearly working overtime as it made the connections that only he could make. Wilson recognised all the signs of an impending epiphany but this was absolutely not the time for one. He heard the elevator door chime and glanced outside to see two men making their way towards the office. It was too late for House to leave. He glanced around and almost pushed House at the coffee machine.
"House! Make it look like you're cleaning!"
House paid no attention to him. His eyes had lit up and he had that look on his face that Wilson was so familiar with. He knew. Wilson groaned cringed internally as the door to the office was pushed open and the SAC officers strode in. He recognised one of them as Crowley - the senior officer who had been to inspect them twice already now. He'd been suspicious of Wilson's motives from the start. The timing couldn't have been worse. There was no stopping House in mid-epiphany.
"Foreman! Tell our patient that next time she goes to Brazil without her husband knowing she should make sure that no unwanted visitors came back with her." House said. Although he was standing over by the coffee machine it was clear he was in charge here. "Chase, get her started on -"
"Be quiet, slave!" Crowley strode forward, one fist balled by his side, the other going to the cane clipped at his waist. "Kneel down!"
House seemed to see them for the first time, his eyes going wide. He sunk to his knees but not before snapping out a command to 'go,now!' to his team.
The fellows were frozen, torn between rushing out the door and staying to support House. Wilson nodded to the doorway.
"Go and start treatment for your patient," he said quietly. "I'll look after this."
Crowley started to protest but Wilson shook his head. "This has nothing to do with them, and they have a patient who'll die if they don't act quickly."
They quickly left and Crowley turned his attention back to the kneeling slave.
"What were you doing, slave?" he asked, the cane in hand now. "I was told you were cleaning bathrooms in the hospital while your master was working. This doesn't look like a bathroom."
"The slave used to be a doctor," Wilson tried for a casual air. "He has a certain... expertise. Those other doctors asked his opinion."
Crowley laughed and casually tapped the cane against House's side. "A slave with an opinion, I've seen everything now. Well, slave, my opinion is that as you seem to have forgotten how to kneel when an officer comes into the room that you can practise. Get up."
House struggled to his feet without his cane and stood with his head bowed.
"Now kneel." Crowley flicked the cane out, striking at House's ass. House flinched as it made contact but dropped to a kneeling position, his head bowed.
"Up!" Crowley commanded and again House rose. "Kneel! Quicker this time."
He kept House at it for ten repetitions, using the cane to urge House to move quicker. The tenth time House could barely stand up, his leg obviously seizing up. When he knelt Wilson prayed that it would be over. He hadn't dared protest but he couldn't stand to watch this anymore.
"Right down this time, slave. Nose to the ground, ass in the air." Crowley commanded and watched as House bent over further, his body contorted painfully. "Hold that while I talk to your master." Crowley turned to Wilson. "Now, Doctor Wilson, explain again why this slave isn't doing his proper duties."
Wilson glanced at House, that position had to be really hurting him after that exertion.
"Can he be released? He has a bad leg, if you keep him in that position he'll be useless to me for days."
Crowley sighed. "Your regard for the slave's welfare isn't convincing me that you are the right owner for him, Doctor Wilson." He walked over and prodded House with the cane. "Flat on your belly, slave. Hands behind your head, legs apart." House scrambled into the required position, lacing his hands behind his head and putting his face towards the floor. Crowley nodded. "Now, hold that position so you don't hurt that 'bad leg' of yours."
He turned to Wilson again, and spoke with exaggerated patience. "Now, if you don't mind, Doctor Wilson."
"As I said, the slave used to be a doctor. Using his abilities as a doctor is no different to using his ability to mop a floor. Occasionally we take him from his cleaning duties and make him work on diagnosing patients. Then he goes back to cleaning."
"Hmmm." Crowley made a disapproving sound and walked over to where House was lying flat on the ground, face down. He prodded him with the cane. "Slave, why don't you tell Doctor Wilson what happens to slaves in training who try and think for themselves?"
House kept his face pressed flat to the floor - he hadn't been told to turn. "Sir, they are punished. A slave's job is to do exactly what they are told. A slave is only fit to obey the orders of others." He answered in a flat tone, as if reciting from rote.
"Good boy," Crowley praised House in a way that made Wilson sick to his stomach, he hated seeing House like this.
"It's poor discipline for him, Doctor Wilson. You let him pretend to be a human being and he'll never settle into his real work. He needs routine, and hard work, and discipline. You saw what happened when we came in - he didn't kneel as he's supposed to. You have him up there, giving orders to free people, and it destroys his discipline. You'll ruin him. After all the work that went into training him."
"I'll... bear that in mind," Wilson said. The warped view of these people was ridiculous. Could Crowley actually believe House was better off as a slave than as a doctor?
Crowley looked around the room, his gaze settling on the conference table. He tapped the surface with his hand.
"This will do. Slave, get up."
House levered himself off the floor painfully and stood demurely before Crowley, hands behind his back and head lowered.
"Strip off."
House hesitated, glancing over at Wilson and Crowley struck him with the cane, catching his right arm. House made a sound of pain but otherwise made no move to get out of range.
"This isn't necessary," Wilson protested. "He's my slave. Any punishment should come from me but he was only doing what I told him to. I won't get him to do that anymore."
"Good. I'm not punishing him for doing what you told him to. I'm instilling discipline that he's lost with this nonsense. Instant obedience is a hard reflex to instill in slaves. See how he's hesitating now? A well trained slave would have been naked in ten seconds. If he takes any longer I'm doubling the number of strokes."
House was pulling his overalls off, but very slowly. At Crowley's words he moved a little faster, stripping off the t-shirt he wore underneath. His hands hesitated on the waistband of his boxers but then he pushed them off as well, stepping out of them and then again putting his hands behind his back and his head down.
"Bend over the table, legs apart." Crowley commanded.
Wilson watched helplessly as House complied, his arms and hands stretched along the cold glass surface of the table.
Wilson was about to protest again when he heard a soft gasp. Cameron was in the doorway, her hand to her mouth. The other two were a step behind her. Chase's face was flushed and Foreman's was stony with anger.
"Come back later," Wilson started to say but Crowley stopped his with a hand on his arm. "No, Doctor Wilson, they should stay for this. So they understand what a slave is." He turned to the fellows. "Come in, the slave is about to be punished for neglecting his duties." He waved a hand to the other side of the conference table as if he were a genial host. "Stand there, out of the way."
"Are you going to offer us refreshments?" Chase spoke up, his eyes darting from where House was stretched out over the table to Crowley, and then to Wilson, imploring him to do something. "We don't need to see this."
"I heard how he was talking to you. As if you were the slaves, and he was the free man. All of you have to understand that can't be allowed to happen. So you will stay."
The fellows stood in a small clump by the table. The surface was glass so House was completely exposed to their gaze. His face was turned away from them but his whole body was tense, the skin flushed. Wilson could see that he was trembling.
A heavy silence fell over the room and Wilson just hoped that Crowley would get this over with quickly and get out.
Crowley held up his cane and then turned to Wilson. "Ten strokes of this please, Doctor Wilson."
Wilson heard Cameron gasp, and saw House twitch his head. He stared at the cane in shock.
"You... you want me to..."
"Of course, you're his owner."
"I... don't know how..."
Crowley let out a soft sound of amusement. "It's not really difficult, Doctor Wilson. Aim for his ass and hit as hard as you can."
Wilson held up his hands in protest. "Look, he doesn't need this. We won't use him for medical consults any more. But I don't need to cane him."
"Doctor Wilson, I will make this simple for you. Either way I'm putting in a report to my superiors of the situation here. If you cane him now he can stay here until a decision is made. If you refuse, I will have no choice but to take the slave into my custody now. He'll be taken to the cells at the SAC until a proper determination can be made into your fitness to keep him. You're his owner. This is your problem and your responsibility. Now, ten strokes. The slave will keep the count for you."
Wilson took the cane numbly and stared at it and back at House. He was aware of the eyes of the fellows on him. He couldn't let Crowley take House. Once House was in the system Wilson knew it would be a lot harder to get him back.
He stepped behind House and took a firm grip on the cane.
"Doctor Wilson, you can't!" Cameron called out, only for Chase to grab her arm, shaking his head at her. She fell silent.
Wilson wanted to close his eyes so he didn't have to see what he was doing but he knew he had to be careful about this. He had to make sure that he hit only the fleshy part of House's buttocks - not that there was much padding there now.
He took a deep breath and swung at House. His stroke was tentative and he pulled it back at the moment of contact.
"That one doesn't count." Crowley said. "Really, Doctor Wilson, I'm sure you can do better than that. You're only making this harder for the slave. They tell me the anticipation is worse than the caning."
Wilson doubted that. He'd seen how much pain a caning caused when he'd first encountered Crowley. He was right though, he needed to get this done as quickly as possible, and with no more strokes than necessary.
He tried to clamp down on his emotions and again swung at House's buttocks. This time he managed to follow through and the cane impacted solidly with House's flesh. A vivid red line appeared and House trembled with the impact. His hands were gripping the sides of the table and Wilson saw his knuckles whiten.
"One, sir. Thank you, sir," House squeezed out in a pained voice.
Somehow Wilson got through the next nine strokes. He tried to avoid any spots he'd hit previously but he knew he was causing House a great deal of pain. House's voice got steadily weaker and hoarser as he thanked Wilson for every bit of agony Wilson was putting him through. His grip on the side of the table grew weaker and he seemed to shrink into himself with every stroke. Wilson could see the beads of sweat all over his body and the trembling was even more visible now.
"T...ten, sir." House ground out and then gasped as a fresh wave of pain struck him. "Thank you... sir..."
"Is that sufficient?" Wilson asked coldly, handing the cane back to Crowley. He couldn't help but notice a couple of drops of blood clinging to the surface. House's blood. Several of the welts had broken the surface of the skin.
Crowley nodded. "Yes, that will do for now." He looked down at House. "You may resume your former position on the carpet, slave."
House got up painfully and staggered a couple of steps back to where he'd been lying before. He dropped to his knees and then down to his belly, his face turned away from them. His abused ass was on display for all of them to see.
Wilson tore his gaze away to see that all three fellows were staring at him, shock on their faces. He deliberately hardened his own expression. House's suffering would be in vain if Crowley took House away.
Crowley gathered up his fellow officer with a nod. "I think we have all we need for today, Doctor Wilson. As I said, I will be putting in a report on this ... situation. You'll be hearing from us."
They both left.
"House..." Wilson dropped to his knees besides House's body. "House, I'm so sorry." He looked up at Foreman. "Get his Vicodin, it's in my jacket pocket in my office. "Chase, Cameron, can you go and tell Cuddy they're gone?"
"What the hell happened here?" Wilson turned around at the exclamation and saw Cuddy standing in the office doorway - her horrified gaze on House.
"Oh, let's invite the rest of the hospital too," House said weakly and Wilson was glad to hear his voice, and that there was still some fight in it.
Chase and Cameron had taken the hint and left at least, Chase with his arm around Cameron, steadying her. Foreman quickly brought the Vicodin and then took off as well.
Wilson gathered up House's clothing and pulled the blinds to the conference room closed.
"Cuddy, can you give us a moment?" Wilson looked up at her. She was still staring down at House and Wilson knew that he wouldn't want her to see him like this. And Wilson didn't want to tell her what had just happened. What he had just done.
"Wilson..."
"Please, Cuddy!"
She stared at him a moment longer and then went into the office next door.
"They're all gone, House. Can you get up?"
House didn't answer but he pulled himself over onto his side and Wilson helped him stagger back to his feet. He all but put House's t-shirt on for him and then stood there with the boxers in his hand.
"Don't get shy now, Wilson. Just..." House made a gesture and shakily held one leg off the ground. As quickly as he could Wilson helped House slip the boxers on and then pull them up. He breathed a sigh of relief when House was again clothed, although he knew how much damage those clothes were hiding.
Sitting would be out of the question for House so Wilson left him holding himself up with one of the chairs that sat around the table.
"You'd better get Cuddy back in here before she finds out what's in the third drawer," House cracked, but there was no humour in his voice.
"About what I did..."
"You did what you had to, Wilson. It's nothing. You hit like a girl anyway."
"It's not nothing!" Wilson yelled and was horrified to see House flinch away from him. Both men fell silent. The reality of what had just happened hung between them. Wilson tried to think of something to say that would make this better, but there were no words for this. Instead he went over to the inner office and gestured for Cuddy to join them.
She looked between them, her expression uncertain. She hadn't witnessed the caning, but she'd seen the damage done to House. Wilson was relieved that she didn't yet know that Wilson was responsible for that damage.
"Are you okay?" she asked House and then bit her lip. It was obvious he wasn't.
"Peachy," he ground out, leaning heavily on the back of a chair. "Apparently the SAC don't think that a slave should be doing medicine."
"Maybe we should stop..." Cuddy started uncertainly.
"No." House said.
"House, it's not worth the risk," Wilson said. "I know you want to but..."
"There are only two things keeping me going. Doing medicine again, and you." House lifted his head and stared at Wilson. "I need you, Wilson. Don't fall apart on me now. Not because of this. You told me we couldn't live in fear of the SAC and what they might do. You were right. I don't want to live like that anymore."
He straightened up, hissing at the pain. "Get the fellows back in here. They haven't had a chance to tell me I was right yet."
Wilson paged Foreman and then bolted out of the conference room, ignoring Cuddy's shout. Let House, or more likely Cameron, tell her what had happened, if they wanted. He went straight to the nearest bathroom, mercifully it was empty.
After he'd lost his lunch he stared at himself in the mirror. He could still feel the cane in his hand, the sensation of it hitting bare flesh and the pain that it had caused. He balled one fist up and hit the mirror, and then again, and then again. Then he sank to the floor, cradling his bruised hand.
After a while he stood shakily and put himself to rights. If House could bear all this then he could too. He had to.