As neither I nor my co-writer are diagnostic geniuses we've pinched the details of a medical case from an episode - bonus points if you know which one :)
House was standing in front of the whiteboard when the fellows returned from admitting Harris's daughter and running the preliminary tests. All three paused as they came in the door. House had shed the bright orange coverall, and was wearing dark blue jeans, sneakers and a button down shirt - his collar was only barely visible above the neck of his shirt. He'd worked with them quite a lot since his return to the hospital but this was the first time they'd seen their old boss as he used to be.
He noticed them staring at his clothes and waved a hand over himself.
"Like the new threads? Wilson believes in the magical power of clothes and we're going to need all the help we can get. Sit down kiddies; let Daddy tell you about our new case."
This was new too. He hadn't taken the lead on any of their cases since his return. He seemed to have donned newly found confidence with the clothes.
He stood aside to reveal the whiteboard and their eyes were drawn to it.
'Slave Boss Junior' was written along the top in bold letters.
"Her name is Elizabeth," Chase said as he leafed through his file.
"Is that diagnostically relevant?" House asked, still writing.
Chase rolled his eyes and the others smiled at the familiar quip.
House stepped back to reveal what he had been writing.
'Cured kid = Free House'. 'Dead kid' = 'Dead House'.
"No pressure or anything," House said brightly. "Now - who wants to go first?"
Differential complete, and with a preliminary - and probably complete wrong - diagnosis, the three fellows left the conference room.
Foreman turned on the others as soon as they were out of House's earshot.
"How can he put that on the whiteboard? It's not like we're going to forget what's at stake here. Adding this pressure isn't going to find the answer quicker. He's making us responsible for his freedom - that's not fair."
"It's his life on the line here. He needs to know that we understand that - all the time," Cameron jumped to House's defence, as usual. "Besides, I thought you believed that people work better with pressure. You're the one who stabbed me with an infected needle so that I'd have an 'incentive' to find a cure for you."
"This is not the time," Chase said, stepping between them as they were squaring off. "Let's just get this done as quickly as possible."
"I don't know why the bastard thinks we want him back anyway," Foreman grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. Despite himself he did want the bastard back - for good, and without a damned collar around his neck. Nobody deserved that. If curing this kid could achieve that then he wanted it as much as the other two.
Cuddy paused as she entered the conference room. House was there, as he often was these days, but instead of the orange coverall with the damning word written on it, he was dressed in his old attire - blue jeans with a button down shirt. At first she thought his collar had gone, but she could just see the top of it poking out from under his shirt.
The whiteboard was set up at the end of the conference table. Cuddy read the words at the top. House was making the stakes of this diagnosis very clear to his fellows.
Wilson had shared the details of the deal with Cuddy, and she had witnessed the recording Harris had made outlining the terms. Wilson and House were both playing very high stakes poker but there was no one she'd rather bet on it when it came to medicine than House. If anyone could cure the child it would be House.
"Like the new look?" House asked as he looked up and caught sight of her.
She entered the room and walked over to him, placing a hand gently on his arm.
"You look good, House."
He stepped away, shaking her hand off. "You don't want to catch slave cooties, Cuddy. I still am one, despite Wilson's best efforts to dress me up like a real man."
"Why..." Cuddy waved a hand at him.
"It makes Wilson feel better to see me like this."
"Only Wilson?"
He shrugged. "I can't forget what I am, Cuddy. But it doesn't matter. I've got nothing to lose - I'm going back to the SAC if I can't keep slave guy's kid alive anyway. Might as well 'give it to the man'.
"You're not going back to the SAC. You can do this, House. You'll gain your freedom and then you'll be free to do all the crazy things you used to do to annoy me." What she wouldn't give to be dealing with the shit he used to pull, the stupid mind games, the crude remarks, the rudeness to patients and staff. She'd even welcome him dodging clinic hours again - at least it would mean that he was free to do those clinic hours.
"You're confusing me with God again, Cuddy. Even if I diagnose the brat she still may have something terminal - she's circling the drain now."
"Do you have any ideas yet?"
He turned back towards the whiteboard. "Told the team that it's Hirschsprung's. They've gone to confirm."
"And is it?" Hirschsprung's was treatable at least.
"Sorry, I left my crystal ball in my other pants." He stared at the whiteboard, lost in thought. She knew that look - House wasn't confident in the diagnosis.
She hesitated, wanting to say something more, but this was his process to go through. She'd only be in the way if she stayed. She put a hand gently on his arm and was saddened when he flinched away again.
"I'll leave you to it, House. If you need anything, anything at all, let me know."
She braced for a demand for some impossible sex act, or a giant television screen in the conference room, or ten years supply of Vicodin but it didn't come. Instead there was silence.
When she paused in the doorway to look back House was still staring at the whiteboard. He was leaning awkwardly on the edge of the table; his whole body was tight with tension. He might be making light of this whole thing but he was very aware of what the stakes were. This was literally life or death for him.
She had to make herself walk away.
Once she was back in her office Cuddy requested copies of all the files pertaining to the case. She'd keep an eye on what was happening from here, and begin to make plans if necessary. They'd only just found House, they weren't going to lose him again, whatever happened.
Wilson steeled himself for the daily ritual of examining the welts on House's ass. House had protested him doing so, but after Wilson had seen him wincing his way through a day's work that was enough for him. House couldn't examine or treat them properly, and Wilson wasn't going to take a chance on them becoming infected.
He hated seeing the marks. They were beginning to fade now, and the bruising was going down but every time he saw them he was reminded of that terrible scene in the conference room. House was always quiet during the exams, lying face down with his face pillowed on his arms. He'd never uttered a word of blame, or resentment, towards Wilson and in fact seemed to regard Wilson dwelling on it as strange.
The matter of fact acceptance of abuse was chilling.
As Wilson applied the antiseptic cream he took silent catalogue of the other marks he could see. Scars from numerous beatings trailing up his body until they disappeared under the concealing shirt. He wondered if House remembered each one, or if they just merged together into a horrifying history of abuse.
There were older marks too, ones that he couldn't have received in the last few years. Marks from a belt buckle, and some old cigarette burns.
House had always hated his father. Now Wilson knew why.
"These are looking a lot better. How are they feeling?" he asked House inanely, trying to fill the heavy silence.
"They're fine," House said, as he always did.
"Okay, I'm done." Wilson said, turning away to clean his hands on a wipe. Behind him House rolled over on the bed and pulled his boxers and pants up. Wilson gave him plenty of time to get covered up before turning back.
"How is the case going?" he asked. He'd tried to resist hovering over House during the day. Treat it like any other case, he'd thought, no pressure. He'd seen the fellows go in and out of the office several times, and the last he'd heard they'd been testing for Hirschprung's.
Before House could answer Wilson's phone rang. It was the team, calling for House. House talked to them for a few minutes and then disconnected.
"Kid had a seizure. They had to drill burr holes. Harris was there and saw the whole thing." He tapped his fingers against his cane. "Brain damage after a rectal biopsy - that's something you don't see every day."
"Is she alright?" If Harris's daughter had suffered any permanent damage, or if she had died...
"They relieved the pressure and got her stabilized. But it looks like we can cross Hirschprung's off the board." He ran a hand through his hair wearily. "I need to go back in."
Before Wilson could respond there was a loud knocking on the door and a voice yelled out to 'open the door, now!'
"Stay here," Wilson said and went off towards the door. As soon as he opened it two uniformed SAC officers shouldered past him.
"The slave, where is he?"
"I'm here," House said, emerging from the bedroom, cane in hand.
"Drop the cane," one officer said while the other went up to House and roughly spun him around and into the wall. In a quick motion he patted House down and then clipped a chain leash onto his collar and handcuffs onto his wrists. He tugged on the leash.
"Come with us, slave." House dropped his head and stumbled after them, limping badly without his cane.
Wilson got between them and the doorway. "You can't just take him, he belongs to me." Claiming ownership of House was becoming easier all the time. At least that ownership could protect House a little.
"Orders from Mr Harris. You can come, but the slave goes back to the hospital. The boss wants a word with him." The officer tugged at the leash while his colleague placed a hand on his sidearm and eyed Wilson. Wilson quickly grabbed up House's cane and followed them out the door.
They'd come in a van and House was unceremoniously hooded and hoisted into the back to lie on the floor. The doors were slammed shut before Wilson could protest further.
"You didn't need to do this, we were headed back to the hospital anyway," Wilson said as he took a seat in the front of the van.
The officer shrugged. "You can sort it out with the boss, if you like. I heard his daughter nearly died though - he might not be very receptive."
Wilson realised he wasn't going to get very far arguing with them so he sank back onto the seat, trying not to think of House lying in the back, handcuffed and blinded.
On their arrival at the hospital House was hauled out of the van and was marched, still hooded and chained, through the hospital to a small waiting room Harris had commandeered for himself.
There he was thrust to his knees and Harris removed the hood. He bent down and slapped House hard across his face.
"My daughter had to be operated on and you were nowhere to be found. She nearly died due to your incompetence!"
"That's enough!" Wilson moved to stand in front of House. "He is my slave. I will not have him being abused. He came home with me, as he always does, and left three competent doctors in charge of the case. Do you expect him to work twenty four hours a day?"
"If that's what it takes!" Harris answered, his normally icy cold composure breaking. "They told me my daughter had something called Hirschsprung's. That she would be okay. Then she started seizing. They had to drill holes in her skull. And this... this piece of garbage was nowhere to be found. He didn't do anything. He hasn't even seen my daughter!"
"The seizure rules out Hirschsprung's," House said from his position on his knees. His hands were still shackled behind him and he was trembling, but he still commanded attention when he spoke. "This is a process. A new symptom gives us new information to form a new diagnosis. Or you can just go on yelling at me and she'll die. Your choice."
The guard behind him cuffed him hard on the back of his head. "Shut your mouth, slave!"
"If you keep hitting him he won't be able to help you at all," Wilson said. "Take those cuffs off and let him get on with what he does best."
Harris stared at him angrily but then nodded to the officer. "Take the slave's cuffs off."
When House's hands were free the officer hauled him to his feet and Wilson gave him his cane back.
"The slave doesn't leave this hospital until my daughter is cured," Harris said to Wilson.
"That wasn't part of our agreement."
"I'm making it part of it. He stays here. I'm putting a guard on him who'll report back to me."
Wilson wanted to protest but he didn't dare push this too much, for House's sake. If keeping House here would prevent him being dragged back like this then maybe it was for the best.
"Your guard will keep his hands off him, and keep out of his way," he said. He glanced at House, who was still looking shaken from the trip here. "Come on, House - we'll go to my office and then you can see your team. Maybe you should go and sit with your daughter, Harris."
In his office Wilson gave House another dose of Vicodin.
"Are you okay?"
House was rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had dug in. "I've been bouncing around in the back of a van, what do you think?"
"I'm sorry; I could stop them doing that. Do you have any idea what his daughter has?"
"Not a clue. I'm sure my team will have some stupid theories though." He grabbed up his cane and limped to the door. There was an SAC officer standing just outside and he followed them both to the conference room and came to stand just outside the door.
All three fellows were there, cups of coffee in front of them, the remnants of Chinese takeout strewn over the conference room table. They all looked surprised to see both House, and then the officer.
"My personal bodyguard," House explained. "Just ignore him. What have we got? Besides some poor kid with holes in their skull because you did a rectal biopsy."
Foreman indicated a scan up on the lightbox. "We were just discussing it. The fluid collection has an odd shape. I think the dural layer was already separated from the brain when the fluid started to build up."
House scrutinised the scan, his face expressionless. "Good catch. Get a Dural biopsy to confirm brain cancer."
The fellows all looked at each other uneasily.
"What?"
"Maybe it's something else..." Foreman said, his voice trailing off. He knew House had to cure the girl, not just diagnose her.
"Something less fatal? That would be good. Got any ideas?"
They all looked at each in silence and House nodded.
"That's what I thought. So go get a dural biopsy to confirm brain cancer."
They filed out, aware of the watchful eye of the guard. Wilson knew Harris would be hearing of this possible diagnosis soon.
"If it is brain cancer I'll be punting her over to your department." House said. "And packing my bags."
"If you've caught it early the prognosis could be good. The odd are..."
"Think her dad is going to care about the odds?"
"It'll be months before we'd know either way."
They hadn't covered the possibility of not knowing the outcome for some time in their agreement with Harris. Once House had diagnosed the child he'd be of no further use to Harris. The best they could hope for was that Harris would let him stay in the hospital, and with Wilson, until the girl had finished her treatment course.
"It will be a few hours before we get the results of the biopsy," House said. "Apparently I'm sleeping here tonight. Don't forget to use the polish on the floors in the morning."
"If you're here, I'm here," Wilson said. No way was he leaving House here by himself. "I'll get a camp bed taken to my office, you can have that, and I'll take the couch."
"Great, a slumber party. Just don't ask me to do your hair."
The results weren't back when they woke up after an uneasy night's sleep. Wilson had his assistant fetch them both breakfast from the cafeteria. The guard was outside the closed door of the office but he kept his voice low anyway.
"If the news is bad we have to work on a way to get you out of this. We'll start treatment - tell Harris the prognosis is good. There's always been rumours of an underground network for escaped slaves. If we can get you over the border into Mexico and then on a plane for Australia - they don't have an extradition treaty with the US - you'll be safe there."
House eyed him sharply. "You've been looking into this?"
"Yes, but I haven't been able to make contact with anyone yet - but the treatment will take weeks or months, I'll find someone who can help. It will be risky - but so is going back to the SAC."
"If I get away you'll be getting a collar around your neck too - you know that."
Wilson swallowed heavily. He knew. Owners whose slaves escaped were made an example of. "I'll be coming with you. I wouldn't let you go by yourself."
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Foreman came in, holding a sheet of paper.
"Biopsy is negative and so is the latest scan. The good news is it's not cancer. The bad news is we still don't know what it is."
House took the paper and quickly read it. "You give up too quickly, Foreman. It's cancer."
"I just said the biopsy was negative and all his scans were clear."
"As Doctor Wilson will tell you there's more than one type of cancer. Adenocarcinoma of the stomach would cause pain, constipation, nutritional deficiencies that could cause seizures."
Foreman nodded thoughtfully. "And it wouldn't show up on the CT."
"Gold star. Go and scope him, and get another set of biopsies."
"Her father's going to love that. He's already scrutinising everything we do."
"And I care about what her father doesn't like? I guess I'm lucky I don't have to deal with him. Oh, wait..."
"Okay, I get it." Foreman moved towards the door and then hesitated with one hand on the handle. "Look, you do have some sort of plan B don't you? If this goes badly..."
"Wilson knows people who know people who might know other people. But if your homies have some sort of underground slave smuggling network now would be a fantastic time to speak up."
Foreman rolled his eyes and left without another word.
"Do you think that's a yes?" House asked, collapsing back onto the couch, only to wince when his ass made contact with the cushions. He hastily slipped one underneath himself.
"If we've caught it early the survival rate is good."
"Kids seen 17 doctors - what are the odds we've caught it early?"
Not good, Wilson thought to himself.
House nodded. "Yeah, that's what I think too," he said softly.
As Foreman had thought it was difficult to convince Harris to allow more tests.
"I thought you said it wasn't cancer?"
"It's not brain cancer - now we think it's in his stomach. This test will confirm."
"More tests, do you people even know what you're doing? This slave - he's supposed to have been some famous doctor? He hasn't even seen Elizabeth."
"Doctor House is well renowned. He specialises in hard to diagnose case. Or at least he did." When Foreman thought of the waste of the last three years of House's life it made him furious. Okay, the man was a total ass, and he'd obviously done something bad enough to get himself enslaved, but it was criminal to have him mopping floors. When he remembered how bad House had looked when they found him in that hotel bathroom it was incredible that he was even able to practise medicine at all. He was obviously deeply traumatised - they'd all seen him flinch at loud voices and drop into a submissive stance in any confrontation.
The scene in the conference room when Wilson had caned House was something that Foreman didn't let himself remember.
"Doctor House often doesn't see his patients personally. It allows him to remain completely objective. That's why he has a team."
"Had a team. Don't forget that he's not a doctor now, he's a slave."
"Look, from what I understand you were the one who wanted him for your daughter. What's the point if you're going to refuse to let us do our jobs?" Foreman held out the consent form. "We need to do these tests to confirm it's cancer - and if it is we can start treating her. The earlier we catch it the better."
Harris scowled but took the form and scribbled his signature. He thrust it back at Foreman.
"If my daughter dies, I'll not only take the slave back with me, but I'll hold the rest of you responsible as well. It's amazing how many illegal activities you can find if you probe into even the most respectable person's background."
He stalked off without waiting for a response.
Foreman looked through the glass wall of Elizabeth's room. Harris was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his daughter's hand and talking softly to her. No sign of his previous anger remained.
Foreman shook his head and went to get Chase and Cameron to assist in the tests.
House was resting in Wilson's office when the SAC officer who had been on duty outside the door came in.
"On your feet, slave. Come with me." He was holding a leash in one hand, ready to clip it onto House's collar.
House got to his feet obediently but flinched back at the sight of the leash. "That's not necessary."
The officer grabbed him by the shoulder. "Don't talk back to me, slave."
"He's right - it's not necessary," Wilson intervened. There was no way that he was going to allow House to be paraded through the hospital at the end of a leash again. "Where do you want to take him?"
"Mr Harris asked me to bring him to his daughter's room."
"Come on then, we'll all go. But no leash. He's a cripple - it's not like he's going to make a run for it. Your leash will only make it harder for him to walk." Wilson hated speaking for House like this, but House had gone silent, as he usually did in the presence of the SAC officers. He'd explained to Wilson that it was behaviour ingrained into the slaves, but that didn't make it any easier to witness.
The officer hesitated but in the end capitulated and they all made the short journey to Elizabeth's room.
"Look at this, slave." Harris said, opening the front of his daughter's hospital gown to reveal a series of red spots on his chest. "What are they?"
Elizabeth had seized again during the tests and hadn't regained consciousness. Harris was livid. Everything they were doing seemed to make her condition worse. When she came into the hospital she'd been ill with vomiting and listlessness. Now she was in a coma.
House came forward to examine the marks. Wilson noticed that he took care to stay out of Harris's range. He didn't look up to meet the man's angry stare.
"They look like red spots on her chest," House said and Wilson winced.
"Do not get smart with me, slave!" Harris took a step forward, his fist clenched by his side.
"I don't know what to tell you. We're trying to diagnose your daughter. This is a new symptom. We don't know what it means yet. You can yell at me all you like but we're still not going to know what it means. You need to let me and my team do our job."
"If you think I'm going to let any of you touch her..."
"At this point you haven't got much choice. I guess you could move her to another hospital but they are just going to run all the same tests." House said, still not meeting Harris's eyes.
"We should go back to the conference room and run a diagnostic," Foreman said, stepping forward. "This isn't helping your daughter."
"Wait." House said, his eyes on Elizabeth. "Uncover the rest of her body, Cameron."
Cameron looked nervously between House and Harris but went over to the bed and undid the rest of the gown. House moved closer and examined her skin, bending down close to her genitals. Harris grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.
"Get away from her!"
House put up his hands. "I've seen what I need to. Can I go now?"
"Take your slave out of here," Harris said to Wilson. "Before I show him what it really means to be a slave." He looked at House. "If my daughter dies you'll pay for it for the rest of your life."
He turned back to his daughter and carefully covered her up again.
The conference room was quiet as the fellows all avoided looking at House. The guard standing outside the door was a constant reminder of the price of failure, as was the collar around House's neck.
House was standing at the window and staring out over the grounds of the hospital.
"We should do another differential with the new symptom. The rash must mean something," Cameron said.
"Don't bother," House said without turning around. "It's Degos disease."
There was a shocked silence behind him. Degos was fatal.
"It can't be!" Cameron said, her voice shaken.
"Because we don't want it to be?" House finally turned to face them. His face was drawn and closed off. "That's not how this works. You should know that by now. I'll go tell Harris."
"No, don't," Wilson said. "We need to buy some time."
"You think he won't notice when his daughter dies tomorrow? She hasn't got much more time than that - maybe less."
"He doesn't need to know yet. Chase, Foreman, Cameron - you go out into the hospital, make it look like you're still looking for the answer. Take some blood, run some tests. Don't arouse his suspicions."
"This is pointless, Wilson."
"Then it will be pointless. Go," Wilson said to the fellows. He wasn't going to let House go without a fight.
When the fellows were gone Wilson ushered House into his own office. "You stay here while I go and see if I can make contact with that patient I told you about."
"Nobody is going to be able to arrange safe passage for a slave and his owner in a few hours, Wilson. And are you forgetting the SAC goon?" He gestured with his head at the closed door, on the other side the SAC officer was still standing guard.
"We have to try. Stay here; don't talk to anyone until I come back."
When Wilson was gone House sat down on the couch. His ass reminded him that it still had welt marks across it but he ignored it. The pain of that at least detracted a little from the pain of his leg, and from the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him.
The deal with Harris had seemed to be worth the gamble. Betting his freedom against years of unimaginable misery. Now that he had lost that gamble the reality was sinking in. He might only have a few years to go on his sentence, but the SAC chief executive officer would have ways of stretching that out. Once Harris's daughter died he'd see that House paid for as long as possible. A minor transgression as a slave would lead to years more on his sentence. Even if House did nothing wrong Harris could easily frame him.
The hell he'd gone through in the last few years would be nothing compared to what Harris would subject him to. He'd made that very clear. House shuddered when he thought of the 'training camp' that he'd spent six months in. There had been two slaves there who'd been sent back for remedial training, and although House's life had been difficult at the camp, those slaves had endured a level of torture that had left all the new 'recruits' shaken to their core. That was what Harris would do to him. And if he survived the camp there would still be years of misery ahead, with the cruellest owner Harris could find for him. Maybe Harris would even take him himself.
He wouldn't have Wilson, or Cuddy, or medicine. He'd have nothing, with no hope of things ever getting better.
He went over to Wilson's desk drawer and opened it to reveal his bottle of Vicodin.
There were enough pills in there to do the job.
He could take them and just lie down and go to sleep.
He picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands. These pills which for so long had helped ease his pain could now end it. Opening the top he tipped a few out into the palm of his hand.
Wilson had gone in person to the address listed for his patient. This was too important for him to try and make contact over the phone and he couldn't afford to be rejected. He knew that he was grasping at straws here. He'd only heard rumours about his patient's involvement in an underground slave smuggling network, he had nothing concrete to go on. He'd never even heard of a slave escaping before, the chips in their collars, and - according to rumour - implanted deep in their flesh made it almost impossible. If there were any escapes the SAC kept them very quiet.
He had to try though. He couldn't let House go back to the SAC. He'd seen far too much since he'd brought House home to have any illusions about how it would go for him.
He kicked himself for agreeing to this bargain of House's. If they'd stuck to Harris's original plan then House would be safe. He would have fulfilled his end by successfully diagnosing the girl, and hopefully Harris would have kept his word and not recalled House to the SAC.
He looked up from the piece of paper in his hand to the derelict building in front of him. This was the address his patient had given to the hospital. But there was nothing here. Nobody had lived here for a long time.
He closed his eyes and crushed the piece of paper in his hand. Without even this slender lead he had nothing to go on. No way of contacting anyone who could help, even if they managed to get House past the guard who had been dogging his footsteps.
He got back into his car and headed back to the hospital, the weight of defeat sitting heavily on his shoulders.
House stood in the doorway of his patient's room. The young girl was still, she hadn't regained consciousness since her last seizure.
Harris was sitting by her bed, stroking her hand. At that moment he looked like any worried parent.
The Vicodin had gone back into the pill bottle. House wouldn't surrender like that - not to these people. Not to the people who wanted to destroy him. He wouldn't jeopardise Wilson in any way - Wilson hadn't asked for any of this. He'd go back to the SAC and face what waited for him there and survive.
He'd see the case through with this, his last patient.
"She has Degos disease," he said, breaking the silence of the room. Harris looked up and took a moment to register him. When he spoke it was without his usual aggression.
"Degos? What is that?"
"It causes micro blood vessels in the brain, skin and GI tract to break down and clot off. There's not treatment, and no cure."
Harris just stared at him blankly, and then blinked a couple of times. "She's going to die?"
"Yes, within twenty four hours, possibly a lot sooner. So you can tell your goon here to take me away. You've won. Just..." he swallowed heavily and looked down to steady to himself. "Please, don't let Wilson see. He's out of the hospital. I could be gone before he comes back."
He didn't want Wilson to see him being taken away. He'd disappear again, like he had before and in time Wilson would go on with his life.
"No! You have to do something... you have to cure her. She can't die. She's all I have."
"As I said it's Degos, there's no treatment. I can't wave a magic wand and make it better. She's dying."
"You can't give up," Harris said desperately. "You're supposed to be the best there is.
"I thought I was a scumbag slave?" House asked. He had nothing to lose now really.
Harris's face hardened. "You almost persuaded me you could be something more. But even with your freedom at stake you're useless. Get those other doctors in here."
"They'll tell you what I just told you. It's Degos disease, and she'll die within 24 hours. There aren't any miracles here."
"Just get them here."
House went over to the phone in the room and paged Foreman.
The two men waited in silence until Foreman arrived, Chase and Cameron trailing behind him.
"What does my daughter have?" Harris asked Foreman. Foreman looked from Harris to House, reluctant to reveal the diagnosis if House hadn't already done so.
"Just tell him," House said wearily. He shifted his weight. He wanted to sit down somewhere. He wanted this nightmare to be over.
"She has Degos disease," Foreman said.
"And the prognosis?"
"I'm sorry, it's terminal. She has less than one day before her body shuts down completely."
A sudden alarm split the air. All four doctors examined the monitors.
"She's flatlining!" Foreman yelled. "Somebody call a code."
Cameron went to the phone while Chase hurried over to help Foreman. Together they worked on Elizabeth while House watched. Harris hovered helplessly. In the midst of the chaos Wilson came into the room.
"You okay?" he asked House.
"I told Harris about the Degos."
"You did what?"
House gestured at the bed. "He was going to know soon anyway - hard to miss your daughter dying in front of you."
"I asked you to give me time!"
"There wasn't any to give. It's over, Wilson."
"We might be able to change his mind."
House shook his head. "Not Harris. He was born with a heart three sizes too small..." He broke off; staring at something only he could see.
"We brought her back," Foreman came over to them. "But she can't have long. I'm sorry, House."
"Start her on heparin and IV immunoglobulin." House said briskly.
Foreman blinked at him. "For Degos?"
"That cardiac arrest wasn't just a "my body is giving up' arrest. It was a coronary event. Coronaries are large vessels. Which means it can't be Degos
"But the biopsies..."
"The blood vessels aren't obstructed because of Degos. It's primary antiphospholipid syndrome."
"You can't be sure of that."
"If it's Degos she's dead, and Wilson loses his slave. If it's not, well... Wilson also loses a slave, but he gets his BFF back. What's your money on, Wilson?"
"I'll start treatment, and I hope to hell you're right," Foreman responded.
"I do too."
Wilson woke House with a gentle touch on his shoulder. Both men had slept the night at the hospital - House was still forbidden to leave.
"I just heard from Foreman. Elizabeth is responding to the treatment. She's sitting up and asking for pizza." Wilson smiled with relief. "You did it, House. It's over."
House sat up slowly, his whole body sore from the stress and tension of the last couple of days. He took in Wilson's words and closed his eyes. The prospect of freedom was so enticing that he couldn't believe it could be true.
"Harris still has to hold up his end of the deal," he pointed out.
"He has no reason not to, with his daughter cured. Why would he care whether you were free or not?"
"He doesn't need a reason. I need to see her," House said, reaching for his cane.
"I'll come with you."
Harris wasn't in Elizabeth's room when they got there but Elizabeth was sitting up in bed playing with a soft toy. She looked up as they entered, smiling at Wilson but frowning when she saw House.
"Are you a slave?"
"Yes." He said, picking up her chart and checking her latest test results.
"My Daddy says slaves are bad men. You shouldn't be here."
"Your Dad is wrong." Wilson said. "This slave is the doctor who saved your life."
She looked at House again, her expression puzzled.
"That's enough," a voice came from the doorway and both men turned around. Harris was standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Come out here," he ordered.
"Wouldn't want your daughter to get the wrong idea about slaves, would you?" House asked but complied. There wasn't much to gain by antagonising Harris and a lot to lose.
"I'll just be a minute sweetheart," Harris said and then shut the door to the room.
"She's going to be alright?" he asked House.
"Yes, she'll need to continue treatment for a couple more days but she'll be fine."
Harris nodded.
"I'll get my office started on the paperwork for your release. It may take a week or two. Stay low and out of trouble until you hear from me."
"You could thank him," Wilson said.
"I would think that getting that collar off his neck would be all the thanks he needed."
"Give it up, Wilson." House said, turning to go. "People don't change. I got what I wanted and so did he."
Wilson lingered a moment longer and then turned on his heel and followed House down the corridor. He caught up to him and they walked away, side by side.
Two Weeks Later
Wilson watched as House entered the car. For the first time since this nightmare had begun he sat in the front passenger seat. The harness and hood sat discarded on the back seat of the car. House rubbed the skin on his neck, something he had been doing since the collar had been unceremoniously removed an hour before in the SAC offices. The skin was calloused and red, a reminder of his time as a slave. The tattoo had also been removed, and a bandage covered the spot on his cheek.
House had been quiet throughout the whole process – clearly uneasy at being back inside a SAC building. The officers had addressed all their remarks to Wilson, continuing to treat House as a piece of property, even after he had been freed. They'd never see him as anything but a slave.
Neither man could escape the building quickly enough.
Wilson slipped into the driver's seat and drove off as quickly as possible, anxious to put distance between them and the past.
"What do you want to do first?" he asked House.
House had been staring out the window the whole time and when he turned to look at him Wilson could see that his eyes were wet.
"I'm tired, Wilson. I just want to go home," he said quietly.
Wilson reached out, his fingertips brushing House's sleeve. "Of course. It's been a long day."
He drove them home in silence, but it was the silence of old friends, rather than the silence of a hooded and restrained slave being driven around by his owner.
House was free.
That's the main story finished. Just an epilogue (hopefully!) to come. Thanks to all who've read and commented!