An Opening Door 2/?
Title: An Opening Door 2/?
Words: Approx 3500
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Summary : Slave AU. Wilson encounters a disabled cleaning slave at PPTH called Greg and becomes intrigued with him. An unlikely friendship forms between the two as Wilson tries to secure a better life for Greg.
He sat in his prison uniform with a row of other newly made slaves. Each was wearing a leather collar around their necks and sporting identical shaved heads. Each held a file in their hands which they were to carry through this process. Every detail of his life was in that file. Everything that had brought him to this point. All the contact details of his family, all his medical details, his resume, his educational history. Everything.
When his name was called he stood obediently and was ushered into a small office. The lady there smiled at him.
"Have you been treated well so far, Greg?"
He had a smart answer ready on the tip of his tongue, but his collar was sitting uncomfortably around his throat, and he was nervous about what was to come. For once in his life he decided to try and not alienate someone who appeared friendly. He just nodded stiffly at her question.
"Good. I know this is stressful but we try and make this process as painless as possible, for everyone's sake. If you behave well you'll be treated well. We want happy slaves not miserable ones."
He relaxed slightly. This was going better than he had expected.
"Give me your file, Greg."
He handed it over, feeling even better. He had good qualifications. He was sure they could find some use for a slave as well educated as he was that would use his abilities. He'd be out of the damned prison and could start to have some sort of life again.
The lady perused the file, nodding her head at several places and making sounds of approval. Then she handed it back to him.
"Take this over to the shredder in the corner, Greg and run it all through."
He stared at her and she clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"That was an order, Greg. You don't want to start disobeying orders just yet, do you? Go and shred the file. Bring back the empty folder."
She was still smiling as he destroyed the record of his life, page by page. When he returned to her with the empty folder she took it, removed a form from her desk and told him to kneel at her feet. He hesitated and she frowned at him, tapping a pen on her desk.
Finally he knelt. If this was the worst thing he had to do as a slave then he would survive. He could always pretend it was some hot bondage scene - he'd always fantasized about those.
She bent down to him and examined the tag on his collar, writing down a number from it on the top of the sheet.
"Slave 435689-28-GH. That's your registration number, Greg. I suggest you memorize it as soon as you can." Next to the number she wrote his name - Greg. She slipped the paper inside the folder.
"That's who you are now, Greg. Forget your old life, forget who you were. This is you now. All that counts is what you do now."
He was still kneeling by her feet as she gave him the folder. She patted him on the head in what he thought was supposed to be a friendly fashion. He shied away but she ignored that. "Okay, Greg. You've done well. Get up and go outside and someone will take you along to your first class. Remember, if you behave well you will be treated well. This can be a good life for you, Greg."
Everybody lies.
It was nearly midday before Wilson could get up to Greg's room the next morning. He'd had rounds, and then staff meetings and the usual endless interruptions. As it was, he only had ten minutes before he had to be in a Departmental Heads meeting. He'd just stop in, check Greg was okay and give him the bagel he'd picked up for him. It would be cold now but it would still be better than the usual hospital breakfast.
When he got to the room he stopped dead at the door. It was empty. The bed was neatly made and the room had been scrubbed down. Greg was long gone.
The nurse on duty just shrugged at him. "Somebody came for him this morning apparently - I wasn't here."
"Who? Which doctor signed him out?"
"He wasn't officially signed in to the ward so I don't think anyone signed off on it. It's been a crazy morning." The nurse looked down at her computer screen but evidently that didn't offer any answers. "I can ask around, see if anyone was here when he left."
"No, it's okay." Wilson knew that he wouldn't get any answers, and it was more than it was worth to get the nurses pissed at him. Greg would have been discharged that afternoon anyway. He'd done all he could for him.
He hurried off to his meeting, stopping off first at the nearest men's room to relieve himself.
Greg wasn't there.
The Departmental Heads meeting dragged on. Wilson had been in charge of Oncology for two years now and he was used to the wrangling between various departments for a larger share of the hospital's budget but he was finding the process particularly tedious and aggravating today. He zoned out during Henderson's spiel about the needs of the surgical department and only tuned in again when he realised that Henderson was complaining about the lack of hospital slaves.
"The operating rooms need to be scrubbed every day, as you well know Doctor Cuddy. Since the fire the remaining slaves have been very slack."
"Five slaves died in that fire," Wilson said, surprised at the anger he was feeling. "The remaining three have the work of eight to do now. And possibly they are upset at the loss of their friends."
He realised that the other doctors around the long table were looking at him oddly. Maybe they hadn't considered the possibility that the slaves might possibly have had friends amongst those who died.
Henderson shook his head. "That's why the hospital employed the services of that slave rental company."
"Those services were to assist in the cleaning up operation." Cuddy interjected smoothly. "They've been focusing their work there. I'll have a word to their supervisor and see if any can be spared for the rest of the hospital, or if we need to rent a few more."
"Or we could just employ some paid cleaners." Wilson suggested, earning him another round of bemused looks.
"The hospital budget is limited, Doctor Wilson. Slaves are the most economical method." Cuddy said, shooting him a look which seemed to suggest he might want to shut up any time now. "Now, onto the question of the proper procedure for..."
When the meeting finally finished Cuddy gave Wilson a look and he lingered until all the others had dispersed.
"Is everything okay, James?" she asked when the room was cleared. "You seem a bit... distracted."
He wondered why everyone suddenly thought that showing concern for some slaves was the sign of impending mental illness.
"Greg was taken away today, without anybody signing off on it."
"Greg?"
He sighed. "The slave from yesterday? He was in a room on the fourth floor. He was supposed to stay until tonight and then go home with the others. Instead of that, somebody came and got him early this morning. As far as I can work out no doctor saw him before then."
"Well, his stay here was sort of... informal. I guess the normal procedures weren't followed because of that."
Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't really blame Cuddy for being casual about this, it wasn't something he'd thought about much until the last couple of days.
"Look, you established the clinic so that nobody was excluded from medical help because they couldn't afford it. And you make sure all the doctors spend time there. So why should we suddenly stop caring when it comes to slaves? Greg was injured in our hospital, working for us. He spent the night in a hospital bed. Surely we have some sort of duty of care to him?"
Cuddy's temper flared up. "I do everything I can to help those who can't help themselves. This hospital does everything it can. I wrote off all those tests you ordered for this damned slave of yours - I got him a bed for the night. I'm sorry I wasn't there to hold his hand this morning, maybe you could have been there, Doctor Wilson, if it meant so much to you."
"Cuddy, I -"
"I can't fix the world, Wilson. I have a Board to answer to, donors to keep happy and a whole bunch of doctors who all want to go off on their own quixotic little quests."
"I know, I know. I just... I need to know that he's okay. You haven't seen him, Cuddy. He's disabled, and in pain and nobody seems to give a damn about him."
Cuddy threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. I need to talk to their supervisor anyway. I'll get him to send the slave-"
"Greg."
"- Greg to the one of the exam rooms in the clinic. Will that suit you?"
"Yes. Thanks, Cuddy." Wilson nodded and headed for the door.
"James," Cuddy said as he was almost out of the room and he looked back. "Be careful. Don't get too involved. He's a slave - you can only help so much."
"Just a quick exam and then that's it." Wilson promised. He hurried off, he wanted to pick up a couple of things before he saw Greg again.
Greg wasn't surprised when he didn't see Doctor Wilson again in the morning. He'd had a good sleep, the best sleep he'd had in many years. The pain in his leg hadn't woken him once during the night like it usually did, and even his hands being restrained hadn't bothered him. It was way past his normal waking time when he did wake up. He realised immediately that he needed to go to the bathroom, and that he had no way of getting there.
He was wondering if it would be better to wet the bed or call out for a nurse when one of the slave handlers from his company walked into his room.
The woman was one of the better handlers - she was fairly even tempered and had a reputation for being fair amongst the slaves - but he still tensed. He wasn't where he should be, or doing what he should be, two prime misdemeanours for a slave.
"Greg, you look fit. It's time to go. We'll put you on light duties today," she said as she unfastened his shackles.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered, they liked to hear acknowledgment of their orders. "Ma'am, I need to use the bathroom."
There was a small bathroom in the corner of this room and she nodded to it. "Be quick."
He limped over to it as quickly as he could, leaving the door open. She watched him as he peed and then washed his hands. He took a quick glance at her and then splashed some water on his face. She made no verbal protest but tapped her crop against her side impatiently and he quickly straightened and wiped his face dry.
His work clothes from yesterday had been dumped in a corner of the room and he stripped off his hospital gown and changed into them. He caught a glimpse of an assortment of bruises from the fall - he'd be sore today.
The handler took him back down to the basement, now much improved from the day before, and gave him a can of paint and some cleaning supplies.
"Clean the wall first, and then paint it. Did they feed you this morning?"
"No, ma'am."
She reached into a pocket of her uniform and pulled out a food bar. They were emergency supplies for the slaves - when they couldn't get back to the company for a proper meal. They were tasteless but better than nothing.
"Five minutes, then I want to see you working."
"Yes, ma'am," he said smartly.
"Don't fall down any more stairs today. It's very unprofessional."
"No, ma'am," he said. As she walked away he reflected that it wasn't like he meant to fall down any stairs yesterday. He wondered how she would manage with a leg like his and while he ate his dry food bar he entertained himself with trying to imagine it.
When Wilson entered the clinic exam room he was surprised to see Greg kneeling by the exam table, rather than sitting on it. A woman he didn't recognise was sitting in a chair by the desk. A quick glance revealed that she was wearing a shirt with the logo of Rent-A-Slave on it.
"You wanted to see the slave?" The woman said, not bothering with introductions.
"I need to examine him after his fall yesterday."
The woman nodded. "Greg, stand up and strip off so the doctor can examine you."
Wilson started to protest that it wasn't necessary but Greg was already stripping off his worn clothing. He was wearing a brown coverall with the company logo on it, and nothing but a pair of old boxer shorts underneath. When he was completely stripped he stood quietly by the exam table with his head bent.
"I like to conduct my exams in private," Wilson said.
"I need to stay with the slave."
"And I need you to leave." Wilson folded his arms and stared the woman down. Finally she sighed.
"Very well. I'll be outside. Please don't take too long, Doctor. There's a lot of work to do here and we need Greg."
Wilson restrained himself from answering her - no need to unnecessarily antagonise the woman who obviously had power over Greg - and waited until she had closed the door behind her before addressing Greg.
"I'm sorry I didn't get back to you this morning. I came but you had already gone."
"I had to go, Doctor Wilson." Greg said, his head coming up. There was a trace of fear in his eyes.
"I know that, Greg." Wilson thought about telling Greg to get dressed again, but it would be easier to get a proper assessment for any injuries while he was naked, and he didn't seem bothered by his nudity. He reached into the pocket of his labcoat and produced the chocolate bar he'd picked up on the way here. This time Greg took it readily. Wilson wondered if he'd eaten at all. Maybe he should have brought that bagel along after all, he'd pitched it in the trash when he couldn't give it to Greg that morning.
While Greg ate his chocolate Wilson visually assessed him. He had some bruising around his ribcage and along his side. Wilson could see several old scars on his body, besides the horrendous scar on his thigh. He itched to examine that thigh properly but that was beyond the scope of this appointment. Greg was lean, without being emaciated, and was reasonably well muscled.
"Sit up on the table, Greg."
When Greg was sitting he picked up his stethoscope and listened to his heart and lungs. Both were sound. His blood pressure proved to be good, and Wilson took a blood draw to examine later - although what he could do if the results showed Greg needed further follow up he didn't know. Greg tensed during the blood draw but otherwise didn't seem concerned by the medical procedures. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room. Wilson got the feeling he was taking in every detail.
On a trip to a cabinet on the other side of the room he passed behind Greg and paused at the sight of his back. There were faded lash marks going from one side to the other. Greg had been soundly whipped sometime in the past. Greg must have heard him pause as he turned his head around to look at him, suddenly wary.
"It's okay," Wilson smiled reassuringly. "Just getting you some pain killers. Have you had any today?"
"No, sir."
Wilson passed him a couple of Tylenol 3 - the best he could do without giving him narcotics.
"Take those, they should help a bit. I'll have a word to the..." he stopped as he had no idea of the correct term to describe the lady who had been with him, "... to her when she comes back in. You should have something, you have to be in a fair amount of pain from the look of that bruising."
Greg didn't say anything, just taking the pills and the glass of water Wilson offered him.
"I suppose they've put you right back to work? I didn't see you in the bathrooms." Wilson hadn't checked all of them of course, just every one he had passed since this morning.
"I'm a painter today, sir." Greg responded and Wilson thought he could detect a trace of dry humour in the quiet words. "I'm painting a wall in the basement."
Wilson wondered if painting was any easier than cleaning bathrooms - he had precious little experience with either.
He checked Greg's reflexes and then his pupil reaction. Both seemed normal.
"I just want to feel your head, Greg." He'd been checked out for skull injuries yesterday but given the apparent attitude of some of the staff to treating a slave Wilson wanted to do it himself. He waited for Greg's assent but Greg was silent.
"Is that okay, Greg?"
Greg looked at him with wide, startled, eyes and Wilson realised that he didn't realise that Wilson had been waiting for him to consent. Nobody had to ask if they could touch a slave.
"Yes," he finally said.
Wilson carefully ran his head over Greg's skull. His hair was cropped short and was thinning on top. Greg tensed below his hands and Wilson kept his tough light. He couldn't feel any bumps and finally he stepped back.
"That seems fine. You were lucky, Greg - you could have been seriously hurt."
Greg looked down at his naked body, and at the scar on his leg. Maybe he didn't feel that lucky after all.
Finally, Wilson couldn't delay any longer and he opened the door to re-admit Greg's guard. She came in and surveyed him. He hadn't gotten dressed again - because Wilson hadn't told him to, and was still sitting on the exam table.
"Get dressed and wait for me outside the door," the woman said to him. Greg quickly slid off the table, pulled up his clothes and left the room, his head again bowed.
"Well, doctor?"
"He doesn't seem to have been badly hurt. He has a lot of bruising. He'll need some pain killers."
"We have a doctor on staff - he'll examine the slave tonight and prescribe the appropriate medication. Thank you for your concern."
"He could do with not working for the rest of the day," Wilson said, "that was a hard fall. And he shouldn't be doing physical labour with that disability anyway. The man can barely walk."
"Doctor, Greg is a slave for hire. If the company can't get work out of him they'll sell him. Do you think anyone would want to be buy him in his condition?"
Wilson wasn't sure what happened to slaves who couldn't be sold but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be good.
"Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but we'll take it from here," she said and left. Wilson went to the door in time to see Greg get up from a kneeling position and follow her, a half step behind, struggling to keep up. He didn't look back.
Wilson cleaned up the room and then went straight to Cuddy's office. She was in a meeting with someone and Wilson could just make out the Rent-A-Slave logo on his shirt - probably the supervisor she was going to meet that afternoon. Good.
He went in without knocking and she frowned at him.
"I am in a meeting, Doctor Wilson, perhaps you could come back -"
He ignored her and looked at the man.
"I want to buy one of your slaves."
Onto chapter 3
Words: Approx 3500
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Summary : Slave AU. Wilson encounters a disabled cleaning slave at PPTH called Greg and becomes intrigued with him. An unlikely friendship forms between the two as Wilson tries to secure a better life for Greg.
He sat in his prison uniform with a row of other newly made slaves. Each was wearing a leather collar around their necks and sporting identical shaved heads. Each held a file in their hands which they were to carry through this process. Every detail of his life was in that file. Everything that had brought him to this point. All the contact details of his family, all his medical details, his resume, his educational history. Everything.
When his name was called he stood obediently and was ushered into a small office. The lady there smiled at him.
"Have you been treated well so far, Greg?"
He had a smart answer ready on the tip of his tongue, but his collar was sitting uncomfortably around his throat, and he was nervous about what was to come. For once in his life he decided to try and not alienate someone who appeared friendly. He just nodded stiffly at her question.
"Good. I know this is stressful but we try and make this process as painless as possible, for everyone's sake. If you behave well you'll be treated well. We want happy slaves not miserable ones."
He relaxed slightly. This was going better than he had expected.
"Give me your file, Greg."
He handed it over, feeling even better. He had good qualifications. He was sure they could find some use for a slave as well educated as he was that would use his abilities. He'd be out of the damned prison and could start to have some sort of life again.
The lady perused the file, nodding her head at several places and making sounds of approval. Then she handed it back to him.
"Take this over to the shredder in the corner, Greg and run it all through."
He stared at her and she clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"That was an order, Greg. You don't want to start disobeying orders just yet, do you? Go and shred the file. Bring back the empty folder."
She was still smiling as he destroyed the record of his life, page by page. When he returned to her with the empty folder she took it, removed a form from her desk and told him to kneel at her feet. He hesitated and she frowned at him, tapping a pen on her desk.
Finally he knelt. If this was the worst thing he had to do as a slave then he would survive. He could always pretend it was some hot bondage scene - he'd always fantasized about those.
She bent down to him and examined the tag on his collar, writing down a number from it on the top of the sheet.
"Slave 435689-28-GH. That's your registration number, Greg. I suggest you memorize it as soon as you can." Next to the number she wrote his name - Greg. She slipped the paper inside the folder.
"That's who you are now, Greg. Forget your old life, forget who you were. This is you now. All that counts is what you do now."
He was still kneeling by her feet as she gave him the folder. She patted him on the head in what he thought was supposed to be a friendly fashion. He shied away but she ignored that. "Okay, Greg. You've done well. Get up and go outside and someone will take you along to your first class. Remember, if you behave well you will be treated well. This can be a good life for you, Greg."
Everybody lies.
It was nearly midday before Wilson could get up to Greg's room the next morning. He'd had rounds, and then staff meetings and the usual endless interruptions. As it was, he only had ten minutes before he had to be in a Departmental Heads meeting. He'd just stop in, check Greg was okay and give him the bagel he'd picked up for him. It would be cold now but it would still be better than the usual hospital breakfast.
When he got to the room he stopped dead at the door. It was empty. The bed was neatly made and the room had been scrubbed down. Greg was long gone.
The nurse on duty just shrugged at him. "Somebody came for him this morning apparently - I wasn't here."
"Who? Which doctor signed him out?"
"He wasn't officially signed in to the ward so I don't think anyone signed off on it. It's been a crazy morning." The nurse looked down at her computer screen but evidently that didn't offer any answers. "I can ask around, see if anyone was here when he left."
"No, it's okay." Wilson knew that he wouldn't get any answers, and it was more than it was worth to get the nurses pissed at him. Greg would have been discharged that afternoon anyway. He'd done all he could for him.
He hurried off to his meeting, stopping off first at the nearest men's room to relieve himself.
Greg wasn't there.
The Departmental Heads meeting dragged on. Wilson had been in charge of Oncology for two years now and he was used to the wrangling between various departments for a larger share of the hospital's budget but he was finding the process particularly tedious and aggravating today. He zoned out during Henderson's spiel about the needs of the surgical department and only tuned in again when he realised that Henderson was complaining about the lack of hospital slaves.
"The operating rooms need to be scrubbed every day, as you well know Doctor Cuddy. Since the fire the remaining slaves have been very slack."
"Five slaves died in that fire," Wilson said, surprised at the anger he was feeling. "The remaining three have the work of eight to do now. And possibly they are upset at the loss of their friends."
He realised that the other doctors around the long table were looking at him oddly. Maybe they hadn't considered the possibility that the slaves might possibly have had friends amongst those who died.
Henderson shook his head. "That's why the hospital employed the services of that slave rental company."
"Those services were to assist in the cleaning up operation." Cuddy interjected smoothly. "They've been focusing their work there. I'll have a word to their supervisor and see if any can be spared for the rest of the hospital, or if we need to rent a few more."
"Or we could just employ some paid cleaners." Wilson suggested, earning him another round of bemused looks.
"The hospital budget is limited, Doctor Wilson. Slaves are the most economical method." Cuddy said, shooting him a look which seemed to suggest he might want to shut up any time now. "Now, onto the question of the proper procedure for..."
When the meeting finally finished Cuddy gave Wilson a look and he lingered until all the others had dispersed.
"Is everything okay, James?" she asked when the room was cleared. "You seem a bit... distracted."
He wondered why everyone suddenly thought that showing concern for some slaves was the sign of impending mental illness.
"Greg was taken away today, without anybody signing off on it."
"Greg?"
He sighed. "The slave from yesterday? He was in a room on the fourth floor. He was supposed to stay until tonight and then go home with the others. Instead of that, somebody came and got him early this morning. As far as I can work out no doctor saw him before then."
"Well, his stay here was sort of... informal. I guess the normal procedures weren't followed because of that."
Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn't really blame Cuddy for being casual about this, it wasn't something he'd thought about much until the last couple of days.
"Look, you established the clinic so that nobody was excluded from medical help because they couldn't afford it. And you make sure all the doctors spend time there. So why should we suddenly stop caring when it comes to slaves? Greg was injured in our hospital, working for us. He spent the night in a hospital bed. Surely we have some sort of duty of care to him?"
Cuddy's temper flared up. "I do everything I can to help those who can't help themselves. This hospital does everything it can. I wrote off all those tests you ordered for this damned slave of yours - I got him a bed for the night. I'm sorry I wasn't there to hold his hand this morning, maybe you could have been there, Doctor Wilson, if it meant so much to you."
"Cuddy, I -"
"I can't fix the world, Wilson. I have a Board to answer to, donors to keep happy and a whole bunch of doctors who all want to go off on their own quixotic little quests."
"I know, I know. I just... I need to know that he's okay. You haven't seen him, Cuddy. He's disabled, and in pain and nobody seems to give a damn about him."
Cuddy threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. I need to talk to their supervisor anyway. I'll get him to send the slave-"
"Greg."
"- Greg to the one of the exam rooms in the clinic. Will that suit you?"
"Yes. Thanks, Cuddy." Wilson nodded and headed for the door.
"James," Cuddy said as he was almost out of the room and he looked back. "Be careful. Don't get too involved. He's a slave - you can only help so much."
"Just a quick exam and then that's it." Wilson promised. He hurried off, he wanted to pick up a couple of things before he saw Greg again.
Greg wasn't surprised when he didn't see Doctor Wilson again in the morning. He'd had a good sleep, the best sleep he'd had in many years. The pain in his leg hadn't woken him once during the night like it usually did, and even his hands being restrained hadn't bothered him. It was way past his normal waking time when he did wake up. He realised immediately that he needed to go to the bathroom, and that he had no way of getting there.
He was wondering if it would be better to wet the bed or call out for a nurse when one of the slave handlers from his company walked into his room.
The woman was one of the better handlers - she was fairly even tempered and had a reputation for being fair amongst the slaves - but he still tensed. He wasn't where he should be, or doing what he should be, two prime misdemeanours for a slave.
"Greg, you look fit. It's time to go. We'll put you on light duties today," she said as she unfastened his shackles.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered, they liked to hear acknowledgment of their orders. "Ma'am, I need to use the bathroom."
There was a small bathroom in the corner of this room and she nodded to it. "Be quick."
He limped over to it as quickly as he could, leaving the door open. She watched him as he peed and then washed his hands. He took a quick glance at her and then splashed some water on his face. She made no verbal protest but tapped her crop against her side impatiently and he quickly straightened and wiped his face dry.
His work clothes from yesterday had been dumped in a corner of the room and he stripped off his hospital gown and changed into them. He caught a glimpse of an assortment of bruises from the fall - he'd be sore today.
The handler took him back down to the basement, now much improved from the day before, and gave him a can of paint and some cleaning supplies.
"Clean the wall first, and then paint it. Did they feed you this morning?"
"No, ma'am."
She reached into a pocket of her uniform and pulled out a food bar. They were emergency supplies for the slaves - when they couldn't get back to the company for a proper meal. They were tasteless but better than nothing.
"Five minutes, then I want to see you working."
"Yes, ma'am," he said smartly.
"Don't fall down any more stairs today. It's very unprofessional."
"No, ma'am," he said. As she walked away he reflected that it wasn't like he meant to fall down any stairs yesterday. He wondered how she would manage with a leg like his and while he ate his dry food bar he entertained himself with trying to imagine it.
When Wilson entered the clinic exam room he was surprised to see Greg kneeling by the exam table, rather than sitting on it. A woman he didn't recognise was sitting in a chair by the desk. A quick glance revealed that she was wearing a shirt with the logo of Rent-A-Slave on it.
"You wanted to see the slave?" The woman said, not bothering with introductions.
"I need to examine him after his fall yesterday."
The woman nodded. "Greg, stand up and strip off so the doctor can examine you."
Wilson started to protest that it wasn't necessary but Greg was already stripping off his worn clothing. He was wearing a brown coverall with the company logo on it, and nothing but a pair of old boxer shorts underneath. When he was completely stripped he stood quietly by the exam table with his head bent.
"I like to conduct my exams in private," Wilson said.
"I need to stay with the slave."
"And I need you to leave." Wilson folded his arms and stared the woman down. Finally she sighed.
"Very well. I'll be outside. Please don't take too long, Doctor. There's a lot of work to do here and we need Greg."
Wilson restrained himself from answering her - no need to unnecessarily antagonise the woman who obviously had power over Greg - and waited until she had closed the door behind her before addressing Greg.
"I'm sorry I didn't get back to you this morning. I came but you had already gone."
"I had to go, Doctor Wilson." Greg said, his head coming up. There was a trace of fear in his eyes.
"I know that, Greg." Wilson thought about telling Greg to get dressed again, but it would be easier to get a proper assessment for any injuries while he was naked, and he didn't seem bothered by his nudity. He reached into the pocket of his labcoat and produced the chocolate bar he'd picked up on the way here. This time Greg took it readily. Wilson wondered if he'd eaten at all. Maybe he should have brought that bagel along after all, he'd pitched it in the trash when he couldn't give it to Greg that morning.
While Greg ate his chocolate Wilson visually assessed him. He had some bruising around his ribcage and along his side. Wilson could see several old scars on his body, besides the horrendous scar on his thigh. He itched to examine that thigh properly but that was beyond the scope of this appointment. Greg was lean, without being emaciated, and was reasonably well muscled.
"Sit up on the table, Greg."
When Greg was sitting he picked up his stethoscope and listened to his heart and lungs. Both were sound. His blood pressure proved to be good, and Wilson took a blood draw to examine later - although what he could do if the results showed Greg needed further follow up he didn't know. Greg tensed during the blood draw but otherwise didn't seem concerned by the medical procedures. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room. Wilson got the feeling he was taking in every detail.
On a trip to a cabinet on the other side of the room he passed behind Greg and paused at the sight of his back. There were faded lash marks going from one side to the other. Greg had been soundly whipped sometime in the past. Greg must have heard him pause as he turned his head around to look at him, suddenly wary.
"It's okay," Wilson smiled reassuringly. "Just getting you some pain killers. Have you had any today?"
"No, sir."
Wilson passed him a couple of Tylenol 3 - the best he could do without giving him narcotics.
"Take those, they should help a bit. I'll have a word to the..." he stopped as he had no idea of the correct term to describe the lady who had been with him, "... to her when she comes back in. You should have something, you have to be in a fair amount of pain from the look of that bruising."
Greg didn't say anything, just taking the pills and the glass of water Wilson offered him.
"I suppose they've put you right back to work? I didn't see you in the bathrooms." Wilson hadn't checked all of them of course, just every one he had passed since this morning.
"I'm a painter today, sir." Greg responded and Wilson thought he could detect a trace of dry humour in the quiet words. "I'm painting a wall in the basement."
Wilson wondered if painting was any easier than cleaning bathrooms - he had precious little experience with either.
He checked Greg's reflexes and then his pupil reaction. Both seemed normal.
"I just want to feel your head, Greg." He'd been checked out for skull injuries yesterday but given the apparent attitude of some of the staff to treating a slave Wilson wanted to do it himself. He waited for Greg's assent but Greg was silent.
"Is that okay, Greg?"
Greg looked at him with wide, startled, eyes and Wilson realised that he didn't realise that Wilson had been waiting for him to consent. Nobody had to ask if they could touch a slave.
"Yes," he finally said.
Wilson carefully ran his head over Greg's skull. His hair was cropped short and was thinning on top. Greg tensed below his hands and Wilson kept his tough light. He couldn't feel any bumps and finally he stepped back.
"That seems fine. You were lucky, Greg - you could have been seriously hurt."
Greg looked down at his naked body, and at the scar on his leg. Maybe he didn't feel that lucky after all.
Finally, Wilson couldn't delay any longer and he opened the door to re-admit Greg's guard. She came in and surveyed him. He hadn't gotten dressed again - because Wilson hadn't told him to, and was still sitting on the exam table.
"Get dressed and wait for me outside the door," the woman said to him. Greg quickly slid off the table, pulled up his clothes and left the room, his head again bowed.
"Well, doctor?"
"He doesn't seem to have been badly hurt. He has a lot of bruising. He'll need some pain killers."
"We have a doctor on staff - he'll examine the slave tonight and prescribe the appropriate medication. Thank you for your concern."
"He could do with not working for the rest of the day," Wilson said, "that was a hard fall. And he shouldn't be doing physical labour with that disability anyway. The man can barely walk."
"Doctor, Greg is a slave for hire. If the company can't get work out of him they'll sell him. Do you think anyone would want to be buy him in his condition?"
Wilson wasn't sure what happened to slaves who couldn't be sold but he was pretty sure it wouldn't be good.
"Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but we'll take it from here," she said and left. Wilson went to the door in time to see Greg get up from a kneeling position and follow her, a half step behind, struggling to keep up. He didn't look back.
Wilson cleaned up the room and then went straight to Cuddy's office. She was in a meeting with someone and Wilson could just make out the Rent-A-Slave logo on his shirt - probably the supervisor she was going to meet that afternoon. Good.
He went in without knocking and she frowned at him.
"I am in a meeting, Doctor Wilson, perhaps you could come back -"
He ignored her and looked at the man.
"I want to buy one of your slaves."
Onto chapter 3