Fic : An Opening Door 9/?
Title: An Opening Door 9/?
Words: Approx 2700
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.
Link to story on AO3 .
Previous Chapter
Greg was momentarily disoriented when he woke up the next day with light coming in the window and the door already open. Then he remembered.
Doctor Wilson hadn't locked him in last night when he'd told him to go to his bedroom. Greg had expected that he would close and lock the door when he himself went to bed but either that hadn't happened or he'd already unlocked it this morning and Greg hadn't woken up.
The former seemed more likely. If Doctor Wilson had unlocked and opened the door this morning he would have ordered him to get up.
He lay in bed listening but he couldn't hear any movement elsewhere in the apartment. He got up quietly and went to the open door and peered out cautiously. He could just see Doctor Wilson's bedroom door from here and it was closed. He still couldn't hear anything. He went back and sat on the bed and rubbed at his thigh - just then registering that for once the pain hadn't been excruciating this morning. He'd been given painkillers with evening meal last night, and of course he'd had the cane for the afternoon and done no work for the entire day - that must be the difference.
He went through his usual exercises for his leg anyway, enjoying that for once he could do them at his own pace, and then stood up. He carefully made his bed, remembering exactly how it had been the day before and leaving it as pristine as it was then. He reached under the pillow for his clothes before remembering that he'd hung them in the closet - his closet - the night before. Leaving them there for now he limped to the bathroom and relieved himself. No line of slaves at a trough here, just a gleaming clean porcelain toilet all to himself. He carefully cleaned it after his use and then contemplated the shower.
He'd love to have one. Just the thought of standing in there, all by himself was enticing. There was a hot water tap too. He hadn't had a hot shower for a long time, or a shower by himself. He looked back through the open door to the bedroom, unsure. What would happen if Doctor Wilson called for him and he was showering in here? Was he even allowed to shower whenever he wanted? He'd been told that the bathroom was for his own use but that didn't mean there weren't set times for its usage - or conditions. Using a toilet was one thing, having a shower was taking much more of a liberty.
In the end he opted for a quick wash at the sink. The hot water tap there worked and he revelled in the feel of it on his skin. He did a thorough job and then dried himself on one of the towels, carefully hanging it back up afterwards. Then he cleaned down the sink as best he could with the materials on hand.
He donned the clothes from yesterday and again contemplated himself in the mirror. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. He'd been shaved two days ago but he was due another. The handlers at Rent-a-Slave kept all the males slaves clean shaven - doing them in the slaves' 'free time' at the end of the day. He guessed that either Doctor Wilson would do it here, or allow him to do it.
Dressed and ready for the day he went over to the door again and listened. Still no sound, and the other bedroom door was still shut. When he looked out of the window he could see that the sun was well up in the sky. He wondered how long the Doctor was going to sleep and what he was supposed to do until he woke up and issued instructions. He looked out of the window for a while but the view was restricted by the building next door and his leg was beginning to hurt because he was standing still. He turned away and looked around the room.
There was a chair in one corner so he sat there rather than disturb the carefully made bed. His gaze lit upon the magazines placed on the table by the bed. He glanced at the door again and then went over and picked one of them up.
He leafed through the pages hungrily, a lot of it meant nothing to him but the pictures were interesting. When he'd gone through once he settled down to read it from the beginning, one article at a time. He kept an ear out for any sound of the other door opening.
Mindful that he was no longer alone in the apartment Wilson slipped on some sweats when he woke up. He was still yawning as he walked down the hallway. He always liked to sleep late on Sunday, the one day he tried to avoid the hospital if he could possibly help it. He wondered if Greg was awake yet and if so what he was up to. Wilson didn't have any firm plans for them for the day but he was pretty sure that Greg wouldn't say no to breakfast.
When he got to Greg's room the door was open and Greg was sitting inside on the chair, fully dressed, not doing anything - just sitting there. Wilson had a flashback to the time he and Bonnie had stayed with her parents for Thanksgiving. They hadn't been married then, just dating, and it was the first time he'd met her parents. He'd woken up early, long before Bonnie, but had been reluctant to start wandering around the house. Greg must feel like that, a guest in a stranger's house.
“‘Morning Greg, want some breakfast?"
"Good morning. Yes, sir." Greg got up and walked slightly behind him as they made their way to the kitchen.
Once there Wilson waved Greg to a stool at the counter. Greg hesitated a little but then took a seat. Wilson noticed that he was still carrying his cane - he hadn't put it down as far as Wilson could remember since he'd given it to him. "So, what did you normally have for breakfast at that place?"
There was the usual slight pause and then Greg moved his shoulders it what might have been a shrug. "I think it was supposed to be oatmeal."
Again the flash of dry humour. Somewhere beneath that bland slavish facade was a real personality, Wilson was sure of it. He made a face. "That good huh? Well, I think we can do better than that. Eggs? Pancakes?" At Greg's eager look, quickly hidden, he took out the ingredients for both.
"Did you sleep well? Have you been awake long?"
"Yes, sir. The bed is very comfortable. I'm not sure when I woke up."
"Oh, I didn't put a clock in your room did I? Sorry, guess we're all so used to having phones these days. I'll find one for you." He cracked the eggs into a bowl. "When you wake up you're quite welcome to wander around out here. You live here now, my apartment is your apartment." He waved a hand around to indicate. "I want you to make yourself at home."
Greg looked doubtful and Wilson thought he was still missing something. Maybe he could find out what it was if he could find out more about what Greg's life used to be like. He put the eggs aside and started on the pancake batter.
"Tell me about what it was like working for Rent-A-Slave. Did you have a set time for getting up?"
"Yes, sir. When they unlocked the door we had to get up and get changed and go to morning meal straight away."
"You were locked in your room at night?"
"Yes, sir. All the dorms were locked at night by the handlers, and then opened the next morning."
Wilson realised that Greg's door had been open since he arrived, even when he was changing clothes yesterday. He thought it had been a deliberate choice, now he realised it hadn't been. Greg had been expecting to be shut in the room when Wilson wanted him there, and only released when Wilson was ready for him. No wonder he hadn't left the room this morning.
Well, it was time for Greg to realise that those times were behind him. Wilson had no intention of micro-managing his life like that.
"You know you can shut your own door whenever you want, don't you? I'm not going to do it, and I'm sure as hell not going to lock you in at night. The lock is only there because there's some regulation that says it has to be, same as the bars. Shut it, keep it open, it's your choice."
Greg looked at him with wide eyes. Wilson was right - the idea of shutting his own door apparently hadn't even occurred to him. Wilson realised he really didn't have a clue what he was doing here with regards to Greg's mental state. He had thought he'd be concentrating on Greg's physical condition but maybe that was going to be the easy part.
"I mean it Greg, you want to keep the door shut you keep it shut. You want to open it, you open it. And you can go in and out of the room whenever you want. It's not a cage, it's your bedroom - it's yours . "
There was a silence as Greg digested that. Wilson noticed that he was fiddling with the cane, swinging it a little in a half circle and then back, his fingers playing over its head. He stopped as soon as he saw Wilson watching him.
"Yes, sir." Greg said finally. Then he took a breath, as if girding himself for a difficult task. "And the bathroom, sir?"
Wilson nodded firmly. "And the bathroom. Shower when you want, take a piss whenever you want. I'd appreciate you kept them both fairly clean and tidy but it doesn't look like you have a problem with that."
"No, sir. I will keep them very clean, sir." He glanced towards the hallway, as if wondering if he could retreat there right now.
"I guess this is all a bit odd to you isn't it? I guess you've been living in dorms for a very long time. When was the last time you lived in a house or an apartment?"
"When I was free." Greg's voice was soft.
"Do you remember it?"
Greg shook his head. "If I try and remember I get sick. I'm not supposed to. They told me it was better if I didn't think about it."
"Maybe you can try now? Just a little. I'm here if you get sick."
"I don'... I don't know if I want to remember, sir." Greg said, beginning to fiddle with the cane again.
Wilson flipped some pancakes, thinking. He couldn't imagine not wanting to know - but then he couldn't imagine what Greg's life had been like since he was enslaved. Maybe the only way Greg could survive the present was to forget the past. That might change now his present had become more bearable but Wilson wasn't going to push it for now. He slid a plate of food across to Greg and then made up his own and took a seat at the counter next to him.
Greg started with his pancakes - at first approaching them cautiously but then more enthusiastically. It was clear that any further conversation was going to wait until after he'd finished eating, but that was fine with Wilson. Greg had already talked more this morning than he had for the entire day yesterday.
Greg's second day with his new owner passed quickly. Doctor Wilson asked him if he 'wouldn't mind' stacking the dishwasher. Luckily the doctor had shown him how yesterday and Greg painstakingly followed the instructions he'd been given then. He felt a sense of satisfaction in fulfilling the first task given to him by his new owner. So far Doctor Wilson hadn't really asked him to do any work, which was a change from his previous experience but also made him uneasy. If he couldn't prove useful to his new owner he might be sold back, or sold on to someone else. The last day had been enough to convince Greg that it would be his advantage to stay here.
While the doctor showered and got dressed Greg cleaned the surfaces of the kitchen with the supplies that Wilson had pointed out the day before. The doctor had vaguely suggested that the kitchen could do with some cleaning before declaring he was going to have a shower. Greg had realised by now that any orders he received were going to be delivered in this manner so he wasted no time getting to work.
As he worked he thought about what Wilson had suggested - that he try and remember his past. Being in this apartment was bringing up flashes of memories, almost as if he was looking at them from the outside. Of sitting at a breakfast counter like this one, while someone served him food. Of sleeping in a warm bed. The game on the television yesterday had been like that. He'd done that before he thought - many times. But when he tried to focus in on those memories he felt the familiar stab of pain in his head and the churning in his stomach. He pushed them away again and focused on the simple action of cleaning - letting the purely mechanical process lull him into that state of grey existence he'd been in for so many years.
Did he want to remember? He wasn't sure. He knew that he had been in prison before he was r enslaved, they'd told him that. He'd been a violent criminal and given a chance at redemption by agreeing to be enslaved. He couldn't remember making that decision, and on many days he'd wondered how his younger self could possibly have thought it was a good idea. Prison couldn't be worse than slavery, he thought. Whatever he had been, whatever he had done, that had led to that decision was something he wasn't sure he ever wanted to face.
When Doctor Wilson came back to the kitchen he had progressed to cleaning the walls. He paused in his work, waiting for correction - or instruction - but it didn't come. Instead Wilson started pulling out supplies and joined him.
"About time I had a spring cleaning," he said. "But the game starts at one - it's a double header, we don't want to miss that."
They worked together for the rest of the morning. At first it made Greg nervous. He had never had a supervisor actually work beside him for such a long period of time. He gradually realised that Doctor Wilson wasn't judging his work, or making sure that Greg wasn't slacking off, he was just helping him do it. It was strange, and a little unsettling, but the work went easier.
Doctor Wilson called a halt to their efforts at one and put another baseball game on television. He fetched them both lunch, and various snacks during the game and as Greg sat and watched the large television, and ate the food, he couldn't help thinking there had to be some sort of catch to this. His existence couldn't have gone from the sheer grind of working for Rent a Slave to this life of leisure in two days. It wasn't possible. He wasn't that lucky. Still, even if there was a catch he decided he was going to enjoy it while he could - and do everything he could to persuade Doctor Wilson that he was worth keeping.
Words: Approx 2700
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.
Link to story on AO3 .
Previous Chapter
Greg was momentarily disoriented when he woke up the next day with light coming in the window and the door already open. Then he remembered.
Doctor Wilson hadn't locked him in last night when he'd told him to go to his bedroom. Greg had expected that he would close and lock the door when he himself went to bed but either that hadn't happened or he'd already unlocked it this morning and Greg hadn't woken up.
The former seemed more likely. If Doctor Wilson had unlocked and opened the door this morning he would have ordered him to get up.
He lay in bed listening but he couldn't hear any movement elsewhere in the apartment. He got up quietly and went to the open door and peered out cautiously. He could just see Doctor Wilson's bedroom door from here and it was closed. He still couldn't hear anything. He went back and sat on the bed and rubbed at his thigh - just then registering that for once the pain hadn't been excruciating this morning. He'd been given painkillers with evening meal last night, and of course he'd had the cane for the afternoon and done no work for the entire day - that must be the difference.
He went through his usual exercises for his leg anyway, enjoying that for once he could do them at his own pace, and then stood up. He carefully made his bed, remembering exactly how it had been the day before and leaving it as pristine as it was then. He reached under the pillow for his clothes before remembering that he'd hung them in the closet - his closet - the night before. Leaving them there for now he limped to the bathroom and relieved himself. No line of slaves at a trough here, just a gleaming clean porcelain toilet all to himself. He carefully cleaned it after his use and then contemplated the shower.
He'd love to have one. Just the thought of standing in there, all by himself was enticing. There was a hot water tap too. He hadn't had a hot shower for a long time, or a shower by himself. He looked back through the open door to the bedroom, unsure. What would happen if Doctor Wilson called for him and he was showering in here? Was he even allowed to shower whenever he wanted? He'd been told that the bathroom was for his own use but that didn't mean there weren't set times for its usage - or conditions. Using a toilet was one thing, having a shower was taking much more of a liberty.
In the end he opted for a quick wash at the sink. The hot water tap there worked and he revelled in the feel of it on his skin. He did a thorough job and then dried himself on one of the towels, carefully hanging it back up afterwards. Then he cleaned down the sink as best he could with the materials on hand.
He donned the clothes from yesterday and again contemplated himself in the mirror. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. He'd been shaved two days ago but he was due another. The handlers at Rent-a-Slave kept all the males slaves clean shaven - doing them in the slaves' 'free time' at the end of the day. He guessed that either Doctor Wilson would do it here, or allow him to do it.
Dressed and ready for the day he went over to the door again and listened. Still no sound, and the other bedroom door was still shut. When he looked out of the window he could see that the sun was well up in the sky. He wondered how long the Doctor was going to sleep and what he was supposed to do until he woke up and issued instructions. He looked out of the window for a while but the view was restricted by the building next door and his leg was beginning to hurt because he was standing still. He turned away and looked around the room.
There was a chair in one corner so he sat there rather than disturb the carefully made bed. His gaze lit upon the magazines placed on the table by the bed. He glanced at the door again and then went over and picked one of them up.
He leafed through the pages hungrily, a lot of it meant nothing to him but the pictures were interesting. When he'd gone through once he settled down to read it from the beginning, one article at a time. He kept an ear out for any sound of the other door opening.
Mindful that he was no longer alone in the apartment Wilson slipped on some sweats when he woke up. He was still yawning as he walked down the hallway. He always liked to sleep late on Sunday, the one day he tried to avoid the hospital if he could possibly help it. He wondered if Greg was awake yet and if so what he was up to. Wilson didn't have any firm plans for them for the day but he was pretty sure that Greg wouldn't say no to breakfast.
When he got to Greg's room the door was open and Greg was sitting inside on the chair, fully dressed, not doing anything - just sitting there. Wilson had a flashback to the time he and Bonnie had stayed with her parents for Thanksgiving. They hadn't been married then, just dating, and it was the first time he'd met her parents. He'd woken up early, long before Bonnie, but had been reluctant to start wandering around the house. Greg must feel like that, a guest in a stranger's house.
“‘Morning Greg, want some breakfast?"
"Good morning. Yes, sir." Greg got up and walked slightly behind him as they made their way to the kitchen.
Once there Wilson waved Greg to a stool at the counter. Greg hesitated a little but then took a seat. Wilson noticed that he was still carrying his cane - he hadn't put it down as far as Wilson could remember since he'd given it to him. "So, what did you normally have for breakfast at that place?"
There was the usual slight pause and then Greg moved his shoulders it what might have been a shrug. "I think it was supposed to be oatmeal."
Again the flash of dry humour. Somewhere beneath that bland slavish facade was a real personality, Wilson was sure of it. He made a face. "That good huh? Well, I think we can do better than that. Eggs? Pancakes?" At Greg's eager look, quickly hidden, he took out the ingredients for both.
"Did you sleep well? Have you been awake long?"
"Yes, sir. The bed is very comfortable. I'm not sure when I woke up."
"Oh, I didn't put a clock in your room did I? Sorry, guess we're all so used to having phones these days. I'll find one for you." He cracked the eggs into a bowl. "When you wake up you're quite welcome to wander around out here. You live here now, my apartment is your apartment." He waved a hand around to indicate. "I want you to make yourself at home."
Greg looked doubtful and Wilson thought he was still missing something. Maybe he could find out what it was if he could find out more about what Greg's life used to be like. He put the eggs aside and started on the pancake batter.
"Tell me about what it was like working for Rent-A-Slave. Did you have a set time for getting up?"
"Yes, sir. When they unlocked the door we had to get up and get changed and go to morning meal straight away."
"You were locked in your room at night?"
"Yes, sir. All the dorms were locked at night by the handlers, and then opened the next morning."
Wilson realised that Greg's door had been open since he arrived, even when he was changing clothes yesterday. He thought it had been a deliberate choice, now he realised it hadn't been. Greg had been expecting to be shut in the room when Wilson wanted him there, and only released when Wilson was ready for him. No wonder he hadn't left the room this morning.
Well, it was time for Greg to realise that those times were behind him. Wilson had no intention of micro-managing his life like that.
"You know you can shut your own door whenever you want, don't you? I'm not going to do it, and I'm sure as hell not going to lock you in at night. The lock is only there because there's some regulation that says it has to be, same as the bars. Shut it, keep it open, it's your choice."
Greg looked at him with wide eyes. Wilson was right - the idea of shutting his own door apparently hadn't even occurred to him. Wilson realised he really didn't have a clue what he was doing here with regards to Greg's mental state. He had thought he'd be concentrating on Greg's physical condition but maybe that was going to be the easy part.
"I mean it Greg, you want to keep the door shut you keep it shut. You want to open it, you open it. And you can go in and out of the room whenever you want. It's not a cage, it's your bedroom - it's yours . "
There was a silence as Greg digested that. Wilson noticed that he was fiddling with the cane, swinging it a little in a half circle and then back, his fingers playing over its head. He stopped as soon as he saw Wilson watching him.
"Yes, sir." Greg said finally. Then he took a breath, as if girding himself for a difficult task. "And the bathroom, sir?"
Wilson nodded firmly. "And the bathroom. Shower when you want, take a piss whenever you want. I'd appreciate you kept them both fairly clean and tidy but it doesn't look like you have a problem with that."
"No, sir. I will keep them very clean, sir." He glanced towards the hallway, as if wondering if he could retreat there right now.
"I guess this is all a bit odd to you isn't it? I guess you've been living in dorms for a very long time. When was the last time you lived in a house or an apartment?"
"When I was free." Greg's voice was soft.
"Do you remember it?"
Greg shook his head. "If I try and remember I get sick. I'm not supposed to. They told me it was better if I didn't think about it."
"Maybe you can try now? Just a little. I'm here if you get sick."
"I don'... I don't know if I want to remember, sir." Greg said, beginning to fiddle with the cane again.
Wilson flipped some pancakes, thinking. He couldn't imagine not wanting to know - but then he couldn't imagine what Greg's life had been like since he was enslaved. Maybe the only way Greg could survive the present was to forget the past. That might change now his present had become more bearable but Wilson wasn't going to push it for now. He slid a plate of food across to Greg and then made up his own and took a seat at the counter next to him.
Greg started with his pancakes - at first approaching them cautiously but then more enthusiastically. It was clear that any further conversation was going to wait until after he'd finished eating, but that was fine with Wilson. Greg had already talked more this morning than he had for the entire day yesterday.
Greg's second day with his new owner passed quickly. Doctor Wilson asked him if he 'wouldn't mind' stacking the dishwasher. Luckily the doctor had shown him how yesterday and Greg painstakingly followed the instructions he'd been given then. He felt a sense of satisfaction in fulfilling the first task given to him by his new owner. So far Doctor Wilson hadn't really asked him to do any work, which was a change from his previous experience but also made him uneasy. If he couldn't prove useful to his new owner he might be sold back, or sold on to someone else. The last day had been enough to convince Greg that it would be his advantage to stay here.
While the doctor showered and got dressed Greg cleaned the surfaces of the kitchen with the supplies that Wilson had pointed out the day before. The doctor had vaguely suggested that the kitchen could do with some cleaning before declaring he was going to have a shower. Greg had realised by now that any orders he received were going to be delivered in this manner so he wasted no time getting to work.
As he worked he thought about what Wilson had suggested - that he try and remember his past. Being in this apartment was bringing up flashes of memories, almost as if he was looking at them from the outside. Of sitting at a breakfast counter like this one, while someone served him food. Of sleeping in a warm bed. The game on the television yesterday had been like that. He'd done that before he thought - many times. But when he tried to focus in on those memories he felt the familiar stab of pain in his head and the churning in his stomach. He pushed them away again and focused on the simple action of cleaning - letting the purely mechanical process lull him into that state of grey existence he'd been in for so many years.
Did he want to remember? He wasn't sure. He knew that he had been in prison before he was r enslaved, they'd told him that. He'd been a violent criminal and given a chance at redemption by agreeing to be enslaved. He couldn't remember making that decision, and on many days he'd wondered how his younger self could possibly have thought it was a good idea. Prison couldn't be worse than slavery, he thought. Whatever he had been, whatever he had done, that had led to that decision was something he wasn't sure he ever wanted to face.
When Doctor Wilson came back to the kitchen he had progressed to cleaning the walls. He paused in his work, waiting for correction - or instruction - but it didn't come. Instead Wilson started pulling out supplies and joined him.
"About time I had a spring cleaning," he said. "But the game starts at one - it's a double header, we don't want to miss that."
They worked together for the rest of the morning. At first it made Greg nervous. He had never had a supervisor actually work beside him for such a long period of time. He gradually realised that Doctor Wilson wasn't judging his work, or making sure that Greg wasn't slacking off, he was just helping him do it. It was strange, and a little unsettling, but the work went easier.
Doctor Wilson called a halt to their efforts at one and put another baseball game on television. He fetched them both lunch, and various snacks during the game and as Greg sat and watched the large television, and ate the food, he couldn't help thinking there had to be some sort of catch to this. His existence couldn't have gone from the sheer grind of working for Rent a Slave to this life of leisure in two days. It wasn't possible. He wasn't that lucky. Still, even if there was a catch he decided he was going to enjoy it while he could - and do everything he could to persuade Doctor Wilson that he was worth keeping.