Fic : An Opening Door 19/?
Title: An Opening Door 19/?
Words: Approx 2300
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
He was shown to his room by an orderly - who made it clear that he was not impressed with having to escort a slave. As soon as they were out of sight of Nolan the orderly thrust his case at him.
"Here's your crap. You can carry it, I'm sure you're used to that."
Greg took the bag without complaint, and without letting the orderly's attitude rankle him. He was pleased to have his possessions back and the added weight as he walked wasn't hard to handle and - as the man had said - he was used to it.
His room, when they reached it, was a small one with two beds rather than the ward he had expected. The beds weren't as luxurious as the one at Wilson's apartment but were an improvement on the beds at Rent-A-Slave. Other than the bed the room was minimally furnished. There was a small closet and a bare nightstand. He glanced between the two beds, unsure which was his.
"You're on your own. Even the crazies wouldn't want to sleep with a slave," the orderly said. "Rec room is down the hallway, if they let you use it, Don't make a mess - somebody else has to have this room after you. Guess they'll probably fumigate it first."
After the orderly had left he carefully unpacked his clothes from the suitcase. They had been rifled through and were a little creased. He wondered if he would be allowed to iron them. After unpacking he sat on the bed and surveyed the room.
His first appointment with Doctor Nolan had been scheduled for today but the doctor had been called away on an emergency not long after Wilson left. Doctor Nolan had apologised and then explained that Greg was free to spend his time however he wished - as long as he didn't disturb any of the other patients who were here for more regular treatment. There were therapy groups he could join if he wanted to, but he wasn't obliged.
He thought about staying in his room until dinner time but curiosity eventually won out. The orderly had mentioned a 'rec room' where he could go so he gave a glance around his room to make sure everything was put away and tidy, and then picked up his cane and ventured out.
The room was empty when he arrived and as he entered a nurse in a glass fronted office watched him. He nodded to her, unsure what else to do, and moved into the room.
"Are you Greg?" the woman asked from behind the counter.
"Yes, ma'am," he responded quickly, stopping where he was and turning to face her.
"It's okay," She smiled at him. "We were told to expect you. You can have a look around. The other patients are all outside for exercise. They're playing basketball if you want to join them." She looked uncertainly at his cane. "Or if you want to just watch. Just through that door there and down the stairs."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said and turned to go in the direction she indicated. He wasn't very interested in watching other people play basketball, but he was always happy to take any opportunity to get outside.
He stopped short as he caught sight of a piano, sitting neglected in the corner of the room. It wasn't anything fancy, just an old upright, with a battered stool. The cover over the keys was down.
He found himself drawn to it, just as he had to Wilson's old guitar. Mayfield's rules had prevented him bringing the guitar with him and the piano was a tempting alternative.
"Do you play?" the nurse had left the office and was standing next to him. "We keep it locked because most of our patients are more enthusiastic than skilled but if you play I can open it up for you while they're outside."
"I... I don't know. I can play the guitar," he said.
"Well, why don't we find out?" She unlocked the lid and pushed it up out of the way. A row of white and black keys stood silently before him. He slipped onto the bench and tentatively pressed middle C.
"It needs tuning, ma'am," he said as he ran through a scale. The positioning of his fingers came to him without thought.
"I'm not surprised; it doesn't get a lot of use." A phone rang and the nurse excused herself and went to answer it, leaving Greg alone with the piano.
He did a few more scales and then launched into a simple tune. His playing was slow, his fingers were stiff, and he hit a couple of wrong notes but it was beautiful music to him. Just like the guitar it just came back to him. This was another thing he had inside of him that he didn't know about - he could play the piano.
When he was finished he launched straight into something else, and then another song. He forgot where he was, what was going to happen, and even the collar around his neck.
He was aware of other people entering the room after a while but he kept playing. He didn't stop until someone came and sat next to him on the piano bench. Startled, he stopped playing and stood up - ceding the place to the free person who wanted it.
The new arrival reached out a hand and started to thump the keys and he winced at the discordant noise but turned away. It wasn't his piano. The man was a free person; he could make as much noise as he wanted.
He was startled to see a crowd of people had formed in the room. Some of them were clearly patients but there was also a few hospital staff watching him. Some of the patients started to come up to him, asking questions and talking, and he started to back away, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by being the focus of attention of so many people.
"That was great, Greg. I didn't know you could play." He looked around to see Doctor Nolan by his side, inserting himself between the patients and Greg. He tensed up; afraid he might have done something wrong. Doctor Nolan hadn't specifically said he could play the piano. He waited warily but the doctor smiled and lowered his voice.
"Music is good for the patients. Please play for them whenever you want. Even Jeff enjoyed it." He gestured to the man who had taken his place on the piano bench, who clearly didn't know how to play piano.
"I didn't know I could play either, Doctor, until just now," Greg admitted. "Wilson gave me his old guitar a few weeks ago and I can play that as well."
Nolan eyed him curiously. "I wonder just how many other talents you have you don't know about?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, I'm sorry I was called away earlier - I know you must be anxious to start. There isn't time to fit you in now, but I've scheduled you for eight tomorrow morning. A nurse will come and get you ready."
Nolan nodded at him and walked off and Greg turned his attention back to the piano where Jeff was still thumping the keys with more enthusiasm than skill. Jeff noticed him and stopped.
"You were really good," he said. "Can you teach me?"
Greg didn't know what to say. He wasn't a teacher; he was just a slave, something that seemed to have escaped the notice of the people in this room.
"Please?" Jeff said again, sliding over to make room for him on the bench.
He sat down and started playing a scale while Jeff watched intently. When he was finished he took his hands off the keys and gestured to Jeff. "Your turn."
He kept teaching Jeff until it was time for dinner.
"Greg! Greg!"
Someone was calling his name, and he turned towards the voice blindly.
"That's right, Greg. Open your eyes now. It's all over."
He struggled to obey, finally forcing his eyes open and then blinking in the strong light. He was still in the treatment room, the padded surface of the table soft beneath him. A nurse was cleaning his face and another one was placing a warm blanket over him.
Doctor Nolan was there - looking down at him.
"The procedure went well, Greg. How are you feeling?"
He blinked his eyes a couple more times as he tried to wake up. The last memory he had was of being given a sedative. He felt his face but the electrodes that had been there had been removed.
"I feel... tired, sir."
Doctor Nolan laughed gently. "Yes, you will. Once we check you over someone will take you to your room and you can sleep."
"Did it work, sir?"
"You tell me. What is your name?"
"Greg House, sir." He said it easily, without any of the nausea or headaches that saying his surname usually incurred.
"And who are your parents?"
"John and Blythe House," he said, realising with surprise that he knew. That hadn't been in the file. He thought for a moment and conjured up a mental image of them as he had last seen them. Standing in the courtroom as he was led down to the cells. His father stiff with disapproval, his mother crying. Did they know what had happened to their only son? Were they even still alive?
"I can remember," he said, as he realised. "I remember them."
Doctor Nolan smiled. "That's good, Greg. We've removed the mental blocks so you should be able to access all your memories. As you know, they weren't removed, just blocked from your access. We'll do a couple of follow up sessions to ensure that the reversal sticks but you'll rest for a few days first. You may find the returning memories disturbing, or upsetting. My staff and I are here for you if you have any problems. You'll have a session with me tomorrow, and every second day after that."
Greg nodded; Doctor Nolan had explained that before. He wasn't sure what the 'session' with the psychiatrist would entail but he would, of course, do whatever he was told.
He probed around his memories, poking at them. He'd spent so many years deliberately not trying to think about his past that it was odd to do so now. He still felt fearful of the pain and sickness coming back - of being punished for trying to remember.
"Don't push it, Greg. Just let them come to you naturally. It will feel strange at first, but the memories will settle down quickly."
"Yes, sir," he answered, only half listening.
"I'll help you back to your room."
"We can do that, Doctor," one of the nurses protested. She shot a disapproving look at Greg and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Apart from the surly orderly most of the staff had been at least coolly professional towards him so far and a couple had been friendly. He couldn't forget though that he was a slave in a hospital meant for free patients. Regaining his memory didn't alter the fact that there was a collar around his neck.
"I can go by myself, sir," he said, standing up and looking around for his ever present cane. Doctor Nolan handed it to him.
"I know you can, but I did promise Doctor Wilson that I would take care of you. If you collapse in the hallway how would that look?"
Once they were back in Greg's room Doctor Nolan insisted he lie down on the bed.
"Best thing you can do is get some sleep, Greg. Let things settle in your own head for a while. These two weeks are to give you time to adjust without worrying about working for Doctor Wilson, or doing anything but looking after yourself. How are you settling in here? Is everyone treating you well? They're not used to having a slave for a patient, let me know if anyone is giving you a hard time and I will take care of it."
For the most part everyone had been kind, and Greg wasn't going to bother the doctor with the few harsh words and looks he'd experienced. It was nothing. He assured Doctor Nolan that he was doing well.
After the doctor had left he got up and went to the small window in his room. Although it was barred he could see through to the grounds around the hospital. His head was still spinning from the amount of new information he was absorbing. Memories of his childhood, memories of his time as a doctor, and of his time in prison.
He thought back to the day when he had agreed to become a slave. It was a long time ago and the memories were murky but he knew he had stood at a window in a prison cell and stared out as he was doing now. He'd seen no future for himself. His life would be under threat every day he was in prison, and he faced years of being confined to a cell in solitary for his own protection. Slavery had seemed, ironically, to be a source of freedom for him.
He reached a hand up and after a moment’s hesitation he touched the collar around his neck. He was still a slave, but for the first time in a long time he now felt a sliver of hope for the future. Doctor Wilson, and now Doctor Nolan, had given him that.
Fatigue overwhelmed him and he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep was quick in coming.
Words: Approx 2300
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
He was shown to his room by an orderly - who made it clear that he was not impressed with having to escort a slave. As soon as they were out of sight of Nolan the orderly thrust his case at him.
"Here's your crap. You can carry it, I'm sure you're used to that."
Greg took the bag without complaint, and without letting the orderly's attitude rankle him. He was pleased to have his possessions back and the added weight as he walked wasn't hard to handle and - as the man had said - he was used to it.
His room, when they reached it, was a small one with two beds rather than the ward he had expected. The beds weren't as luxurious as the one at Wilson's apartment but were an improvement on the beds at Rent-A-Slave. Other than the bed the room was minimally furnished. There was a small closet and a bare nightstand. He glanced between the two beds, unsure which was his.
"You're on your own. Even the crazies wouldn't want to sleep with a slave," the orderly said. "Rec room is down the hallway, if they let you use it, Don't make a mess - somebody else has to have this room after you. Guess they'll probably fumigate it first."
After the orderly had left he carefully unpacked his clothes from the suitcase. They had been rifled through and were a little creased. He wondered if he would be allowed to iron them. After unpacking he sat on the bed and surveyed the room.
His first appointment with Doctor Nolan had been scheduled for today but the doctor had been called away on an emergency not long after Wilson left. Doctor Nolan had apologised and then explained that Greg was free to spend his time however he wished - as long as he didn't disturb any of the other patients who were here for more regular treatment. There were therapy groups he could join if he wanted to, but he wasn't obliged.
He thought about staying in his room until dinner time but curiosity eventually won out. The orderly had mentioned a 'rec room' where he could go so he gave a glance around his room to make sure everything was put away and tidy, and then picked up his cane and ventured out.
The room was empty when he arrived and as he entered a nurse in a glass fronted office watched him. He nodded to her, unsure what else to do, and moved into the room.
"Are you Greg?" the woman asked from behind the counter.
"Yes, ma'am," he responded quickly, stopping where he was and turning to face her.
"It's okay," She smiled at him. "We were told to expect you. You can have a look around. The other patients are all outside for exercise. They're playing basketball if you want to join them." She looked uncertainly at his cane. "Or if you want to just watch. Just through that door there and down the stairs."
"Thank you, ma'am," he said and turned to go in the direction she indicated. He wasn't very interested in watching other people play basketball, but he was always happy to take any opportunity to get outside.
He stopped short as he caught sight of a piano, sitting neglected in the corner of the room. It wasn't anything fancy, just an old upright, with a battered stool. The cover over the keys was down.
He found himself drawn to it, just as he had to Wilson's old guitar. Mayfield's rules had prevented him bringing the guitar with him and the piano was a tempting alternative.
"Do you play?" the nurse had left the office and was standing next to him. "We keep it locked because most of our patients are more enthusiastic than skilled but if you play I can open it up for you while they're outside."
"I... I don't know. I can play the guitar," he said.
"Well, why don't we find out?" She unlocked the lid and pushed it up out of the way. A row of white and black keys stood silently before him. He slipped onto the bench and tentatively pressed middle C.
"It needs tuning, ma'am," he said as he ran through a scale. The positioning of his fingers came to him without thought.
"I'm not surprised; it doesn't get a lot of use." A phone rang and the nurse excused herself and went to answer it, leaving Greg alone with the piano.
He did a few more scales and then launched into a simple tune. His playing was slow, his fingers were stiff, and he hit a couple of wrong notes but it was beautiful music to him. Just like the guitar it just came back to him. This was another thing he had inside of him that he didn't know about - he could play the piano.
When he was finished he launched straight into something else, and then another song. He forgot where he was, what was going to happen, and even the collar around his neck.
He was aware of other people entering the room after a while but he kept playing. He didn't stop until someone came and sat next to him on the piano bench. Startled, he stopped playing and stood up - ceding the place to the free person who wanted it.
The new arrival reached out a hand and started to thump the keys and he winced at the discordant noise but turned away. It wasn't his piano. The man was a free person; he could make as much noise as he wanted.
He was startled to see a crowd of people had formed in the room. Some of them were clearly patients but there was also a few hospital staff watching him. Some of the patients started to come up to him, asking questions and talking, and he started to back away, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by being the focus of attention of so many people.
"That was great, Greg. I didn't know you could play." He looked around to see Doctor Nolan by his side, inserting himself between the patients and Greg. He tensed up; afraid he might have done something wrong. Doctor Nolan hadn't specifically said he could play the piano. He waited warily but the doctor smiled and lowered his voice.
"Music is good for the patients. Please play for them whenever you want. Even Jeff enjoyed it." He gestured to the man who had taken his place on the piano bench, who clearly didn't know how to play piano.
"I didn't know I could play either, Doctor, until just now," Greg admitted. "Wilson gave me his old guitar a few weeks ago and I can play that as well."
Nolan eyed him curiously. "I wonder just how many other talents you have you don't know about?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, I'm sorry I was called away earlier - I know you must be anxious to start. There isn't time to fit you in now, but I've scheduled you for eight tomorrow morning. A nurse will come and get you ready."
Nolan nodded at him and walked off and Greg turned his attention back to the piano where Jeff was still thumping the keys with more enthusiasm than skill. Jeff noticed him and stopped.
"You were really good," he said. "Can you teach me?"
Greg didn't know what to say. He wasn't a teacher; he was just a slave, something that seemed to have escaped the notice of the people in this room.
"Please?" Jeff said again, sliding over to make room for him on the bench.
He sat down and started playing a scale while Jeff watched intently. When he was finished he took his hands off the keys and gestured to Jeff. "Your turn."
He kept teaching Jeff until it was time for dinner.
"Greg! Greg!"
Someone was calling his name, and he turned towards the voice blindly.
"That's right, Greg. Open your eyes now. It's all over."
He struggled to obey, finally forcing his eyes open and then blinking in the strong light. He was still in the treatment room, the padded surface of the table soft beneath him. A nurse was cleaning his face and another one was placing a warm blanket over him.
Doctor Nolan was there - looking down at him.
"The procedure went well, Greg. How are you feeling?"
He blinked his eyes a couple more times as he tried to wake up. The last memory he had was of being given a sedative. He felt his face but the electrodes that had been there had been removed.
"I feel... tired, sir."
Doctor Nolan laughed gently. "Yes, you will. Once we check you over someone will take you to your room and you can sleep."
"Did it work, sir?"
"You tell me. What is your name?"
"Greg House, sir." He said it easily, without any of the nausea or headaches that saying his surname usually incurred.
"And who are your parents?"
"John and Blythe House," he said, realising with surprise that he knew. That hadn't been in the file. He thought for a moment and conjured up a mental image of them as he had last seen them. Standing in the courtroom as he was led down to the cells. His father stiff with disapproval, his mother crying. Did they know what had happened to their only son? Were they even still alive?
"I can remember," he said, as he realised. "I remember them."
Doctor Nolan smiled. "That's good, Greg. We've removed the mental blocks so you should be able to access all your memories. As you know, they weren't removed, just blocked from your access. We'll do a couple of follow up sessions to ensure that the reversal sticks but you'll rest for a few days first. You may find the returning memories disturbing, or upsetting. My staff and I are here for you if you have any problems. You'll have a session with me tomorrow, and every second day after that."
Greg nodded; Doctor Nolan had explained that before. He wasn't sure what the 'session' with the psychiatrist would entail but he would, of course, do whatever he was told.
He probed around his memories, poking at them. He'd spent so many years deliberately not trying to think about his past that it was odd to do so now. He still felt fearful of the pain and sickness coming back - of being punished for trying to remember.
"Don't push it, Greg. Just let them come to you naturally. It will feel strange at first, but the memories will settle down quickly."
"Yes, sir," he answered, only half listening.
"I'll help you back to your room."
"We can do that, Doctor," one of the nurses protested. She shot a disapproving look at Greg and he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Apart from the surly orderly most of the staff had been at least coolly professional towards him so far and a couple had been friendly. He couldn't forget though that he was a slave in a hospital meant for free patients. Regaining his memory didn't alter the fact that there was a collar around his neck.
"I can go by myself, sir," he said, standing up and looking around for his ever present cane. Doctor Nolan handed it to him.
"I know you can, but I did promise Doctor Wilson that I would take care of you. If you collapse in the hallway how would that look?"
Once they were back in Greg's room Doctor Nolan insisted he lie down on the bed.
"Best thing you can do is get some sleep, Greg. Let things settle in your own head for a while. These two weeks are to give you time to adjust without worrying about working for Doctor Wilson, or doing anything but looking after yourself. How are you settling in here? Is everyone treating you well? They're not used to having a slave for a patient, let me know if anyone is giving you a hard time and I will take care of it."
For the most part everyone had been kind, and Greg wasn't going to bother the doctor with the few harsh words and looks he'd experienced. It was nothing. He assured Doctor Nolan that he was doing well.
After the doctor had left he got up and went to the small window in his room. Although it was barred he could see through to the grounds around the hospital. His head was still spinning from the amount of new information he was absorbing. Memories of his childhood, memories of his time as a doctor, and of his time in prison.
He thought back to the day when he had agreed to become a slave. It was a long time ago and the memories were murky but he knew he had stood at a window in a prison cell and stared out as he was doing now. He'd seen no future for himself. His life would be under threat every day he was in prison, and he faced years of being confined to a cell in solitary for his own protection. Slavery had seemed, ironically, to be a source of freedom for him.
He reached a hand up and after a moment’s hesitation he touched the collar around his neck. He was still a slave, but for the first time in a long time he now felt a sliver of hope for the future. Doctor Wilson, and now Doctor Nolan, had given him that.
Fatigue overwhelmed him and he lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep was quick in coming.