Fic : An Opening Door 22/?
Title: An Opening Door 22/?
Words: Approx 2900
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Warnings : : Choose Not to Warn
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
Wilson paced in front of him, worry creasing his face. If there was something that Greg had realised since coming back from Mayfield it was that Wilson worried. About him. It was a novel sensation for Greg. As far back as he could remember the only person who had worried about him was his mother. And even she seemed to have given up by the time he hit adolescence.
"I don't know, Greg. Why don't we go together on the weekend?"
"It's just the laundry room, Wilson. I'm not asking if I can go to Atlantic City."
Apart from the brief trip to the hallway when he had saved a choking child from death he hadn't been out of the apartment without Wilson since he arrived. Wilson had been taking care of the laundry duties - although Greg had gone with him a few times. The few people they'd encountered had politely ignored them. Greg was proposing that he do the laundry while Wilson was at work today.
"Maybe you should do it on the weekend. I'll be here and if you run into any problems I can..."
"Wilson, you're talking about me going to work in the hospital one day - maybe becoming a doctor again - but you don't think I can handle going to the laundry by myself?"
"Of course you can handle it." That was another thing about Wilson; he was a big believer in positive affirmation. "It's just - you're still technically a slave."
"Not just technically." Wilson might not treat him as a slave but there was no 'technically' about it. Greg might have his memories back but he didn't have his freedom. Still, everyone in this building knew he belonged to Wilson - there was no reason for anyone to interfere with a slave doing the laundry - and every reason to expect a slave to be doing just that. "Of course if you don't want me to go, master , then I won't."
Wilson crossed his arms and leaned back on the kitchen counter. "I know when I’m being manipulated, Greg." He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck in that nervous mannerism he had. "Okay, okay. I've got to get to work anyway. Just be careful."
He was about to leave when Greg stopped him. "You might want to set the control so I can get out the door without the alarm going off. Don't want to drag you away from the hospital."
Wilson smiled. "It's been set at the entrance to the building ever since you went into the 'rescuing children from certain death' business. If you wander down the street I'll know about it. But anywhere in the building is fine."
Oh, he hadn't known that. He hadn't really needed Wilson's permission to go to the laundry room after all. Except, well, he still would have asked for it.
After Wilson was gone he cleaned up the apartment as usual. Wilson had tried his best while Greg was in Mayfield but the place had still needed a good cleaning when he returned. Once regaining his memories Greg realised how ironic it was that he had become such a good cleaner. His childhood had been a well regulated one - his father had insisted that young Greg keep to a military standard neatness, and - like punctuality - Greg had abandoned that idea as soon as he left home.
Cleaning gave him a sense of satisfaction now, something that a slave couldn't easily achieve. He could look the apartment over when he was finished and be proud of it. The best part of course was that Wilson never ordered him to do it. Greg had thought, when Wilson first purchased him, that Wilson's vague instructions to 'maybe clean up a little' were in fact orders. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he realised that they were just suggestions.
So he cleaned. It both gave him a purpose and helped to repay the kindness that Wilson has shown him. They both lived in this apartment, he could keep it clean.
The laundry represented something more than a desire to help Wilson out. It was a small step in regaining some independence - crazy as that might sound. Doctor Nolan had suggested that he look for opportunities like this when they presented themselves.
He'd bought his first motorcycle when he was sixteen - now that was real independence. He'd been able to get away whenever he wanted to, and he’d cruised the streets for hours. Well, he couldn't ride a bike now, and doing washing was a poor substitute but it was what he had.
He gathered up the laundry, sorting it into the bags Wilson used. Greg remembered doing laundry in college. He'd just piled everything he owned into one large bag when he ran out of clothes and hauled it down there. Everything went in together. That was when he couldn't talk - or bribe - some girl or other into doing it for him. Here he would take a little more care. Wilson was meticulous about his clothes, and Greg liked to take care of his too - there was nothing like having nothing but worn and stained clothes for years to make you appreciate nice ones.
He went to the little jar where Wilson kept quarters for the machines and took a few out, placing them carefully in the pocket of his jeans. Another first - the first time he'd handled money in twenty years.
Going to the door he hesitated before opening it and then took a deep breath and unlocked it. The hallway outside was deserted, for which he was thankful. He hefted the bags, they were awkward to handle when he had the cane in one hand but he wasn't going to leave the cane behind. He turned and locked the door behind him. With a set of keys in one pocket and money in another he almost felt like a normal person again.
He didn't encounter anyone on the way to the laundry room in the basement, and although one of the machines had some clothes in it there was no one there either. He quickly filled the other machine and set it going. There were a couple of chairs in the room and a vending machine. After hesitating in front of the vending machine he decided that Wilson wouldn't begrudge him a candy bar and he picked one at random - they were all different from the ones that he used to buy in his youth.
He sat on one of the chairs and pulled an old paperback out of the laundry bag and settled down to wait for the clothes to be done, keeping a wary eye on the entrance to the room.
When another person appeared in the doorway he quickly put his book down and stood up. The lady's eyes opened wide as she took him in, her eyes flicking to his collar.
"Good morning, ma'am," he said politely, bowing his head.
Her eyes flicked uncertainly between him and the machine with the washing in. Clearly she'd come to pick up her clothes and hadn't expected to find a slave in the laundry room. Maybe he should have gone back to the apartment while waiting for his clothes to finish.
"Good morning," she said eventually.
"I belong to Doctor Wilson - apartment 507," he offered.
"Yes, I heard he had a... “Her face coloured slightly.
"A slave. Yes, ma'am." He wondered why so many free people seemed to have a difficult time calling him what he was. "I'm just doing his laundry."
She gave him a small, nervous, smile and came further into the room, going over to the machine with her clothes. She took them out and quickly put them into a bag before giving him a vague nod and leaving as quickly as she could.
"Nice to meet you," he said to the empty air. He didn't know why he expected anything else. Maybe because the patients in Mayfield had been reasonably friendly to him. Although that might have been because they identified with him first as a fellow patient, and his status of slave wasn't as important as that. Here, doing Wilson's laundry, he was first and foremost a slave.
He finished the laundry without further incident and went back to the apartment, after first getting another candy bar from the vending machine. It wasn't that Wilson wouldn't supply him with anything he wanted to eat - he was very generous on that front - but this was something that he was buying for himself, albeit with Wilson's money. There was an important difference there. It seemed ridiculous to be pleased about being able to go and do laundry, and buy a candy bar from a vending machine, but that was his life now. He'd lost so much from what he had been before he'd been imprisoned and enslaved, but he'd gained so much from where he had been before Wilson had bought him.
When he got back to the apartment, and after he had put away the laundry and ironed what needed ironing, he pulled out his computer. He hadn't considered it before but it was possible he could try and earn some money. Then he could pay for a few little things, without having to ask Wilson all the time. Maybe he could even give Wilson some money towards his therapy costs. It might be possible - he was anonymous on the internet after all, nobody had to know he was a slave. He settled down to research possibilities.
When Wilson arrived home it was to find Greg totally engrossed in something on his computer. A quick glance at the kitchen showed that there was no dinner being prepared. That was very unusual - in the days since coming back from Mayfield Greg had resumed his usual 'duties' of cleaning the apartment, and cooking dinner. Wilson was used to coming home to a spotless apartment and Greg deep in the final preparations for dinner.
Greg looked up at his entrance. A momentary look of confusion passed over his face then his eyes widened as he glanced at a clock.
"I didn't realise it was that late." He got up and started to move towards the kitchen.
"Hey, Greg, it's okay, relax." Wilson smiled at him, in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. "We can just order pizza if you like - we haven't had that in a while."
"I can cook something."
"Yeah, I know you can. But pizza is good too. You don't always have to cook." He pulled out his phone and quickly ordered some. Greg still hovered while he was doing that but then sat back down at the computer.
"What are you up to, anyway?" Wilson asked, walking over and peering over Greg's shoulder at the screen.
"I was seeing if there was anything I could do to earn some money," Greg explained.
"Oh? Is there something you want? You just have to say, you know." Wilson hadn't really thought about how it must be for Greg - having to ask for anything he wanted. He'd had his moments of poverty while he was in college and med school, but that had been a long time ago. Even at his poorest though he'd always had some money, and if not there had always been family to fall back on. He waved his hands. "Okay, no, I get it. You want your own money. So, how did you go? Any good possibilities?"
Greg showed him a number of websites where he could earn some money for filling in questionnaires, or other small tasks. Wilson had been expecting maybe some medical sites, but he supposed that to actually get paid Greg would have to show some credentials.
"People are willing to pay for papers too," Greg said. "Those pay pretty well."
"Like, for college?"
"Yes. I used to write a few papers for my fellow students back when I was in college - this would be along the same lines. It's just a bit of research on the internet."
Wilson scratched an eyebrow. That didn't exactly sound ethical, but he guessed Greg wasn't too worried about academic ethics at this stage of his life.
"So, have you signed up for anything?"
"They all need me to supply a bank account and tax details."
"Which of course you don't have."
"No."
"Well, you can set them up in my name, and I'll set up a separate bank account. It will be in my name of course, but it will be your money. Will that do?"
It wasn't ideal - he could tell that from Greg's expression - but there wasn't much choice. Slaves didn't have the capability to operate their own financial affairs - they weren't supposed to have any.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Greg said. The formal politeness towards him sounded odd now. Greg had been much more casual when talking to him lately. Wilson figured that meant he was pissed - not at him, but at the whole situation. Well, he had a perfect right to be.
"I'm sorry, Greg. It's the best we can do. And do me a favour and don't sign up for anything actually illegal ." He searched around for a change of subject. "How did the laundry go?"
"I managed to get to the laundry room and back by myself." Greg said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Yes, he was pissed.
A knock on the door interrupted them.
"That was quick," Wilson said, going over to the door to answer it. It wasn't the pizza delivery man, but rather the Condo Board president. "Oh, Mike, come in." He stepped back and the man entered the apartment.
Mike Venters seemed like a harmless enough man but he ruled the Condo Board with an iron fist. Wilson had been on the receiving end of reprimands from the Board a couple of times - once when he'd tried to smuggle a cat into his apartment, and once when he'd come home late after a friend's bachelor party after unfortunately losing his pants somewhere in the evening.
When Mike paid a visit in person it could only mean trouble.
"I won't keep you long, Doctor Wilson. I have received a complaint today and I just want to clear it up with you."
"Oh?"
MIke glanced towards the living room where Greg could be seen. He'd put the lid down on the computer and was just sitting there, his eyes on them.
"I understand you have a slave?"
"Yes. Greg." Wilson said shortly. Greg had been here for months now - as far as he knew having a slave wasn't against the rules of the Condo.
"Do you know he was using the laundry room today?"
"Yes, I asked him to do the laundry. He was there with my permission." Wilson glanced apologetically at Greg.
"The laundry room is for the use of residents only."
"Greg lives here."
"Legally he is not a resident. He can't be in the common areas without your direct supervision."
"That's ridiculous!"
Mike shrugged. "You may think so, the other residents do not. They don't want to be doing their laundry and see a slave lurking around."
"He wasn't lurking, he was doing laundry!"
"Nevertheless, it isn't permitted."
"Strangely enough nobody complained when he saved Nora's son's life. I'll be taking this to the Board meeting." The last thing Wilson wanted to do was get involved in the petty politics of the Condo Board but he couldn't let them do this.
"That is your right of course, but I think you'll find you won't have the support of the other residents. I've had complaints before this about you having a slave here. That isn't against the rules - although we may look into changing that - but we don't have to allow the slave to have free run of the building. He may use the laundry room only when you are with him."
When the door had closed behind the man Wilson turned to Greg.
"Greg, I'm sorry. I'll fight this - they can't make arbitrary rules up like that. What happened anyway? Did someone see you there?"
"A woman came in to empty one of the machines while I was there. She didn't seem pleased to see me."
"Okay, well the meeting is at the end of the month. You'd better stay out of the laundry until then, but I'll see what I can do."
"Wilson, it doesn't matter. It's just laundry," Greg said. He stood up and moved to the kitchen. "I'll get some plates and drinks."
Wilson sighed. He knew that it hadn't been just laundry to Greg - it had been the opportunity to get out and do something on his own - however small and trivial that thing was. Like his wanting to earn money - it was a small step of independence. Wilson couldn't blame him for wanting a little of that.
"We can go for a walk after dinner," he suggested. "If you like."
"I'm tired; I think I'll just go to bed."
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, he didn't know what else to say. Obviously Greg was bothered by what had happened, just as obviously he didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay, fine, Greg."
He couldn't enjoy the pizza when it came.
Words: Approx 2900
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Warnings : : Choose Not to Warn
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
Wilson paced in front of him, worry creasing his face. If there was something that Greg had realised since coming back from Mayfield it was that Wilson worried. About him. It was a novel sensation for Greg. As far back as he could remember the only person who had worried about him was his mother. And even she seemed to have given up by the time he hit adolescence.
"I don't know, Greg. Why don't we go together on the weekend?"
"It's just the laundry room, Wilson. I'm not asking if I can go to Atlantic City."
Apart from the brief trip to the hallway when he had saved a choking child from death he hadn't been out of the apartment without Wilson since he arrived. Wilson had been taking care of the laundry duties - although Greg had gone with him a few times. The few people they'd encountered had politely ignored them. Greg was proposing that he do the laundry while Wilson was at work today.
"Maybe you should do it on the weekend. I'll be here and if you run into any problems I can..."
"Wilson, you're talking about me going to work in the hospital one day - maybe becoming a doctor again - but you don't think I can handle going to the laundry by myself?"
"Of course you can handle it." That was another thing about Wilson; he was a big believer in positive affirmation. "It's just - you're still technically a slave."
"Not just technically." Wilson might not treat him as a slave but there was no 'technically' about it. Greg might have his memories back but he didn't have his freedom. Still, everyone in this building knew he belonged to Wilson - there was no reason for anyone to interfere with a slave doing the laundry - and every reason to expect a slave to be doing just that. "Of course if you don't want me to go, master , then I won't."
Wilson crossed his arms and leaned back on the kitchen counter. "I know when I’m being manipulated, Greg." He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck in that nervous mannerism he had. "Okay, okay. I've got to get to work anyway. Just be careful."
He was about to leave when Greg stopped him. "You might want to set the control so I can get out the door without the alarm going off. Don't want to drag you away from the hospital."
Wilson smiled. "It's been set at the entrance to the building ever since you went into the 'rescuing children from certain death' business. If you wander down the street I'll know about it. But anywhere in the building is fine."
Oh, he hadn't known that. He hadn't really needed Wilson's permission to go to the laundry room after all. Except, well, he still would have asked for it.
After Wilson was gone he cleaned up the apartment as usual. Wilson had tried his best while Greg was in Mayfield but the place had still needed a good cleaning when he returned. Once regaining his memories Greg realised how ironic it was that he had become such a good cleaner. His childhood had been a well regulated one - his father had insisted that young Greg keep to a military standard neatness, and - like punctuality - Greg had abandoned that idea as soon as he left home.
Cleaning gave him a sense of satisfaction now, something that a slave couldn't easily achieve. He could look the apartment over when he was finished and be proud of it. The best part of course was that Wilson never ordered him to do it. Greg had thought, when Wilson first purchased him, that Wilson's vague instructions to 'maybe clean up a little' were in fact orders. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he realised that they were just suggestions.
So he cleaned. It both gave him a purpose and helped to repay the kindness that Wilson has shown him. They both lived in this apartment, he could keep it clean.
The laundry represented something more than a desire to help Wilson out. It was a small step in regaining some independence - crazy as that might sound. Doctor Nolan had suggested that he look for opportunities like this when they presented themselves.
He'd bought his first motorcycle when he was sixteen - now that was real independence. He'd been able to get away whenever he wanted to, and he’d cruised the streets for hours. Well, he couldn't ride a bike now, and doing washing was a poor substitute but it was what he had.
He gathered up the laundry, sorting it into the bags Wilson used. Greg remembered doing laundry in college. He'd just piled everything he owned into one large bag when he ran out of clothes and hauled it down there. Everything went in together. That was when he couldn't talk - or bribe - some girl or other into doing it for him. Here he would take a little more care. Wilson was meticulous about his clothes, and Greg liked to take care of his too - there was nothing like having nothing but worn and stained clothes for years to make you appreciate nice ones.
He went to the little jar where Wilson kept quarters for the machines and took a few out, placing them carefully in the pocket of his jeans. Another first - the first time he'd handled money in twenty years.
Going to the door he hesitated before opening it and then took a deep breath and unlocked it. The hallway outside was deserted, for which he was thankful. He hefted the bags, they were awkward to handle when he had the cane in one hand but he wasn't going to leave the cane behind. He turned and locked the door behind him. With a set of keys in one pocket and money in another he almost felt like a normal person again.
He didn't encounter anyone on the way to the laundry room in the basement, and although one of the machines had some clothes in it there was no one there either. He quickly filled the other machine and set it going. There were a couple of chairs in the room and a vending machine. After hesitating in front of the vending machine he decided that Wilson wouldn't begrudge him a candy bar and he picked one at random - they were all different from the ones that he used to buy in his youth.
He sat on one of the chairs and pulled an old paperback out of the laundry bag and settled down to wait for the clothes to be done, keeping a wary eye on the entrance to the room.
When another person appeared in the doorway he quickly put his book down and stood up. The lady's eyes opened wide as she took him in, her eyes flicking to his collar.
"Good morning, ma'am," he said politely, bowing his head.
Her eyes flicked uncertainly between him and the machine with the washing in. Clearly she'd come to pick up her clothes and hadn't expected to find a slave in the laundry room. Maybe he should have gone back to the apartment while waiting for his clothes to finish.
"Good morning," she said eventually.
"I belong to Doctor Wilson - apartment 507," he offered.
"Yes, I heard he had a... “Her face coloured slightly.
"A slave. Yes, ma'am." He wondered why so many free people seemed to have a difficult time calling him what he was. "I'm just doing his laundry."
She gave him a small, nervous, smile and came further into the room, going over to the machine with her clothes. She took them out and quickly put them into a bag before giving him a vague nod and leaving as quickly as she could.
"Nice to meet you," he said to the empty air. He didn't know why he expected anything else. Maybe because the patients in Mayfield had been reasonably friendly to him. Although that might have been because they identified with him first as a fellow patient, and his status of slave wasn't as important as that. Here, doing Wilson's laundry, he was first and foremost a slave.
He finished the laundry without further incident and went back to the apartment, after first getting another candy bar from the vending machine. It wasn't that Wilson wouldn't supply him with anything he wanted to eat - he was very generous on that front - but this was something that he was buying for himself, albeit with Wilson's money. There was an important difference there. It seemed ridiculous to be pleased about being able to go and do laundry, and buy a candy bar from a vending machine, but that was his life now. He'd lost so much from what he had been before he'd been imprisoned and enslaved, but he'd gained so much from where he had been before Wilson had bought him.
When he got back to the apartment, and after he had put away the laundry and ironed what needed ironing, he pulled out his computer. He hadn't considered it before but it was possible he could try and earn some money. Then he could pay for a few little things, without having to ask Wilson all the time. Maybe he could even give Wilson some money towards his therapy costs. It might be possible - he was anonymous on the internet after all, nobody had to know he was a slave. He settled down to research possibilities.
When Wilson arrived home it was to find Greg totally engrossed in something on his computer. A quick glance at the kitchen showed that there was no dinner being prepared. That was very unusual - in the days since coming back from Mayfield Greg had resumed his usual 'duties' of cleaning the apartment, and cooking dinner. Wilson was used to coming home to a spotless apartment and Greg deep in the final preparations for dinner.
Greg looked up at his entrance. A momentary look of confusion passed over his face then his eyes widened as he glanced at a clock.
"I didn't realise it was that late." He got up and started to move towards the kitchen.
"Hey, Greg, it's okay, relax." Wilson smiled at him, in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. "We can just order pizza if you like - we haven't had that in a while."
"I can cook something."
"Yeah, I know you can. But pizza is good too. You don't always have to cook." He pulled out his phone and quickly ordered some. Greg still hovered while he was doing that but then sat back down at the computer.
"What are you up to, anyway?" Wilson asked, walking over and peering over Greg's shoulder at the screen.
"I was seeing if there was anything I could do to earn some money," Greg explained.
"Oh? Is there something you want? You just have to say, you know." Wilson hadn't really thought about how it must be for Greg - having to ask for anything he wanted. He'd had his moments of poverty while he was in college and med school, but that had been a long time ago. Even at his poorest though he'd always had some money, and if not there had always been family to fall back on. He waved his hands. "Okay, no, I get it. You want your own money. So, how did you go? Any good possibilities?"
Greg showed him a number of websites where he could earn some money for filling in questionnaires, or other small tasks. Wilson had been expecting maybe some medical sites, but he supposed that to actually get paid Greg would have to show some credentials.
"People are willing to pay for papers too," Greg said. "Those pay pretty well."
"Like, for college?"
"Yes. I used to write a few papers for my fellow students back when I was in college - this would be along the same lines. It's just a bit of research on the internet."
Wilson scratched an eyebrow. That didn't exactly sound ethical, but he guessed Greg wasn't too worried about academic ethics at this stage of his life.
"So, have you signed up for anything?"
"They all need me to supply a bank account and tax details."
"Which of course you don't have."
"No."
"Well, you can set them up in my name, and I'll set up a separate bank account. It will be in my name of course, but it will be your money. Will that do?"
It wasn't ideal - he could tell that from Greg's expression - but there wasn't much choice. Slaves didn't have the capability to operate their own financial affairs - they weren't supposed to have any.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Greg said. The formal politeness towards him sounded odd now. Greg had been much more casual when talking to him lately. Wilson figured that meant he was pissed - not at him, but at the whole situation. Well, he had a perfect right to be.
"I'm sorry, Greg. It's the best we can do. And do me a favour and don't sign up for anything actually illegal ." He searched around for a change of subject. "How did the laundry go?"
"I managed to get to the laundry room and back by myself." Greg said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Yes, he was pissed.
A knock on the door interrupted them.
"That was quick," Wilson said, going over to the door to answer it. It wasn't the pizza delivery man, but rather the Condo Board president. "Oh, Mike, come in." He stepped back and the man entered the apartment.
Mike Venters seemed like a harmless enough man but he ruled the Condo Board with an iron fist. Wilson had been on the receiving end of reprimands from the Board a couple of times - once when he'd tried to smuggle a cat into his apartment, and once when he'd come home late after a friend's bachelor party after unfortunately losing his pants somewhere in the evening.
When Mike paid a visit in person it could only mean trouble.
"I won't keep you long, Doctor Wilson. I have received a complaint today and I just want to clear it up with you."
"Oh?"
MIke glanced towards the living room where Greg could be seen. He'd put the lid down on the computer and was just sitting there, his eyes on them.
"I understand you have a slave?"
"Yes. Greg." Wilson said shortly. Greg had been here for months now - as far as he knew having a slave wasn't against the rules of the Condo.
"Do you know he was using the laundry room today?"
"Yes, I asked him to do the laundry. He was there with my permission." Wilson glanced apologetically at Greg.
"The laundry room is for the use of residents only."
"Greg lives here."
"Legally he is not a resident. He can't be in the common areas without your direct supervision."
"That's ridiculous!"
Mike shrugged. "You may think so, the other residents do not. They don't want to be doing their laundry and see a slave lurking around."
"He wasn't lurking, he was doing laundry!"
"Nevertheless, it isn't permitted."
"Strangely enough nobody complained when he saved Nora's son's life. I'll be taking this to the Board meeting." The last thing Wilson wanted to do was get involved in the petty politics of the Condo Board but he couldn't let them do this.
"That is your right of course, but I think you'll find you won't have the support of the other residents. I've had complaints before this about you having a slave here. That isn't against the rules - although we may look into changing that - but we don't have to allow the slave to have free run of the building. He may use the laundry room only when you are with him."
When the door had closed behind the man Wilson turned to Greg.
"Greg, I'm sorry. I'll fight this - they can't make arbitrary rules up like that. What happened anyway? Did someone see you there?"
"A woman came in to empty one of the machines while I was there. She didn't seem pleased to see me."
"Okay, well the meeting is at the end of the month. You'd better stay out of the laundry until then, but I'll see what I can do."
"Wilson, it doesn't matter. It's just laundry," Greg said. He stood up and moved to the kitchen. "I'll get some plates and drinks."
Wilson sighed. He knew that it hadn't been just laundry to Greg - it had been the opportunity to get out and do something on his own - however small and trivial that thing was. Like his wanting to earn money - it was a small step of independence. Wilson couldn't blame him for wanting a little of that.
"We can go for a walk after dinner," he suggested. "If you like."
"I'm tired; I think I'll just go to bed."
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, he didn't know what else to say. Obviously Greg was bothered by what had happened, just as obviously he didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay, fine, Greg."
He couldn't enjoy the pizza when it came.