Fic : An Opening Door 3/?
Title: An Opening Door 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.
Previous Chapter
Cuddy stared at him and then got up, quickly coming around the desk to hustle him out of the room, while making apologies to her guest. Taking Wilson by the arm she practically dragged him out of the office and closed the door behind them.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No, I just want to -"
"This isn't a stray dog, or a homeless cat! You're talking about buying a slave!"
"People do," Wilson pointed out. "This hospital even has some."
"We have them because we need them. Not because we feel sorry for them because they're lame!"
"Maybe I need a slave too."
She gave him an exasperated look. "You don't need a slave. I know you, James. You see someone in distress and you want to make it better. You want to take care of them."
"I don't want to -"
"If you don't want to take care of him what do you want with him? To screw him? It's illegal to buy a slave just for that purpose." Incidental use was okay of course, but sex slaves were theoretically against the law. Of course, it wasn't a law that got much exercise. If Wilson wanted the slave for that purpose there wasn't much that would stop him.
"No! I don't want him for that. I just want -"
"- to help him." Cuddy finished for him, throwing her arms up in the air. "I should have seen this coming."
"This isn't anything to do with you. I can contact their company directly and it won't affect my work here. He can keep the apartment straight for me, do the cooking, things like that." Wilson eyed her stubbornly. "Just give that guy my card and get him to contact me. I doubt that they really want a slave like Greg on their books - he can barely walk let alone work twelve hours a day. I should be able to get him cheap."
"I wouldn't bet on that, after you came bursting in like that. It's like you don't know the first thing about negotiation." Cuddy sighed. "Look, I'll have a word with him. We're going to have to use them for a while longer than we thought originally - it's a decent sized contract for them, I'm sure I can leverage something for you. Just - think about this very carefully, Wilson. Owning a slave isn't like owning a car. There's a lot goes into it. I suggest you go and check and see what the requirements are - it's a bit more complicated than I think you imagine. A cat or a dog would be much easier."
"I don't want a pet, Cuddy. I just want to help Greg. He needs it."
Wilson spent the afternoon researching Slave laws and regulations. It turned out that buying and keeping a slave was a lot more involved than he'd realised. He had to have a license (with a nice fee payable to the state of New Jersey of course), and to get the license he had to attend classes (another nice fee), and he had to have the premises where he was going to keep the slave inspected (another fee). There were a slew of regulations about bed size, and minimum feeding requirements, and other such matters. He had to obtain medical insurance for the slave, and insurance to cover any damage the slave might do to any free person, or any free person's property. It wasn't as simple as writing out a check and taking Greg home with him.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he closed down his web browser. It was just paperwork, and money, and a bit of time. He could do it. He'd made his way through the medical education system, he could buy a slave. He'd buy Greg, and look after him - get him some proper medical attention, some better clothes, make sure he had enough to eat, things like that. And Greg could do some light housework for him - it would be nice to have someone else do it, and to have some company at night. Then, when Greg was doing better, Wilson would probably free him. He'd help him get some sort of job, though that might not be easy, given his disability and the status he would have of being an ex-slave... He pushed that worry aside for now - that was a long way down the track. At the worst he'd just keep Greg as a slave - he'd have a far better life with Wilson then he did now.
He started when there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Cuddy entered.
"Okay - Rent-a-Slave has agreed to sell Greg to you, for ten thousand dollars."
It was both a large amount of money, and a trivially small one to buy a human being. His car had cost three times that amount. Cuddy had come through for him.
"Subject to the full disclosure documents, of course. They're going to get them sent straight to you. You can pull out any time up to giving them the check. And of course, you'll have to show that you've got all your paperwork in order before they'll release him to you."
"I didn't realise there was so much to it," Wilson admitted.
Cuddy nodded. "I looked into it last year - I have a part time handyman, and a cleaner, and I thought it might be easier... But it turned out not to be. Even though we have slaves at the hospital, it's different buying one for your own personal use. It's not just all the red tape, and the expense, it's just the thought of owning another human being. I decided it wasn't something I wanted to do."
"I won't really be owning him, I won't think of it like that." Wilson was uncomfortable with the idea himself. He didn't want to own Greg, he just wanted to make his life better. "I can't just leave him where he is, not now that I've met him. He's broken, Cuddy. You can see it - he's worn down. He's an intelligent human being, and he's living in pain and nobody is doing anything about it."
"Insurance is going to be a killer for him," Cuddy pointed out. "If his condition is as bad as you say. You can put him on your own insurance through the hospital but you'll still have to pay. Good thing you have no kids - he's going to keep you poor."
Wilson grimaced at her mention of him being childless. It wasn't really by choice. He'd been married, and divorced, three times. One of the marriages hadn't lasted long enough for children to be on the horizon, the other two wives hadn't been in a hurry - and again the marriage had been over before they'd gotten around to it. His parents looked at him with disappointment every time they saw him, and Wilson himself couldn't help but be saddened that he didn't have anyone to share his life with.
He'd even dated Cuddy a couple of times - she wanted a child and he'd volunteered to be a sperm donor, or even something more - but she'd miscarried twice, and had stopped trying. He'd brought her flowers, she'd hugged him, and they had mutually decided to go back to just being friends.
"I'll have to meet this slave of yours once you have him. He must be very special if you're going to all this trouble for him."
"I'll have a dinner party," Wilson joked.
"Well, at least he should be able to clear up after it." Cuddy put a business card down on his desk. "That's the guy to talk to at Rent-A-Slave once you have the paperwork sorted. Good luck."
Greg spent the rest of the afternoon painting the basement walls. He was mostly left alone to get on with it and he put in just enough effort to avoid being disciplined. He was still sore from his fall, and the painkillers Doctor Wilson had given him had started wearing off in the late afternoon. It was nothing he couldn't handle of course, he'd worked through much worse pain, but it was still uncomfortable.
He didn't know what to make of Doctor Wilson. Since he'd become a slave he'd had little contact with free people who weren't his owners. He'd certainly hadn't met anyone like the doctor. Doctor Wilson appeared to be trying to be friendly towards Greg - bringing him food and medication, and arranging the medical exam. Greg wasn't sure why he was acting that way, or what the doctor wanted in exchange. Greg found himself intrigued by the puzzle.
By the time recall was sounded - Greg's collar buzzing and giving him a mild shock even though the slave handler was less than a few feet from him at the time - he was too tired to do anything but clean his work area up and line up with the other slaves. They were taken quickly to the truck and loaded in. Some of the slaves talked in low tones to each other but Greg sat in silence, his head bowed.
Once the truck had arrived back at the building the company used to house its slaves, the usual evening routine followed. The slaves all got out of the truck, stripped and then lined up in the yard to be checked for contraband. Any slave who took anything from a worksite was severely punished so theft was very rare. Greg had learnt how to conceal small things in his mouth but mostly there was little worth taking that was that size - only drugs if he could ever get his hands on them. He'd risk a great deal for painkillers. Unfortunately the hospital had theirs locked up tight and even with his impromptu overnight stay he hadn't managed to score any except for the ones Doctor Wilson had given him.
As they cleared inspection they were allowed to enter the main building for showers and evening meal, and then cleaning of the facilities. After that they were free to do whatever they wanted until lockup time. Greg was heading towards his bunk when a handler called him out.
"Greg - here."
He was walked down to the office section of the large building - where the slaves were forbidden to go by themselves - and taken to the medical room. Greg had been here before of course, for treatment of minor injuries. He wondered if this was something to do with his medical exam today. He'd never had so much attention for a simple fall before.
"Strip off," the handler said and he slipped out of the shorts and t-shirt all the slaves wore in the evening. "Lie down on the exam table."
He did and watched as the manacles on the side were fastened over his wrists and ankles. The handler left without another word.
He was there for a few minutes before the doctor came in. The man was old, and Greg had concluded that he couldn't find a job anywhere else, probably through sheer incompetence. He appeared to have nothing but contempt for the slaves and the contrast to Doctor Wilson couldn't be stronger.
He didn't talk to Greg except to issue brief commands. He seemed mostly intent on a printed form he had on the clipboard he carried. Greg was subject to a brusque examination, with each vital statistic being noted on the form. His blood pressure and pulse were taken, and his reflexes tested. He was released from the manacles to be weighed and have his height taken and then he was told to stand still while the doctor walked around him, making marks on the form. The doctor took note of the bruising to his upper body, his fingers pinching at the skin. Greg squirmed away from the pain and received a quick, hard, slap to his naked ass.
"I told you to stand still, slave. How did you get all this bruising?"
"I fell down some stairs, sir."
"Clumsy. I've told them that you're not worth putting out in the field. I can't imagine why anyone wants to buy you."
"Buy me, sir?" Greg said, and then quickly fell silent. It wasn't his place to ask questions like that.
The doctor laughed. "They'll soon change their mind when they see this report. I'm not prettying it up. The law says that the buyer is entitled to full disclosure of a slave's medical condition. Ashworth isn't going to like it, but it's my neck on the line - not his."
Greg didn't say anything to that - judging that the doctor was talking to himself, not seeking the opinion of a slave. The doctor continued his examination - including a long period of probing at the surgical scar on Greg's thigh which had him gritting his teeth. He hated anyone touching the scar, and the doctor's rough touch was sending waves of pain through his thigh. Doctor Wilson had refrained from touching it, although he'd obviously noticed it.
Finally the doctor snapped on a pair of gloves.
"Spread your legs, bend over and grab your ankles," he ordered. Greg did so, although he could barely reach his calf on the right side, his leg wouldn't straighten and he wobbled precariously in that position. He was roughly entered with a gloved finger and his prostrate probed - presumably to check for any signs of inflammation. Mercifully the doctor was quick about his task and he was given permission to straighten up.
A specimen jar was produced and thrust into his hand.
"Piss in that. Be careful - I don't want a mess all over the floor."
He managed it under the doctor's scrutiny and handed the jar back. It was labelled and sealed - presumably to be sent away somewhere for testing.
"Put your clothes back on and wait outside for the guard." The doctor left the room without another word.
He got back to his dorm just before lockup. Slipping out of his clothes once again he folded them neatly and stowed them under his pillow and got into bed. A guard called bed check and he answered when his turn came. The lights were dimmed and the heavy door to the dorm swung shut and was locked for the night. Around him he could hear the sounds of nineteen other slaves settling down to sleep - just as he had every day for however long he had been here.
He thought about what the doctor had let slip. Someone wanted to buy him. For what purpose? The doctor had been right, it would be foolish to buy a slave like him for any sort of work. He'd been told many times that he had been fortunate that this company had purchased him - there were rumours about places slaves went when they were no longer useful. None of the rumours were good.
Maybe that had been the reason for Doctor Wilson's interest in him. Maybe he knew a company who had need of a slave like Greg. Maybe it was the hospital itself. Greg knew that he had done a good job in cleaning the bathrooms, and the hospital had lost some slaves in the fire - hence why they were employing Rent-A-Slave. Again, though, why would they want a crippled, old, slave rather than a young one? Because he was cheap? He'd have to be cheap.
Or maybe - and this was a chilling thought - the hospital wanted to buy him to use in experimental work. That was one of the rumours that went around about slaves who couldn't work, that they were sold to be used in medical research. Maybe after his fall and time off work the company had decided he was no longer worth his keep and they were negotiating with the hospital. That would explain the two medical exams he'd been subjected to today.
It wasn't that Greg feared dying - most days he'd welcome it - but he didn't want to die as an experimental animal. He thought about Doctor Wilson again, and the kindness he'd shown, he didn't think he would agree to Greg being used like that but it might not be in his control.
He resolved that if it came to that, if that was what he was destined for, he'd fight. He'd do everything he could to make sure his death was swift.
With that thought he sank into an exhausted sleep.
Onto Chapter Four
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.
Previous Chapter
Cuddy stared at him and then got up, quickly coming around the desk to hustle him out of the room, while making apologies to her guest. Taking Wilson by the arm she practically dragged him out of the office and closed the door behind them.
"Are you out of your mind?"
"No, I just want to -"
"This isn't a stray dog, or a homeless cat! You're talking about buying a slave!"
"People do," Wilson pointed out. "This hospital even has some."
"We have them because we need them. Not because we feel sorry for them because they're lame!"
"Maybe I need a slave too."
She gave him an exasperated look. "You don't need a slave. I know you, James. You see someone in distress and you want to make it better. You want to take care of them."
"I don't want to -"
"If you don't want to take care of him what do you want with him? To screw him? It's illegal to buy a slave just for that purpose." Incidental use was okay of course, but sex slaves were theoretically against the law. Of course, it wasn't a law that got much exercise. If Wilson wanted the slave for that purpose there wasn't much that would stop him.
"No! I don't want him for that. I just want -"
"- to help him." Cuddy finished for him, throwing her arms up in the air. "I should have seen this coming."
"This isn't anything to do with you. I can contact their company directly and it won't affect my work here. He can keep the apartment straight for me, do the cooking, things like that." Wilson eyed her stubbornly. "Just give that guy my card and get him to contact me. I doubt that they really want a slave like Greg on their books - he can barely walk let alone work twelve hours a day. I should be able to get him cheap."
"I wouldn't bet on that, after you came bursting in like that. It's like you don't know the first thing about negotiation." Cuddy sighed. "Look, I'll have a word with him. We're going to have to use them for a while longer than we thought originally - it's a decent sized contract for them, I'm sure I can leverage something for you. Just - think about this very carefully, Wilson. Owning a slave isn't like owning a car. There's a lot goes into it. I suggest you go and check and see what the requirements are - it's a bit more complicated than I think you imagine. A cat or a dog would be much easier."
"I don't want a pet, Cuddy. I just want to help Greg. He needs it."
Wilson spent the afternoon researching Slave laws and regulations. It turned out that buying and keeping a slave was a lot more involved than he'd realised. He had to have a license (with a nice fee payable to the state of New Jersey of course), and to get the license he had to attend classes (another nice fee), and he had to have the premises where he was going to keep the slave inspected (another fee). There were a slew of regulations about bed size, and minimum feeding requirements, and other such matters. He had to obtain medical insurance for the slave, and insurance to cover any damage the slave might do to any free person, or any free person's property. It wasn't as simple as writing out a check and taking Greg home with him.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he closed down his web browser. It was just paperwork, and money, and a bit of time. He could do it. He'd made his way through the medical education system, he could buy a slave. He'd buy Greg, and look after him - get him some proper medical attention, some better clothes, make sure he had enough to eat, things like that. And Greg could do some light housework for him - it would be nice to have someone else do it, and to have some company at night. Then, when Greg was doing better, Wilson would probably free him. He'd help him get some sort of job, though that might not be easy, given his disability and the status he would have of being an ex-slave... He pushed that worry aside for now - that was a long way down the track. At the worst he'd just keep Greg as a slave - he'd have a far better life with Wilson then he did now.
He started when there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Cuddy entered.
"Okay - Rent-a-Slave has agreed to sell Greg to you, for ten thousand dollars."
It was both a large amount of money, and a trivially small one to buy a human being. His car had cost three times that amount. Cuddy had come through for him.
"Subject to the full disclosure documents, of course. They're going to get them sent straight to you. You can pull out any time up to giving them the check. And of course, you'll have to show that you've got all your paperwork in order before they'll release him to you."
"I didn't realise there was so much to it," Wilson admitted.
Cuddy nodded. "I looked into it last year - I have a part time handyman, and a cleaner, and I thought it might be easier... But it turned out not to be. Even though we have slaves at the hospital, it's different buying one for your own personal use. It's not just all the red tape, and the expense, it's just the thought of owning another human being. I decided it wasn't something I wanted to do."
"I won't really be owning him, I won't think of it like that." Wilson was uncomfortable with the idea himself. He didn't want to own Greg, he just wanted to make his life better. "I can't just leave him where he is, not now that I've met him. He's broken, Cuddy. You can see it - he's worn down. He's an intelligent human being, and he's living in pain and nobody is doing anything about it."
"Insurance is going to be a killer for him," Cuddy pointed out. "If his condition is as bad as you say. You can put him on your own insurance through the hospital but you'll still have to pay. Good thing you have no kids - he's going to keep you poor."
Wilson grimaced at her mention of him being childless. It wasn't really by choice. He'd been married, and divorced, three times. One of the marriages hadn't lasted long enough for children to be on the horizon, the other two wives hadn't been in a hurry - and again the marriage had been over before they'd gotten around to it. His parents looked at him with disappointment every time they saw him, and Wilson himself couldn't help but be saddened that he didn't have anyone to share his life with.
He'd even dated Cuddy a couple of times - she wanted a child and he'd volunteered to be a sperm donor, or even something more - but she'd miscarried twice, and had stopped trying. He'd brought her flowers, she'd hugged him, and they had mutually decided to go back to just being friends.
"I'll have to meet this slave of yours once you have him. He must be very special if you're going to all this trouble for him."
"I'll have a dinner party," Wilson joked.
"Well, at least he should be able to clear up after it." Cuddy put a business card down on his desk. "That's the guy to talk to at Rent-A-Slave once you have the paperwork sorted. Good luck."
Greg spent the rest of the afternoon painting the basement walls. He was mostly left alone to get on with it and he put in just enough effort to avoid being disciplined. He was still sore from his fall, and the painkillers Doctor Wilson had given him had started wearing off in the late afternoon. It was nothing he couldn't handle of course, he'd worked through much worse pain, but it was still uncomfortable.
He didn't know what to make of Doctor Wilson. Since he'd become a slave he'd had little contact with free people who weren't his owners. He'd certainly hadn't met anyone like the doctor. Doctor Wilson appeared to be trying to be friendly towards Greg - bringing him food and medication, and arranging the medical exam. Greg wasn't sure why he was acting that way, or what the doctor wanted in exchange. Greg found himself intrigued by the puzzle.
By the time recall was sounded - Greg's collar buzzing and giving him a mild shock even though the slave handler was less than a few feet from him at the time - he was too tired to do anything but clean his work area up and line up with the other slaves. They were taken quickly to the truck and loaded in. Some of the slaves talked in low tones to each other but Greg sat in silence, his head bowed.
Once the truck had arrived back at the building the company used to house its slaves, the usual evening routine followed. The slaves all got out of the truck, stripped and then lined up in the yard to be checked for contraband. Any slave who took anything from a worksite was severely punished so theft was very rare. Greg had learnt how to conceal small things in his mouth but mostly there was little worth taking that was that size - only drugs if he could ever get his hands on them. He'd risk a great deal for painkillers. Unfortunately the hospital had theirs locked up tight and even with his impromptu overnight stay he hadn't managed to score any except for the ones Doctor Wilson had given him.
As they cleared inspection they were allowed to enter the main building for showers and evening meal, and then cleaning of the facilities. After that they were free to do whatever they wanted until lockup time. Greg was heading towards his bunk when a handler called him out.
"Greg - here."
He was walked down to the office section of the large building - where the slaves were forbidden to go by themselves - and taken to the medical room. Greg had been here before of course, for treatment of minor injuries. He wondered if this was something to do with his medical exam today. He'd never had so much attention for a simple fall before.
"Strip off," the handler said and he slipped out of the shorts and t-shirt all the slaves wore in the evening. "Lie down on the exam table."
He did and watched as the manacles on the side were fastened over his wrists and ankles. The handler left without another word.
He was there for a few minutes before the doctor came in. The man was old, and Greg had concluded that he couldn't find a job anywhere else, probably through sheer incompetence. He appeared to have nothing but contempt for the slaves and the contrast to Doctor Wilson couldn't be stronger.
He didn't talk to Greg except to issue brief commands. He seemed mostly intent on a printed form he had on the clipboard he carried. Greg was subject to a brusque examination, with each vital statistic being noted on the form. His blood pressure and pulse were taken, and his reflexes tested. He was released from the manacles to be weighed and have his height taken and then he was told to stand still while the doctor walked around him, making marks on the form. The doctor took note of the bruising to his upper body, his fingers pinching at the skin. Greg squirmed away from the pain and received a quick, hard, slap to his naked ass.
"I told you to stand still, slave. How did you get all this bruising?"
"I fell down some stairs, sir."
"Clumsy. I've told them that you're not worth putting out in the field. I can't imagine why anyone wants to buy you."
"Buy me, sir?" Greg said, and then quickly fell silent. It wasn't his place to ask questions like that.
The doctor laughed. "They'll soon change their mind when they see this report. I'm not prettying it up. The law says that the buyer is entitled to full disclosure of a slave's medical condition. Ashworth isn't going to like it, but it's my neck on the line - not his."
Greg didn't say anything to that - judging that the doctor was talking to himself, not seeking the opinion of a slave. The doctor continued his examination - including a long period of probing at the surgical scar on Greg's thigh which had him gritting his teeth. He hated anyone touching the scar, and the doctor's rough touch was sending waves of pain through his thigh. Doctor Wilson had refrained from touching it, although he'd obviously noticed it.
Finally the doctor snapped on a pair of gloves.
"Spread your legs, bend over and grab your ankles," he ordered. Greg did so, although he could barely reach his calf on the right side, his leg wouldn't straighten and he wobbled precariously in that position. He was roughly entered with a gloved finger and his prostrate probed - presumably to check for any signs of inflammation. Mercifully the doctor was quick about his task and he was given permission to straighten up.
A specimen jar was produced and thrust into his hand.
"Piss in that. Be careful - I don't want a mess all over the floor."
He managed it under the doctor's scrutiny and handed the jar back. It was labelled and sealed - presumably to be sent away somewhere for testing.
"Put your clothes back on and wait outside for the guard." The doctor left the room without another word.
He got back to his dorm just before lockup. Slipping out of his clothes once again he folded them neatly and stowed them under his pillow and got into bed. A guard called bed check and he answered when his turn came. The lights were dimmed and the heavy door to the dorm swung shut and was locked for the night. Around him he could hear the sounds of nineteen other slaves settling down to sleep - just as he had every day for however long he had been here.
He thought about what the doctor had let slip. Someone wanted to buy him. For what purpose? The doctor had been right, it would be foolish to buy a slave like him for any sort of work. He'd been told many times that he had been fortunate that this company had purchased him - there were rumours about places slaves went when they were no longer useful. None of the rumours were good.
Maybe that had been the reason for Doctor Wilson's interest in him. Maybe he knew a company who had need of a slave like Greg. Maybe it was the hospital itself. Greg knew that he had done a good job in cleaning the bathrooms, and the hospital had lost some slaves in the fire - hence why they were employing Rent-A-Slave. Again, though, why would they want a crippled, old, slave rather than a young one? Because he was cheap? He'd have to be cheap.
Or maybe - and this was a chilling thought - the hospital wanted to buy him to use in experimental work. That was one of the rumours that went around about slaves who couldn't work, that they were sold to be used in medical research. Maybe after his fall and time off work the company had decided he was no longer worth his keep and they were negotiating with the hospital. That would explain the two medical exams he'd been subjected to today.
It wasn't that Greg feared dying - most days he'd welcome it - but he didn't want to die as an experimental animal. He thought about Doctor Wilson again, and the kindness he'd shown, he didn't think he would agree to Greg being used like that but it might not be in his control.
He resolved that if it came to that, if that was what he was destined for, he'd fight. He'd do everything he could to make sure his death was swift.
With that thought he sank into an exhausted sleep.
Onto Chapter Four