Fic : A Slave In the Mirror ~ Part 2

[tailkinker_au]

Title : A Slave In the Mirror - Part 2
Words : 7285 (this part)
Rating : M
Spoilers : For canon up to Season 2 and for CollarVerse up to Skin Deep Episode in CollarRedux 2
Pairings : Talk of non-con House/Wilson in the CollarVerse but no pairings in this story
Warnings : Mentions of non-con, slavery, whipping, child sexual abuse (from episode Skin Deep)
Summary : A Collarverse/Canonverse crossover. Wilson goes to House's apartment and finds his friend lying asleep in bed with a collar around his neck. When House wakes up and starts calling himself a slave Wilson knows something is very wrong.

Author's Notes : The CollarVerse stories can be found on fanfiction.net here.

The main premise of the CollarVerse is that Greg House is a slave, while still working in the same position as Diagnostics Department Head at PPTH. Wilson is very interested in Doctor House, and not in a good way.



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Cuddy and Wilson both shot to their feet in alarm.

"No Greg, you can't go," Cuddy said, reaching out to him, her fingers brushing his arm before he jerked away.

"Why not? I'm not a slave anymore, right? I can do what I want." Underneath his defiant words Cuddy detected a trace of apprehension, of doubt. Greg had said he'd been a slave for sixteen years, now he was trying to walk out the door, into an unknown world, alone. She marshalled her thoughts and presented them logically, House had usually responded to a well reasoned argument, maybe Greg would too.

"Well, for one thing it's the middle of the night. Where would you go? You don't know anyone, you don't have any money, and you're still in a lot of pain. Why don't you stay here, at least for tonight and get some rest? We can treat your back again, and give you another shot."

Greg looked at them both and then back at the door. Wilson could see how exhausted and pained he was, adrenaline had sustained him until now, but now his face was grey, the lines in it deeply drawn.

'What have you got to lose by staying the night, Greg?" He asked, trying to sound reassuring. "No need to make decisions now, we can discuss it tomorrow."

"If I stay here I might wake up...back there." Greg lifted his chin, his tone brusque but they could both hear the fear in his words.

"We don't know how you got here, we have no idea how you would ever get back - you could just as easily go back if you sleep the night in some seedy hotel, or under a bridge. Might as well enjoy it while you can." Wilson shrugged. "Or you could come back to my place, I'm staying in a hotel at the moment."

"No." Greg said firmly. "Not the hotel, I've seen enough of that."

Wilson wondered again just what was between his counter-part in that other world and Greg. If Greg belonged to the other Wilson, did he take him back to his hotel room every night? It sounded like he might, but why would Greg have had enough of it? One thing seemed certain, Greg and the other Wilson had a very different relationship to the one he had with House. Wilson both wanted to know all about it, and wanted to know nothing about it.

Greg took one more step towards the door and then seemed to sag, leaning heavily on his cane, head hanging down, the events of the day finally catching up to him. He turned to face them.

"I'll stay here, just for tonight."

"Good." Wilson said, "Go and lie down on the bed, I'll come and treat your back and then I'll give you something for the pain."

Greg shot a look at him, and then at Cuddy. His message was clear.

"Wilson, why don't you clean up out here and I'll see to Greg?" Cuddy said diplomatically.

Wilson sighed, he felt that he was getting the blame for something that the other Wilson had done - and he didn't like it. However it would be silly to stand around arguing over who got the privilege of putting ointment on Greg's ravaged back so he nodded and started picking up plates.

"He's out for the count. I gave him enough so that he should sleep until morning."

Cuddy came back into the living room and settled herself on the couch, Wilson sitting beside her.

"This is crazy, Cuddy, you know that. How are we going to get House - our House, back? "

She buried her head in her hands.

"I don't think we can, or at least nothing we can do will make a difference. This isn't one of House's crappy sci-fi movies - neither of us can whip up a 'parallel universe transfer device'. We haven't got the faintest idea how this happened."

"House is stuck in that...in that vile place where they'll think he's a slave. Greg said he's due another fifty lashes. That will be House getting those lashes. We can't just...leave him there."

"So you want to send Greg back there instead?"

"Better Greg than House, at least he's used to it!" Wilson blurted out and then looked down at the floor, ashamed of his outburst.

"Look, Wilson, we don't know for sure where our House is. Maybe instead of a straight exchange this is more of a 'slide one place over' thing - he might be in a different universe altogether. Or if he is there - well they should be able to figure it out just like we did. They'll know as soon as they examine him that he's not their 'Greg'. They'll know he's not a slave. He'll be okay."

"How can you..."

"I can say it because I have to. There's nothing I can do about it. There's nothing you can do either. I need to believe he'll be okay. I suggest you try and believe it too. In the meantime I think we have a duty of care for that man in there, none of this was his choice." Cuddy stood up, "I've got to get at least some sleep tonight. You'll stay and keep an eye on him?"

"Yes, better put us both down for sick days tomorrow - if he's still here."

Wilson walked Cuddy to the door and then she stopped and turned around, hugging him suddenly. Wilson returned her embrace.

"I just...I'm going to miss him, Cuddy - he doesn't deserve this." Wilson felt tears prickling at his eyes and blinked them back.

"I know James, I'll miss him too - crazy bastard that he is."

Greg woke up slowly, the morphine still fogging his brain. At first he couldn't work out why he was in a strange bed, not in his cubby hole at the back of diagnostics, or in Wilson's sterile hotel room. He felt the lack of that cold pressure around his throat that had been there so long. No collar. His heart jumped in alarm but then he remembered. Not a slave. Not there, not anymore.

He sat up and looked around. There was light coming in through the window so quite late, not his usual four o'clock awakening. Mentally he took stock, back felt, well, very sore but not excruciating. The whip bruised as well as cut and every movement was accompanied by a stab of pain but nothing he couldn't tolerate. Much better than it usually felt a couple of days after a severe whipping. The treatment this time had probably helped, not to mention the painkillers - he usually got neither.

He was dressed in a pair of sweatpants, and was bare chested. He got up and found the shirt he'd worn yesterday and slipped that on, it brushed uncomfortable against the welts and bruises on his back but it was better that than walking around half naked.

In the bathroom he examined himself in the mirror. He hadn't been to the groomers this week so he was in need of a shave but he hardly noticed that, the most noticeable thing was the lack of a collar. He'd avoided mirrors as much as he could over the last sixteen years because he hated the sight of the thing. Seeing it always reminded him of the moment it closed around his throat for the first time, and where he was when it was done. The Slave Administration Centre, where they quickly and efficiently turned him from Doctor Gregory House to Greg, the slave. He'd regained little bits of himself over the years but nothing could replace what was taken from him there. He'd never get that back.

He wasn't surprised to find Wilson still in the apartment. Wilson had said he lived in a hotel, but from the way he'd moved around the apartment yesterday, as if were his own, he probably spent a lot of time here. The man was poking around in the cupboards, probably looking for food or something. Wilson in his own universe was obsessed with feeding Greg, Greg sometimes wondered if he was fattening him up for the slaughter.

Wilson turned around as he entered, his face a question, his eyes almost hopeful but he didn't speak.

"I didn't change places with your guy in the night, sorry to disappoint you."

Wilson looked embarrassed, one hand going to rub the back of his neck.

"It's not that I wanted you to go back, but, well, House is my friend, we've been friends for a long time. I don't want to lose him. You, well, you look like him..."

"But I'm not him, I get it."

"We're not friends are we? Back in your universe?"

Greg laughed, a flat humourless sound. "Slaves don't have 'friends'."

Wilson looked at him and then shook his head.

"I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry."

The man actually looked upset, at what exactly Greg wasn't sure and didn't care. He wondered if there was going to be any food produced any time soon. Wilson seemed to read his mind, slamming the last cupboard door shut.

"There's nothing edible here. I swear House lives on coffee and Vicodin."

"Coffee and Vicodin, sounds yummy."

"You would say that," Wilson retorted, straightening up and facing him, then a flash of uncertainty crossed his face, "are you on Vicodin?"

"Used to be, then methadone, now I'm on Oxycontin. Your morphine was tasty though. If you've got more of that I'll take it."

"Well, I haven't got any Oxy on me so you'll have to make do with Vicodin, knowing House there's plenty around. No more morphine, sorry."

Greg shrugged, he had one vial of Vicodin in his pants pocket, the other tucked away in a hiding place, he was good to go for a while, and this Wilson looked like a soft touch for more.

"We'll go out and get some breakfast, I'll see to your back first though. Go and lie down, take your shirt off and I'll get the stuff."

Greg took a step back, reluctant to let Wilson touch him. He needed to establish some independence early on here, this Wilson seemed affable enough, but the Wilson back in his universe loved touching Greg, and drinking in his pain. When Greg was being whipped he knew Wilson was there, watching, getting excited, getting off on his punishment, his pain.

"Greg, I'm not going to hurt you. Whatever the other Wilson did to you, I'm not him. I'm a doctor, I can treat your back so it gives you less pain, and so that it doesn't get infected. Please give me a chance to show you that I'm different. Any time you want me to stop you just say the word."

"Cuddy can do it."

"She's not here, and what makes her so great anyway? You said she's the one who bought you for the hospital," Wilson tripped over the word 'bought', it seemed so bizarre to apply that concept to Greg.

Greg lifted his chin, almost defiantly. "Cuddy did buy me for the hospital. She knew how good I was, and that I could make her little hospital world famous, and take her along for the ride. Her only interest in me is how well I do my job, and how much money and prestige I bring to her and her hospital. She doesn't play games, or take me back to her hotel room at night, or stalk me and tell me how much she enjoys my pain, or pretend to be..." he stopped suddenly, looking away from Wilson. Wilson saw him swallow hard and then he looked back, his eyes bleak, "I know where I stand with Cuddy - she'd never do anything to harm me, well except for the whipping, she's pretty okay with ordering those."

"It was Cuddy who ordered your whipping?"

"Yes, she has to sign off on all my punishments. She never comes to watch though, I think she's a bit squeamish."

"Why...what did you do...I mean, fifty lashes you said, that seems like a lot."

"One hundred - the rest were to be today. And she had me down for six hundred to start with, so I guess one hundred isn't too bad."

"But what..."

"Does it matter? Why do you want to hear all the gory details if you're not like my Wilson?"

"I don't." Wilson denied hurriedly, "but I just thought, if we knew what was happening when you were swapped..."

"Nice try, but even if that is the reason I already told you I'm not interested in finding out what happened or how to reverse it." Greg smiled, showing all his teeth but there was no humour in his eyes, "I like it here."

Wilson turned away, hiding his face from Greg, he leaned on the kitchen counter, head bowed. After a minute he straightened and turned to face Greg again.

"You're a lot like him, you know?"

"Sort of an asshole?" Greg asked, a flicker of genuine humour in his expression this time.

"Yeah," was all Wilson said.

"Nice to know," Greg said, and meant it. Over the last sixteen years of his existence as a slave he'd often been afraid he was losing himself, the essential parts of his personality that made him Greg House. He'd fought to keep as much of that he could, while the misery of his day to day life wore it away. It was good to have some affirmation that the slave Greg didn't appear on the surface to be much different to the free man House.

"So, are you going to do my back or are we going to keep bonding like this?" Greg asked when Wilson didn't say anything more. He still didn't trust the guy but he did need to be in as good a shape as possible, for whatever might come up, and there was no-one else around.

"Go and lie down and I'll get the supplies."

Wilson applied ointment to Greg's back, careful to keep his touch cool and professional. The cuts were beginning to scab over, some would undoubtedly leave scars, to add to Greg's massive collection. Wilson could see them better now, faint lines all over Greg's back and shoulders but away from the kidney area. A professional had done this, someone who knew how to inflict the maximum amount of pain without endangering their victim. This other universe probably had people who specialised in it. Wilson tried to envisage the scene as Greg was whipped fifty times, was he crying in pain, trying to escape? He would have been bound, fastened to a whipping post, unable to move. Had that other Wilson watched? Had he watched this terrible thing happening to Greg and done nothing to prevent it. Even worse had he enjoyed it? Greg had said that the other Wilson enjoyed Greg's pain.

Wilson had seen House in pain many times, most noticeably during the infarction and its aftermath. Then there had been the detox last year, House had been in so much pain he'd smashed his own finger to try and control it. Wilson didn't enjoy House's pain, he did what he could to help, including prescribing the pills that would one day kill his friend. He liked being able to help, to provide assistance to House when he needed it, there was nothing wrong with that. He was nothing like that other Wilson, the one who'd put that tag on Greg's collar.

He realised suddenly that he had stopped applying the cream and was just staring at Greg's back. As he watched he saw a slight tremble pass through the man. He was scared. Scared of Wilson. Of what Wilson might do while he was vulnerable like this.

Wilson quickly finished the job and went into the bathroom to wash his hands. By the time he got back Greg was sitting up, still bare chested, blue eyes warily watching him.

"Did you find any of House's Vicodin?" Wilson asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Greg nodded. "What schedule is he on?"

Wilson laughed hollowly. "House doesn't exactly have a schedule, he takes them when he wants them."

"He's an addict?"

"Yes."

"Figures." Greg shrugged but didn't explain. He felt for the vial in his pocket, extracted it and popped the top off, quickly swallowing one of the pills before putting it away again. "You said we were going out?"At Wilson's nod he stood up, reaching for the wardrobe door. "I'll get changed."

When Wilson didn't move Greg looked at him pointedly. Finally Wilson got the hint and went out, shutting the door behind him. On the one hand he was annoyed at Greg making himself at home in House's apartment, taking stuff from House's wardrobe. On the other hand this man looked so much like House it was hard to deny him access to House's things. Wilson again felt a sharp pang of loss as he thought of his friend.

For the first time in sixteen years Greg walked along a city street completely unrestrained. There were no cuffs on his hands, or shackles on his legs, no collar around his neck and, best of all, no leash. It was a cool day but he'd chosen clothes that left his neck exposed. The collar had left marks all around his throat but he didn't care, it was gone, that was all that mattered. He deliberately kept some distance between himself and Wilson, no longer forced to stay close by a leash.

He looked around curiously, he'd never been in this part of Princeton, hadn't really seen much of town at all. Even when he was with Stacy they had been circumspect, she'd taken him to relatively few public locations.

Now he looked around at the people passing by, at the shop fronts, at the cars. Maybe, if he stayed here a while, he could get a car, or a bike, so he could go places, by himself. His alter ego probably had a license, Greg could pass for him easily. He could get on a bike and just go. Anywhere. No-one could stop him, there were no slaves here. He could do as he pleased.

He suddenly realised he had stopped walking and was standing still, staring at the traffic, smiling. Wilson glanced back at him.

"Greg? Come on, it's just up here. Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Greg said, starting to walk again.

"I guess this must be strange for you? Did you get out of the hospital much?"

"You used to like to take me back to your hotel room at night." Greg said flatly.

"Not me, remember? I'm not him."

"Yeah, you just look like him, talk like him and have the same job as him."

"And you look and talk just like House, but you're not him." Wilson snapped.

Greg nodded, that was true, House had been free all his life, House was Wilson's friend, Greg wasn't House.

He heard Wilson sigh and then do that neck rubbing thing again before he stopped in front of a diner.

"House likes this place for breakfast."

"Okay. You'll have to pay, I don't have any money."

"What else is new." Wilson muttered and Greg quirked a smile, he might not be House but the more he heard about him the more he liked him.

The diner was busy with the morning trade, it was noisy and there seemed to be a constant stream of people past their table. One large man brushed past Greg, accidentally elbowing the back of his head. The man turned back to apologize and as Wilson watched Greg tucked in his head, looked down at the table and seemed to make himself as small as possible. The man just shrugged and walked away.

"It was just an accident," Wilson tried to reassure Greg. "He didn't mean to hurt you." He'd never seen House like this, sitting huddled on a chair, scared. House would have made some snarky comment to the guy, or even waved his cane at him.

Greg looked back at him and then away. He didn't say anything.

"I guess... you don't normally get to eat out?" Wilson asked, floundering a bit for conversation with this stranger and returning to the earlier topic. He wanted to find out more about what life was like in the other universe, but Greg seemed to be reluctant to answer questions about it.

Greg looked back at him, and bared his teeth in what Wilson supposed was meant to be a smile.

"No, they normally keep me in a cage and just bring me out when they want me."

Wilson stared at him in shock, and then disbelief.

"Seriously?"

Greg gave a dry bark of a laugh.

"No."

Wilson glared at him, annoyed. Greg was as frustrating as House in his own way, Wilson could rarely get a straight answer out of House either.

Greg shifted in his chair and went back to looking at the menu, his gaze dropping from Wilson's.

Wilson sighed and signalled a waitress over, it was going to be a long day at this rate. He hoped that in time, if there was time, Greg would relax a bit and realise that Wilson wasn't going to hurt him.

Greg was clearly having a difficult time with the pain after breakfast and during the short walk back to the apartment. His steps became slower, shorter and more unsteady. With the shirt Greg had on hiding the damage to his back Wilson had forgotten just how badly he was injured. Greg would probably have been better served by staying in the apartment, although he had seemed to enjoy the outing.

Greg made no move to take another Vicodin, although Wilson knew he had the vial on him. He just put his head down and limped along with no complaint. Once they were safely inside the apartment Wilson put a hand out and tried to steer Greg back towards the bedroom. Greg flinched away and Wilson let go.

"Just go and lie down, I'll treat your back again. You should probably try and lie down for the remainder of the day, give your back a chance to heal."

Greg gave him a blank look but then he went off towards the bedroom, removing his shirt and lying down without complaint.

Wilson put on some gloves and fetched the ointment. He examined the marks on Greg's back. They were dotted with blood but were clearly beginning to heal, in a few weeks they would just be more thin pale scars on Greg's flesh, to add to the dozens already there. Wilson swallowed hard at the thought of Greg enduring this multiple times in the past but kept his voice steady as he reassured his patient.

"This is beginning to scab over, it looks like it's healing okay, no infection."

Greg didn't answer and Wilson finished off quickly. Greg sat up, leaving his shirt off until his back had a chance to dry.

"What do you want to do now?" Wilson asked. "Watch some television? Do you get to see much television, I mean...back in your..."

Greg ignored him, grabbing his cane and getting to his feet, limping slowly into the living area. When Wilson followed him Greg turned around.

"Why are you still here?"

"I...I'm looking after you..."

"Why? Don't you have to work? It's Friday isn't it? You work at the hospital. Why are you hanging around here. You don't live here."

"We thought, Cuddy and I thought, one of us should stay with you...it's going to be strange...you're not well..."

"Look, whatever you had going on with your 'House' I'm not interested. I'm not a slave here, remember? I can choose, and I can say no. So find someone else to fuck, or to give you blowjobs or whatever it is you're after. I'm not doing that anymore."

Wilson just stared at Greg, his mouth coming open in shock. He remembered the tag on Greg's collar, the shiny new tag with Wilson's name on it. Greg's words -You used to like to take me back to your hotel room at night. Greg's reluctance to go to Wilson's hotel, his obvious fear of Wilson, and his unwillingness to be touched by him. That other Wilson had used Greg for sex.

"House and I...we don't do...that. We're just friends. We've never...House is straight, I'm straight!"

"Then why are you hanging around? Why are you insisting on treating my back? Why did you let yourself into the apartment yesterday, it's clear that you're quite happy making yourself at home here. You like putting your hands all over me." Greg was trembling, his hand shaking on the cane, there was anger in his words but fear in his eyes.

"I don't...For God's sake Greg, I was just trying to help you. Is that so wrong? I'm a doctor, I was treating you. I don't want you...like that. Why would you even think that?" As he said it Wilson knew why Greg thought that, because the other Wilson did want Greg like that. The other Wilson took Greg home to his hotel, and had sex with him, against Greg's will, and without his consent. Greg had to do what that other Wilson wanted because he was a slave - he had no choice. No wonder Greg was so wary around him.

Wilson had to get away, away from this stranger who looked like his friend, away from the fear the other man had for him, away from the pain in Greg's eyes. He started towards the door.

"You're right, I shouldn't be here. I should go to work. Just...do whatever you want for the rest of the day. I'll get Cuddy to come by and check on you tonight. I won't...I won't touch you again." He slipped out the door, trying to ignore the sight of Greg just standing there, in the middle of the room, looking at him.

He hurried to his car and got in, desperate to get away as quickly as possible.

Greg shut the door behind Wilson and looked around him. He was alone, he was alone in an apartment in Princeton. He was a free man. He could do anything he wanted.

The thought of such freedom overwhelmed him and he sank to the ground, staring at the riches around him.

Wilson almost ran to his car, his thoughts scrambling around helplessly in his head. All the little things that Greg had said since he'd met him, the fear, the shying away from his touch, it all made sense now. His alter ego, this other Wilson had claimed Greg to be... what? His sex slave? Surely he must have seen Greg as something other than that. Greg said he still worked as a doctor, headed up the diagnostics department, had fellows. Surely the other Wilson would have seen Greg as something other than a warm body to have sex with?

His mind flashed him an image, House...no, Greg on his knees in front of him, looking up, eyes pleading for this not to happen. To his horror Wilson felt himself start to harden, desperately he thought of something else, of the terrible wounds on Greg's back, the bruising, the marks around his throat where the collar had been...

He started the engine of the car, heart racing. It was too much, it was overwhelming. He just wanted House back, his House. They could get some beer, watch some porn, kick back and relax. Sure, House had been having some problems since Stacy left but Wilson could have helped him with that, given him some advice to get him back on the right track. Now he was gone, and Greg was here - and Greg didn't want anything to do with him.

Wilson tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring with concentration at the traffic. He'd go to the hospital, get some work done, clear his head. He wouldn't think of Greg, or House, or slaves or collars.

Of course as soon as Wilson entered the hospital Cuddy spotted him, staring at him from across the floor. She intercepted him on his way to the elevators.

"Wilson! You were supposed to stay with Greg? Did something happen, did he swap back?"

"No,no...he's still here."

"Then why are you here? Did you leave him alone?"

"Yes, he's at the apartment, he's fine. He'll probably like some time by himself. He doesn't need me there. He doesn't want me there."

Cuddy looked at him sharply and frowned. She started to say something and then looked around at the crowded lobby area and steered Wilson into her office instead, shutting the door behind them. Waving him to the couch she took a seat next to him.

"So what happened? Clearly something did, to make you come running back here."

"I didn't come running back here, I had some work to do." Wilson's protests weren't very convincing and were even less so when he ran his hand through his hair in agitation.

"Come on Wilson, something's bothering you, you might as well tell me. You know I will get it out of you sooner or later."

Wilson groaned, and then sank back into the cushions.

"Greg said...he said that in his universe, the Wilson there used to...used to have sex with him - whether Greg wanted to or not, and I gather he didn't. He told me he wouldn't be do anything like that with me - as if I would want to!"

Cuddy waited for further revelations but it seemed that that was all Wilson had. She sighed to herself, it had been obvious to her, almost from the start that something had been between the two men in the other universe, she hadn't realised that Wilson was so clueless about it, or had he been in complete denial?

"Well, what did you think the tag meant on his collar, Wilson? Or the fact that he was so jumpy around you, didn't want you to touch him? Or when he said that 'you' used to take him back to 'your' hotel room at night. What did you think they were doing there - playing monopoly?"

Wilson looked at her, a wounded expression on his face.

"You knew? Cuddy..."

"Oh, I suspected, Wilson, I'm not blind, or stupid! Surely you've worked in enough emergency wards to recognise an abused person when you see them? Greg was giving off all the classic signs of a domestic abuse victim. And that's without that lovely tag with your name on it. He was a slave Wilson, it's hardly surprising that he's been used for sex."

"But House and I...we've never...never even thought about it. Why would that Wilson want to have sex with Greg, I mean there must be female slaves..." Wilson shifted uncomfortably, realising that it sounded like he thought it would be okay if that other Wilson 'used' female slaves.

Privately Cuddy thought that even if Wilson had never thought about having sex with House (something that she doubted), that House had long entertained the idea. Stacy had even asked Cuddy when she came back if she thought there was something between the pair.

She wondered if her counterpart had also used Greg for her own purposes. Somehow she doubted it, Cuddy had always made it a rule never to get involved with her employees, and the other Cuddy would probably have the same rule. If you were a woman, and ambitious, it was always best to give the gossip mills as little fodder as possible. And Greg hadn't shied away from her touch.

Still, the whole thing was obviously making Wilson very uncomfortable and both she and the hospital needed him functioning so she moved to reassure him.

"Don't forget, that other Wilson isn't you, any more than Greg is House. Their culture is obviously different. Maybe it's more accepted to have sex with slaves of the same sex, even if you don't normally lean that way. Maybe the female slaves aren't used like that, there'd be danger of pregnancy after all. I suppose if you really want to know you could ask Greg."

Wilson made a face. "Greg isn't exactly forthcoming on the subject. I don't think he wants to talk about it much."

"Can you blame him? I'd be wanting to forget it too. I don't think I'd want everyone to know exactly how I'd been treated, or mistreated - he probably only told you about the sexual abuse to make sure you didn't get the wrong idea." Cuddy looked thoughtful, "we may need to look at getting him some counselling at some stage."

"So, that's it then? We're just giving up on House and taking Greg in his place? Greg gets House's apartment, his money, his job? Convenient for you that we have a handy substitute." Wilson knew he sounded bitter, and he knew this situation wasn't Cuddy's fault but her calm acceptance of it was beginning to rankle him.

Cuddy stood up and moved to the desk, coming back with a file of notes. She thrust it at him.

"I've been making calls all morning. To House's cell phone, to all the hospitals in the area, to clinics, to the police, to anywhere and anyone that might have found House anywhere. In case he got shifted to somewhere else in our own universe, or hell, just took off - he wasn't exactly in a great state of mind during his last case. Nothing, no sign of him anywhere. We have to assume that he's ended up in a different universe, hopefully not Greg's."

Wilson looked at the notes, the lists of names Cuddy had called and slowly nodded. There wasn't much else he could suggest. They could go to the police he guessed, explain what they thought had happened, but even if the police believed them, which was highly doubtful, what would they do?

"We could contact someone in authority," Wilson suggested,"Someone in the government, maybe this sort of thing has happened before."

"I thought about it. But if, somehow, we manage to contact the right people, and they actually believe us - which is highly doubtful, where does that leave Greg?"

Wilson fell silent, he wanted to say it didn't matter, that their loyalty lay with House, not Greg but he remembered the fear on Greg's face when he'd confronted Wilson, the way he had flinched when the man jostled him in the diner, the look on his face when that collar had been cut off his neck. How could he be a part of taking Greg's new found freedom away from him?

"If they don't know how to send him back, they'll still know he doesn't belong here, he will have lost the identity he could have had, the life we could have given him." Cuddy continued, "and if they do know how to send him back, well, we'll know what he's going back to."

Another fifty lashes, Wilson thought, more abuse, another collar put around his neck - and what would they do to him for 'losing' the other one. He closed his eyes, shuddering. Cuddy was right, he needed to accept that they couldn't do anything about this situation, other than care for the man who'd ended up with them.

"I told him that I'd be gone for the rest of the day, that you would go over there this evening," Wilson explained, "that I would stay away from him if that's what he wanted."

"Maybe you need a break anyway, why don't you go and check in with your department, do some work? Greg might appreciate some time alone to adjust."

Wilson got up, nodding. He didn't like the idea of Greg alone in House's apartment but it looked more and more likely that it would become his apartment, one way or the other.

Greg sat on the floor for a while. The confrontation with Wilson had drained him. The surprise on Wilson's face, and then the shock, had been genuine. Wilson wasn't in a sexual relationship with this House fellow, although Greg still wasn't sure if he had ever wanted to be or not. He felt relieved that Wilson wouldn't immediately be trying anything on, but he knew better than to assume that would never change.

Now he stared out at the apartment, where he'd been left. All this had belonged to House, Greg wondered if it was too much to hope that it could now become his. Life had taught him that good things rarely happened, and that life had a way of kicking you in the teeth just when things were looking better. But by some miracle he was here, free, when just two days ago he'd been a naked shivering slave being shackled to a whipping post.

Eventually he levered himself back off the floor. His leg howled at him, finally making itself felt over the pain of his back, he figured that must mean his back was healing. He fingered the vial in his pocket. Vicodin. Taking it out he examined the label, prescribed by Doctor James Wilson, of course. Wilson knew that House was addicted, but apparently he still prescribed for him. The date on this label was recent, that must be one of the ways he tried to control House. Greg wondered if he'd keep prescribing now. He popped a pill out and swallowed it dry. It had been so long since he'd been in charge of his own medication. For years he'd had to rely on other people to give him his pain pills, or withhold them if they wished. He tucked the Vicodin away carefully.

He was drawn to the piano, another thing that had been denied him for years. For the first couple of years of his enslavement he'd played air piano when he couldn't sleep at night, or when he was scared, or when he was being punished. Then, after a time, he'd stopped doing it. There just hadn't seemed any point. It had become more painful to pretend he might have music again one day than to give it up.

Now he sat down in front of the instrument and gently pressed down middle C. The note rang out clear and true, this piano was cared for. He placed both hands on the keys and slowly picked out a scale, his fingering was slow, the once familiar motions now coming with hesitation. The notes sounded loud in the apartment and he took his hands away and looked around. No-one was here, no-one to tell him no, to drag him away. There might be neighbours though, listening, maybe they would complain to someone. It would be best if he kept a low profile, at least for now.

He got up from the piano and looked around, he'd already seen the books and the trinkets scattered around the room, some he even recognised. There were stacks of records and he went over to them and flipped through them. All his favourites. He'd sold a lot of his, to get money for gambling, drinking and for drugs. House had either never sold them or had built up his collection again, it was very impressive. He looked at the record player and fingered one of the records but then put it back. Another time maybe.

There was a television of course but that held little interest for him. He had long since lost touch with that sort of entertainment, his soaps and even sports events no longer seemed real to him. House had a large collection of movies on that new DVD format, and a large percentage of those were porn, all of the large breasted female variety he noted, examining the covers. He turned away, another thing he had no interest in.

He wandered into the kitchen. Wilson had said there was nothing there but he discovered a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread which didn't look too stale. He smiled as he made himself a peanut butter sandwich. He wasn't really hungry but it was good to be able to do it.

He passed the next couple of hours just drifting around the apartment, opening drawers, exploring cupboards, even poking his head into the hallway closet. House had so many possessions he couldn't even begin to examine them all. Hopefully he'd have many more opportunities to examine everything thoroughly. He found more Vicodin, so much that he started just leaving it where it was, in its hiding place. Obviously House had been worried about his supply running out, maybe Wilson had threatened to stop writing scrips for it.

At one stage he found House's wallet, hidden under a pile of journals on his bedside table. He flipped it open, examined the driver's license, and the various cards. There was only twenty five dollars in the wallet, not enough for any serious plans, but still more money than Greg had handled in a long time. He carefully hid the wallet away. If Wilson or Cuddy thought to look for it he'd just deny all knowledge. He thought about taking it and leaving, catching a bus out of town maybe, starting somewhere new. There was a credit card, he could use that, if it wasn't as overdrawn as his own had always been. He thought that maybe once, years ago, he could have done that, taken such a leap, thrown himself off a cliff with no safety net, but now...he was a different person now. He stayed.

Cuddy looked up at a knock on her office door. Foreman was there, holding a medical file.

"Doctor Cuddy? You said to let you know about the patient?"

Cuddy had told House's team that morning that he was out sick. She'd given them the case file and told them to get to work. It had seemed a fairly straight forward case. A young teenage supermodel who had collapsed on the catwalk.

"We took a history, did some labs and a tox screen. She tested positive for heroin. We need to detox her. Cameron is setting her up on a program, they will wean her to methadone, once her addiction is under control we can proceed with the diagnosis. Should take three or four weeks."

Cuddy glanced over the file and nodded. The team were taking the conservative, safe approach rather than doing a rapid detox. Perfectly sound medical procedure. Totally the opposite to how diagnostics would work if House was here, or Greg she would assume.

"I'm going to drop in and see how House is doing tonight, I'll show him this."

Foreman nodded, Cuddy detected a slight sign of relief. For all his seeming self confidence and apparent arrogance Foreman still preferred someone else - House - to carry the ultimate responsibility for their patients, and their treatment.

Foreman hesitated at the doorway. "Is House..is he okay? After yesterday, with the migraine he gave himself...He doesn't seem to be doing very well lately."

Cuddy smiled reassuringly. "He's House, he's nothing if not self destructive. Shall I tell him you asked after him?"

Foreman rolled his eyes, "please don't - I want to keep working here."

Cuddy laughed and kept a pleasant smile on her face as he left her office. Once he had left she tapped the file against the desk, deep in thought. Making up her mind she shoved the folder in her briefcase, told her secretary she was leaving early and headed for her car. Time to check up on Greg and see how he was going.

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