Fic : An Opening Door 17/?
Title: An Opening Door 17/?
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.
Link to story on AO3 .
Previous Chapter
Wilson rubbed his eyes as he left his patient's room. He'd been called back to the hospital at two that morning to attend one of his long term cases. Jed Sturgess had finally succumbed to his cancer after four years of fighting. Watching a patient die in pain never became any easier. At least the man had family who could be there with him in the end.
When he left the apartment Greg had been asleep. Wilson had left a note for him and just for a split second felt a little envious of the lack of responsibility Greg had. He didn't hold anyone's lives in his hands, and he wasn't on constant call. He'd done everything he could to make Greg's current life as easy it was possible to be.
He'd shaken off the thought as soon as he had it - Greg's life was hardly one to be envied - but he still wouldn't mind trading with him for just this morning. Jed had been too young to die.
He pushed open the door to the bathroom nearest the Oncology wing and surprised a slave who was kneeling at the urinals, cleaning materials by his side. The slave was wearing the Rent-A-Slave uniform. He immediately stopped work and placed his hands behind his back and lowered his head. As he looked at the slave Wilson had a mental vision of Greg doing the same, only a few months ago. Greg had once been this slave.
He crossed over to the basins to splash some water on his face. There wasn't any point going home now - he had rounds in a couple of hours - but it was better for the patients if their doctor didn't appear to be half asleep. He wanted to pee, but the quiet presence of the slave put him off. It seemed rude to urinate in a place so obviously just cleaned.
"I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your work," he said. The slave looked up for a moment, his eyes wide and startled. He probably wasn't used to free people apologizing to him.
"It doesn't matter, sir."
"What's your name?"
The slave hesitated but then offered a name. "Chris, sir. My name is Chris."
"Hi Chris, I'm Wilson, James Wilson. I'm a doctor here." He didn't know why he didn't just leave. He was obviously making the slave uneasy, and interrupting his work.
A silence fell, Wilson must have gone off script. Chris didn't know how to respond to a freeman introducing themselves. Wilson wanted to tell him that he had bought Greg, but he hadn't really, because he wasn't like that. He wanted to distance himself from the people at Rent-a-Slave who owned human beings, and worked them for many hours a day. He wanted to tell Chris that he'd given Greg a good home, and some sort of future.
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck in frustration - he'd forgotten how hard it was to talk to Greg in the early days. He decided to just be direct. "Do you know Greg? He used to work for Rent-A-Slave up until a few weeks ago. He was assigned to the hospital. He walks with a limp."
Chris hesitated, in a way Wilson was familiar with and then responded. "Yes, sir. I knew Greg."
"Well, I just wanted to say... he's doing well. He's with me." That didn't sound quite right but Wilson wasn't going to say that he bought him. "I just thought... maybe people who know him might want to know... that he's okay. He's well."
"Yes, sir." Chris seemed politely indifferent to Greg’s fate - good or otherwise.
Conversation stopped again and Wilson gave up.
"Okay, I'll be going." He felt a bit foolish so he just nodded a little, waved a hand and went, Chris’s blank eyes following him.
He went to a bathroom on the next floor, thankfully there was no slave cleaning it. It was still early - in a few hours all the slaves would be out of the public areas for the most part. Slaves were usually out of sight, and out of mind, for the people who didn't deal with them every day.
He stopped in the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast and then went back to his office and pulled out the file containing his proposal for the hospital to go 'slave-free'. He hadn't done much work on it since he had first started the file; the pressures of his every day work had kept him from it. He needed to make it more of a priority. He made a list of the department heads who he thought would be supportive of the proposal, or at least not outright opposed to it. Then he made another list of hospital staff who owed him favours - which was a long list - it was time to start calling some of those in. Later today he would go and see Cuddy about a proposal he had for Greg's continued education.
"I want to bring Greg into the hospital once a week so he can observe some procedures, and get a feel for medicine again." Wilson said at their scheduled meeting in her office.
Cuddy groaned. She might have known this was coming. Wilson had been enthusiastically telling her about Greg's studies for several weeks now - and had regaled her with some story about how Greg had saved the life of a kid in their apartment building a few weeks ago. She was pretty sure that Wilson wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than Greg being taken on as permanent hospital staff. This was just step one in his master plan.
"I know he can't have patient contact." Wilson continued, putting on his most earnest face. She wasn't fooled by it; she'd seen him use that on other people too many times. "This would just be to observe. Only in my department, or any other department where I can get permission. Theory can only take him so far."
It wasn't that she didn't have sympathy for Greg's situation. Every time Wilson mentioned him she couldn't help recalling the vibrant young man she'd known in her college days. That man had so much promise that it seemed ridiculous that he would never practise medicine again, or that he was currently Wilson's personal slave. The reality, though, was that the man she'd known barely existed anymore. Wilson reported that Greg still couldn't remember anything about his personal history, and god knows how fucked up he was after twenty years as a slave. He hadn't been a shining beacon of mental stability before all this happened.
"Wilson - let's pretend that Greg isn't a slave. Let's pretend that he hasn't spent the last twenty years cleaning bathrooms rather than practising medicine. Even if we pretend all that he still has a conviction for malpractice that caused a child's death. Not to mention a murder conviction. I can't have him in the hospital anywhere near the patients."
"He killed the man in prison in self-defence, I'm sure of that."
Wilson had shared the details of Greg's convictions with her and she privately agreed that he was most likely right about that. Whatever Greg House had been, a murderer was not one of those things. Still, that wasn't really the point. The conviction stood.
"I know, Lucas told me you've asked him to keep looking into that. The malpractice is more of a concern for me, and for this hospital. His license was revoked, Wilson."
"He wouldn't be seeing patients."
"You'd be leading him on; much as you are doing now with encouraging him to study for medical boards he'll never take. They won't readmit him, Wilson, not after everything that has happened to him."
"He can apply - in six years, when he's free - he can apply." Wilson was at his most stubborn. The man was absolutely obsessed with Greg. "He saved a child's life. He can be a doctor again."
"It will take more than some simple first aid to impress a medical board, it would take a miracle." She'd been impressed by Wilson's tale of Greg saving a young child who was choking, but they were skills any paramedic, or even a first aid officer, would possess. Maybe he could do something like that when he was free. Or maybe not, considering his disability. "Wilson, you're doing a good thing with Greg. You're helping him. But don't forget what he is. In six years’ time, when he's free, then we can talk. I'll help him then if I can." Maybe she could find a position in the hospital for him to keep Wilson happy, if he was still interested by then. It wouldn't be as a doctor though.
"If you could see, and talk, to Greg you'd feel differently. He's smart, Cuddy and catching up quickly. He's not like..." Wilson did one of those arm wavy gestures by which she gathered he meant those other slaves. The ones that weren't Greg.
"That's the thing Wilson - I can't meet him, because when he saw me he immediately became completely non-functional. That's how damaged he is. Even in six years time, when he can be freed, he'll probably still be like that."
She glanced at her phone; it was time she got back to work. She lightly touched Wilson on the arm. "Keep helping him, James. I'm glad he's got someone like you. Just don't expect more of him than he can achieve. It isn't fair to him - or to you."
She walked away, aware that Wilson was staring after her, his arms crossed across his chest. His stubborn pose. This wouldn't be the last she'd hear of this by a long shot.
After his morning work Greg took his usual shower. He still hadn't gotten over the feeling of standing in perfect solitude and allowing the water to cascade over him. No-one was standing there watching him, a crop or baton in hand, waiting for him to take too long or do the wrong thing. No other slaves jostled him for favoured position. Above all else the water was hot.
For his first few showers after Wilson purchased him, he'd had quick ones, with the water barely warm. He had been afraid of using too much water, or too much power, or too much something. Rent-A-Slave had always emphasised to the slaves that keeping them was costing the company a great deal of money, and the slaves were required to earn all that back before they were profitable. A slave who wasn't worth their keep wasn't worth keeping.
Over time, when no adverse consequences emerged, he had lengthened his showers, and turned the heat up. He eventually realised that Wilson truly didn't care about how much water he used, or how much food he ate. He'd seen Wilson pay for his weekly physical therapy appointment, signing a check for an amount of money that would have fed all the slaves at Rent a Slave for a week.
It had been the same with the ingredients for the meals Greg cooked. Whatever he requested was purchased without hesitation. Greg was tempted to start requesting some outrageously expensive ingredients to test the limits of Wilson's generosity but he really didn't want to find that limit. He liked to think that there wasn't one.
When he finally finished his shower he switched the water off, and grabbed the clean towel he'd laid out ready. A few minutes later he had dried off, shaved, and dressed himself. He poured a cup of coffee and cut a slice of cake for himself, and sat down at the table with his laptop and the file Wilson had given him.
He had been returning to the file every day for the last few weeks. He'd delved into all the medical details that the detective had included, and searched out some of his own. This was the case that had led to his initial imprisonment, and started the chain of events that had ended in his enslavement. He had researched the medicine, and explored several different alternatives that he could have taken with the patient. Each led to the same event, his patient's death. The only difference was that the course he'd taken had led to his own downfall as well.
He stared at the file for a minute, deciding whether to look at it yet again and then shook his head. No, there was nothing else to learn there. He set it aside firmly and opened up a new browser. A clean one.
He'd learned how to use the internet as anonymously as possible. He didn't think that Wilson was checking his usage, or his internet history, but of course he would have a perfect right to. There were the authorities to be considered as well - if Greg got into trouble for poking into the dark corners of the 'net there might be a backlash onto Wilson - and he couldn't allow that. So he'd covered his tracks thoroughly.
It wasn't easy, making contact with those who opposed the institution of slavery. There was an underground network, but it was small, and well hidden. A word here, a carefully chosen comment there, and he'd gradually made contacts. He never revealed he was a slave himself but he listened and absorbed as much as he could.
He'd asked a question a few days ago and now when he turned to his disposable email account he found an answer - a name. Tapping one finger on the side of the computer he considered carefully. He'd been looking to see if anyone knew of a way to reverse the conditioning he'd received that made it impossible for him to recall his past. This man might have the answer. A procedure that he had developed, to aid former slaves in returning to society.
Greg wasn't a 'former slave' of course, it was possible that the doctor would not even consider taking him on as a patient until he was freed, or that Wilson would forbid it. Greg had no way of paying even if Wilson did allow him to explore the option. But making contact would be the first step towards regaining who he had been.
He looked again at the case file and opened it, to extract the old photo of himself. Could he ever hope to be that man again?
He didn't know - so much had happened to him, so much time had passed. He didn't even know if he wanted to be a man who could gamble so much without seemingly a second thought. A man who cheated at medical school, and had been unable to stay out of trouble in prison.
He didn't know if he wanted to be that man, but he would never know unless he knew who that man was. The first step was to remember.
He emailed his contact back.
Wilson liked going home at night. Before, he used to linger for long hours at the hospital, long after his official work for the day was done. Now he had a reason to get home on time every night he could manage.
He and Greg would usually enjoy a nice dinner, before he helped Greg clean up. Then Greg would show him what he'd been studying that day, and ask him any questions that had cropped up during the day. Sometimes he would discuss some of his current cases with Greg, leaving out any patient's names. At first Greg had just listened passively. Now he interrupted with questions or, on rare occasions, suggestions for future treatment, or investigation. Once or twice he'd asked to see scans, or further results which Wilson didn't have to hand. The second time it had happened Wilson had found himself driving back to the hospital to pick up the required items. They'd spent that evening going over the treatment options available, with Greg's questions sparking the idea for a radical approach that Wilson hadn't considered before.
In the evening, when any work Wilson had brought home from the hospital was done, they usually watched television. Wilson had also picked up a PlayStation and some games and Greg had taken to them quickly. They spent many hours playing the games. Greg became more confident with his conversation when he played the games, slipping in an occasional insult or taunt as he pounded Wilson's character into the ground in a fighting game, or picked him off with a sniper shot, or blew past him on the racetrack. Occasionally he even smiled when he won a game.
Sometimes Wilson could forget that they weren't just two friends hanging out with each other.
He told Greg about his aborted attempt to get him some practical experience in the hospital.
"If Cuddy could just meet you, and talk to you, she'd see that you could do this. You've come so far."
There was a pause, as there often was when Greg wanted to phrase what he was saying carefully. "Wilson, I think she's right."
That wasn't a surprise, Greg consistently under-rated his abilities.
"You need to have some clinical experience, even if it's not hands-on," Wilson argued. "There's no reason you couldn't come in with me and observe. Your medical education is the equal of my junior doctors now, and you're getting better every day."
"It's not just about the medical knowledge, you know that. I'm still a slave. You see me as something else, but to everyone else I'm just a slave. Nobody is going to want me watching their procedures, or even being in the same room with them."
"We're a teaching hospital."
"Teaching medical students, not slaves." Greg shook his head. "This collar is all they'll see." His hand hovered over his collar, not touching it. He never touched it.
"We need to change that."
"That's easy for you to say, you're not the one wearing the collar," Greg snapped and then his eyes widened. He'd never raised his voice to Wilson before. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that."
He looked stricken and Wilson smiled reassuringly.
"I told you, Greg. You can speak freely with me. I'm not going to get angry at anything you say. I want you to tell me what you're thinking. I'm glad that you feel comfortable enough around me to get angry. You don't need to worry about how I'll react." He gently touched Greg on the arm. Greg didn't flinch now when he did that. "I've never hurt you, have I?"
"No," Greg said softly. "You haven't. You've been very kind to me."
"So, say what you want to say."
"You want me to be a doctor again, some day," Greg said, talking quietly, and still not quite looking at him.
"Yes, and I thought that was what you wanted too." Wilson knew he had pushed Greg, but once he'd started studying Greg had shown as much enthusiasm for that as he had for anything.
"Maybe I would, one day if it's possible. But there's something I want more. I want....” He trailed off, staring at the floor and then after a moment started again, his tone firmer. “I want to remember who I am."
Of course, it always came down to that. Everything that Greg was, or wasn't, was tied to the block on his memories. Wilson had always known that they would have to break that down if Greg was to ever reach his potential.
"I can ask around, do some research," he suggested. "I can see if there is anything that will help overcome your memory block. I thought it might dissolve once you started studying, or after you found out about your history. But it hasn't, has it?"
Greg shook his head. "No, not really. I've tried to get through it but I can't. When I read through that file it's like it's talking about someone else - not me. Before you bought me I didn't care - I thought it would be better not to remember what I had before, when I was free."
"But now you care."
Greg met his eyes. "I need to know."
"Okay, first thing tomorrow, I'll start looking into it."
Greg looked down at the ground again. His hand sought out his cane that was never far from his side. His hand gripped around it and he began fiddling with it.
"I already... I already did, sir." He looked up, a touch apologetically but with resolve in his expression. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have done it without permission."
Wilson was oddly pleased that Greg had progressed to such a point that he had looked into this without being told to. He smiled, knowing he was confusing Greg.
"It's okay, Greg. I'm glad you did. That's why I gave you the computer, so you could research things. So, what did you find out?"
"There's a psychiatrist who specialises in this - I've been in contact with him. He normally treats freed slaves, but he says he's willing to see me and assess my condition. I would need your permission of course."
"You've got it. I'll come with you. Where does he practise?"
"In New York."
"Great, that's not too far. We'll go and see him. What's his name?"
"Darryl Nolan."
Wilson nodded. "Okay, set up an appointment with him and we'll go see him." He’d research the doctor first, find out if he had a good reputation but at least it was a place to start. "If he can help you we'. Now come on, you beat the pants off me last round, it's time for my revenge."
Greg stared at him for a moment, and then picked up the controller with a look of determination. "Not if I can help it."
They played long into the night.
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.
Link to story on AO3 .
Previous Chapter
Wilson rubbed his eyes as he left his patient's room. He'd been called back to the hospital at two that morning to attend one of his long term cases. Jed Sturgess had finally succumbed to his cancer after four years of fighting. Watching a patient die in pain never became any easier. At least the man had family who could be there with him in the end.
When he left the apartment Greg had been asleep. Wilson had left a note for him and just for a split second felt a little envious of the lack of responsibility Greg had. He didn't hold anyone's lives in his hands, and he wasn't on constant call. He'd done everything he could to make Greg's current life as easy it was possible to be.
He'd shaken off the thought as soon as he had it - Greg's life was hardly one to be envied - but he still wouldn't mind trading with him for just this morning. Jed had been too young to die.
He pushed open the door to the bathroom nearest the Oncology wing and surprised a slave who was kneeling at the urinals, cleaning materials by his side. The slave was wearing the Rent-A-Slave uniform. He immediately stopped work and placed his hands behind his back and lowered his head. As he looked at the slave Wilson had a mental vision of Greg doing the same, only a few months ago. Greg had once been this slave.
He crossed over to the basins to splash some water on his face. There wasn't any point going home now - he had rounds in a couple of hours - but it was better for the patients if their doctor didn't appear to be half asleep. He wanted to pee, but the quiet presence of the slave put him off. It seemed rude to urinate in a place so obviously just cleaned.
"I'm sorry, I'm interrupting your work," he said. The slave looked up for a moment, his eyes wide and startled. He probably wasn't used to free people apologizing to him.
"It doesn't matter, sir."
"What's your name?"
The slave hesitated but then offered a name. "Chris, sir. My name is Chris."
"Hi Chris, I'm Wilson, James Wilson. I'm a doctor here." He didn't know why he didn't just leave. He was obviously making the slave uneasy, and interrupting his work.
A silence fell, Wilson must have gone off script. Chris didn't know how to respond to a freeman introducing themselves. Wilson wanted to tell him that he had bought Greg, but he hadn't really, because he wasn't like that. He wanted to distance himself from the people at Rent-a-Slave who owned human beings, and worked them for many hours a day. He wanted to tell Chris that he'd given Greg a good home, and some sort of future.
Wilson rubbed the back of his neck in frustration - he'd forgotten how hard it was to talk to Greg in the early days. He decided to just be direct. "Do you know Greg? He used to work for Rent-A-Slave up until a few weeks ago. He was assigned to the hospital. He walks with a limp."
Chris hesitated, in a way Wilson was familiar with and then responded. "Yes, sir. I knew Greg."
"Well, I just wanted to say... he's doing well. He's with me." That didn't sound quite right but Wilson wasn't going to say that he bought him. "I just thought... maybe people who know him might want to know... that he's okay. He's well."
"Yes, sir." Chris seemed politely indifferent to Greg’s fate - good or otherwise.
Conversation stopped again and Wilson gave up.
"Okay, I'll be going." He felt a bit foolish so he just nodded a little, waved a hand and went, Chris’s blank eyes following him.
He went to a bathroom on the next floor, thankfully there was no slave cleaning it. It was still early - in a few hours all the slaves would be out of the public areas for the most part. Slaves were usually out of sight, and out of mind, for the people who didn't deal with them every day.
He stopped in the cafeteria to grab a quick breakfast and then went back to his office and pulled out the file containing his proposal for the hospital to go 'slave-free'. He hadn't done much work on it since he had first started the file; the pressures of his every day work had kept him from it. He needed to make it more of a priority. He made a list of the department heads who he thought would be supportive of the proposal, or at least not outright opposed to it. Then he made another list of hospital staff who owed him favours - which was a long list - it was time to start calling some of those in. Later today he would go and see Cuddy about a proposal he had for Greg's continued education.
"I want to bring Greg into the hospital once a week so he can observe some procedures, and get a feel for medicine again." Wilson said at their scheduled meeting in her office.
Cuddy groaned. She might have known this was coming. Wilson had been enthusiastically telling her about Greg's studies for several weeks now - and had regaled her with some story about how Greg had saved the life of a kid in their apartment building a few weeks ago. She was pretty sure that Wilson wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than Greg being taken on as permanent hospital staff. This was just step one in his master plan.
"I know he can't have patient contact." Wilson continued, putting on his most earnest face. She wasn't fooled by it; she'd seen him use that on other people too many times. "This would just be to observe. Only in my department, or any other department where I can get permission. Theory can only take him so far."
It wasn't that she didn't have sympathy for Greg's situation. Every time Wilson mentioned him she couldn't help recalling the vibrant young man she'd known in her college days. That man had so much promise that it seemed ridiculous that he would never practise medicine again, or that he was currently Wilson's personal slave. The reality, though, was that the man she'd known barely existed anymore. Wilson reported that Greg still couldn't remember anything about his personal history, and god knows how fucked up he was after twenty years as a slave. He hadn't been a shining beacon of mental stability before all this happened.
"Wilson - let's pretend that Greg isn't a slave. Let's pretend that he hasn't spent the last twenty years cleaning bathrooms rather than practising medicine. Even if we pretend all that he still has a conviction for malpractice that caused a child's death. Not to mention a murder conviction. I can't have him in the hospital anywhere near the patients."
"He killed the man in prison in self-defence, I'm sure of that."
Wilson had shared the details of Greg's convictions with her and she privately agreed that he was most likely right about that. Whatever Greg House had been, a murderer was not one of those things. Still, that wasn't really the point. The conviction stood.
"I know, Lucas told me you've asked him to keep looking into that. The malpractice is more of a concern for me, and for this hospital. His license was revoked, Wilson."
"He wouldn't be seeing patients."
"You'd be leading him on; much as you are doing now with encouraging him to study for medical boards he'll never take. They won't readmit him, Wilson, not after everything that has happened to him."
"He can apply - in six years, when he's free - he can apply." Wilson was at his most stubborn. The man was absolutely obsessed with Greg. "He saved a child's life. He can be a doctor again."
"It will take more than some simple first aid to impress a medical board, it would take a miracle." She'd been impressed by Wilson's tale of Greg saving a young child who was choking, but they were skills any paramedic, or even a first aid officer, would possess. Maybe he could do something like that when he was free. Or maybe not, considering his disability. "Wilson, you're doing a good thing with Greg. You're helping him. But don't forget what he is. In six years’ time, when he's free, then we can talk. I'll help him then if I can." Maybe she could find a position in the hospital for him to keep Wilson happy, if he was still interested by then. It wouldn't be as a doctor though.
"If you could see, and talk, to Greg you'd feel differently. He's smart, Cuddy and catching up quickly. He's not like..." Wilson did one of those arm wavy gestures by which she gathered he meant those other slaves. The ones that weren't Greg.
"That's the thing Wilson - I can't meet him, because when he saw me he immediately became completely non-functional. That's how damaged he is. Even in six years time, when he can be freed, he'll probably still be like that."
She glanced at her phone; it was time she got back to work. She lightly touched Wilson on the arm. "Keep helping him, James. I'm glad he's got someone like you. Just don't expect more of him than he can achieve. It isn't fair to him - or to you."
She walked away, aware that Wilson was staring after her, his arms crossed across his chest. His stubborn pose. This wouldn't be the last she'd hear of this by a long shot.
After his morning work Greg took his usual shower. He still hadn't gotten over the feeling of standing in perfect solitude and allowing the water to cascade over him. No-one was standing there watching him, a crop or baton in hand, waiting for him to take too long or do the wrong thing. No other slaves jostled him for favoured position. Above all else the water was hot.
For his first few showers after Wilson purchased him, he'd had quick ones, with the water barely warm. He had been afraid of using too much water, or too much power, or too much something. Rent-A-Slave had always emphasised to the slaves that keeping them was costing the company a great deal of money, and the slaves were required to earn all that back before they were profitable. A slave who wasn't worth their keep wasn't worth keeping.
Over time, when no adverse consequences emerged, he had lengthened his showers, and turned the heat up. He eventually realised that Wilson truly didn't care about how much water he used, or how much food he ate. He'd seen Wilson pay for his weekly physical therapy appointment, signing a check for an amount of money that would have fed all the slaves at Rent a Slave for a week.
It had been the same with the ingredients for the meals Greg cooked. Whatever he requested was purchased without hesitation. Greg was tempted to start requesting some outrageously expensive ingredients to test the limits of Wilson's generosity but he really didn't want to find that limit. He liked to think that there wasn't one.
When he finally finished his shower he switched the water off, and grabbed the clean towel he'd laid out ready. A few minutes later he had dried off, shaved, and dressed himself. He poured a cup of coffee and cut a slice of cake for himself, and sat down at the table with his laptop and the file Wilson had given him.
He had been returning to the file every day for the last few weeks. He'd delved into all the medical details that the detective had included, and searched out some of his own. This was the case that had led to his initial imprisonment, and started the chain of events that had ended in his enslavement. He had researched the medicine, and explored several different alternatives that he could have taken with the patient. Each led to the same event, his patient's death. The only difference was that the course he'd taken had led to his own downfall as well.
He stared at the file for a minute, deciding whether to look at it yet again and then shook his head. No, there was nothing else to learn there. He set it aside firmly and opened up a new browser. A clean one.
He'd learned how to use the internet as anonymously as possible. He didn't think that Wilson was checking his usage, or his internet history, but of course he would have a perfect right to. There were the authorities to be considered as well - if Greg got into trouble for poking into the dark corners of the 'net there might be a backlash onto Wilson - and he couldn't allow that. So he'd covered his tracks thoroughly.
It wasn't easy, making contact with those who opposed the institution of slavery. There was an underground network, but it was small, and well hidden. A word here, a carefully chosen comment there, and he'd gradually made contacts. He never revealed he was a slave himself but he listened and absorbed as much as he could.
He'd asked a question a few days ago and now when he turned to his disposable email account he found an answer - a name. Tapping one finger on the side of the computer he considered carefully. He'd been looking to see if anyone knew of a way to reverse the conditioning he'd received that made it impossible for him to recall his past. This man might have the answer. A procedure that he had developed, to aid former slaves in returning to society.
Greg wasn't a 'former slave' of course, it was possible that the doctor would not even consider taking him on as a patient until he was freed, or that Wilson would forbid it. Greg had no way of paying even if Wilson did allow him to explore the option. But making contact would be the first step towards regaining who he had been.
He looked again at the case file and opened it, to extract the old photo of himself. Could he ever hope to be that man again?
He didn't know - so much had happened to him, so much time had passed. He didn't even know if he wanted to be a man who could gamble so much without seemingly a second thought. A man who cheated at medical school, and had been unable to stay out of trouble in prison.
He didn't know if he wanted to be that man, but he would never know unless he knew who that man was. The first step was to remember.
He emailed his contact back.
Wilson liked going home at night. Before, he used to linger for long hours at the hospital, long after his official work for the day was done. Now he had a reason to get home on time every night he could manage.
He and Greg would usually enjoy a nice dinner, before he helped Greg clean up. Then Greg would show him what he'd been studying that day, and ask him any questions that had cropped up during the day. Sometimes he would discuss some of his current cases with Greg, leaving out any patient's names. At first Greg had just listened passively. Now he interrupted with questions or, on rare occasions, suggestions for future treatment, or investigation. Once or twice he'd asked to see scans, or further results which Wilson didn't have to hand. The second time it had happened Wilson had found himself driving back to the hospital to pick up the required items. They'd spent that evening going over the treatment options available, with Greg's questions sparking the idea for a radical approach that Wilson hadn't considered before.
In the evening, when any work Wilson had brought home from the hospital was done, they usually watched television. Wilson had also picked up a PlayStation and some games and Greg had taken to them quickly. They spent many hours playing the games. Greg became more confident with his conversation when he played the games, slipping in an occasional insult or taunt as he pounded Wilson's character into the ground in a fighting game, or picked him off with a sniper shot, or blew past him on the racetrack. Occasionally he even smiled when he won a game.
Sometimes Wilson could forget that they weren't just two friends hanging out with each other.
He told Greg about his aborted attempt to get him some practical experience in the hospital.
"If Cuddy could just meet you, and talk to you, she'd see that you could do this. You've come so far."
There was a pause, as there often was when Greg wanted to phrase what he was saying carefully. "Wilson, I think she's right."
That wasn't a surprise, Greg consistently under-rated his abilities.
"You need to have some clinical experience, even if it's not hands-on," Wilson argued. "There's no reason you couldn't come in with me and observe. Your medical education is the equal of my junior doctors now, and you're getting better every day."
"It's not just about the medical knowledge, you know that. I'm still a slave. You see me as something else, but to everyone else I'm just a slave. Nobody is going to want me watching their procedures, or even being in the same room with them."
"We're a teaching hospital."
"Teaching medical students, not slaves." Greg shook his head. "This collar is all they'll see." His hand hovered over his collar, not touching it. He never touched it.
"We need to change that."
"That's easy for you to say, you're not the one wearing the collar," Greg snapped and then his eyes widened. He'd never raised his voice to Wilson before. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said that."
He looked stricken and Wilson smiled reassuringly.
"I told you, Greg. You can speak freely with me. I'm not going to get angry at anything you say. I want you to tell me what you're thinking. I'm glad that you feel comfortable enough around me to get angry. You don't need to worry about how I'll react." He gently touched Greg on the arm. Greg didn't flinch now when he did that. "I've never hurt you, have I?"
"No," Greg said softly. "You haven't. You've been very kind to me."
"So, say what you want to say."
"You want me to be a doctor again, some day," Greg said, talking quietly, and still not quite looking at him.
"Yes, and I thought that was what you wanted too." Wilson knew he had pushed Greg, but once he'd started studying Greg had shown as much enthusiasm for that as he had for anything.
"Maybe I would, one day if it's possible. But there's something I want more. I want....” He trailed off, staring at the floor and then after a moment started again, his tone firmer. “I want to remember who I am."
Of course, it always came down to that. Everything that Greg was, or wasn't, was tied to the block on his memories. Wilson had always known that they would have to break that down if Greg was to ever reach his potential.
"I can ask around, do some research," he suggested. "I can see if there is anything that will help overcome your memory block. I thought it might dissolve once you started studying, or after you found out about your history. But it hasn't, has it?"
Greg shook his head. "No, not really. I've tried to get through it but I can't. When I read through that file it's like it's talking about someone else - not me. Before you bought me I didn't care - I thought it would be better not to remember what I had before, when I was free."
"But now you care."
Greg met his eyes. "I need to know."
"Okay, first thing tomorrow, I'll start looking into it."
Greg looked down at the ground again. His hand sought out his cane that was never far from his side. His hand gripped around it and he began fiddling with it.
"I already... I already did, sir." He looked up, a touch apologetically but with resolve in his expression. "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have done it without permission."
Wilson was oddly pleased that Greg had progressed to such a point that he had looked into this without being told to. He smiled, knowing he was confusing Greg.
"It's okay, Greg. I'm glad you did. That's why I gave you the computer, so you could research things. So, what did you find out?"
"There's a psychiatrist who specialises in this - I've been in contact with him. He normally treats freed slaves, but he says he's willing to see me and assess my condition. I would need your permission of course."
"You've got it. I'll come with you. Where does he practise?"
"In New York."
"Great, that's not too far. We'll go and see him. What's his name?"
"Darryl Nolan."
Wilson nodded. "Okay, set up an appointment with him and we'll go see him." He’d research the doctor first, find out if he had a good reputation but at least it was a place to start. "If he can help you we'. Now come on, you beat the pants off me last round, it's time for my revenge."
Greg stared at him for a moment, and then picked up the controller with a look of determination. "Not if I can help it."
They played long into the night.