An Opening Door 25/?
Title: An Opening Door 25/?
Words: Approx 3000
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Warnings : : Choose Not to Warn
Summary : Slave AU. Wilson encounters a 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 rang Nolan from the hospital. He didn't want Greg to know he was contacting his therapist, or to overhear their conversation.
Nolan wasn't very forthcoming.
"I'm sure you realise that patient confidentiality prevents me from talking about this with you, Doctor Wilson."
"Greg gave you permission to talk to me," Wilson pointed out.
"I believe that was permission to talk to you at Mayfield, about what happened to him in Mayfield. He hasn't given me any further permission."
"I don't want you to betray any confidences. I just need some advice on how to deal with this." Wilson said, gripping the phone tighter. He'd already explained what had happened. Nolan had to understand that if Wilson couldn't help Greg deal with this he was going to end up getting himself in some serious trouble. "He just seems so angry all the time. I can't talk to him anymore."
"Greg has a lot to be angry about, Doctor Wilson." Wilson could picture the man leaning back in his chair, that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.
"I know that. But after everything I've done for him..."
"You think he should be properly grateful and appreciative. You don't think he should be angry at you."
"I've done nothing to hurt him." Quite the opposite, he'd done everything he could to help Greg. He didn't need a lot of thanks - but he didn't need the attitude Greg was giving him either.
"Would Greg let out his anger at anyone else?" Nolan asked. "The fact that he feels safe to do so with you should tell you something."
"Forgive me if I don't feel flattered."
"Greg is growing beyond his slavery, Doctor Wilson. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
After he had terminated the call Wilson looked at the envelope on his desk. It had come that morning. It was an official missive from the State of New Jersey. A letter with two short paragraphs - denying his request to re-open Greg's murder conviction. Lucas had warned him that this was the most likely outcome. Nobody was interested in twenty year old convictions for crimes that happened in prison, or the fate of a slave.
He glanced at his watch. It was time for the Board Meeting. He was well prepared - Lucas had helped with that as well. Even if he was failing Greg he could still do this, he could still achieve something.
He gathered up his papers and the necessary equipment and left his office to go to the meeting.
Greg didn't know where they were going. Wilson had just told him to get in the car and was now driving with a fixed expression on his face. He hadn't looked at Greg, or talked to him, since they started out. It was only when they drove past a large grey warehouse with concrete surrounds that he realised where they were. He'd only seen it from the outside once but he knew.
Wilson turned the car into a side entrance, and around the back of the building where the slaves were loaded into trucks every morning to go to work. Dozens of slaves stood there silently, each dressed in the familiar coverall.
"No," Greg said, his voice faint, his stomach lurching with anxiety. "No. You promised, you said that you wouldn't..."
Wilson killed the engine and turned to him.
"It wasn't working. I gave you a chance and you blew it. You're too much trouble. Get out."
"No. Please. I'll be good. I promise." He begged. He couldn't go back.
The door of the car was opened from the outside and a supervisor stood there, a crop in his hand.
"Get out, slave."
Greg got out, his mind and body numb. He looked around at the blank faces of the slaves watching them. The supervisor sneered at him and tapped the crop in the palm of his hand.
Wilson got out of the car and Greg thought for one moment that he had changed his mind. That he was only doing this to scare Greg into compliance.
Instead Wilson handed over the collar control and looked at the supervisor, pointing at Greg.
"I need the clothes back. You can keep his collar."
The supervisor nodded. "Take the clothes off, slave. Quickly."
Greg stared at him, his hands going protectively to his clothes. Wilson had said that they were his - that he owned them. The supervisor pressed the button on the collar control and Greg jerked as the shock raced through his body. The first one he'd felt in months. Once he had control of his body again he fumbled with his buttons, taking off one garment at a time and handing it to the supervisor. His hands hesitated at his boxers but the quick blow he received from the crop made him strip them off too.
He stood naked in front of everyone, holding only his cane. Goosebumps formed on his flesh as a cold wind blew across the open courtyard.
Wilson put his hand out. "The cane, Greg."
His fingers tightened around it reflexively but at a warning look from the supervisor he slowly handed it over.
Wilson took it and nodded. "Goodbye, Greg. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
Then he got back into the car without a backwards glance and drove off. Wilson was gone.
The supervisor laughed as he shivered. "You didn't think he was going to keep you, did you? A crippled slave? What would he want with you?"
Greg looked down. His body was covered in the Slaves-R-Us coverall.
He fell into line besides a truck with the other slaves.
Greg woke up with a gasp, the dream leaving him momentarily disoriented. Instead of the lines of slaves he saw the quiet comfort of his bedroom. The luxury of it had become commonplace over the months he had lived here but now he saw it again in a new light. This was what he stood to lose. This was what he had risked the day before.
He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but the dream pressed in on him. Giving up he got up and made his way out to the living area, hoping to see Wilson before he left for the hospital. The apartment was quiet and Wilson's case and jacket were missing. He'd gone in early again.
He had a long shower, with the temperature turned up as high as he could stand it. The thud of the water against his body helped drive out the remnants of the dream. That wasn't going to happen. Wilson would never do that to him. In any case the dream made no sense. If Wilson sold him it wouldn't be back to Slave-R-Us - they were glad to get rid of him in the first place. There was no way they would want their crippled slave back. He'd go back to the State Slave barracks and be onsold from there, if anyone would take him. He'd be a hard sell. Probably he'd serve the rest of his sentence there, spending twelve hours a day cleaning floors.
Once he was dressed he went over to his bedroom window to look out at what little he could see of the outside world. The heavy bars crossing the window brought back his memories of prison. Getting his memories back had been a two edged sword to say the least. There were some memories that he could have cheerfully lost forever. Those months in prison were many of them.
As well as the bars there was also a lock on the door. Greg had looked into slave owning regulations on the internet and discovered that both were mandated by the state. They provided a place he could be locked into if necessary. Like a prison. A prison within a prison.
Wilson would have had to have attended the 'Slave Owning 101 course' - it was required for all new slave owners. Greg had obtained the curriculum online. He suspected nothing in it had prepared Wilson for his experience of actually owning a slave. What Wilson had done, and not done, with his slave would be far beyond the instructor's experience. You just didn't treat slaves like Wilson had. You especially didn't let them get back their memories if they had lost them.
He leaned his forehead against the cold bars. Yesterday had been terrifying. He'd been alone in the laundry room when the police had come in. He hadn't even seen any of Wilson's neighbours before the police arrived.
He'd knelt as soon as he saw them. Had bowed his head like a meek compliant slave. It hadn't even really been an act. The old instincts had kicked in again at the sight of Authority. They'd asked him a few sharp questions. Did his owner know he was here? Was his owner home? Greg had replied honestly and they'd left him kneeling there while they tried to contact Wilson. Then, like a lost dog, they'd taken him with them - handcuffed and in the back of a van.
At the station he had been searched down to the skin and the details from his collar written down, and then he'd been placed in a small, bare, windowless cell, until his owner could come and collect him.
The hours of waiting had been agonizing. Seeing Wilson finally appear had been such a relief that he'd almost dropped to his knees in front of him and begged his forgiveness.
He needed to decide whether he was going to let his fear of losing this new life dictate everything he did. It would be easy - so easy - to slip back into the quiet slave persona. He'd keep the apartment spotless, and make dinner, and study medicine like Wilson wanted. In the evening, once the weather was warmer again, Wilson would take him for a walk around the block.
He'd had good times with Wilson before getting back his memories, even if he'd never been able to forget that he was the slave and Wilson was the Master. Things could be good again, or at least tolerable, if only he could forget who he had once been, and everything he had lost.
He stayed at the window, staring out of the bars for a long time.
Wilson sat at his place at the oval conference table in the boardroom. Cuddy was opposite him. He met her eyes and she nodded. It was time.
He cleared his throat and others quieted, their eyes turned towards him.
"I had a report prepared for this meeting. There was a cost breakdown, budget projections, and strategies to maximise the marketing potential of going slave free. I had a list of donors who are prepared to step up their contributions, or make new ones, and the details of grants that would be available to us if we took that step." Wilson indicated an impressive looking blue folder in front of him.
"I haven't made copies of it and given it to you all because it's not important. Those are just numbers, the financial side of making a decision that should be made on moral grounds. Today I want to show you why we should make this decision."
He stood up and moved the television on its trolley towards the table, where they could all see it.
"These are the slaves that work here, and have done for the past eight months. This is their life." He pressed play on the DVD.
The screen showed the loading dock of the hospital as the first light of dawn crept over it. Into the frame came a Slaves-R-Us truck, the logo bright on its side. It pulled up and two uniformed men jumped down from the cabin. Each carried a crop. They opened the back door of the vehicle and a procession of slaves jumped down. Each was wearing a coverall with the name of the company on it. Each slave, man or woman alike, had their head shaved into an efficient buzz cut. They moved quickly, wary eyes on the two men watching them. The last slave out of the truck received a slash of the crop on their arm. They flinched away from the blow and hurried after the others.
Lucas had done good work, setting up his spy cameras around the hospital. They caught the grind of the slaves’ workday, the menace of the supervisors as they stood over them. The slaves did not talk to each other, or to their supervisors, except for quick responses to orders. They did not smile, or laugh. Their faces were blank, all hope gone from them. More than once the cameras caught a supervisor delivering a blow of the crop to the slaves in their charge.
When their long day was finished the slaves were again shown in the loading dock, this time being herded back into the windowless truck. Their heads were down, and exhaustion showed in every movement. Once they were loaded in the door slammed shut behind them.
Wilson had seen the video footage several times preparing for this board meeting and he still found it disturbing, more so when he thought of Greg being in that position only a few months ago. As he looked around the table he saw that several of the people sitting there seemed moved by what they were seeing. Most of them had only ever caught glimpses of the slaves, as they scuttled about their work. A lot of the work was done out of sight of the busy hospital. This brought the reality home.
The video finished and there was silence in the room. Wilson reached into his pocket and pulled out a collar and threw it on the table.
"This is a replica of the collars worn by those slaves. It has a built in shock mechanism. The company that owns them routinely uses a low level shock to tell the slaves it's time to return to the truck. We tried to get footage of it being used but the slaves are so used to being shocked that they barely react now. If any slave is 'non-compliant' or if they stray from their assigned areas a stronger shock is used." He showed them the control to the collar. "Does anyone want to try it and see what it feels like?" He'd tried it on himself, but he didn't think anyone would volunteer. Nobody did.
"This is what we are doing when we allow the use of slaves here. This is what we are. We can do better than this."
He sat down to complete silence from his fellow board members.
Cuddy cleared her throat. "I call for a vote on Doctor Wilson's proposal for this hospital to cease using all slaves. All in favour?"
Brown immediately raised his hand, as did Wilson. Cuddy raised hers and the rest of the Board quickly fell in behind her, with Henderson being the only hold-out.
"Motion carried," Cuddy said calmly and it was done.
"Congratulations," Cuddy said, toasting him with her coffee. They were in her office, having a late lunch after the meeting. "Garcia from Paediatrics was crying during the video. You must be pleased."
"We should have done it long ago." He was pleased, but it was little enough, and did nothing to help resolve his own problems with Greg. He stared at the replica collar which he'd dropped on Cuddy's desk. The collar represented the whole slavery culture - one that he had grown to hate.
Cuddy shrugged. "Nobody cared enough. Nor did you before you bought Greg."
"I was blind to what I was seeing. There's so much more I could have told them about what happens to slaves. Greg's let a few things slip although he doesn't like to talk about it."
"I'm surprised you didn't parade him in there as well - as a living example." That slavery could happen even to a doctor.
Wilson frowned at her. "I wouldn't do that to him." Lucas had suggested as much and he'd quickly shot him down.
Cuddy held up her hands. "Just joking, James. I'm glad you didn't. Greg deserves more dignity than that." She eyed Wilson, he didn't look happy about his triumph; instead he looked preoccupied, and worried. He'd come into the hospital early for the last several days and had stayed later than he had for a long time. Classic Wilson avoidance tactics - employed with all his past wives, and even with her during their short relationship. Wilson was avoiding being at home, which had to mean that he was still having trouble with Greg.
She was debating with herself whether she wanted to get involved, and really she didn't but James was her friend, when there was an alert tone from his phone. He pulled it out and stared at the screen, his eyes going wide.
"What is it?"
"It's Greg. This app tracks his collar. He's exited the apartment, and left the building." He looked down at the screen again. There was no mistaking; Greg was walking down the street, away from the apartment. Fear gripped him - anything could happen to him out there.
"He's escaping?" Cuddy was incredulous. Where did he think he could go ?
"No..." But if he wasn't, what was he doing? Just going for a walk? A trip down a few floors to do laundry had ended up with him being taken into police custody. This was promising complete disaster.
"I've got to go," he said, holding the phone tightly, his eyes never leaving the screen. "I've got to get him back."
He didn't wait for Cuddy's response as he hurried towards his car, all the while watching Greg's slow progress on the screen.
He just hoped he wouldn't be too late.
Words: Approx 3000
Rating : PG-13
Characters : House & Wilson, Cuddy
Contains : Slavery concepts
Warnings : : Choose Not to Warn
Summary : Slave AU. Wilson encounters a 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 rang Nolan from the hospital. He didn't want Greg to know he was contacting his therapist, or to overhear their conversation.
Nolan wasn't very forthcoming.
"I'm sure you realise that patient confidentiality prevents me from talking about this with you, Doctor Wilson."
"Greg gave you permission to talk to me," Wilson pointed out.
"I believe that was permission to talk to you at Mayfield, about what happened to him in Mayfield. He hasn't given me any further permission."
"I don't want you to betray any confidences. I just need some advice on how to deal with this." Wilson said, gripping the phone tighter. He'd already explained what had happened. Nolan had to understand that if Wilson couldn't help Greg deal with this he was going to end up getting himself in some serious trouble. "He just seems so angry all the time. I can't talk to him anymore."
"Greg has a lot to be angry about, Doctor Wilson." Wilson could picture the man leaning back in his chair, that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.
"I know that. But after everything I've done for him..."
"You think he should be properly grateful and appreciative. You don't think he should be angry at you."
"I've done nothing to hurt him." Quite the opposite, he'd done everything he could to help Greg. He didn't need a lot of thanks - but he didn't need the attitude Greg was giving him either.
"Would Greg let out his anger at anyone else?" Nolan asked. "The fact that he feels safe to do so with you should tell you something."
"Forgive me if I don't feel flattered."
"Greg is growing beyond his slavery, Doctor Wilson. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
After he had terminated the call Wilson looked at the envelope on his desk. It had come that morning. It was an official missive from the State of New Jersey. A letter with two short paragraphs - denying his request to re-open Greg's murder conviction. Lucas had warned him that this was the most likely outcome. Nobody was interested in twenty year old convictions for crimes that happened in prison, or the fate of a slave.
He glanced at his watch. It was time for the Board Meeting. He was well prepared - Lucas had helped with that as well. Even if he was failing Greg he could still do this, he could still achieve something.
He gathered up his papers and the necessary equipment and left his office to go to the meeting.
Greg didn't know where they were going. Wilson had just told him to get in the car and was now driving with a fixed expression on his face. He hadn't looked at Greg, or talked to him, since they started out. It was only when they drove past a large grey warehouse with concrete surrounds that he realised where they were. He'd only seen it from the outside once but he knew.
Wilson turned the car into a side entrance, and around the back of the building where the slaves were loaded into trucks every morning to go to work. Dozens of slaves stood there silently, each dressed in the familiar coverall.
"No," Greg said, his voice faint, his stomach lurching with anxiety. "No. You promised, you said that you wouldn't..."
Wilson killed the engine and turned to him.
"It wasn't working. I gave you a chance and you blew it. You're too much trouble. Get out."
"No. Please. I'll be good. I promise." He begged. He couldn't go back.
The door of the car was opened from the outside and a supervisor stood there, a crop in his hand.
"Get out, slave."
Greg got out, his mind and body numb. He looked around at the blank faces of the slaves watching them. The supervisor sneered at him and tapped the crop in the palm of his hand.
Wilson got out of the car and Greg thought for one moment that he had changed his mind. That he was only doing this to scare Greg into compliance.
Instead Wilson handed over the collar control and looked at the supervisor, pointing at Greg.
"I need the clothes back. You can keep his collar."
The supervisor nodded. "Take the clothes off, slave. Quickly."
Greg stared at him, his hands going protectively to his clothes. Wilson had said that they were his - that he owned them. The supervisor pressed the button on the collar control and Greg jerked as the shock raced through his body. The first one he'd felt in months. Once he had control of his body again he fumbled with his buttons, taking off one garment at a time and handing it to the supervisor. His hands hesitated at his boxers but the quick blow he received from the crop made him strip them off too.
He stood naked in front of everyone, holding only his cane. Goosebumps formed on his flesh as a cold wind blew across the open courtyard.
Wilson put his hand out. "The cane, Greg."
His fingers tightened around it reflexively but at a warning look from the supervisor he slowly handed it over.
Wilson took it and nodded. "Goodbye, Greg. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
Then he got back into the car without a backwards glance and drove off. Wilson was gone.
The supervisor laughed as he shivered. "You didn't think he was going to keep you, did you? A crippled slave? What would he want with you?"
Greg looked down. His body was covered in the Slaves-R-Us coverall.
He fell into line besides a truck with the other slaves.
Greg woke up with a gasp, the dream leaving him momentarily disoriented. Instead of the lines of slaves he saw the quiet comfort of his bedroom. The luxury of it had become commonplace over the months he had lived here but now he saw it again in a new light. This was what he stood to lose. This was what he had risked the day before.
He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but the dream pressed in on him. Giving up he got up and made his way out to the living area, hoping to see Wilson before he left for the hospital. The apartment was quiet and Wilson's case and jacket were missing. He'd gone in early again.
He had a long shower, with the temperature turned up as high as he could stand it. The thud of the water against his body helped drive out the remnants of the dream. That wasn't going to happen. Wilson would never do that to him. In any case the dream made no sense. If Wilson sold him it wouldn't be back to Slave-R-Us - they were glad to get rid of him in the first place. There was no way they would want their crippled slave back. He'd go back to the State Slave barracks and be onsold from there, if anyone would take him. He'd be a hard sell. Probably he'd serve the rest of his sentence there, spending twelve hours a day cleaning floors.
Once he was dressed he went over to his bedroom window to look out at what little he could see of the outside world. The heavy bars crossing the window brought back his memories of prison. Getting his memories back had been a two edged sword to say the least. There were some memories that he could have cheerfully lost forever. Those months in prison were many of them.
As well as the bars there was also a lock on the door. Greg had looked into slave owning regulations on the internet and discovered that both were mandated by the state. They provided a place he could be locked into if necessary. Like a prison. A prison within a prison.
Wilson would have had to have attended the 'Slave Owning 101 course' - it was required for all new slave owners. Greg had obtained the curriculum online. He suspected nothing in it had prepared Wilson for his experience of actually owning a slave. What Wilson had done, and not done, with his slave would be far beyond the instructor's experience. You just didn't treat slaves like Wilson had. You especially didn't let them get back their memories if they had lost them.
He leaned his forehead against the cold bars. Yesterday had been terrifying. He'd been alone in the laundry room when the police had come in. He hadn't even seen any of Wilson's neighbours before the police arrived.
He'd knelt as soon as he saw them. Had bowed his head like a meek compliant slave. It hadn't even really been an act. The old instincts had kicked in again at the sight of Authority. They'd asked him a few sharp questions. Did his owner know he was here? Was his owner home? Greg had replied honestly and they'd left him kneeling there while they tried to contact Wilson. Then, like a lost dog, they'd taken him with them - handcuffed and in the back of a van.
At the station he had been searched down to the skin and the details from his collar written down, and then he'd been placed in a small, bare, windowless cell, until his owner could come and collect him.
The hours of waiting had been agonizing. Seeing Wilson finally appear had been such a relief that he'd almost dropped to his knees in front of him and begged his forgiveness.
He needed to decide whether he was going to let his fear of losing this new life dictate everything he did. It would be easy - so easy - to slip back into the quiet slave persona. He'd keep the apartment spotless, and make dinner, and study medicine like Wilson wanted. In the evening, once the weather was warmer again, Wilson would take him for a walk around the block.
He'd had good times with Wilson before getting back his memories, even if he'd never been able to forget that he was the slave and Wilson was the Master. Things could be good again, or at least tolerable, if only he could forget who he had once been, and everything he had lost.
He stayed at the window, staring out of the bars for a long time.
Wilson sat at his place at the oval conference table in the boardroom. Cuddy was opposite him. He met her eyes and she nodded. It was time.
He cleared his throat and others quieted, their eyes turned towards him.
"I had a report prepared for this meeting. There was a cost breakdown, budget projections, and strategies to maximise the marketing potential of going slave free. I had a list of donors who are prepared to step up their contributions, or make new ones, and the details of grants that would be available to us if we took that step." Wilson indicated an impressive looking blue folder in front of him.
"I haven't made copies of it and given it to you all because it's not important. Those are just numbers, the financial side of making a decision that should be made on moral grounds. Today I want to show you why we should make this decision."
He stood up and moved the television on its trolley towards the table, where they could all see it.
"These are the slaves that work here, and have done for the past eight months. This is their life." He pressed play on the DVD.
The screen showed the loading dock of the hospital as the first light of dawn crept over it. Into the frame came a Slaves-R-Us truck, the logo bright on its side. It pulled up and two uniformed men jumped down from the cabin. Each carried a crop. They opened the back door of the vehicle and a procession of slaves jumped down. Each was wearing a coverall with the name of the company on it. Each slave, man or woman alike, had their head shaved into an efficient buzz cut. They moved quickly, wary eyes on the two men watching them. The last slave out of the truck received a slash of the crop on their arm. They flinched away from the blow and hurried after the others.
Lucas had done good work, setting up his spy cameras around the hospital. They caught the grind of the slaves’ workday, the menace of the supervisors as they stood over them. The slaves did not talk to each other, or to their supervisors, except for quick responses to orders. They did not smile, or laugh. Their faces were blank, all hope gone from them. More than once the cameras caught a supervisor delivering a blow of the crop to the slaves in their charge.
When their long day was finished the slaves were again shown in the loading dock, this time being herded back into the windowless truck. Their heads were down, and exhaustion showed in every movement. Once they were loaded in the door slammed shut behind them.
Wilson had seen the video footage several times preparing for this board meeting and he still found it disturbing, more so when he thought of Greg being in that position only a few months ago. As he looked around the table he saw that several of the people sitting there seemed moved by what they were seeing. Most of them had only ever caught glimpses of the slaves, as they scuttled about their work. A lot of the work was done out of sight of the busy hospital. This brought the reality home.
The video finished and there was silence in the room. Wilson reached into his pocket and pulled out a collar and threw it on the table.
"This is a replica of the collars worn by those slaves. It has a built in shock mechanism. The company that owns them routinely uses a low level shock to tell the slaves it's time to return to the truck. We tried to get footage of it being used but the slaves are so used to being shocked that they barely react now. If any slave is 'non-compliant' or if they stray from their assigned areas a stronger shock is used." He showed them the control to the collar. "Does anyone want to try it and see what it feels like?" He'd tried it on himself, but he didn't think anyone would volunteer. Nobody did.
"This is what we are doing when we allow the use of slaves here. This is what we are. We can do better than this."
He sat down to complete silence from his fellow board members.
Cuddy cleared her throat. "I call for a vote on Doctor Wilson's proposal for this hospital to cease using all slaves. All in favour?"
Brown immediately raised his hand, as did Wilson. Cuddy raised hers and the rest of the Board quickly fell in behind her, with Henderson being the only hold-out.
"Motion carried," Cuddy said calmly and it was done.
"Congratulations," Cuddy said, toasting him with her coffee. They were in her office, having a late lunch after the meeting. "Garcia from Paediatrics was crying during the video. You must be pleased."
"We should have done it long ago." He was pleased, but it was little enough, and did nothing to help resolve his own problems with Greg. He stared at the replica collar which he'd dropped on Cuddy's desk. The collar represented the whole slavery culture - one that he had grown to hate.
Cuddy shrugged. "Nobody cared enough. Nor did you before you bought Greg."
"I was blind to what I was seeing. There's so much more I could have told them about what happens to slaves. Greg's let a few things slip although he doesn't like to talk about it."
"I'm surprised you didn't parade him in there as well - as a living example." That slavery could happen even to a doctor.
Wilson frowned at her. "I wouldn't do that to him." Lucas had suggested as much and he'd quickly shot him down.
Cuddy held up her hands. "Just joking, James. I'm glad you didn't. Greg deserves more dignity than that." She eyed Wilson, he didn't look happy about his triumph; instead he looked preoccupied, and worried. He'd come into the hospital early for the last several days and had stayed later than he had for a long time. Classic Wilson avoidance tactics - employed with all his past wives, and even with her during their short relationship. Wilson was avoiding being at home, which had to mean that he was still having trouble with Greg.
She was debating with herself whether she wanted to get involved, and really she didn't but James was her friend, when there was an alert tone from his phone. He pulled it out and stared at the screen, his eyes going wide.
"What is it?"
"It's Greg. This app tracks his collar. He's exited the apartment, and left the building." He looked down at the screen again. There was no mistaking; Greg was walking down the street, away from the apartment. Fear gripped him - anything could happen to him out there.
"He's escaping?" Cuddy was incredulous. Where did he think he could go ?
"No..." But if he wasn't, what was he doing? Just going for a walk? A trip down a few floors to do laundry had ended up with him being taken into police custody. This was promising complete disaster.
"I've got to go," he said, holding the phone tightly, his eyes never leaving the screen. "I've got to get him back."
He didn't wait for Cuddy's response as he hurried towards his car, all the while watching Greg's slow progress on the screen.
He just hoped he wouldn't be too late.