Fic : An Opening Door 14/?
Title: An Opening Door 14/?
Words: Approx 3700
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
The revamped budget had gone through the Board meeting smoothly. Not all the Department Heads were on the Board, thankfully, so the arguing was kept at a minimum. Cuddy looked down at her agenda. Yes, all the items were finished.
"If there is no other business..." she started to say only to be interrupted by Wilson raising his hand slightly. She glared at him, but he ignored her.
"Actually I'd like to address a matter of hospital policy."
The other members also gave him disapproving looks but Wilson wouldn't be stopped.
"I'd like to propose that we don’t replace the slaves who died in the fire. By the end of next financial year I would like the hospital to replace all slave workers, including rented slaves, with paid workers. This hospital should become a slave-free workplace."
Cuddy stared at him. Wilson hadn't mentioned anything like this last night. This was the first she'd heard of it, and she didn't appreciate being blindsided in her boardroom.
"Doctor Wilson. This item is not on the agenda."
"I'm aware of that. I would like it placed on the agenda for the next Board meeting, and in the meantime a feasibility study should be conducted - complete with costings."
"Maybe you'd like to give us your slave - that crippled one you've been dragging into the hospital every Saturday." Henderson said snidely from the other end of the table.
"Doctor Henderson..." Cuddy started but he talked over her.
"Doctor Wilson is being a hypocrite. He thinks we should do without slaves while he himself owns a 'personal' slave. Did you run out of wives, Wilson?"
There was a shocked intake of breath around the table, but Wilson continued on calmly.
"It's because of my purchase of Greg that I'm proposing this. Before that I was as ignorant as the rest of you about the way slaves live. Now I've had chance to see the damage done to these slaves by the 'training' process they go through. A hospital is a place of humanity, we heal people here. We should have no part in furthering this abuse.”
"I'm sure Greg appreciates your altruism. The rest of us live in the real world, Doctor Wilson - and don't have the benefit of our own slaves to do our bidding. The hospital needs those slaves. The budget is tight enough as it is without unnecessary additional labour costs.
"I believe we can accommodate this policy within the budget. There are also several organisations that are promising both funds and support for organisations that dispense with slave labour. We can use this as a promotional tool. We can be a community leader."
Cuddy rubbed at her temples. Henderson and Wilson were glaring across the table at each other and the other Board members were looking from one to the other like spectators at a tennis match.
"We'll place it on the agenda for the next quarterly Board meeting," she decided. "And, as it was your proposal, Doctor Wilson you are in charge of the costings and feasibility report."
After the meeting had broken up, and Henderson had stalked off, she crooked a finger at Wilson. "My office, now."
Wilson dutifully followed her to her office and she rounded on him as soon as the door was closed behind them.
"What the hell was all that about?"
"We don't need to have slaves here. Greg... "
"You're obsessed with Greg. They're not all unfortunate medical geniuses, you know. Most of them are criminals who pretty much deserve what happened to them."
"After seeing what's been done to Greg I can't agree with that. And the slaves who lost their lives in the basement fire didn't deserve that."
"That was an accident - we've been cleared of any blame there. But one thing I do agree with you on - I was already intending to sell the three slaves who are left, and not replace the dead ones. We're a hospital, not a slave hostel. We'll contract with Rent-A-Slave for what we need from now on. It will probably work out even in the long run, and it will save us any liability for keeping them on the premises overnight." She'd inherited the slaves in the basement from her predecessor in the job and had never been totally comfortable with the arrangements down there. It would be a relief to get the rest of the slaves out of there and they could use the room for something else, now that it had been cleaned up. That might be enough to keep Wilson moderately happy too, which would keep him from harping on about it. Once Wilson had an idea in his head it was very hard to divert him from it. The Oncology playroom was proof of that.
"That would be a start but I still want to go forward with my proposal. Beyond anything else we would create paid positions for people who need the work."
"It's on the agenda - knock yourself out." She sat down and waved him to a seat. "How is Greg anyway? Feeling better this morning? How much does he remember?"
"Oh, you're interested in him now that you know who he is?"
"Yes, I'm planning on following up my one night stand with him with another one twenty years later. When can you have in my office?" She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm curious. Why wouldn't I be? Greg was going places when he was a student, everybody knew that. A lot of people thought those places might include prison, and it turned out they were right. It's still a loss to the medical community. He could have really been something."
"I think he still can be. He's already been studying on his own."
"Studying?"
"Yes. It turns out he's been reading my medical books while I've been at work. He says he remembers a lot of the information - just not where and how he learned it the first time."
Now, that was something. She'd just assumed that he had lost all that, along with his personal history.
"So what's the plan? You're going to try and get his medical license restored? He can be a doctor who is also a slave? How do you think that's going to work?"
"I'm thinking about the future for him. In another six years he'll have finished his sentence, I can apply for him to be freed. He'll need a way to support himself - I was thinking originally that he could maybe do some clerical work, or become a chef, but if he could be a doctor again, why not? I can't see how it would work if he was still a slave though. I guess I could look into it."
"I wasn't serious about that! The man doesn't even remember who he is. There's no way you'll get him past any medical board hearing, now or in six years time. The criminal record alone would be enough to disqualify him."
"Maybe. But if Greg wants to try I'm going to help him."
Wilson phoned Greg a couple of times during the day to make sure he was okay. Greg answered promptly and with his usual quiet assurance that he was fine. Wilson thought he'd probably still say that if he was collapsed on the floor in agony. He left as soon as he could in the afternoon and went straight home as he usually did.
He opened the door to the sight of an apartment that was practically glistening. Greg always kept the place immaculate but there was an extra air about it, as if he'd spent all day preening it to look its absolute best. He found Greg in the kitchen, with a large array of pots and pans spread around him and some food already on the table, a glass of wine next to them.
"I made some appetizers, sir. Dinner will be about thirty minutes."
A little bemused Wilson went over and sampled the food. It was delicious.
"Strawberry Balsamic Chutney and Goat Cheese Bruschetta," Greg said to Wilson's enquiring look.
"It's amazing. Have you been watching cooking shows again?" Wilson ate another one. He wasn't sure what was behind the extra cooking effort but he wasn't going to complain. All of Greg's meals since his first couple had been good, but this was kicking it up a level. Greg had requested those ingredients when Wilson last ordered his shopping but this was the first time they’d made their way into a meal.
"I found the recipe on the internet." Greg checked on whatever was cooking in the oven.
"You haven't been cleaning and cooking all day have you? I thought you'd rest a bit today after what happened yesterday."
"I also did some reading, sir," Greg said quickly. "Principles and Practices of Surgical Oncology." He nodded to the table, where the massive book was still sitting.
"That's a page turner." Wilson wanted to push a little but he decided to give Greg some time to consider his options by himself. That he was still reading the books was a good sign. That textbook wasn't something anyone would pick up for a little light reading.
They ate the dinner Greg had prepared and then went out for their daily walk. By now they were a familiar sight around the neighbourhood and didn't draw much attention. As always Greg watched their surroundings carefully. At first these walks had been conducted in near silence, with Greg answering Wilson's questions in as few as words as possible. Over the weeks he had gradually started to ask his own questions. About things he had seen on television, or read, or things they saw on their walk. Greg had enormous gaps in his knowledge of the world around him and he was becoming more and more eager to fill those gaps. Now that he had Cuddy's perspective on Greg, Wilson realised that he was a sponge for new information. Everything Wilson had told him, or shown him, he'd absorbed and remembered. He'd taken on new skills, like cooking, and using the computer, easily.
"So, what do you think of the Internet?" Wilson asked, curious. He'd been unsure at first about allowing Greg free reign on the internet. He'd supervised him for a couple of sessions but eventually had let him find his own way. It probably wouldn't be something any slave trainer would recommend but Wilson had never thought of Greg as 'his slave'. He wanted Greg to experience as normal a life as was possible given his circumstances. He couldn't block off such a large part of modern life to him - not when Greg was already restricted from so many experiences.
"It is... amazing." Greg said, his eyes widening in enthusiasm. "Everything you could possibly want to know is on there." He looked down at the ground and then back up at Wilson. "I looked up Rent-A-Slave, sir. They have a website. They give ten percent of their profits to charity annually and ‘provide a high standard of care for the slaves that live and work there’. All their slaves are ‘satisfied that they are giving back to the community’." He lowered his gaze to the ground again.
"You're never going back there, you know that, don't you?"
Greg hesitated before he answered. "You've said that before."
"I mean it. Your home is with me now. I am not going to sell you, or give you back to those people.”
“Circumstances can change. You may have no choice.”
“I’m not going to sell you because I don’t have the right.”
“You own me.”
“No, I don’t.” Greg looked up at him, his eyes wide and Wilson realised he’d misunderstood him. “I have a piece of paper that says I do. Legally I do. But I don’t believe I can own another human being. I don’t have that right.”
Greg looked sceptical. Wilson couldn’t blame him. Greg was the one with the collar around his neck and Wilson was the one with the ownership papers. It was easy for Wilson to talk in platitudes. Greg knew what it meant to be owned in a way Wilson didn’t, and never would.
Wilson wasn’t ever going to convince Greg with words, all he could do was keep treating him as a human being and not a piece of household equipment. That would have to be enough for now.
"He's doing well," Doctor Reilly said to Wilson as she watched Greg finish the last of his exercises for the session.
Wilson watched Greg as well and thought that he didn't see much difference in the way he was moving. Greg didn't complain about pain, either here or at home, but Wilson knew that doing the therapy hurt him. Wilson kept a supply of Vicodin on hand for after therapy if neeed, and for any breakthrough pain Greg might experience. It was a prescription that Cuddy had given him, for his intermittent back pain, so it wasn't exactly legal.
Greg looked up and caught his eye and Wilson saw the tiniest spark of irritation in his expression as he did the last leg raise. Reilly patted him on the shoulder.
"That's good, Greg. We're all done. How is the pain?"
Greg hesitated, his gaze flitting from Wilson back to Reilly. "It's fine, Ma'am. Just normal."
Reilly smiled. "If it's ‘just normal’ it means you weren't working hard enough, Greg." She scribbled a couple of notes in his file. "Okay, I'll leave you go to get changed and see you both the same time next week." She patted him again and left.
"Just normal?" Wilson asked when they were alone. He reached around and grabbed the bag they always brought with them, containing Greg's regular clothes. He handed them to Greg who promptly took off his sweat pants and t-shirt, stripping down to his boxers. "You can say when it hurts more, you know. If you don't tell us we can't help."
"The exercises hurt," Greg said. "They're supposed to. You know that."
Wilson ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. Sometimes it was so frustrating talking to Greg.
"Look, I know they hurt and they're supposed to. But you know I have something I can give you for that. Doctor Reilly thinks this therapy will help you in the long run."
"If you say so, sir." Greg's tone was formal and subservient but the tiny suggestion of rebellion in his words was new.
Greg pulled on his jeans and button down shirt, bringing the collar up around the thick leather slave collar that still sat around his neck. They both had found that life was easier if Greg's collar was at least a little less noticeable when they were out and about. He sat back down to put on his shoes.
They had a routine of going to the park for a while after each therapy visit but Wilson had other plans today - for their first visit to the hospital since the disastrous dinner with Cuddy.
"I need to go up to Oncology for a little while. The doctor on call has a family emergency and if I do rounds it will save someone else from having to come in on a Saturday morning."
Greg froze in the act of doing up his shoes and then looked up at him, his face carefully blank.
"Will you be taking me to the basement, sir?"
Wilson was puzzled until he remembered the security guard's offer of the basement cell on their first visit here. He shook his head.
"No, but I can't leave you here either, you can come with me. I won't be long."
Wilson took him up to the fourth floor of the hospital where his office was. It was a large office, with a door leading onto a balcony. As Wilson picked up his labcoat and some paperwork Greg wandered over to look out the glass door.
“You can go out there if you want. It’s not very exciting though, there’s not much out there.”
Greg went outside and to the balcony edge, staring out over the front entrance of the hospital. He could see a fair distance from here, over the grounds of the hospital, into the parking lot. There were free people walking around, some coming to the hospital, some leaving. Small clumps of people stood together, talking.
Wilson joined him at the railing.
“I guess it’s a better view than from the apartment anyway. Sometimes I come out here just to think.”
They stood there for another minute or two, side by side then Wilson gently touched his arm.
“Come on, I need to go and do rounds. We’ll get this done and go to the park for a while. You can people watch there.”
Wilson introduced him to the nurses on this floor simply as ‘Greg’ - making no mention of his ownership. They gave him curious looks, their eyes darting from Wilson to him but didn’t ask questions.
“I’ll have to ask you to wait outside the rooms while I see to the patients.” Wilson said apologetically and Greg nodded. He had expected no less and was pleased that Wilson trusted him alone in his hospital.
The walls of the patient rooms were mostly glass, and Greg could see Wilson through them as he visited each patient in turn. He tried to stay out of sight from the people in the rooms while still watching what Wilson was doing.
Most of Wilson's work seemed to be reassuring the patient's and their families. Their faces brightened when they saw him approach and he often touched their arms or their shoulders as he talked to them. He never appeared to be in a hurry and was always open and friendly - just as he was with Greg.
As he watched Wilson with the patients Greg tried to imagine himself in that position. Examining patients, reassuring them and talking with their families. He must have done those things, when he was working in a hospital like this - before he was sent to prison. He shook his head slightly. He couldn't remember it. Any effort to try was met with the familiar feeling of nausea. He pressed a hand to his temple, pushing back the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He blanked his mind.
"Hey, you okay?" Wilson was in front of him, touching him gently on the arm. "Is this bringing back memories?" He looked worried.
"No sir, I can't... I can't remember."
"Well, don't push it. I don't want you making yourself sick. I’ve just got to pay a visit to the kid’s playroom. Will you be okay?”
“Yes, sir.” The pain had receded for now.
“The Oncology staff room is just here, no-one is using it. Just pop in there and sit down. I won’t be long.” Wilson gestured him towards an open doorway and Greg complied.
The room was furnished with a couch and he sat down on it. A coffee maker sat on a bench by the door and he wondered if he should make Wilson a cup of coffee.
“Hi.” He looked up to see a young woman standing in the doorway; she was dressed in a hospital uniform but wasn’t one of the nurses he’d met earlier. He immediately stood up. Although he had permission to be here he knew that many free people would take offense at a slave using their space.
“Oh, don’t stand up. I can see you’re…” she gestured to his cane and blushed.
He remained standing. “Can I help you, Ma’am? My owner, Doctor Wilson, is in the Oncology Playroom.” He let her know both that his owner was nearby and where to find him if she had a complaint about him.
“So, it’s true. Doctor Wilson does own you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I… I wanted to talk to you. My brother… my brother is a slave,” she blurted out. “He got into some trouble when he was young and they offered him the choice of prison or being a slave.”
Greg wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew he’d made that choice himself, even if he didn’t remember it. “Yes, ma’am.”
She twisted her hands together and looked away from him. “I just wondered what… whether he was okay.”
“I don’t know your brother, ma’am.”
“I know. I guess I just wondered if you think he made the right choice. Are you… are you treated well?”
“Doctor Wilson is very kind to me, ma’am.”
“You look okay, except for your leg. Did… did someone…”
“No, ma’am. It was an infarction.”
She looked puzzled and he continued on. “A blockage of blood to the thigh muscles. Nobody did it to me. It just happened.”
She looked relieved. They both stood in silence for a minute. Greg didn’t really know what else to say. He couldn’t tell this young woman that her brother was well.
“I hope your brother comes back to you one day.” He said finally.
“Oh, so do I. I miss him very much.”
“When he comes back, he may not be as you remember.” And he might not remember you at all.
She smiled shakily, blinking back tears. “That doesn’t matter. We’ll all still love him.”
Did he have anyone to love him? Was there family waiting for him somewhere? He hadn’t thought about family in many years. Slaves didn’t have family.
Except, they did.
“Greg?” Wilson was standing in the doorway, frowning at the young woman.
“Oh, sorry Doctor Wilson, it’s my fault. I just wanted to ask your…” she trailed off, blushing again.
“His name is Greg.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Greg.” She nodded to him and glanced at Wilson before quickly rushing out the door.
“Was she bothering you?” Wilson asked when she was gone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“No, sir.”
Wilson gave him a look but when Greg didn’t offer anything more he didn’t push. “I thought we’d get something to eat from the cafeteria before we go to the park.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cafeteria was quiet but there were still hospital staff there. Wilson had never brought him here before. Greg stuck closely to his side as Wilson lined up for food. Again he noticed people giving them curious looks but Wilson didn’t seem to care. He brought them both coffees and slices of cake and carried them himself, back through security and out of the hospital to the park.
When they were seated at their usual picnic table, Greg drank his coffee, ate his cake and watched the people for a while, thinking of the young woman at the hospital and her brother.
“Wilson?”
“Yes, Greg?”
“I want to know who I am.”
Wilson stared at him and then slowly smiled.
“Then let’s find out.”
Words: Approx 3700
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
The revamped budget had gone through the Board meeting smoothly. Not all the Department Heads were on the Board, thankfully, so the arguing was kept at a minimum. Cuddy looked down at her agenda. Yes, all the items were finished.
"If there is no other business..." she started to say only to be interrupted by Wilson raising his hand slightly. She glared at him, but he ignored her.
"Actually I'd like to address a matter of hospital policy."
The other members also gave him disapproving looks but Wilson wouldn't be stopped.
"I'd like to propose that we don’t replace the slaves who died in the fire. By the end of next financial year I would like the hospital to replace all slave workers, including rented slaves, with paid workers. This hospital should become a slave-free workplace."
Cuddy stared at him. Wilson hadn't mentioned anything like this last night. This was the first she'd heard of it, and she didn't appreciate being blindsided in her boardroom.
"Doctor Wilson. This item is not on the agenda."
"I'm aware of that. I would like it placed on the agenda for the next Board meeting, and in the meantime a feasibility study should be conducted - complete with costings."
"Maybe you'd like to give us your slave - that crippled one you've been dragging into the hospital every Saturday." Henderson said snidely from the other end of the table.
"Doctor Henderson..." Cuddy started but he talked over her.
"Doctor Wilson is being a hypocrite. He thinks we should do without slaves while he himself owns a 'personal' slave. Did you run out of wives, Wilson?"
There was a shocked intake of breath around the table, but Wilson continued on calmly.
"It's because of my purchase of Greg that I'm proposing this. Before that I was as ignorant as the rest of you about the way slaves live. Now I've had chance to see the damage done to these slaves by the 'training' process they go through. A hospital is a place of humanity, we heal people here. We should have no part in furthering this abuse.”
"I'm sure Greg appreciates your altruism. The rest of us live in the real world, Doctor Wilson - and don't have the benefit of our own slaves to do our bidding. The hospital needs those slaves. The budget is tight enough as it is without unnecessary additional labour costs.
"I believe we can accommodate this policy within the budget. There are also several organisations that are promising both funds and support for organisations that dispense with slave labour. We can use this as a promotional tool. We can be a community leader."
Cuddy rubbed at her temples. Henderson and Wilson were glaring across the table at each other and the other Board members were looking from one to the other like spectators at a tennis match.
"We'll place it on the agenda for the next quarterly Board meeting," she decided. "And, as it was your proposal, Doctor Wilson you are in charge of the costings and feasibility report."
After the meeting had broken up, and Henderson had stalked off, she crooked a finger at Wilson. "My office, now."
Wilson dutifully followed her to her office and she rounded on him as soon as the door was closed behind them.
"What the hell was all that about?"
"We don't need to have slaves here. Greg... "
"You're obsessed with Greg. They're not all unfortunate medical geniuses, you know. Most of them are criminals who pretty much deserve what happened to them."
"After seeing what's been done to Greg I can't agree with that. And the slaves who lost their lives in the basement fire didn't deserve that."
"That was an accident - we've been cleared of any blame there. But one thing I do agree with you on - I was already intending to sell the three slaves who are left, and not replace the dead ones. We're a hospital, not a slave hostel. We'll contract with Rent-A-Slave for what we need from now on. It will probably work out even in the long run, and it will save us any liability for keeping them on the premises overnight." She'd inherited the slaves in the basement from her predecessor in the job and had never been totally comfortable with the arrangements down there. It would be a relief to get the rest of the slaves out of there and they could use the room for something else, now that it had been cleaned up. That might be enough to keep Wilson moderately happy too, which would keep him from harping on about it. Once Wilson had an idea in his head it was very hard to divert him from it. The Oncology playroom was proof of that.
"That would be a start but I still want to go forward with my proposal. Beyond anything else we would create paid positions for people who need the work."
"It's on the agenda - knock yourself out." She sat down and waved him to a seat. "How is Greg anyway? Feeling better this morning? How much does he remember?"
"Oh, you're interested in him now that you know who he is?"
"Yes, I'm planning on following up my one night stand with him with another one twenty years later. When can you have in my office?" She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm curious. Why wouldn't I be? Greg was going places when he was a student, everybody knew that. A lot of people thought those places might include prison, and it turned out they were right. It's still a loss to the medical community. He could have really been something."
"I think he still can be. He's already been studying on his own."
"Studying?"
"Yes. It turns out he's been reading my medical books while I've been at work. He says he remembers a lot of the information - just not where and how he learned it the first time."
Now, that was something. She'd just assumed that he had lost all that, along with his personal history.
"So what's the plan? You're going to try and get his medical license restored? He can be a doctor who is also a slave? How do you think that's going to work?"
"I'm thinking about the future for him. In another six years he'll have finished his sentence, I can apply for him to be freed. He'll need a way to support himself - I was thinking originally that he could maybe do some clerical work, or become a chef, but if he could be a doctor again, why not? I can't see how it would work if he was still a slave though. I guess I could look into it."
"I wasn't serious about that! The man doesn't even remember who he is. There's no way you'll get him past any medical board hearing, now or in six years time. The criminal record alone would be enough to disqualify him."
"Maybe. But if Greg wants to try I'm going to help him."
Wilson phoned Greg a couple of times during the day to make sure he was okay. Greg answered promptly and with his usual quiet assurance that he was fine. Wilson thought he'd probably still say that if he was collapsed on the floor in agony. He left as soon as he could in the afternoon and went straight home as he usually did.
He opened the door to the sight of an apartment that was practically glistening. Greg always kept the place immaculate but there was an extra air about it, as if he'd spent all day preening it to look its absolute best. He found Greg in the kitchen, with a large array of pots and pans spread around him and some food already on the table, a glass of wine next to them.
"I made some appetizers, sir. Dinner will be about thirty minutes."
A little bemused Wilson went over and sampled the food. It was delicious.
"Strawberry Balsamic Chutney and Goat Cheese Bruschetta," Greg said to Wilson's enquiring look.
"It's amazing. Have you been watching cooking shows again?" Wilson ate another one. He wasn't sure what was behind the extra cooking effort but he wasn't going to complain. All of Greg's meals since his first couple had been good, but this was kicking it up a level. Greg had requested those ingredients when Wilson last ordered his shopping but this was the first time they’d made their way into a meal.
"I found the recipe on the internet." Greg checked on whatever was cooking in the oven.
"You haven't been cleaning and cooking all day have you? I thought you'd rest a bit today after what happened yesterday."
"I also did some reading, sir," Greg said quickly. "Principles and Practices of Surgical Oncology." He nodded to the table, where the massive book was still sitting.
"That's a page turner." Wilson wanted to push a little but he decided to give Greg some time to consider his options by himself. That he was still reading the books was a good sign. That textbook wasn't something anyone would pick up for a little light reading.
They ate the dinner Greg had prepared and then went out for their daily walk. By now they were a familiar sight around the neighbourhood and didn't draw much attention. As always Greg watched their surroundings carefully. At first these walks had been conducted in near silence, with Greg answering Wilson's questions in as few as words as possible. Over the weeks he had gradually started to ask his own questions. About things he had seen on television, or read, or things they saw on their walk. Greg had enormous gaps in his knowledge of the world around him and he was becoming more and more eager to fill those gaps. Now that he had Cuddy's perspective on Greg, Wilson realised that he was a sponge for new information. Everything Wilson had told him, or shown him, he'd absorbed and remembered. He'd taken on new skills, like cooking, and using the computer, easily.
"So, what do you think of the Internet?" Wilson asked, curious. He'd been unsure at first about allowing Greg free reign on the internet. He'd supervised him for a couple of sessions but eventually had let him find his own way. It probably wouldn't be something any slave trainer would recommend but Wilson had never thought of Greg as 'his slave'. He wanted Greg to experience as normal a life as was possible given his circumstances. He couldn't block off such a large part of modern life to him - not when Greg was already restricted from so many experiences.
"It is... amazing." Greg said, his eyes widening in enthusiasm. "Everything you could possibly want to know is on there." He looked down at the ground and then back up at Wilson. "I looked up Rent-A-Slave, sir. They have a website. They give ten percent of their profits to charity annually and ‘provide a high standard of care for the slaves that live and work there’. All their slaves are ‘satisfied that they are giving back to the community’." He lowered his gaze to the ground again.
"You're never going back there, you know that, don't you?"
Greg hesitated before he answered. "You've said that before."
"I mean it. Your home is with me now. I am not going to sell you, or give you back to those people.”
“Circumstances can change. You may have no choice.”
“I’m not going to sell you because I don’t have the right.”
“You own me.”
“No, I don’t.” Greg looked up at him, his eyes wide and Wilson realised he’d misunderstood him. “I have a piece of paper that says I do. Legally I do. But I don’t believe I can own another human being. I don’t have that right.”
Greg looked sceptical. Wilson couldn’t blame him. Greg was the one with the collar around his neck and Wilson was the one with the ownership papers. It was easy for Wilson to talk in platitudes. Greg knew what it meant to be owned in a way Wilson didn’t, and never would.
Wilson wasn’t ever going to convince Greg with words, all he could do was keep treating him as a human being and not a piece of household equipment. That would have to be enough for now.
"He's doing well," Doctor Reilly said to Wilson as she watched Greg finish the last of his exercises for the session.
Wilson watched Greg as well and thought that he didn't see much difference in the way he was moving. Greg didn't complain about pain, either here or at home, but Wilson knew that doing the therapy hurt him. Wilson kept a supply of Vicodin on hand for after therapy if neeed, and for any breakthrough pain Greg might experience. It was a prescription that Cuddy had given him, for his intermittent back pain, so it wasn't exactly legal.
Greg looked up and caught his eye and Wilson saw the tiniest spark of irritation in his expression as he did the last leg raise. Reilly patted him on the shoulder.
"That's good, Greg. We're all done. How is the pain?"
Greg hesitated, his gaze flitting from Wilson back to Reilly. "It's fine, Ma'am. Just normal."
Reilly smiled. "If it's ‘just normal’ it means you weren't working hard enough, Greg." She scribbled a couple of notes in his file. "Okay, I'll leave you go to get changed and see you both the same time next week." She patted him again and left.
"Just normal?" Wilson asked when they were alone. He reached around and grabbed the bag they always brought with them, containing Greg's regular clothes. He handed them to Greg who promptly took off his sweat pants and t-shirt, stripping down to his boxers. "You can say when it hurts more, you know. If you don't tell us we can't help."
"The exercises hurt," Greg said. "They're supposed to. You know that."
Wilson ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. Sometimes it was so frustrating talking to Greg.
"Look, I know they hurt and they're supposed to. But you know I have something I can give you for that. Doctor Reilly thinks this therapy will help you in the long run."
"If you say so, sir." Greg's tone was formal and subservient but the tiny suggestion of rebellion in his words was new.
Greg pulled on his jeans and button down shirt, bringing the collar up around the thick leather slave collar that still sat around his neck. They both had found that life was easier if Greg's collar was at least a little less noticeable when they were out and about. He sat back down to put on his shoes.
They had a routine of going to the park for a while after each therapy visit but Wilson had other plans today - for their first visit to the hospital since the disastrous dinner with Cuddy.
"I need to go up to Oncology for a little while. The doctor on call has a family emergency and if I do rounds it will save someone else from having to come in on a Saturday morning."
Greg froze in the act of doing up his shoes and then looked up at him, his face carefully blank.
"Will you be taking me to the basement, sir?"
Wilson was puzzled until he remembered the security guard's offer of the basement cell on their first visit here. He shook his head.
"No, but I can't leave you here either, you can come with me. I won't be long."
Wilson took him up to the fourth floor of the hospital where his office was. It was a large office, with a door leading onto a balcony. As Wilson picked up his labcoat and some paperwork Greg wandered over to look out the glass door.
“You can go out there if you want. It’s not very exciting though, there’s not much out there.”
Greg went outside and to the balcony edge, staring out over the front entrance of the hospital. He could see a fair distance from here, over the grounds of the hospital, into the parking lot. There were free people walking around, some coming to the hospital, some leaving. Small clumps of people stood together, talking.
Wilson joined him at the railing.
“I guess it’s a better view than from the apartment anyway. Sometimes I come out here just to think.”
They stood there for another minute or two, side by side then Wilson gently touched his arm.
“Come on, I need to go and do rounds. We’ll get this done and go to the park for a while. You can people watch there.”
Wilson introduced him to the nurses on this floor simply as ‘Greg’ - making no mention of his ownership. They gave him curious looks, their eyes darting from Wilson to him but didn’t ask questions.
“I’ll have to ask you to wait outside the rooms while I see to the patients.” Wilson said apologetically and Greg nodded. He had expected no less and was pleased that Wilson trusted him alone in his hospital.
The walls of the patient rooms were mostly glass, and Greg could see Wilson through them as he visited each patient in turn. He tried to stay out of sight from the people in the rooms while still watching what Wilson was doing.
Most of Wilson's work seemed to be reassuring the patient's and their families. Their faces brightened when they saw him approach and he often touched their arms or their shoulders as he talked to them. He never appeared to be in a hurry and was always open and friendly - just as he was with Greg.
As he watched Wilson with the patients Greg tried to imagine himself in that position. Examining patients, reassuring them and talking with their families. He must have done those things, when he was working in a hospital like this - before he was sent to prison. He shook his head slightly. He couldn't remember it. Any effort to try was met with the familiar feeling of nausea. He pressed a hand to his temple, pushing back the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He blanked his mind.
"Hey, you okay?" Wilson was in front of him, touching him gently on the arm. "Is this bringing back memories?" He looked worried.
"No sir, I can't... I can't remember."
"Well, don't push it. I don't want you making yourself sick. I’ve just got to pay a visit to the kid’s playroom. Will you be okay?”
“Yes, sir.” The pain had receded for now.
“The Oncology staff room is just here, no-one is using it. Just pop in there and sit down. I won’t be long.” Wilson gestured him towards an open doorway and Greg complied.
The room was furnished with a couch and he sat down on it. A coffee maker sat on a bench by the door and he wondered if he should make Wilson a cup of coffee.
“Hi.” He looked up to see a young woman standing in the doorway; she was dressed in a hospital uniform but wasn’t one of the nurses he’d met earlier. He immediately stood up. Although he had permission to be here he knew that many free people would take offense at a slave using their space.
“Oh, don’t stand up. I can see you’re…” she gestured to his cane and blushed.
He remained standing. “Can I help you, Ma’am? My owner, Doctor Wilson, is in the Oncology Playroom.” He let her know both that his owner was nearby and where to find him if she had a complaint about him.
“So, it’s true. Doctor Wilson does own you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I… I wanted to talk to you. My brother… my brother is a slave,” she blurted out. “He got into some trouble when he was young and they offered him the choice of prison or being a slave.”
Greg wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew he’d made that choice himself, even if he didn’t remember it. “Yes, ma’am.”
She twisted her hands together and looked away from him. “I just wondered what… whether he was okay.”
“I don’t know your brother, ma’am.”
“I know. I guess I just wondered if you think he made the right choice. Are you… are you treated well?”
“Doctor Wilson is very kind to me, ma’am.”
“You look okay, except for your leg. Did… did someone…”
“No, ma’am. It was an infarction.”
She looked puzzled and he continued on. “A blockage of blood to the thigh muscles. Nobody did it to me. It just happened.”
She looked relieved. They both stood in silence for a minute. Greg didn’t really know what else to say. He couldn’t tell this young woman that her brother was well.
“I hope your brother comes back to you one day.” He said finally.
“Oh, so do I. I miss him very much.”
“When he comes back, he may not be as you remember.” And he might not remember you at all.
She smiled shakily, blinking back tears. “That doesn’t matter. We’ll all still love him.”
Did he have anyone to love him? Was there family waiting for him somewhere? He hadn’t thought about family in many years. Slaves didn’t have family.
Except, they did.
“Greg?” Wilson was standing in the doorway, frowning at the young woman.
“Oh, sorry Doctor Wilson, it’s my fault. I just wanted to ask your…” she trailed off, blushing again.
“His name is Greg.”
“Of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Greg.” She nodded to him and glanced at Wilson before quickly rushing out the door.
“Was she bothering you?” Wilson asked when she was gone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“No, sir.”
Wilson gave him a look but when Greg didn’t offer anything more he didn’t push. “I thought we’d get something to eat from the cafeteria before we go to the park.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cafeteria was quiet but there were still hospital staff there. Wilson had never brought him here before. Greg stuck closely to his side as Wilson lined up for food. Again he noticed people giving them curious looks but Wilson didn’t seem to care. He brought them both coffees and slices of cake and carried them himself, back through security and out of the hospital to the park.
When they were seated at their usual picnic table, Greg drank his coffee, ate his cake and watched the people for a while, thinking of the young woman at the hospital and her brother.
“Wilson?”
“Yes, Greg?”
“I want to know who I am.”
Wilson stared at him and then slowly smiled.
“Then let’s find out.”