Fic : An Opening Door 16/?
Title: An Opening Door 16/?
Words: Approx 2500
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
He is being held down. Rough hands grab his ankles, more hands press his chest into the ground. His mouth is stuffed with a dirty cloth and he can't call out, he can hardly breathe. He shoves against them with all his strength but he can't get free. His hair is grabbed and his head is yanked around so he faces his tormentor. The man laughs at him, and waves a shiny blade in front of his eyes.
"I've been waiting to do this," the man says. "Hold him tight, boys."
He tries to scream but the cloth muffles it. The blade comes closer, he pushes at them but he can’t, he can’t. He can’t escape.
Greg woke with a start, his heart pounding, the images still resonating in his head. He kicked his feet out, ignoring the twinge from his leg. He wasn't being held down, and there was no-one in the room with him. He was alone in his bedroom, in Wilson’s home. He was safe.
Just a dream , he told himself, that's all it was . Nothing to be scared of. He flicked the light on and got up, going to the bathroom to splash water on his face. The cold water chased away the last of the dream and the memory was already fading.
He used to dream a lot, in the first years of his enslavement. He never remembered any details when he woke up and had always assumed they were memories, breaking through while he was asleep. After a few years the dreams had stopped.
Looking at the file, and reading about his crimes, had probably brought them back. It didn't take a genius to realise that his dream was related to the attacks in the prison. He still didn't remember those incidents. When he read the story in the file it was as if it happened to someone else, not to him. It meant nothing to him.
The file was on the nightstand, where he'd left it the night before. Wilson had gone over it with him, adding the contents of his own discussion with the detective who had discovered the story.
Greg had known that his crimes must be serious for his sentence to be so long. Even so, the conviction for murder had given him pause when he first read it. Wilson had emphasized to him that there was every possibility that he'd killed the man in self-defence, or to prevent future attacks. Unlike in his dream, when he'd been powerless to fight off the attackers, in reality he had lashed out with a weapon. He had taken a man's life.
He shook his head. If the circumstances in real life had been as they were in his dream... He could still feel the terror of that dream - the helplessness. He would have used a weapon, if he had possessed one. He opened his hand, imagining a small, home-made, blade resting there.
The man in his dreams had had a knife.
The malpractice case was of more immediate concern to Greg. He didn't really believe that he'd ever practise medicine again, Wilson’s optimism aside. If he were ever to try though the suspension of his medical license for malpractice would be more of an obstacle to overcome than a murder conviction. A medical review board might forgive a violent crime, but causing a patient's death by ignoring procedure and protocol was another matter.
The file had a detailed summary of the case, and Greg had briefly perused it the evening before, along with Wilson. On the face of it he could see why his younger self had made the decisions he had. The patient would have died given the attending doctor's course of action. The treatment Greg had administered could have saved his life. He'd been forbidden from pursuing it because it was risky, and as likely to kill as to cure. He'd gone ahead and done it anyway.
He'd asked Wilson what he thought of the decision he'd made, and what he would have done. Wilson had hesitated, but then admitted that he would have taken the 'safe' course and done nothing.
Greg thought that was what he would do if similar circumstances arose again.
He flicked through the file, pausing again at the photo of his younger self. There was a superficial resemblance to the face he saw in the mirror but the man in the photo might as well have been a complete stranger, for all the resemblance he bore to what Greg was now. He wondered what young Greg would make of the man he had become.
Glancing at the clock he realised it was nearly time to get up. He put the file down and started straightening his bed - tidying it to an acceptable standard.
He was midway through cleaning up after breakfast, and Wilson had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock on the door. Wilson yelled out at him to get the door, which was something he'd never done before.
Greg opened the door to find two police officers standing there. A woman and a man. He took a step back and lowered his gaze.
"Where's your owner? Are you here by yourself?" The woman asked, without any preliminaries.
"He's just getting dressed, Ma'am."
The officers moved past him, into the main living area. Wilson came from the other direction, rubbing at his hair with a towel. He looked startled to see two police officers in his living room.
"Can I help you?"
"Officers Lehaine and Connelly," the female officer said, flashing a badge at Wilson. "Sorry to call so early Doctor Wilson but we received a report that a slave living at this address was involved in an incident yesterday and we wanted to catch you before you went to work. Is this your slave, sir?" She waved a hand at Greg.
Wilson glanced at Greg. "Yes, this is Greg. He saved the life of a child of one of our neighbours yesterday. Is that the 'incident' you're referring to?"
"Yes, sir. Did the slave exit this apartment without your knowledge or permission?"
Greg tensed. It was true that he hadn't been given permission to leave the apartment, and the collar had been set to trigger an alarm if he did - which was implicitly saying that he was restricted to the apartment. He'd had chance to read up on slave regulations once he was given unrestricted access to the internet. Slaves could go out in public without their owners, but only if they had been given permission. A slave who hadn't been given permission could be seized by the police if discovered. He covertly glanced from one police officer to the other, and then at Wilson.
"He did but only after his help was requested by my neighbour. From what I understand my neighbour - Nora - knocked on the door to the apartment and asked for help. Greg saw that her child was choking and applied first aid which removed the obstruction. He administered CPR until the boy was breathing again. He then returned to this apartment without delay. Do you think Greg should have just ignored her and let the child die?"
"No, of course not. There's no need to get defensive, Doctor Wilson. We're not saying you, or your slave, did anything wrong. It's an unusual situation that's all. How did the slave know what to do for the child?"
" Greg was a doctor before he was enslaved."
Greg felt a moment of satisfaction when both officers looked surprised at the revelation.
"Well," Lehaine continued after a moment's pause and a disbelieving look at Greg. "As the child has recovered and your slave seems to be under control we'll just check out the slave's paperwork, and his collar, and we'll leave you alone."
"His collar?"
"Routine inspection, we do it whenever we’re called out for an incident involving a slave." She turned to him, addressing him directly for the first time since entering the apartment. "Kneel down so I can check your collar."
Greg knelt. At one time he wouldn't have thought twice about kneeling, but now, in front of Wilson, he felt oddly reluctant. He tried to ignore the officer's fingers brushing his neck as she examined his collar, writing down his registration number from the tag there. While he kept his head bowed she checked the fit and the locking mechanism.
"Do you have the control?" she asked Wilson.
"What for?"
"As I said, it's just routine. Now, please get me the control, Doctor Wilson. I don't want to hold you up longer than necessary."
Wilson reluctantly went to get it. When he handed it over the officer made an adjustment and then pressed a button. Greg started at the no longer familiar sensation of the electric shock.
"I didn't say you could do that!" Wilson said indignantly. "Greg, are you okay?" He came over and laid a hand on Greg's shoulder, which Greg realised prevented any more shocks from being delivered.
"I used the lowest level, he barely felt it. You should be testing it at that level once a week anyway. Now, please show us his registration papers and the secure room you have for him and we'll be on our way."
Greg hadn't been told to get up so he stayed on his knees as they went to his bedroom with Wilson. He heard a low murmuring of voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. When they came back Lehaine was holding some documents.
"You can get up, Greg," Wilson said.
He struggled to get to his feet, wishing he had his cane, but he'd laid it aside when the police came. Wilson saw his difficulty and helped him up, steadying him on his feet. Lehaine ignored them while she examined the papers. Greg noticed that her partner kept his eye on both of them.
"Okay, that seems to be in order. Please think about what I said, Doctor Wilson, it doesn't pay to coddle these slaves. They need a firm hand."
Wilson didn't say anything and she shook her head. "Good day, Doctor Wilson, we'll probably be seeing you again one day."
After they left Wilson threw the controller across the room and ran his hand through his hair.
"Damn. I'm sorry about that, Greg. You don’t deserve to be treated like that."
Greg might have laughed at Wilson thinking the police officer’s treatment of him was particularly harsh but he was still recovering from the unexpected visit. He picked up his cane and made his way over to the stools by the kitchen counter, easing himself down on one. His leg hadn't appreciated the kneeling, and then the shock.
"Next time I won't help the kid," he said, rubbing his thigh.
Wilson stared at him with wide eyes for a moment and then laughed. Greg hadn't really intended to be humorous but at least Wilson wasn't looking so angry now. He took his chance to find out what he wanted to know.
"What did she say to you, when you went to my bedroom?"
"Well, she liked how neat and tidy it was. She approved of your cleaning skills. Then she told me that she thought I was 'spoiling' you. As if a standard bedroom and a small bathroom is the height of luxury."
Greg couldn't argue with the police officer - it was indeed a luxury, for a slave. The visit had reminded him just how the rest of the world viewed slaves. The way she had talked to Wilson - not to him, and the casual way she'd used the controller, had thrown Greg straight back to how he was treated before Wilson bought him. Many times, of course, it had been worse than that - and there had been no Wilson to try and intervene either. Just the attempt was something far outside his experience.
"Can she do anything to us... to me?"
"Neither of us have done anything wrong. Just the opposite in your case. You saved that boy's life. The whole time you've been living here you haven't done anything that would cause anyone any alarm. I've got the damn collar on you, that's all I'm legally required to do." Wilson looked at his watch. "I've got to get ready, I'm going to be late. Listen, don't worry about it okay?"
That was easy enough for Wilson to say, Greg thought, but it was out of his control anyway. What would happen to him would happen, just as it always had.
After Wilson had left for the hospital Greg did his usual thorough cleaning job on the apartment and then showered. He had just finished getting dressed when there was another knock on the door. He froze, thinking that the police had come back, this time when Wilson wasn’t here. Then he heard a woman’s voice calling out, the woman from yesterday - Nora. He opened the door reluctantly and she was standing there, her son shyly peeking out from behind her.
“Doctor Wilson isn’t here,” he said, hoping she didn’t have another medical emergency.
“I just came to say thank you, I didn’t have a chance yesterday.” She seemed uneasy, not quite looking at him. Then she gave him a basket with some items in it, the whole thing covered in a colourful wrapping.
He took it and thanked her. She kept standing there and he wasn’t sure what he should say next. He obviously couldn’t invite her in, and he doubted she would come anyway. He didn’t want to cross the threshold and risk setting off the alarm in his collar again - Wilson surely wouldn’t be happy to have another work day interrupted.
“Anyway, I need to go but I just wanted to thank you properly.”
“I’ll tell Doctor Wilson that you called by,” he offered when she still hesitated and finally she nodded and walked off, the young boy staring back at him as they left.
He quickly shut the door and retreated back into the apartment, putting the gift down on the table in the kitchen. He stared at it. It seemed to be full of different foodstuffs. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it. She had given it to him, but everything he owned belonged to Wilson. Rightfully the basket was his.
With his previous owners he wouldn’t have hesitated at taking something from the basket, if he could get away with it. Now he was reluctant. Wilson had been more than generous with him, and taking things from this gift without permission was a poor way to return that generosity. And Wilson had never left him short of food, he didn’t need to hide away what he could.
He finally left the basket in the kitchen, untouched, and returned to the desk where he studied.
He settled down with the file Wilson had given him and the computer. There were a few things in the medical case he wanted to follow up on. He needed to know whether he had been right in that case. Whether he had done the right thing.
Words: Approx 2500
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
He is being held down. Rough hands grab his ankles, more hands press his chest into the ground. His mouth is stuffed with a dirty cloth and he can't call out, he can hardly breathe. He shoves against them with all his strength but he can't get free. His hair is grabbed and his head is yanked around so he faces his tormentor. The man laughs at him, and waves a shiny blade in front of his eyes.
"I've been waiting to do this," the man says. "Hold him tight, boys."
He tries to scream but the cloth muffles it. The blade comes closer, he pushes at them but he can’t, he can’t. He can’t escape.
Greg woke with a start, his heart pounding, the images still resonating in his head. He kicked his feet out, ignoring the twinge from his leg. He wasn't being held down, and there was no-one in the room with him. He was alone in his bedroom, in Wilson’s home. He was safe.
Just a dream , he told himself, that's all it was . Nothing to be scared of. He flicked the light on and got up, going to the bathroom to splash water on his face. The cold water chased away the last of the dream and the memory was already fading.
He used to dream a lot, in the first years of his enslavement. He never remembered any details when he woke up and had always assumed they were memories, breaking through while he was asleep. After a few years the dreams had stopped.
Looking at the file, and reading about his crimes, had probably brought them back. It didn't take a genius to realise that his dream was related to the attacks in the prison. He still didn't remember those incidents. When he read the story in the file it was as if it happened to someone else, not to him. It meant nothing to him.
The file was on the nightstand, where he'd left it the night before. Wilson had gone over it with him, adding the contents of his own discussion with the detective who had discovered the story.
Greg had known that his crimes must be serious for his sentence to be so long. Even so, the conviction for murder had given him pause when he first read it. Wilson had emphasized to him that there was every possibility that he'd killed the man in self-defence, or to prevent future attacks. Unlike in his dream, when he'd been powerless to fight off the attackers, in reality he had lashed out with a weapon. He had taken a man's life.
He shook his head. If the circumstances in real life had been as they were in his dream... He could still feel the terror of that dream - the helplessness. He would have used a weapon, if he had possessed one. He opened his hand, imagining a small, home-made, blade resting there.
The man in his dreams had had a knife.
The malpractice case was of more immediate concern to Greg. He didn't really believe that he'd ever practise medicine again, Wilson’s optimism aside. If he were ever to try though the suspension of his medical license for malpractice would be more of an obstacle to overcome than a murder conviction. A medical review board might forgive a violent crime, but causing a patient's death by ignoring procedure and protocol was another matter.
The file had a detailed summary of the case, and Greg had briefly perused it the evening before, along with Wilson. On the face of it he could see why his younger self had made the decisions he had. The patient would have died given the attending doctor's course of action. The treatment Greg had administered could have saved his life. He'd been forbidden from pursuing it because it was risky, and as likely to kill as to cure. He'd gone ahead and done it anyway.
He'd asked Wilson what he thought of the decision he'd made, and what he would have done. Wilson had hesitated, but then admitted that he would have taken the 'safe' course and done nothing.
Greg thought that was what he would do if similar circumstances arose again.
He flicked through the file, pausing again at the photo of his younger self. There was a superficial resemblance to the face he saw in the mirror but the man in the photo might as well have been a complete stranger, for all the resemblance he bore to what Greg was now. He wondered what young Greg would make of the man he had become.
Glancing at the clock he realised it was nearly time to get up. He put the file down and started straightening his bed - tidying it to an acceptable standard.
He was midway through cleaning up after breakfast, and Wilson had just gotten out of the shower when there was a knock on the door. Wilson yelled out at him to get the door, which was something he'd never done before.
Greg opened the door to find two police officers standing there. A woman and a man. He took a step back and lowered his gaze.
"Where's your owner? Are you here by yourself?" The woman asked, without any preliminaries.
"He's just getting dressed, Ma'am."
The officers moved past him, into the main living area. Wilson came from the other direction, rubbing at his hair with a towel. He looked startled to see two police officers in his living room.
"Can I help you?"
"Officers Lehaine and Connelly," the female officer said, flashing a badge at Wilson. "Sorry to call so early Doctor Wilson but we received a report that a slave living at this address was involved in an incident yesterday and we wanted to catch you before you went to work. Is this your slave, sir?" She waved a hand at Greg.
Wilson glanced at Greg. "Yes, this is Greg. He saved the life of a child of one of our neighbours yesterday. Is that the 'incident' you're referring to?"
"Yes, sir. Did the slave exit this apartment without your knowledge or permission?"
Greg tensed. It was true that he hadn't been given permission to leave the apartment, and the collar had been set to trigger an alarm if he did - which was implicitly saying that he was restricted to the apartment. He'd had chance to read up on slave regulations once he was given unrestricted access to the internet. Slaves could go out in public without their owners, but only if they had been given permission. A slave who hadn't been given permission could be seized by the police if discovered. He covertly glanced from one police officer to the other, and then at Wilson.
"He did but only after his help was requested by my neighbour. From what I understand my neighbour - Nora - knocked on the door to the apartment and asked for help. Greg saw that her child was choking and applied first aid which removed the obstruction. He administered CPR until the boy was breathing again. He then returned to this apartment without delay. Do you think Greg should have just ignored her and let the child die?"
"No, of course not. There's no need to get defensive, Doctor Wilson. We're not saying you, or your slave, did anything wrong. It's an unusual situation that's all. How did the slave know what to do for the child?"
" Greg was a doctor before he was enslaved."
Greg felt a moment of satisfaction when both officers looked surprised at the revelation.
"Well," Lehaine continued after a moment's pause and a disbelieving look at Greg. "As the child has recovered and your slave seems to be under control we'll just check out the slave's paperwork, and his collar, and we'll leave you alone."
"His collar?"
"Routine inspection, we do it whenever we’re called out for an incident involving a slave." She turned to him, addressing him directly for the first time since entering the apartment. "Kneel down so I can check your collar."
Greg knelt. At one time he wouldn't have thought twice about kneeling, but now, in front of Wilson, he felt oddly reluctant. He tried to ignore the officer's fingers brushing his neck as she examined his collar, writing down his registration number from the tag there. While he kept his head bowed she checked the fit and the locking mechanism.
"Do you have the control?" she asked Wilson.
"What for?"
"As I said, it's just routine. Now, please get me the control, Doctor Wilson. I don't want to hold you up longer than necessary."
Wilson reluctantly went to get it. When he handed it over the officer made an adjustment and then pressed a button. Greg started at the no longer familiar sensation of the electric shock.
"I didn't say you could do that!" Wilson said indignantly. "Greg, are you okay?" He came over and laid a hand on Greg's shoulder, which Greg realised prevented any more shocks from being delivered.
"I used the lowest level, he barely felt it. You should be testing it at that level once a week anyway. Now, please show us his registration papers and the secure room you have for him and we'll be on our way."
Greg hadn't been told to get up so he stayed on his knees as they went to his bedroom with Wilson. He heard a low murmuring of voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. When they came back Lehaine was holding some documents.
"You can get up, Greg," Wilson said.
He struggled to get to his feet, wishing he had his cane, but he'd laid it aside when the police came. Wilson saw his difficulty and helped him up, steadying him on his feet. Lehaine ignored them while she examined the papers. Greg noticed that her partner kept his eye on both of them.
"Okay, that seems to be in order. Please think about what I said, Doctor Wilson, it doesn't pay to coddle these slaves. They need a firm hand."
Wilson didn't say anything and she shook her head. "Good day, Doctor Wilson, we'll probably be seeing you again one day."
After they left Wilson threw the controller across the room and ran his hand through his hair.
"Damn. I'm sorry about that, Greg. You don’t deserve to be treated like that."
Greg might have laughed at Wilson thinking the police officer’s treatment of him was particularly harsh but he was still recovering from the unexpected visit. He picked up his cane and made his way over to the stools by the kitchen counter, easing himself down on one. His leg hadn't appreciated the kneeling, and then the shock.
"Next time I won't help the kid," he said, rubbing his thigh.
Wilson stared at him with wide eyes for a moment and then laughed. Greg hadn't really intended to be humorous but at least Wilson wasn't looking so angry now. He took his chance to find out what he wanted to know.
"What did she say to you, when you went to my bedroom?"
"Well, she liked how neat and tidy it was. She approved of your cleaning skills. Then she told me that she thought I was 'spoiling' you. As if a standard bedroom and a small bathroom is the height of luxury."
Greg couldn't argue with the police officer - it was indeed a luxury, for a slave. The visit had reminded him just how the rest of the world viewed slaves. The way she had talked to Wilson - not to him, and the casual way she'd used the controller, had thrown Greg straight back to how he was treated before Wilson bought him. Many times, of course, it had been worse than that - and there had been no Wilson to try and intervene either. Just the attempt was something far outside his experience.
"Can she do anything to us... to me?"
"Neither of us have done anything wrong. Just the opposite in your case. You saved that boy's life. The whole time you've been living here you haven't done anything that would cause anyone any alarm. I've got the damn collar on you, that's all I'm legally required to do." Wilson looked at his watch. "I've got to get ready, I'm going to be late. Listen, don't worry about it okay?"
That was easy enough for Wilson to say, Greg thought, but it was out of his control anyway. What would happen to him would happen, just as it always had.
After Wilson had left for the hospital Greg did his usual thorough cleaning job on the apartment and then showered. He had just finished getting dressed when there was another knock on the door. He froze, thinking that the police had come back, this time when Wilson wasn’t here. Then he heard a woman’s voice calling out, the woman from yesterday - Nora. He opened the door reluctantly and she was standing there, her son shyly peeking out from behind her.
“Doctor Wilson isn’t here,” he said, hoping she didn’t have another medical emergency.
“I just came to say thank you, I didn’t have a chance yesterday.” She seemed uneasy, not quite looking at him. Then she gave him a basket with some items in it, the whole thing covered in a colourful wrapping.
He took it and thanked her. She kept standing there and he wasn’t sure what he should say next. He obviously couldn’t invite her in, and he doubted she would come anyway. He didn’t want to cross the threshold and risk setting off the alarm in his collar again - Wilson surely wouldn’t be happy to have another work day interrupted.
“Anyway, I need to go but I just wanted to thank you properly.”
“I’ll tell Doctor Wilson that you called by,” he offered when she still hesitated and finally she nodded and walked off, the young boy staring back at him as they left.
He quickly shut the door and retreated back into the apartment, putting the gift down on the table in the kitchen. He stared at it. It seemed to be full of different foodstuffs. He just wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it. She had given it to him, but everything he owned belonged to Wilson. Rightfully the basket was his.
With his previous owners he wouldn’t have hesitated at taking something from the basket, if he could get away with it. Now he was reluctant. Wilson had been more than generous with him, and taking things from this gift without permission was a poor way to return that generosity. And Wilson had never left him short of food, he didn’t need to hide away what he could.
He finally left the basket in the kitchen, untouched, and returned to the desk where he studied.
He settled down with the file Wilson had given him and the computer. There were a few things in the medical case he wanted to follow up on. He needed to know whether he had been right in that case. Whether he had done the right thing.