This is one possible resolution to the 'Mirror' AU of the CollarVerse, following on from A Slave in the Mirror and House in the Mirror. This is also a Christmas story, inspired in part by Oflymonddreams excellent series - CollarRedux : The Six Days of Christmas. Warning, this fic is somewhat sweet and sentimental, compared to the normal CollarVerse stories anyway :) I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Greg was playing the piano when he heard the knock on his door. Instinctively he tensed, hitting a sour note in the rendition of Silent Night he was entertaining his neighbours with. He stopped playing and, grabbing his cane from where it rested against the piano, he levered himself to his feet.

This was Greg's first Christmas since that miraculous day when he'd woken up in a bed in this apartment, in this world without slaves. Now, months later, he still savoured his freedom every morning when he woke up and realised he was still here, that he was still free. He didn't know how long this experience would last but he was determined to make it count. He had fifteen years of slavery to make up for.

He limped over to the door and pulled it open, to be greeted with the sight of Wilson standing there, arms full of Chinese food and a six-pack of beer.

He could look at Wilson now without flinching, without remembering that other man, the one in his own universe. The one who had called him slave and claimed him for his own. This Wilson wasn't like that. He'd slowly become used to having him around, and had begun forming a friendship with him. The sort of friendship that his own Wilson had offered in the beginning, although House had realised even then that he was only using that to gain his own ends. This friendship didn't seem to come with any strings attached. Wilson had never made any moves towards him, never asked for anything from Greg. Greg had tested him several times, giving Wilson every opportunity to show his true colours but Wilson had passed every test.

Wilson had suggested the Chinese take-out, had said it was a tradition between he and House. There had been a look of loss in his eyes, a genuine sadness and Greg had been reminded again that for everything he had gained through this move to another reality Wilson had lost. He'd lost his friend of fifteen years. Greg wasn't sorry, how could he be? But he had rationalised that he wouldn't do any harm to allow Wilson this little ritual. And he'd generously allowed Wilson to buy both the beer and the food. After all, he was supplying the venue.

They ate in front of the television, feet propped up on the television, a beer in the hand that wasn't using chopsticks.

"House's Mom called." Greg said casually. "She's going to his Aunt Sarah's for Christmas, thought she'd call on Christmas Eve."

Wilson looked at him with wide eyes.

"Did you tell her? That you aren't House I mean? Did she guess?"
"Let's see - did she guess that her son has somehow been replaced by a version from a different reality? That would be a no, and no, I didn't tell her. What would be the point? "

Greg looked away from Wilson, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He hadn't talked to his own Mom for fifteen years. He'd called her once, in a moment of weakness, just after being bought by the hospital. He wasn't supposed to, and his father had come on the line and told him not to call again. Greg never had. Talking to House's Mom had been much like taking to his own, but she still wasn't his Mom. There was no need to upset the woman though, House obviously had little contact with her, she didn't need to know that her son was gone, transported to a different reality, maybe a slave there. A few words from Greg appeared to be enough to keep her happy.

Conversation died for a while with both men absorbed in their own thoughts. They consumed the six pack of beer and then Greg brought out a bottle of whiskey.

"A gift from a grateful patient. Happy Christmas, he said."

Wilson looked at him oddly, Greg suspected that he had something un 'House-like'. Then Wilson seemed to shrug it off, just that odd moment of weirdness that they both often experienced.

"It is, for you. I guess this is your first real Christmas in a while, not that House was much of a celebrator. Did... did the slaves get anything special to celebrate?" Wilson was the only one who ever mentioned the word 'slave'. Cuddy had apparently decided that pretending nothing had changed was the best strategy and the fellows didn't know, although all of them had expressed puzzlement at certain changes in their boss. Greg had seen the looks they gave him, especially in the first few weeks after the changeover.

He'd had the collar galls on his neck removed by a skilled New York plastic surgeon. The scars on his back he'd allowed to remain - it wasn't like he was in the habit of stripping off his shirt in public. There were very few physical traces of the old Greg left. Inside though... being a slave was an experience he would never forget, it had changed him fundamentally, had stripped him back to a level barely above an animal and it had taken years for him to recover what remained of Greg House, some things were lost forever.

One thing he didn't want to think about now was those Christmas's past as a slave at the hospital. There was very little that was good about them, save for some moments with Stacy. Certainly no-one had ever considered that the slaves had anything to celebrate, least of all the slaves themselves.

"No," he said flatly in answer to Wilson's question.
Wilson looked discomforted and embarrassed as he always did after trying to probe into Greg's past experiences. He took a sip of the whiskey, sinking back into his chair, eyes fixed on the television.

The rest of the night passed quietly, they talked about patients, about hospital staff, the latest gossip. Greg had found that many of the staff were the same as he remembered them, although a few were different. Many of the faces were familiar, including many who had tormented him as a slave. Generally he'd found that those who were particularly dickish about his slave status were still dicks in this universe, but the difference was that they couldn't touch him here. He'd enjoyed some vicarious revenge by making their lives as difficult as possible. A word in the right place, and some papers making their way to Cuddy's desk had ensured that Dick Carbin had been motivated to hand in his resignation. Some security staff had found that seeking employment elsewhere would be advised after some unsavory incidents in their past had been uncovered.

Greg suspected that Wilson knew what he'd been up to, even if he didn't know why, and Wilson had sent some key bits of gossip his way to facilitate matters. Once a few people had left the hospital became a more comfortable place for Greg and he'd found it easier to pick up the threads of his profession, achieving diagnoses as smoothly as he had back in 'his' world.

The evening drew on and more alcohol was consumed. Greg had been careful not to go back to his old ways of excess binging, he'd even stuck to a Vicodin schedule, and looked into alternative methods of pain management. While he knew that falling into addiction and bankruptcy here would not lead to his becoming a slave he also found that he had no desire to take up his previous lifestyle, he'd left that behind when he was enslaved, probably the only good side effect of the process.

Wilson had sunken into a dozy state of barely awake, still looking blearily at the television when Greg dropped a blanket into his lap.

"Going to bed, stay on the couch if you want."

Wilson looked up at him, startled awake. Wilson hadn't stayed for the night before. He'd been over for dinner a few times but Greg had never invited him to stay and Wilson had never asked, although Greg had received the impression that Wilson was used to sleeping on the couch, when House had been here.

"Er... " Wilson said.

"You know where the bathroom is, don't snore or I'll come and kick you out in the middle of the night." Greg replied, turning to go back to his bedroom. He felt a frisson of uneasiness, at the idea of Wilson sleeping in the next room, but dismissed it. Nothing would happen.

"Thank you," Wilson's words followed him down the hallway, "good night, Greg. Happy Christmas."

He said nothing in reply. Christmas meant nothing to him, and it hadn't for years. Christmas was for other people to enjoy.

He settled down to sleep.

House let himself into his small apartment. It wasn't much, a tiny box, in a bad neighbourhood but it was all he could afford for now. Money was tight, it wasn't easy getting a practice off the ground. To his surprise all three fellows had agreed to leave the hospital and come in with him. They had taken over a small practice, one where one doctor had unfortunately had his license suspended, and the other had a family emergency and was anxious to be free of his obligations to the place. Gradually they were gaining a reputation, with the three former fellows mostly seeing the walk-in clientele, while House used his reputation (well, Greg's reputation) to gain consults with other hospitals. Over the last fifteen years Cuddy had apparently built Greg's reputation up, both as a brilliant diagnostician and also as eccentric recluse, to dissuade any personal contact from others in the medical world. Now both were working in House's favour, he had many speaking engagement invitations, and many hospitals eager to consult with him, but none of the stigma associated with being a freed slave.

Their clinic was closed for the next couple of days, for the Christmas break. House had gone out for drinks for the fellows, having a couple and then leaving them so they could relax and bitch about him all they wanted.

He'd picked up some Chinese take-out, a rare luxury. While they'd both worked at Princeton Plainsboro Wilson and he had often celebrated Christmas Eve with Chinese take-out, it was a tradition, as much as House would admit to having traditions.

During the last few months he'd thought about calling this universe's Wilson many times. He didn't have a fifteen year friendship with him, and there were a lot of reasons to be wary of the man, but even in the few days he'd spent with Wilson he'd seen the same quick wit, the same spark that had attracted him to the man back in that bar in New Orleans. There had always been a certain edge to him that had interested House, had kept him intrigued. And conversation with Wilson had often seemed to spark the epiphanies that gave him the diagnosis for his patients. But that edge here had developed into a darkness that led him to a twisted relationship with Greg, a need to possess and control the slave, and to use him for his own ends. Having made the break with Wilson House knew it would be better to keep that distance.

What he really wanted was his Wilson back. If he were here they'd eat the food, drink some beers and spend the night mocking whatever television show they were watching. Wilson would probably crash on the couch and in the morning they'd find some fast food place that was open and chase off the hangover. His Mom would ring, either this evening or tomorrow for her twice annual - 'make sure Greg is still alive' call, and that would be another Christmas over. Not that he would miss the call from his Mom exactly, but he did miss Wilson.

Turning the cheap television set on he settled down to catch up on the soaps he'd missed during the week. He ate the Chinese food by himself, had a couple of drinks and went to bed.

Greg woke from a disturbing dream and blinked at the ceiling. Feeling disorientated he took a moment to regain his bearings. Yes, still in the new universe, in a bed, not a bunk in the corner of his office. He looked to the side and felt his heart kick into overdrive. There was a man in the bed.

His first thought was that Wilson had broken his trust, had come in here during the night. His next was that the huddled shape of the man was so familiar that he had no doubt who it was.

He tried to say something but his throat was closed in fear. He cleared it, coughing loudly and tried again.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The other's mans soft snores stopped and his eyes snapped open, taking in the sight of Greg staring back at him. He turned his focus to the room, his gaze quickly sweeping the contents. After a moment a quick smile of genuine pleasure and excitement swept over his face, only to be replaced with a scowl.

"Made yourself right at home didn't you? Get the fuck out of my bed."

"What did you expect me to do? Sleep on the street? Wasn't like you were using the place." Greg nevertheless got up out of the bed, stood by the side and looked down at House. He grabbed his cane up and stood ready, not sure what would happen now. He looked around the room, taking in the sight of freedom while he could, wondering if in the blink of an eye he would again be back in a narrow bunk in his office.

House also stood up, looking around and, finding no cane, he balanced himself on the wall.

"So why are we both here?" He asked Greg, eyes scanning the other man.

"Do I look like I'm in charge of alternative universe transportation? I didn't make the rules." Greg shot back and then looked again at House. He wasn't wearing a collar. "They didn't make you a slave?"

House shook his head, "they couldn't apparently. I didn't screw my life up like you did so it wouldn't have been 'fair'. They drew up a manumission document and 'freed' me."

Greg eyes widened. If House had been 'freed' then it meant if Greg went back they would have no authority to treat him as a slave.

House caught on and a small smile quirked his lips. "Yeah, either way, you're free now."

Greg had thought that it didn't matter that he'd never been formally freed, that just being free was enough. Now he realised that this was the final thing he needed. If he went back to his universe, and he was already feeling that he would, then he would still be free. Nobody would ever call him slave again.

"Thank you," he said sincerely to his counterpart.

House shrugged. "Don't thank me, I didn't arrange this little switch."

"So, what happened? Did the hospital employ you?" Greg asked, his curiosity piqued. He doubted that Cuddy would let go of her prized hospital possession easily.

"I did one case, and then I told them to shove it, walked out. I've started up a small practice, with the fellows. They do all the scut work, I do consults. Apparently Cuddy did a good job of selling you as some sort of genius, we're in demand."

Greg's mind was racing with the possibilities. No longer tied to the hospital, no longer tagged by Wilson, free to pursue his career in the way that he had only realised he wanted to, after he became a slave.
They both fell silent and then they heard a soft snoring from the living room. House looked in that direction.

"Somebody staying over? You have been busy."

"It's Wilson." Greg said. "He came over for dinner, and stayed."

House's eyes lit up, he looked again in that direction. "You are friends with him? After what Wilson did to you?"

"He's not the same," Greg said simply. "Whatever made him like that, it didn't happen here. He wants to be with you, but he doesn't want to own you."

House's eyes widened as Greg said that but then he looked uncertain. "Does he know?" House asked, "does he know about you and him?"

Greg swallowed hard but met House's gaze. "Yes, he does. You need to talk."

House nodded and then looked again towards the living room. He took a hesitant step there, bracing his thigh. Greg reached behind him and passed over a spare cane.

"Go. Go to him."

House took it and limped to the door, then looked back.

"You could stay."

Greg smiled, showing all his teeth. "I don't think there's any universe big enough for both of us. I can go home now."

House nodded, a nod of acknowledgment, and of recognition and then went. Greg followed him and stood in the doorway, watching as House bent over the couch and shook Wilson awake. He saw Wilson's eyes open in confusion and heard House's quiet words.

"It's House, Wilson. I'm back. I'm home."

Wilson stood up, standing in front of House and then slowly reached out and put his hands on House's arms.

"House," he said and Greg could see the tears in his eyes.

They both stood there awkwardly for a moment and then they were embracing, arms wrapped around each other as if they had never touched before. Greg watched them for a moment and then turned away, it was time to leave.

When he returned to the bedroom it wasn't the same as the one he left, it was smaller, different. Journals he hadn't been reading were piled by the bedside. Clothes he hadn't bought were hanging in the wardrobe.

The morning light was coming in the small window in the bedroom, and he looked in the mirror on the wall, and touched his throat, no collar and even the marks were gone. There was a new life waiting for him here, in this universe, a chance to start again.

He saw a phone lying beside the bed and picked it up. He punched a number into the phone, a number he had kept track of for fifteen years.

A woman's voice answered and he took a deep breath. A new start, he told himself.

"Mom? It's me, it's Greg. I'm... I'm free, Mom."

He heard a muffled sob from the other end of the line and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Mom."

The End

Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed the story I'd love it if you would say hi :) I hope you all had a good Christmas if you celebrate that, or any other holiday you celebrate at this time of year, and wishing you all a Happy New Year.