A few days later

Nolan looked up as Greg entered his office. After Wilson's phone call to him a few days ago Nolan was prepared for a difficult session. He suspected that Greg himself didn't know why he was doing some of the things he was doing. Integrating his old memories into his new life was proving very difficult for him, as Nolan had thought it would be. His warm greeting to Greg was cut off when he saw Doctor Wilson enter the office, trailing behind Greg. He frowned. He had not invited Wilson to join their sessions. Greg needed to be able to talk in private about his owner.

"I asked Doctor Wilson to join us today, we have some things to talk about," Greg said. "I'd better warn you though - he doesn't like psychiatrists. He thinks you can see all his little secrets." The latter was said with a smirk in Wilson's direction. Greg seemed to be in a good mood today - more so than he had for the last couple of sessions.

"It would have been better if you informed me of this earlier, Greg. We could have talked about it." Nolan said mildly. He generally didn't mind patient's friends and families attending sessions, but he did like to be able to adequately prepare for them. And friends and families were a different case than owners.

"I hadn't decided earlier," Greg answered easily. Then he put a hand up to the collar around his neck and to Nolan's astonishment pulled it off, throwing it onto the desk. "I'm guessing you aren't going to call the police on us if I take this off in here."

Nolan turned to Wilson, inviting his comment. Wilson shrugged. "I told Greg it was his choice whether to wear the thing or not."

Clearly Wilson had been thinking things through on his own. Nolan hadn't expected this move but he was pleased by it. He was also intrigued by Greg's decision to wear the collar on the trip to his office. By Greg's admission his life prior to becoming a slave had been one of reckless choices with little concern for future consequences. Wearing the collar that he hated voluntarily in public seemed to suggest that something had changed.

He waved them both to the chairs in front of his desk. This was going to be an interesting session.

A few weeks later

Cuddy rang the doorbell of Wilson's apartment with some trepidation. Wilson had made it clear that she was here to meet Greg - or House, as he apparently now wanted to be called. When Greg had seen her a few months earlier his response had been to fall to his knees and begin retching. Wilson had assured her that wouldn't happen this time. Even so, it was still going to be strange seeing Greg House, her old college fling, as a slave.

After Greg had run off a few weeks ago - causing Wilson to go chasing off after him - Wilson had taken a week off. He'd told her that Greg was back but they both needed some time to work some things out. She'd raised an eyebrow at that but granted him his leave. When he'd returned Wilson had seemed happier and more settled. He had stopped coming into the hospital early and leaving late and her social life took a nose dive when his dinner invitations to her had dried up. She'd lost out to a slave.

The door opened and she found herself face to face with Greg House. He was older of course - so was she - but his eyes were the same vivid shade of blue. There was a fine layer of stubble on his chin and his hair was the usual mess that she remembered from college. She stared at him for a moment before realising what was wrong.

He wasn't wearing a slave collar.

"Hello, Lisa." He smirked at her, and that was another thing that was familiar. "It's been a long time. You're looking older."

"Hello, Greg. I could say the same for you." She was thrown off track by his lack of a collar; she'd been prepared to be graciously polite to a slave - but he was like no slave she'd ever seen. Had Wilson managed to get him freed? If so, why hadn't he mentioned it?

"Call me House," he said. "Greg's my secret slave name now." Despite his brazen attitude she could sense that he was tense, nervous. He was carrying a cane in his right hand, and leaning on it heavily.

She could see the skin around his throat was scarred, marked by an invisible collar, even if one no longer sat there. He'd worn one for a long time.

He noticed where she was looking of course.

"Wilson's decided it's an optional fashion accessory. I hope you don't mind? Or are you into bondage now?"

What was she going to say? That she wanted him to wear a collar?

"No, of course not." To both the bondage question, and the collar question.

"Then you might as well come in."

He waved a hand in her direction, for all the world as if he owned the apartment, and she stepped inside.

Wilson was in the kitchen, and as soon as she entered he stopped what he was doing and greeted her warmly.

"Thanks for coming, Lisa."

Greg hadn't followed her and she took a moment to address her concerns with Wilson.

"He's not wearing a collar!"

"No. House has the choice. He can wear it, or not wear it, as he wants. I'm not keeping a slave, Lisa. Not anymore."

"It's the law. He has to wear it. All slaves have to."

Wilson shrugged. "Sometimes laws should be broken." He held up a hand as she tried to protest. "There's no point arguing. This is what we're doing. If you don't like it, you're free to leave."

She shook her head. It was their funeral she guessed. Greg came up to her, a glass of wine in his hand.

"Don't worry, Lisa. I'm not escaping tonight." His eyes were serious, despite his words. He gave her the glass, their hands touching slightly as he passed it over. Wilson moved off to attend to something in the oven and Greg leaned in closer, speaking softly. "I know the consequences, for both of us, if I get caught without a collar. The choice is an illusion, but Wilson giving me the choice, that matters. It matters a lot."

She believed him.

Dinner was delicious. From what she could see both men enjoyed cooking, and they shared the responsibilities - squabbling amiably from time to time over procedures and timing. There was no indication in either man's manner that they weren't just two friends, rather than owner and slave. She found herself following Wilson's example and treating House as an old friend from college rather than a slave. She had thought that there brief sexual history might lie heavy between them but then realised that a veritable lifetime had passed - for both of them - since then. They were different people than they had been.

After dinner conversation turned to a difficult case Wilson had encountered at the hospital's free clinic. The patient's symptoms were puzzling and he and Greg traded ideas on diagnosis and possible treatment. Greg's ideas were extreme, but possible, and his suggested treatment course was daring.

Cuddy was no fool - she realised that the conversation hadn't drifted to this topic by accident, but she couldn't help but be impressed by House's medical knowledge - considering that he'd reportedly spent the last twenty years sweeping floors. He'd been brilliant in college, and from the accounts she'd received of his brief medical career after college he'd specialised in diagnosing the difficult cases no-one else could. Until he'd made a fatal misjudgement and his life had fallen apart.

With careful management she could use that sort of talent in her hospital. Every year they lost people they could have saved, if they could only have diagnosed them in time.

It was extremely unlikely that House would ever have a medical license again - the murder conviction and the amount of time spent as a slave were hard hurdles to overcome, and his prior conviction for medical malpractice would carry even more weight. Even without a license, though, he could consult. She could use him.

"Let me know what happens with your patient," she said to Wilson. If House was correct in his diagnosis... well, there were always possibilities. Nothing was impossible.

A few months later

House stood in the middle of the house, looking around. Wilson's ex-wife number two, Bonnie, was here so he had his collar on. Knowing that it wasn't locked and that the control was deactivated made all the difference. And it was worth it to see how uncomfortable Bonnie was with his presence. She'd been shooting looks between Wilson and him ever since they arrived. Probably wondered why her ex-husband had suddenly acquired a 'personal slave' and just what he got up to with that slave.

The house had been Wilson's idea. He had declared that he was tired of apartment living and it was time to get a house in the suburbs. Bonnie - the worst realtor in New Jersey according to Wilson - had found them this one. It was the last house in a quiet street, set back away from its neighbours. There were high fences around the yard, and trees obscuring the front of the house. House would be able to go outside whenever he wanted without worrying about prying eyes. Not to mention that he would be able to play the guitar whenever he wanted. The Condo Board would be a thing of the past.

"Hey, House - come and look at this!" Wilson called out. It turned out that he'd found the laundry. "Look, plenty of room for a dryer and a washing machine. You can do the laundry without being hassled." The current owner's appliances were there and Wilson patted them proudly, as if he'd invented the concept himself.

House poked at both with his cane, scowling. "Wilson?"

"Yes, House?"

"I hate doing the laundry."

A year later

Wilson came home to find scans tacked around the walls of their dining room and the table covered in lab results. Two of the hospital's brightest young doctors were seated at the table and House was pacing around the room.

"Come on, come on. Think. Give me another reason for these symptoms." House said, fixing an angry gaze on the two youngsters. "Or did you sleep through medical school?"

Cuddy had allowed House to consult on a couple of difficult cases over the last year, and he'd solved both of them. This was the first time that any of the hospital's other doctors had come to their house though. House wasn't wearing the collar so Wilson hoped that they could be trusted to be discreet.

"Could be cancer," Wilson offered, more for something to say than for any medical reason.

House rolled his eyes at him. "Says the oncologist."

He turned back to the other doctors and the ddx rolled on without Wilson's further input. After a while House dismissed the pair, sending them back to the hospital. Wilson followed them out to the door.

"Doctor Cuddy asked you to consult on this case?"

Chen smiled wryly. "Well, it was more that House told her that he needed to see us I think. He wanted to go over the scans in person."

"To kick our asses," Riley added sourly.

"About House..." Wilson said delicately, scratching at his eyebrow with one thumb. Chen spared him having to put it into words.

"Don't worry, Doctor Wilson. Doctor Cuddy briefed us. It's great, what you've done for him." Riley nodded although he still looked resentful. "I can't say he's a pleasure to work with exactly - but it's a learning experience. He sees things that nobody else would see."

When Wilson returned to the living room House was back at the scans, poring over them intently. He looked up as Wilson entered.

"You're right - it was cancer. Hiding in plain sight." He stood up. "Drive me to the hospital; I need to see this patient in person. They're lying about something."

"House..."

"Don't worry, I'll wear my collar. There's no law about a slave talking to a patient is there?"

"I'll get my coat."

Four Years later

Wilson stared at the check in his hands. He'd been given compensation by the State of New Jersey for the loss of his slave. House's twenty five year sentence had expired that morning, and along with that so did Wilson's legal right to own him. The check represented House's 'residual value'.

House looked over his shoulder. "Is that all? You should appeal. I'm worth a lot more than five hundred bucks."

His collar was gone. For good this time. In his hand he held a small bag that contained the possessions that had been taken from him when he was first incarcerated, and some identification papers issued by the State. Along with that was the paperwork that declared him a free man. He could go anywhere he wanted, and do anything he wanted.

Wilson shoved the check in his pocket. He'd find a good use for it. Nolan was in touch with a slave abolition group that helped former slaves adapt to life as free people. They could use the money.

House proudly held up a check of his own. "One hundred dollars to start my new life with."

When they returned home there was a new addition to their driveway.

"I thought you might like it," Wilson said with a grin at House's astonished glance. It was a Repsol motorcycle, a little bit battered, but the mechanic had assured Wilson that it went like a dream. "To celebrate your new life."

House went over to it and touched it reverently. Wilson saw him swallow hard. House had told him how he used to ride a bike.

"Your license has lapsed of course - so you'll have to take the written test, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to take a refresher course..." Wilson realised that House wasn't listening to him. He was just staring at the bike. Wilson knew why - the bike represented freedom for him.

... and finally

"You'll come back?" Wilson asked as House strapped a bag onto the bike. House had declared that before he decided on his future - whether it was medicine or something else - he wanted to take a few months and just experience the world as a free person. He was taking off on the bike.

"I'll be back," House said, but he didn't meet Wilson's eyes. They both knew that anything could happen on the road - maybe he would find a home, or a purpose, somewhere else. He'd see House again, but there was no guarantee that House would come back home.

"You'll be careful?" Wilson had been out with House on the bike a couple times. Being careful wasn't House's standard mode of riding.

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom." He jammed the helmet on his head.

Wilson watched as he drove off down the street. Already his life felt emptier, and the house too big for him.

At the end of the road House paused, looking back over his shoulder. Wilson wondered what the problem was and then House turned around and drove back. He stopped by Wilson and took off his helmet. Their eyes met.

"Come with me."

The End

Thanks to everyone who stuck it through to the end, and especially to those who've commented along the way. Your encouragement makes all the difference and is appreciated more than you can know :-)

Tailkinker