"To have the beginning of a great story, you need to have a character you're completely and utterly obsessed with. Without obsession, to the point of a maddening addiction, there's no point to continue."
-Jennifer Salaiz
Gregory House glanced around the waiting room on the fifth floor of the multi-office rental building, consciously studying the patients around him. Sitting back in the cheap, uncomfortable plastic chair with his 'Abraham Lincoln vs. T-Rex' T-Shirt on, he didn't fit the description for former and renown Diagnostics Department Head of Princeton Plainsboro at all. He glanced at his Casio watch, which looked as old and inexpensive as the seat he was sitting in. 2:30. Fifteen minutes past the appointment time.
The baby to his left began to cry as the mother tried to shush her back to sleep. House glanced over, lightly bracing the back of his head against the brick wall behind him, rolling his eyes behind the lids. He squinted one shut and peered dubiously out the other, noticing the mother's small breast size.
"Guess you could only fit half a happy meal in there? Do yourself a favor and leave her home next time. Bringing a whiny miniature human being in a room full of detoxing addicts is kind of moronic."
The mother rocked her baby faster, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, she hasn't had her nap today, and right now I can't afford-"
"Ooh yeah, that's real sympathetic, except I wasn't going to recommend a baby sitter. I was actually going to recommend leaving her home and opening a window, so then you and Eric Clapton would have two things in common, besides just being addicts."
The mother stared in disbelief at the stranger's comments. House opened his eyes and mouth wide, mocking her, continuing this expression until she shook her head and moved to the opposite side of the room. A younger man sitting on the other side with an open magazine in his hands defended her.
"Why don't you lay off her? Being a single mom can't be easy. Just 'cus you're a cripple doesn't give you the right to be an ass."
House took a short breath, bending over to rest his forehead against his cane, which he held in front of him. He responded without looking at either one of them in the face.
"She has designer heels on, I'd wager 200$ from Nordstrom, that have less than one scuff mark… I don't eat a lot of rice but I'd consider that simple math. By the way she's been holding and staring at her child I'd guess she has New Mother Anxiety, which means she'll be an awful parent, and her child will be crying like this all the way to 5th grade when mommy drops her off."
The mother was on the verge of tears, trying her best to ignore the fact that everyone was now staring at her heels. She turned to House in defense.
"Do you know how many forms of abuse happen every year from mothers who just pass off their children to people they barely even know!?"
House mimicked her expression of shock and angst while again verbally choke-slamming her.
"Do you know how many idiotic mothers bring an equally idiotic fetus into this world and idiotically raise them to be... idiotic?"
The mother realized it would be a waste to try to continue this conversation and chose to stay silent. She turned the other cheek and continued to rock her baby. This frustrated the young man, who was about to retort, but was cut short by House's continued lecture.
"And you're worse than an idiot. You're a desperate junkie. Do you really think a Suboxone doctor is going to give you bupe if you piss dirty with benzos?"
The young man let out a breath and a fake smirk, but everyone in the room noticed his flush of embarrassment. He was suddenly the target of attention in the room.
"I don't know what you're talking about bro, I-"
"You've been sitting there reading a Life & Garden magazine, stuck on the same Anne Hollowell article for the last twenty minutes. Fortunately I've been nudging your foot with my cane every four minutes, waking you out your nod and saving me from seeing your disgusting drool slide out the side of your face. Normally I'd wager another narcotic, but unlike my beautiful, baby blue pinpoint eyes which are saying 'Opiates', your big brown fecal colored eyes are shouting Xanax. Broseph."
There was a moment of silence in the room, and House halfway smirked at his confirmation, still staring at the terrified youth. He sat back in his chair again, twirling his cane in the now empty space to his right.
"I can sell you my pee if you want, but I gotta warn ya, baby blue pinpoints are in high demand right now-"
The young man had quickly gotten up and took off. He nearly bumped into the doctor's assistant who was approaching the waiting room doorway.
The assistant was an older woman slightly on the heavy side. She held a clipboard in her hand and her bagged eyes were staring at House behind her maroon colored glasses. House quickly skimmed her over, noticing every detail of her appearance.
"Gregory House, Dr. Daniels is ready to see you."
House stood up to his feet, nodding towards the young mother as he followed the assistant out the room. The baby was crying loudly.
"See you next week."
The rented out section of the small Addiction Maintenance & Therapy office was crowded. It was one of many in the central New Jersey area, though House had chosen this one for a specific reason. The middle room was hardly big enough for the assistant's desk who, by the many pictures in the room of them together, was obviously the doctor's wife.
House had done his homework. He had learned much about the doctor's history, but the sight of his practice revealed even more. Dr. Daniels wasn't big on cleanliness, lived happily on the bottom of the Psychiatric food chain, and had numerous old-school movie posters hanging in the hallway that led to his office, expressing his fanboyism for cinema. A pleasant thought of a memory long past consumed House's brain as it reminded him of his old friend Wilson, who had passed away twelve years ago while both of them were in Florida. His thoughts lingered to the many bike rides and bar scenes they experienced together in the last month of the illness. Walking through the main office door the memories were quickly interrupted as Dr. Daniels shifted his hand out to greet him. The assistant closed the door behind them, leaving House and the doctor alone in solitude.
The first thing House's eyes met was the obnoxious, bright orange tie the psychiatrist wore, with a big smiley face sun in the background smiling down at little dancing, mooing cows playing instruments. It reminded him of some dairy commercial on television gone wrong. He shifted his way past the extended hand and sat down in the chair opposite from the couch, a cold demeanor of piercing steel blue eyes underneath heavily bent eyebrows glaring out. He was a picture perfect image of melancholy.
"Let's get this over with, I'm missing the new season of Mob Wives."
Dr. Daniels nodded and sat down in the opposite couch, grabbing his reading glasses and the red patient folder. He began flipping through the first pages.
"Very well, your analysis showed an enormous amount of Oxycodone use, which was expected. I have here in my records that after many years of a Vicodin addiction, you switched to full Roxicodone because of a liver failure, brought about by the over dosage of acetaminophin..."
"Yeah, unfortunately my insurance wouldn't cover heroin use."
The doctor glared at him suspiciously over his glasses, refusing to play bait over the immature humor. House broke the silence.
"Speaking of insurance, this is what they're paying you for? To tell me things I already know? And I thought neurologists had it easy."
Dr. Daniels set the file down on the coffee table. Sarcasm and negative attitudes were common place when treating patients who suffered from addiction, especially those who were undergoing a painful detox. He removed his reading glasses and directed the conversation towards a treatment plan.
"I can prescribe you Suboxone, a leading Bupremorphine maintenance drug, though we will need to keep you at our designated Rehabilitation Facility by St. Peter's Hospital. After we get you through a night of detox, we start with a low dose and work our way from there. It will take a few weeks to get adjusted. Do you have someone you can call that will transport you to our facility?"
"You're having an affair. Actually, affairs. Meaning multiple."
The doctor stopped for a moment, a minor expression of surprise on his face.
House smiled, pointing the handle of his cane in the direction of the assistant's office.
"It's kind of obvious. Your wife has lost sleep over the nights you show up late, or don't show up at all, and she's been gaining weight compared to her recent Facebook pictures. At least ten pounds, but by the look of that ridiculous cow tie your probably into that. Does she know how to play an instrument too?"
The doctor looked stunned, his mouth slightly open, a raging anger building up in his face.
"Hey it's cool, I get it, shade in the summer and warmth in the winter, am I right?"
House continued his mocking by raising his hand for a fist pound. Dr. Daniels wrapped his fist around his glasses, his knuckles turning slightly pale.
"You son of a-"
"She has a Nicorette pack on her desk, but it hasn't been opened and she's not chewing any. I can only deduce it's there just in case one of her panic attacks start, probably from constant thought of you and your American Beauty blonde."
The doctor was about to explode, his cheeks and ears filling with a tinted red. The sound of cracking plastic could be heard as his fist shook tightly, the broken edges of his glasses cutting into his hand. House was just getting started.
"That, and I added your daughter on Facebook as well. Funny how quickly people consider strangers friends these days, though it's more effective when you're using a profile picture of a male American Eagle model. Your daughter added me within ten minutes of my request. Guess daddy's psychological-profiling knowledge didn't do much for the family."
Dr. Daniels felt his blood pressure continue to rise. He proceeded with his visage of disbelief, refusing to acknowledge whether House was speaking fact or fiction. Internally he knew defeat was a phone call away, a simple con to butter up the many underage girls he had been sleeping with to bring the truth to light. They were teenagers, after all.
"Turns out you and your daughter share some common chickadees on your friends list. I checked them out, mad props on little Julie! Didn't know fifteen year olds grew breasts that big. After a few minutes of instant messaging she told me about her exciting sleep over at the Daniels house last Friday. I think the wording was, 'OMG, he was so old and creepy, but his convertible is just too awesome!', or something like that. You know what, I forgot I printed it out! Give me a minute, it's in my back pocket. I got a few copies if you'd like some for your friends."
After a moment of silence, he let go of his broken glasses, letting them hit the carpet below. He braced his other arm on his knee and collapsed his face into his hand. He could feel his body shaking with anger, but there wasn't much to be done. He pressed his fingers against the inner points of his eyes, taking deep breaths to contain himself. The anger had subsided, and the inevitable fear of his wife leaving with half his income began to overwhelm him. Tears began to fall.
"You can't possibly be trying to black mail me… I've been in practice for over fifteen years… I'm a husband and a father!"
"That's exactly what I'm doing. I'd do it to another addiction specialist but you're the only one cheating on their wife right now. And sleeping with teenagers. And doing it with internet-media coverage that would make CNN blush. Honestly, I think you're an idiot, and know close to nothing but the basics of what addiction was ten years ago. I'll give you a tip…"
House leaned over and whispered.
"Google dextromethorphan. Oh, and your daughter's been smoking meth, every night around ten o'clock to be sure. You can smell it from the neighbor's yard."
Daniels' eyes widened at the specific details of his home life which House bantered out like some bar joke.
"You were at my house?"
House shrugged his shoulders with a look of childish innocence.
"I get kind of carried away when researching people I'm about to black mail. Lots of free time since I lost my medical license."
He reached over and grabbed the doctor's prescription pad on the side table, throwing it his direction. Dr. Daniels caught the pad sloppily, and waited while House gave his orders.
"Start me on a three month supply of three strips a day. I'd like to see as little of you as possible during my 'maintenance treatment.' My probation officer requires that I see you at least every month, so she'll be calling you. Just do the usual and tell her what a sweetheart I am. Oh, and that you wished you had my hair."
Dr. Daniels had begun writing down the Rx, but stopped for a moment and glared up at House.
"For being hailed as one of the most brilliant doctors in his time, you sure are an ass. It's no wonder you lied about your death at one point… I'm sure there were plenty of ex-husbands who wanted to kill you."
House smiled softly. He wasn't filled with anger or bitterness towards the doctor. In his mind he was simply using his own methods to receive a better treatment. Dr. Daniels ripped the prescription angrily off the pad and handed it over. House grabbed his cane and the small blue sheet, turning to him once more before walking out.
"Everybody lies."