"Good morning Dr. House. And how are we doing this lovely morning?"
"We are not doing anything. And it is a lousy morning. No Vicodin equals a lousy morning."
"Well, it is time to hit the showers, breakfast is in thirty minutes."
Got to love the mandated schedule. Wakeup call at seven. Shower at seven thirty. Breakfast at eight. Group at nine. And the best? Art therapy at ten! How old am I? seven? Try approaching fifty you idiots! After that? Journaling! I am not a teenage girl! Never was actually. Then comes the fun part, individual therapy. I love messing with that doctor's head; she never knows what hit her.
"Yes ma'am, sergeant sir!"
House strolled in to the dinning hall ten minutes late just to annoy the hell out of the staff at Ridgewood Rehabilitation Center. He had been deliberately flaunting a disregard for the rules whenever possible ever since his arrival three days before.
"House! You're late! That's twice since you've been here. And that's just for meals. You've been late to group therapy once and individual twice. That means no television access for twenty-four hours.
Shit! No General Hospital! What about Passions and Desperate Housewives? How will I get my fix of Eva Longoria? She's hot!"
"I can do that standing on my head," House bluffed.
"Fine. Make it forty-eight."
Dammit.
"Sir, yes sir!" and House mocked him with a salute.
The man in charge of House's group gave him an icy glare. It could have melted glaciers from one hundred miles away.
House sat down at the breakfast table and began to stir up more trouble.
"My eggs are too cold."
"You were late. What do you expect?"
"My coffee is too hot; Cameron makes better coffee."
"House, sit it and shut it. Eat your breakfast and stop complaining."
House sat down but didn't shut up.
"Hey John," he called to one of the guys in his therapy group, "I think you have something coming out of your nose. It is green and slimy looking."
Hey I have to amuse myself somehow.
After having been threatened to have no phone privileges as well, House finally behaved for the rest of breakfast. And was soon on his was to group therapy which was a whole other adventure.
"So Dr. House, are you ready to talk about what brought you to Ridgewood today?" The doctor who asked was a slight Asian woman, Dr. Amanda Jung. House found her perpetual cheeriness annoying and always had the urge to trip her with his cane.
"I like Vicodin."
"Do you have a problem with it?"
"No, I just told you I like it."
I am going to make her job as difficult as possible. If I am stuck here I may as well have some fun.
"No, Dr. House, what I meant was do you have an addiction to Vicodin?"
"I can swallow it dry. I've practiced."
"That must mean you've taken an awful lot of them."
"Maybe I have. But I still was the best doctor at Princeton-Plainsboro. Ask my boss. She is easy to spot. The one with the low cut shirt."
"So you are a functioning addict?"
"I said I am an addict? I don't remember saying that. Are you trying to put words in my mouth, what is it? Dr. June?"
"Dr. Jung."
"Alright Dr. Jang, like I said, I like Vicodin. It makes my leg feel better. I have a bum leg if you haven't noticed the cane. Usually that's a dead give away."
Dr. Jung thought about correcting him again but decided against it, it was exactly what he was looking for. He wanted a reaction and she wasn't going to give him one. She decided that she would move on from House to the other patients in the session and let him simmer for now. He still had individual therapy to look forward to later.
Ten o'clock, time for art therapy. Hmm…what can I draw to really mess with their heads? I know!
House drew himself having a party with his Vicodin. The picture was complete with party hats, streamers, cake, and ice cream. He found it quite hilarious. The staff wasn't as amused. They wanted deep introspection and this clearly was not what they had in mind.
Art therapy ended by eleven and journaling began. The goal was to reflect on why you were there and how you were going to change. House didn't find those to be worthy uses of his time so he came up with lists instead, such as "101 Ways to Kill Wilson," or "Top Ten Ways to Tick Off Cuddy."
After art therapy came individual therapy, the highlight of House's day. It was an hour and a half to harass Dr. Jung as much as possible.
"Why hello Dr. Jane. So nice to see you again. I bet you have been looking forward to this all day. What? I am not the bright spot of your day? We'll have to work on that won't we."
"Actually I have been looking forward to this, I love a challenge. I saw the picture you drew earlier…"
"Great, wasn't it?"
"Not quite the word I'd use, but tell me why you drew it."
"Like I have been telling you, I like Vicodin. Why shouldn't I have a party with it? What? Are you going to go and psycho-analyze me and tell me that it is my mind screaming out that I am an addict and use my Vicodin to have fun?"
"I was thinking something along those lines, yes."
"Then it worked perfectly."
"What did?"
"All I was trying to do is mess with your head."
Dr. Jung was beginning to get exasperated and sighed an audible sigh.
House know he had accomplished his goal and that he could sit back and relax for the rest of the session, give a few short answers, dodge some questions, and he would be home free. The staff, however, was getting down right pissed off.