damned_institute | Day 39: Doctor's Office 2 (Dr. House) [Fourth Shift]

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house,
kio

Day 39: Doctor's Office 2 (Dr. House) [Fourth Shift]

House was tired, and it wasn't just because of his leg or the side-effects of near-recreational drug use. He was getting bored of getting bogged down in the paranoia of all these crazies when he was trying to get something out of them. Sure, crying "monster!" without any perceivable reason was fun to watch and diagnose, but it wasn't even a question of what was wrong at this point: it was a question of how it was happening.

House knew now that the files were fake, which meant he'd have to do some detective work on his own. Clinic people were easy: they came in wearing their complaints on their sleeves in ways they didn't even know, but these guys? Some good ol' needles and pain would have to do the job.

House smirked as he finished pulling on a latex glove. He'd like to see Wilson explain away the results he'd get from this.

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To say that Miles Edgeworth wasn't terribly happy as he took his seat across from Dr. House would be an understatement.

"Afternoon, Doctor. May I be so bold as to ask a question? As I'm sure you know, the two types of people that others lie to most are doctors and lawyers. Have you found that to be the case here?"

"Everybody lies," House immediately replied, completely unphased by the newest crazy who'd come in the door, "especially when some comfort of life is at stake, which is usually what you're placing bets on if you're walking into a hospital or a courthouse."

He rummaged through his desk with his still-ungloved hand.

"That said, the only people who lie more than doctors are lawyers, so who knows?" He cocked his head up, wearing a dramatic expression. "Maybe I'm lying... right now!!!"

He recognized the man as the diva from the week before; so, they didn't give House a completely new batch of patients every week. He'd been starting to wonder if they really did take out a bunch every day and shoot 'em out in the yard; the turnover rate here would make any sane administrator piss himself.

Edgeworth rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the dramatic statement for now. "Maybe you are. Maybe you're not. You're on staff here, so I have to assume that you're lying at least a little. By the way, what's with the gloves? You weren't wearing any the last time."

He couldn't help being just a little nervous. "Actually. Wait a minute before you answer that. I'd like you to check something." He pointed to his right shoulder. "Go on. Check it. And then tell me how the injury happened, in your opinion."

Edited 2009-03-01 15:30 (UTC)

House glanced up at the diva again as he pulled out a packet for a single use vacuum tube and needle, along with a rubber strap. He then smirked and looked back to his items as he unpacked them.

"Well, I don't need a medical degree to tell me that you're about to whine about getting it from some fantastical, violent encounter." He began getting up without his cane, instead wincing slightly as he limped towards where the patient sat. He glared at him. "And I'm drawing blood, by the way, not drugging you up, so unless you're a recovering heroin addict..."

He gestured with his hand for the guy to lay his good arm out.

"I could ask whether that limp you're walking with is the result of some violent encounter, too," Edgeworth countered. "I'm going to guess it was a car accident or another injury that never really healed?"

He laughed at the 'fantastical' part of the remark, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. "By the way? Violent, yes. Fantastical, no, unless you count someone coming at you with a baseball bat fantastical. If you do, you're crazier than some of the patients here."

He sighed. Miles was relieved that at least it wasn't an injection, but, well, being stuck repeatedly by one of the experimental doctors upstairs had left him with a slight phobia of needles. Regardless, he stuck his left arm out, looking away from it after he'd done so. "May I ask what you're looking for in the tests?"

[ Thanks so much for your patience. ._. ]

"Drugs, elevated white blood cell count... all that good stuff." House responded, placing the packet and strap on the table as he grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and container of cotton balls that he'd preemptively put near his inbox. He uncapped the bottle and doused the cotton. "Seeing if they're using you guys as human guinea pigs for some conglomerate pharmaceutical or evil arm of the government. You know, good Samaritan stuff."

He set the bottle down and took another limping step towards the patient, but just as he was leaning down to swab the guy's arm, he paused and looked up.

"Wait – you're saying a person did this to you?"

Suddenly, it clicked. Yeah, they let the inmates out at night all right, and maybe all of the patients weren't all experiencing the same symptoms. Maybe the delusional ones saw monsters because they were being violently attacked – not by hellhounds, but by patients. Maybe this guy was in a control group or something.

[no problem, bb.]

That was a surprise, Edgeworth thought. One of the staff members actually going against Landel, even in a small way? Well...perhaps it wasn't such a surprise after all. Maybe the man had done something to provoke it. Pay cut? Lecture of some sort? Threat?

"I see," he replied dryly, leaving his arm still. "The standard blood panel for any hospital patient...but something surprises me about it, actually. Wouldn't drugs be in the medical records?" The last question was completely serious, no hint of sarcasm. Drugs should be in the records. That means even the 'doctors' they use for therapy sessions don't know everything.

He nodded in response to the question. "A patient who held a rather personal, serious grudge against me attacked me several nights ago. Frankly, I'm surprised it healed as quickly as it did. I'm just curious as to how it was treated; the nurses never mentioned surgery, and if there's a scar, it's not in a place where I can see it. It was broken in at least one place, but I haven't needed a sling for the past couple of days."

[ NEVER GIVE UP. NEVER SURRENDER. ]

House was suddenly paying just as much attention to what the guy was saying as he was to how he was acting. He did, however, roll his eyes at the idiocy of his question.

"Assuming the papers are real? What kind of crappy attorney are you?" He snorted as he leaned back towards the desk and grabbed the rubber hose. He leaned forward again and began tying it around Diva's forearm.

"You probably lost some time under sedatives," House said. "And what kind of a grudge?" It mattered: if it was a 'you killed my father' kind of grudge, an attack might not have been provoked by chemical means, but if it were a 'you stole my cookie' kind of grudge, it was a whole different matter entirely. Not that House thought Diva was capable of killing anyone's father, but he'd been playing way too clean for a lawyer up to this point, and besides, his story about the shoulder healing too quickly could have very well been BS to cover up the fact that no one had attacked him at all.

[INDEED. INDEED.]

"The kind who thinks you happen to be rather angry about being left out of the loop in a place like this." The reply was instinctive, but the minute it was out of his mouth, he knew it was the truth. "I'm impressed, actually. I'd thought the entirety of the staff was brainwashed. It's good to see they have one doctor more intelligent than to fall for it." Not that it was doing them a lot of good, since he wasn't the type to go releasing people willy-nilly, but the idea was a good one.

There hadn't been any sedatives, and there had been a witness, but those would get handwaved away the moment he said that. "The 'I had you put away, then executed for killing my father and trying to frame me for it' kind of grudge."

"Angry? Me? Why, I never!" House said in mock-exclamation. He grabbed for the needle this time, testing for Diva's vein with his other hand. He shrugged. "And it's not that I don't think you're all crazy. I just don't think you're all crazy because of natural reasons."

At Diva's explanation of how he'd gotten his injury, House sighed and shot him a glare. "Also, seriously – do all of you people think you came from soap operas?"

"Which means they're really getting under your skin," Edgeworth said. "What did they do, tell you that you couldn't do one of the 'sleep studies' at night? Tell you that you had to take extra patients? Something else? Both of those?" The questions dripped sarcasm, even as they tried getting at what had actually happened.

He wasn't surprised by the blunt dismissal. "You wanted me to say something else - like I'm one of those corporate types who gave him the bad end of a deal? I could, but why?"

With lunch ending on a particularly depressing note, Kio found himself wanting to go home badly. At least the Sou-chan there didn't want to tear his head off and he could actually get along with Ritsuka. He found he missed painting, and indeed he hoped that this Music Room would be noisy enough that he could lose himself in drawing.

Of course, as luck would have it, Nurse Wacko was not leading him to any Music Room. "Therapy?! What for? I'm a perfectly calm and collected individual! I don't want any more of your lies shoved down my throat!" However, he might as well be talking to a wall for all she cared. Wheeling him mercilessly along to this Dr House he was meant to see, Kio found himself become more and more angry. He didn't want therapy, he wanted to paint. Ideally they'd let him go home and he could pretend this never happened.

Stubbornly Kio got out of the chair before they reached the office. He pushed open the door, disregarding courtesy. "Right. You're the man to discharge me. I'm not crazy, now let me and my friends out."

House glanced up at the newest member of this barrel o' monkeys masquerading itself as an "Institute." He leaned back in his chair and placed his hands together as he considered an idea forming in its head. He wondered why it'd never occurred to him before.

"You know..." he drawled out as he began to lean out over the desk. He rested his elbows on the top of it, scrunching one eye closed before looking back up to the patient.

"You're absolutely right." He grabbed a piece of paper off the desk and began scribbling on it with a ballpoint pen.

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Day 39: Doctor's Office 2 (Dr. House) [Fourth Shift]

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fail, much?

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