Well, Wilson's session with Caleb had gone surprisingly well. It was a good start to the week, but the doctor knew better than to think that it would continue. After a few weeks here, he had come to realize that there was going to be at least one patient that gave him a hard time. It was usually during the first session with a patient that it happened, and they generally mellowed out after that.

He supposed he should take that as a good sign - maybe as a sign of healing - but he usually never had a direct influence on which patients were discharged, so he had to wonder what good his work was doing here. It all seemed very arbitrary, and once again he had to question the competence of the man running this place.

But for now, all he could do was focus on the patients. The two who were seeing him this afternoon were new names to him, so he didn't really know what to expect. All he could do was wait.

The long weekends made it that much harder to get up at a reasonable hour, but Wilson wasn't one to be late when he had patients waiting for him. And the time off was appreciated, since trying to act as a therapist pushed past his comfort zone and tired him out more than he expected. It took him by surprise, and when he would come back from a day spent at Landel's, he often found that he was exhausted.

Part of him wondered if he was just losing his touch, getting older. At one point, while working in the hospital dealing with cancer cases and consults, he could go through patient after patient each day and was hardly effected about it. Nowadays, that seemed almost impossible.

Digging in his coat for his key, Wilson adjusted his coffee and then got the door to his office open, stepping inside with a small sigh. It wasn't the same as his one about at Princeton-Plainsboro, but it had been a few weeks that he'd worked here now, and he was starting to get used to it.

His first patient of the week was Caleb, who'd been having some relationship problems that Wilson had also heard the other side of. He was curious to hear about how it had developed, and so he sipped at his coffee as he waited for the patient to show up.

After a fairly successful morning session and a good lunch, Wilson was more than ready for his afternoon patient. He was curious about what had happened to Adel, though, seeing how the teen had never shown up. Maybe he had been rescheduled and would be coming in now, or maybe he had been transferred to another doctor and Wilson hadn't gotten the memo.

He would have to ask about it if he got the chance, but for now he had Aiden Cross, another new patient, to consider.

Sipping the juice he had leftover from lunch, Wilson flipped through the man's file. He was still disappointed by how sparse the information on these patients was -- it was like House had taken all of these notes. There was barely anything to work with!

Well, he would just have to speak with the patient and find out what was going on firsthand. There wasn't anything wrong with that, and it was probably the better way to go about it.

Another day, another dollar.

Not that the pay was Wilson's incentive for becoming a doctor. He realized his reasons for it would probably seem childish in retrospect, though being a cancer doctor didn't exactly fit the "I want to be a doctor to save people" ideal, anyway.

Somehow, dealing with people who were almost certainly going to die was easier for him than this job was. Maybe it was just because it was what he was used to, but at least his cancer patients were usually willing to open up and talk about what was wrong with them, even if they were sometimes (yet understandably) irrational. The amount of patients here who refused to say anything about themselves could prove frustrating at times.

Just like the day before, he had two patients before lunch and one after. At least there was "Adel," who he had seen a few times before, to balance out the two new patients. Wilson nursed his mug of black coffee as he waited for the first of his two morning patients to show up.

The morning had brought two new faces, though neither of them had been too much trouble. Caleb had almost bordered on friendly once they had worked through a few misconceptions, and that had been a nice change from the general air of hostility he was usually presented with. (Not that he could blame the patients for being hostile, but it did get old after a while.) As for Mr. Irons, he was a bit more difficult, but it hadn't worn on him as much as some of the other conversations he'd had with previous patients.

As for the afternoon, it offered up yet another new face in the form of a teenage boy, a so-called Kuroba Kaito, or Kyle Crowe. As Wilson gave the teen's file a quick once-over, he realized that he didn't see many female patients these days. He wondered if there was anything to that, or if Landel's just had a policy of admitting more males. There was always the chance that men became delusional more commonly than females, but it wasn't a statistic he had heard very much, if at all.

Sipping at some water (he was trying to limit his coffee intake to only before noon), he waited for Kyle to be led in.

With another morning spent at Landel's and two new patients to see, Wilson walked into his office shortly after breakfast, yawning briefly as he sipped at a cup of coffee he had picked up on the way into work.

Completely unaware that patients had been snooping around in the place the night before, he set down his briefcase and fell into his chair, which he decided was probably too comfy for its own good. There was nothing wrong with being comfortable while working, but in the morning it made it far too tempting to take a nap as he waited for his patients to be brought in.

That was a decidedly House-like thing to do, however, and he couldn't help wondering if his friend might find out about it somehow (since he had the tendency to know things even when he shouldn't) and call him on it.

So, he did something much more Wilson-like and flipped through the files of his two new patients as he waited.

Wilson's lunch had pretty much been a waste of time. He had gone up to the second floor staff cafeteria, only to find Dr. Washu talking to one of the new doctors, but after enough waiting around he had realized that House wasn't going to show up. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, but it meant that by the time he had gotten back to his office (and strictly stopped himself from knocking on the door to House's), there was barely any time to eat.

Technically, there wouldn't be anything wrong with eating while he spoke to his afternoon patient, but it was a bit unprofessional, not to mention it would be following in the footsteps of a certain someone. Instead, Wilson managed a few bites of his homemade meal and then put the leftovers in his mini-fridge. He could always finish it later.

As for David Shaw, Wilson had to wonder if he was going to come in with yet another wound that couldn't be explained. Since their talk had been a few weeks ago, he couldn't remember it all that well, but he knew that he had been one of the more difficult ones. He made sure to steel himself as he waited for the man to be brought in.

Four-day weekends and three-day work weeks just couldn't be beat. Wilson was well rested after binging on tele-novellas and eating his admittedly good homemade food. He had carried a packed lunch and a cup of coffee into his office with him that morning, only to find that almost all of his patient files had been replaced, save for two.

There was "Adelheid Bernstein," better known to society as Franz Haushofer, and "Dias Flac," better known as David Shaw, but the other five files were all completely foreign to him. Dias he hadn't seen in almost two weeks, and Wilson had thought that patient had transferred to a different doctor. As for the others, he wished he had gotten the files on them on Friday so he could have spent some of his free time reviewing them, but it seemed that everything switched around far too often here at Landel's Institute.

Even if his work load was fairly light, it was this sort of thing (along with the fact that he often didn't even know where to start with some of his patients) that made him miss his position at Princeton-Plainsboro.

There wasn't much to be done, though, so he grabbed Malcolm Stevens' file and started to skim it, hoping he could at least be slightly prepared before he met the patient face-to-face.

Just one more patient, and then Wilson would have a long weekend to spend looking over files and watching Spanish television. If he wasn't being forced to do work he wasn't comfortable with, he would have considered it a good deal.

Though it sounded like the patients had a special trip coming up on Saturday, and Sunday meant visitors, which meant that there would probably be a lot his patients would want to talk to him about come Tuesday -- or so he hoped. He didn't like pulling teeth, and yet it seemed like that was what he was usually doing with these patients. He probably should have expected as much.

The patient he would be seeing this afternoon was new to him, so he was doing his best to keep an open mind about Mr. Fortune... Or Zabuza, as the case may be.

He settled back in his chair. After a nice lunch, the temptation to take a small nap was rather strong--but he would be awake and alert the moment his patient walked through the door.

Here he was, stuck in his office on a Friday. That was to be expected when he had been forced to skip a day, of course, and he honestly didn't care that much. Wilson had never been much of a golfer, and that was what most doctors did on their days off. Besides, only having to work three days out of the week was all in all rather luxurious. He didn't have anything to complain about.

He only had three patients lined up for the day. Two he had seen before - there was Mr. Kasady, who thought he was a famous serial killer (he was going to be fun to deal with again) and then Ms. Hawkeye, whose session had been much more pleasant in comparison.

As for Mr. Momochi -- well, he wasn't going to make any assumptions about him. It was difficult to predict what patients were going to be like, and he couldn't glean very much from their files, since those tended to contradict their actual behavior.

What happened, happened. He wasn't going to dwell on it. Instead, Wilson munched on a granola bar and waited for his first patient.

Wilson's morning session had gone much better than he had expected. It had been a bit rocky, but Adelheid had at least opened up to him and they had generated some good conversation. It gave him faith that he might be able to actually pull this job off with some more experience, but he still wished he could get back to Princeton-Plainsboro already. It wasn't that he didn't trust the other oncologists, but he wanted to be working in the field he was trained for.

For now, though, he would have to help who he could. This next patient was completely new to him, which meant that he wasn't quite sure what to expect. Considering it was a teenage boy, he didn't have very high hopes, but then again, not all teenagers were closed-off and obnoxious. He had to at least give Mike Rotch (Daimon Masaru, whatever) a chance.

All in all, Wilson was feeling much better than he had been two days ago. After his session with the teenage twin, he had gotten to the bottom of his strange behavior - along with who had been behind it. That had resulted in a shouting match between him and House, but that was to be expected, really. He honestly didn't understand how his friend thought it was acceptable to dope him, especially when he was supposed to be working. He was going to have to apologize to his patients the next time he saw them...

Now, he was back to normal and ready to do this properly. Or as well as he could, anyway. He wished he had some more time on his hands, so he could at least start reading up some more on psychology, but there was only so much he was capable of.

Hopefully his patients for today wouldn't be too hard to handle. It looked like he only had two to see - a pleasantly light load compared to what he'd been dealing with before.

So he waited for the first one - Franz Haushofer, or Adelheid Bernstein - to arrive.

[From here.]

The relief at the absence of the pressure was fleeting though and soon Naoya was once again walking down the hallway, the beam of his light carefully aimed at the floor so he wouldn't blind anyone. If there was anyone. A part of the young man was hoping there was, but at the same time he really wasn't. Having others nearby would help if there were any monsters, but Naoya didn't want to endanger anyone. Perhaps it was best if they remained in their rooms...

No, they couldn't do that for the very same reasons he couldn't do it.

He sighed, the noise loud in the thick silence. After some time of walking (down a very familiar hallway, wasn't he just here? Was he going round in circles?) Naoya's eyes landed on a door. Rather than go back to whatever horrors lie outside, the young man decided to take his chances on the door.

[To here.]

It had been a long time since Wilson had been this alert at this time of the morning. It was past breakfast, yes, but he was usually only completely and utterly awake by lunch hour. Today, though? And he wasn't sure why, but today he felt like his mind was as sharp as when he had been in medical school. The only problem was that it was too sharp - thoughts were flicking through his head at such a rapid pace that he couldn't pin any single one down.

As if it would help, the doctor continued to take sips of his coffee. The people in charge had mentioned something about how they had organized things so that he wouldn't have to deal with a bunch of patients all at once, and while he had been grateful, today he felt like he had enough energy to see twenty people, maybe more.

While he waited, he found that he couldn't stop himself from fidgeting with something. He ended up snatching something off of his desk - it was one of those "games" where you tilted the cheap piece of plastic around in order to get a small metal ball through the maze and to the end. He usually had it for patients' children to play with while he discussed different combinations of medicine with their parent, which made him wonder why he had brought it here.

Well, it seemed to be occupying his interest now. His hands shook as he fiddled with it, and it was making it particularly hard. Man, was he wired or what?

Well! It seemed like none of her inventions had grown legs and walked away, and neither had any of the furniture been fooled around with. Washu always felt a little bit of distrust to the staff; what if they ruined her inventions with their blundering? What if the course of science was irrevocably ruined because some janitor thought her piles of tools were just garbage!?

...and how could anyone think that it was garbage? That was technology at its finest!

With a sigh, Washu flopped into her chair and leaned back to a comfortable position, green eyes focused on the door as she waited. She'd let Doctor Wilson know that she wanted to talk to him, and hopefully he'd be prompt; after the therapy sessions she'd been putting her phenomenal genius to work, and now it was time for 'consultation'.

"What I need," she muttered to herself after a moment, instantly losing patience for just waiting around, "is to make that photo-optic planar terrain visualizer. White's way too drab."

Wilson wasn't sure why he was currently making his way to House's office. Not that it was very far from his own, but this hadn't been the original plan.

They were supposed to be going to sit in on brunch to discuss their therapy sessions (he had been adamant on talking to the other doctor about it, after the troubling things he had heard). Wilson had also been curious to see if any of the patients approached them and were perhaps a bit less stiff when they weren't in such a professional setting.

Instead, House had called him at the last minute (as opposed to simply walking over; Wilson knew that his leg bothered him, but that was beyond lazy), asking for a consult.

He knew what that meant. House didn't want to go mingle among the 'common folk,' or rather, House didn't want to be around a lot of people. That wasn't surprising. It was aggravating, though. Speaking to the patients more might be helpful, and yet House was refusing because he didn't like crowds.

There was no point arguing, though. That would only waste time. So, as he reached the other doctor's office, Wilson held tight to the bag containing his lunch as he stepped inside, not bothering to knock. He had to guard the food he'd made carefully this time, or he'd end up with nothing to eat.

It was pretty pathetic that both of them were here on a Sunday, but it wasn't like they had anything else to do. As he entered the room, he gave House a look that more or less said, no need to make excuses, I already know what this is about.

Lunch had been mediocre. Wilson had gone looking for a suitable fast food place (and considering he wasn't exactly a fan of that much grease, it took a lot of driving before he found a place he could actually stomach), though by the time he got it back to the office, the food was cold and more unappetizing than it had been in the first place.

Maybe it would have been a better idea to just go to the cafeteria...

He'd eaten, though, knowing that he needed to work on a full stomach. Round one had been tiring enough. He was hoping round two wasn't any worse. Though looking at some of the files, he could already pinpoint a few problem patients.

He had to have an open mind about it, though. Especially with the knowledge of what some of his earlier patients had told him about.

[ ooc: For Carnage, Ginji, Hughes, Kiden, Naminé, Obi-Wan, Renji, and Saïx. ]

It was silly, but Wilson was nervous.

Mental health was by no means his specialty. It was true that he more or less had to act as a counselor for his patients. Most of them had terminal cancer. The dates were never any good. Two years, one year, six months, three months. He could speak to people about dying well enough, but this was different.

Hopefully he would get the hang of it. He took solace in the fact that he had a bit more experience than some of the other doctors. Such as, oh, House? He wasn't sure what the chief of staff had been thinking when he hired him. It made him wonder if the administrators were as insane as the patients.

Even though therapy didn't start first thing in the morning, Wilson had made sure to be there extra early anyway. (He had to make up for House, who would undoubtedly be late.) His office was also cleaner than it would normally be - first impressions were important, after all, and that was probably even more true with mental patients. He heard the intercom, which meant his first patient would be heading in soon. He straightened in his chair, though his nervousness caused him to grab a random doodad off of his desk and start fiddling with it.

[ ooc: For Adelheid, Cliff, Dias, Eric, Hikaru, Riza, Scar, and Seimei. ]