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He'd checked on Vala, of course, but he hadn't opened the clinic because he just didn't want to deal with it. The on-call light was on, and he was technically available. If needed. He spent the morning lounging on the couch watching mindless television to pass the time. He hadn't decided if he was going to keep the appointment with ~~Susan~~ Dr Pevensie, but he found himself letting Cash out at quarter to two, and five minutes later he was in the clinic.

He sat at his desk and sighed. Maybe he should bring the plant from Blair back to the clinic. It might cheer the place up, once it started to grow. And Blair had said he should talk to it. He had plenty of time to talk to inanimate objects when he was working clinic.

He opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a thick manilla envelope. His medicalfile. Copies of doctor's reports, his current perscriptions, the pages of the notebook Wilson logged his progress and reactions in after he gave up the Vicodin. He sighed again and swiveled in his chair to look at Susan's door. He didn't need her to tell him he was a addict, and he didn't appreciate ehr making assumptions as such. He was an addict, and he knew it. And aside from a couple of teeny timy little slips, he'd been off the Vicodin since November 20. And did those slip ups really count, when he'd puked the pills back up each time? Probably.

The doctor is in, but he has an appointment with Dr Pevensie on the books. The question remains if he will honor the appointment or not. If he does, the on-all light will be on, but I wouldn't recommend interrupting. If he doesn't, the on-call light may remain on because he's feeling somewhat anti social and I wouldn't recommend interrupting hisbrooding. Just fair warning, yo.

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He glanced at the chair slightly to one side, but didn't sit. "I will assume you didn't intend to infer that you suspect I am abusing prescription drugs." His eyes flickered to the envelope in her hands, though he offered no explanation if is contents.

"I didn't intend to infer anything, Dr. House. I intended to give fair warning, to a prospective patient, that entering therapy with me would entail certain issues of trust. And what the boundaries on that trust would be." She kept her expression mild, trying to conceal the tension that she was picking up from him. "As I would for any patient. No matter what I may have known of their previous history."

He tapped the chair with his cane. Still undecided, but leaning in one direction over the other.

"It's all there. My detailed medical history. Dr Wilson's notes. I don't think he documents my behavior now, since we don't live together anymore. Current legal scripts. I don't take the Vicodin or the Demerol. Everything else is for my liver or my kidneys."

He finally sat, crossed his legs at the ankle, and lay his cane in the groove of his legs where the right rested on the left. "I respect your position, Dr pevensie, but I am not cuerrently abusing my meds. I have, as indicated in Dr Wilson's notes, if you can read his backhanded scribble. My Vicodin script is current for another month, and if I choose to take the pills I'm well within my legal right to do so."

Apparently the issue of his drug use is still a rather prominant concern for him.

Susan looked down at the folder for a moment, considering. "I see. Thank you for being so forthcoming, Doctor. I wouldn't have liked to play guessing games about this." Carefully, she asked, "Aside from your legal right-- which I won't dispute-- are you comfortable with your current usage of Vicodin? Are you in more pain than it can help?"

"Somedays," he admitted before he could consider his answer.

He shook his head. "I see a man in town. Aziraphale. You met him last week. He's helping me with a new age treatment."

"It's keeping the pain under control? You can work, do what you want, as much as you want?" Susan asked, watching him, and tucking away that first answer for thought after she'd read his file.

Blue eyes darkened.

"I used to jog three miles every morning before I went to work, two miles after. I cna't play LaCrosse or basketball or golf. I can't ride a bicycle or lift heavy boxes."

He took a deep breath, the shadow passed, but he fell silent and just looked at herwith those blazing eyes of his.

"So it's not a cure. Just another form of treatment." Susan rested her cheek on her hand. "What's his prognosis? Did he tell you if it's going to continue to improve?"

She sighed. "I won't console you with the things you *can* do. I will ask: would you be able to do them with more pills?"

He shifted suddenly, his feeet planted on the floor.

"You're not god damn listening to me. I. Do. Not. Take. The. Damn. Pills. Anymore."

He hit the floor with his cane between his feet, and his eyes burned with warning. His hand, wrapped tightly around the handle of his cane, kept him grounded, and he silently counseled himself to remain calm. He did not want to have a blow up or a melt down now.

"But you want to," Susan said quietly. "I haven't heard anything since you walked in, that wasn't about them. If you want to talk about something else, tell me about the break-up. Or your mother's health. Or working here." She paused. "We don't have to talk about the pain or the pills now. But do not expect me to wave it away. Or ignore what you don't say, and just accept what you do. I am not stupid, Doctor. And neither are you."

"I went through six different pain management regimes before the Vicodin. Vicodin was the only thing that worked. I knew the risks when I started taking it, and two months ago, my liver started shutting down. Whether I want to take the pills or not is irrelevant, because I can't.

"I could sit here and tell you a thousand reasons why I want those god damn pills. Quite a few of those reasons would be legitimate. Some I'd pull out of the air just to appease you. But talking about it won't make a damn bit of difference for me or my leg or my liver."

He stood up then, pulling heavily on the cane. "This? Is a very bad idea, doctor." His eyes highlighted the file he'd given her. "Happy reading."

Damn. "Thank you for your time, Dr. House. I happen to disagree. But my door is still open to you, should you change your mind."

She sighed, and looked at the file, shaking her head. Round One to the home team.

He went to check on Vala, took her off the IV, but wanted to keep her in the clinic another night, then went back to his apartment. Cash greeted him at the door, with stuffed squeaky toy duck in his mouth.

House went to the couch, because the only was he could play with Cash was sitting down.

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