West Heaven Grand Hotel.
At the entrance.
Facing Dr. House's usual playful, teasing tone, Adam chuckled. "How do I deal with threats? Simple—eye for an eye, retaliation in kind!"
"Whoa, hold up," Dr. House grinned wider. "This 'eye for an eye'—is it the kind of 'equal' I'm thinking of? Like, 1:100 equal?" 😏
"Wanna hear about it?"
Adam flashed a sly smile.
"Obviously."
Dr. House shifted his weight on his cane, glancing at Adam. "And even if I didn't, you'd still tell me anyway, right?"
"Ha! You know me too well!"
Adam nodded with a laugh.
Truth is, unless it was absolutely necessary, he didn't want to take action against Dr. House. For one, if he did, it'd mean Chandler had already been hurt. For another, if he stepped in, a legend would fall. That'd be a massive loss—not just for the medical world, not just for the kind folks in this TV drama universe, but even for Adam himself. So, the best move? Warn the guy. Let him know he's seriously concerned and spell out the consequences loud and clear. Hopefully, that'd scare off the worst-case scenario Adam dreaded most.
"So, you know what kind of person I hate the most?" Adam asked.
"It's not someone like me, is it?" Dr. House smirked. "Nah, I'm not that bad, am I?"
"Of course not!" Adam laughed. "Dr. House, you're a legend. Us docs in the medical game? We look up to you. No way could I hate you the most."
"Most admired and most hated aren't mutually exclusive, you know," Dr. House quipped, cutting straight to the point.
"Fair. You've got a sharp eye," Adam nodded, then shook his head. "But in this case, they don't quite line up. The one I hate the most? That'd be Ouyang Feng, the Western Venom!"
"…"
Dr. House just stared, speechless.
What a buildup for nothing.
He already knew where Adam was going with this.
"When the addiction kicks in, they don't care about anything—selling out everyone and everything. It's like a nightmare straight out of hell," Adam said, clearly throwing shade. "Those types disgust me the most. But sometimes, I kinda feel bad for some of them."
"Oh? Why's that?" Dr. House played along, leaning into his role as the perfect straight man. "Don't tell me it's because your name's Adam, and you're some angel out to save devils?" 😆
"Nah, nothing like that," Adam shook his head. "I feel a little sorry for some of them because, in that huge crowd of addicts, plenty didn't choose it. They got dragged in. And guess who's partly to blame? Us doctors.
"Here's the deal—I think you know what I'm getting at, right?
Yup!
It's us docs overprescribing painkillers.
Got a headache? Painkillers.
Little ache? Painkillers.
Pop one, pain's gone—poof!
Sounds great, doesn't it?
But here's the catch: after a few rounds, one pill doesn't cut it anymore.
So, what happens? One becomes two. Two becomes three. The doses get bigger, the pills pile up, and a drug meant to heal ends up turning into pure poison.
Pharma companies rake in the cash, doctors save time and effort—everybody's happy!
Except the patients.
Especially the ones who don't see the trap until they're hooked, their lives wrecked, turned into monsters.
So yeah, we doctors? We've got some blame to carry.
"But here's the kicker: if a doctor knows all this and still writes themselves a crazy painkiller script, popping pills like candy all day long? That's breaking the rules they know—and that's a whole extra level of guilt. No sympathy there.
What do you think, Dr. House?"
"People like that? Yeah, they don't deserve your pity," Dr. House nodded. "And they don't need it either. If they're just taking meds normally, no big deal—they're in pain, after all."
"Normally, huh?"
Adam shot a glance at Dr. House's bad leg and smirked. "I'm not so sure about that. Looks to me like they've given up, smashing the jar since it's already cracked. They don't need to pop pills like that—at least not that often.
That level of pill-chugging? I'd bet my stethoscope they're addicted.
And those addicts? They're kinda pitiful in a way.
Cut off their supply, and when the cravings hit, it's a living hell.
They're terrified of that, so they hoard—stashing pills everywhere, paranoid they'll run out when the itch kicks in.
I'd wager if you searched their place, you'd find way more than a month's worth of meds for any normal patient.
Maybe even a year's stockpile?
Enough to slap a trafficking charge on them, probably."
"What, you're just gonna randomly search someone's house?" Dr. House pressed his lips together, still smiling, though it wasn't as carefree as before.
"Easy peasy," Adam grinned. "What if one day they're speeding and get nabbed by the NYPD?
Not saying the cops would nab someone for no reason—they're all about lawful duty, of course.
Just a 'what if.'
For an innocent person, a search warrant's tricky. But someone with a record? Piece of cake."
"It's not that serious," Dr. House laughed it off. "Worst case, they confiscate the stash and ban them from writing their own scripts. That's it."
"Sure, if no big shots step in to care, that's how it'd go," Adam agreed. "But after that? That's when it gets juicy.
Who's he gonna get his pills from?
He's hooked—doesn't matter who's prescribing; no sane doc's gonna give him the dose he craves.
A little taste that doesn't satisfy? That's worse than nothing.
Who'd put up with that?
Only someone who really cares about him.
And the irony? Those are the exact people he'd end up screwing over.
People who love him won't feed his habit—they'll push him to quit.
What's he gonna do then?
When his body's screaming for it, it'll mess with his head.
No doubt about it—he'll do whatever it takes.
If he's got even a shred of conscience, he won't forge prescriptions in their names, dragging the people who care about him into his mess without them knowing.
But the easiest way? Using those same people who love him.
Every other route to score drugs? Big shots will be watching, cracking down hard.
So, when it's a choice between endless agony from withdrawal or pulling his loved ones down with him—what's he picking?
Heh!
We both know the answer.
He couldn't handle a tiny bit of pain to start with—let alone the torture of withdrawal.
He'll drag one caring soul after another into the gutter.
And when that happens, those big shots watching? They'll make sure the law's followed—justice served, crimes punished.
His one true bro, the ambiguously close lady boss who gave him a home, all those shiny achievements and that sweet life?
Poof—gone, because of him.
He might even fall from the top to rock bottom, ending up a street bum.
That ex-wife he adored? She'd hear about it, maybe step up to fight some epic legal battle for him.
But against cold facts and moneyed power? She'd crash and burn—reputation trashed, maybe kicked out of her firm, joining the bro and the boss lady in the homeless squad.
Oh, and he's still got family who love him.
But under the 'eye for an eye' rule, friends are family.
All that stuff before? Just an appetizer…"