Well, that could have gone better, but, from the patient's file and the track record here for stubborn patients, it could have gotten a lot worse. Jacob was wary, understandably, and didn't want to cooperate in terms of speaking personally. He was avoidant and shy, but had enough control over himself to not give into whatever alternate personality he had locked away in there. She had hope for him. She had to have hope for him because, otherwise, what the hell was she doing here?

It'd take a while, maybe even months of effort, but he'd open up eventually.

Maggie took the moment to count her blessing for a while over another cup of coffee and a pile of reports. The others should be arriving at any moment.

Things really could have gone worse with Lance. They could have gone a whole lot better, but at least it hadn't devolved into a staring contest and at least there hadn't been any throwing of heavy objects. Wilson counted those as pluses, since he really wasn't cut out for this. Maybe if he'd been trained to do this sort of thing, but all he was working off of was his own intuition and his desire to help people.

A lot of the patients didn't really come off as needy and desperate, though. Instead, they were confident and challenged him at every turn. It wasn't what he'd expect from people who were so ill, but maybe they were just that set in their delusions. What he really couldn't understand was how Lance had been doing so much better the day before, only to revert back overnight. The man had called it reprogramming, and it almost felt that way. Still, as weird as it was, people weren't robots.

Wilson knew he was expected to go and eat with the other doctors during their lunch break, but with House not around he wasn't feeling up to it. With his own lunch already made and brought with him, it was simple to just stay in his office and eat alone. Probably not the healthiest behavior, but it wasn't like he hadn't done it at Princeton too. Usually when he was avoiding House, but the point still stood.

With lunch eaten and his desk cleaned up, the doctor waited for his next batch of patients; one old and one new. He had been seeing Max for a while now (by Landel's standards, anyway), and it was good to have such a consistent patient when others got switched in and out like it was nothing.

Stein stared at the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair, head lolling backwards over the back of the chair. He rotated ever so slowly on the chair, which was obviously well greased considering how long his inertia was lasting. As he watched the ceiling revolve around the useless bulb that hung in the lampshade and the trail of smoke coming from his cigarette, Stein thought.

He had almost lost it with his first patient here. He couldn't be doing things like that, not if he wanted to keep his cover. Even the man was on the path of the demon. He was in a secure asylum, it's not like it was in any danger of getting worse. Concentrate on the killer that was still at large.

Mechanical clicking filled the room as he turned his screw, smoke drifting lazily from his slack mouth. Just breath. Breath out the madness and restore order.
a
"Dr. Stein?" asked the nurse, knocking on his door. The rotations stopped, both of his chair and his screw, his arms falling slack. His head lolled over towards the doorway. The nurse peering in continued. "Your next patient will be in shortly. And could you please put that out?"

She frowned disapprovingly at the cigarette in his mouth, though putting it now wouldn't help the cloud of smoke around the ceiling and the smell of tobacco that now permeated the air. Still, the Stein obliged, sitting up and snuffing it out in the ashtray on his desk. Satisfied, the woman left to bring his patient in. While she did so, Stein looked over the next file.

"Frank, huh?" he murmured distantly, reading without taking the words in. Maybe this one wouldn't care if he smoked.

The patients in this facility could sure pull the unexpected on you, that was for sure. Lunch had been a welcome break after his conversation with João's darker half. He knew there were far worse patients, and that's partially what made the break necessary. He'd only be able to handle so many of these cases back to back.

Mohinder slouched just a little in his seat as he looked over the files before him. There were two patients coming by this shift - both older than the ones he'd had so far. He wondered how much bearing that would have on how soon they were likely to get better. They were sure to be more stubborn at least. Neither of them were new patients, just reassigned.

He watched the door, trying not to look anxious.

The next session with Mr. Derringer should be an interesting one indeed, Makiko mused as she settled in her office for the afternoon patients. The groundwork was laid, after all, and now she knew exactly how to proceed. It was sad that she had to make preparations for such a sub-par specimen as he was, but - well, unplanned efforts had resulted in her seeking the transfer here, rather than staying in the hospital in which she once worked. Best not to repeat that.

Today's schedule, though, included two patients: one old, one new. Jordan barely interested her at all, but she did admit herself curious to see just how last week's talk had affected him. Such a fragile little thing he was, so easy to shatter. And as for Andrew...well, she saw little potential in the file before her, but supposed she could always have some hope. As long as the session didn't completely bore her, she could manage.

She set the CD playing with a light tap on the button, then turned back to the files for her next patients, reading through the pages as she waited for them to arrive. Words on paper did little to tell her about what kind of people they were, but what background she could get was useful, and she needed to review the notes from last week.

The previous shifts had offered much in the way of her own personal curiosity, but little in understanding the place she was in. Still, Renamon's mind had quieted; the irritation shifted into the back of her mind. Was it simply children that accomplished that? Or the kind of people that maintained their differences, and sated something in her. She sought to understood, and that had increased in her new surroundings. Learning had become some kind of peace. And in this alone, she could maintain her ever-present calm.

Refreshed in a way by this, and looking forward to the night--if the one called Brainiac was what he said, he of all people should be able to help Renamon in this--the Digimon took a seat off to the side in the sun room, content to simply be alone with her thoughts. But thoughts were too often overrun, and she took efforts to move away from the more heavy items. Dairine disappearing. Toph, Toboe. Orihime. And Rika.... Should Renamon be glad she didn't see her this last visitor shift? Or should this be more of a concern?

She closed her eyes, calming her mind. One thing at a time. There were no moves to be had until night came. So she would wait.

[Digimon Tamers, represent!]

The weather rather suited Daedalus today. He’d spent a few minutes of his break on the patio, poised against the wall where the light rainfall couldn’t touch him. Rain, huh? It wasn’t the feel of droplets on his skin, or the smell of damp earth, or the breath of fresh air that he was interested in, but nevertheless, he took a moment to himself there, his slight frame hardly noticeable where he stood with shoulders slightly hunched.

Despite the apparent solitude, he didn’t believe he was any less under observation than he was in his proper abode. But any tampering had to be done a bit differently.

When it was time to begin his next session, the young doctor returned to his office, as prepared as ever to carry on the day’s work. Within his desk drawer, the Dolores Haze file had been moved to the bottom of the stack, the two belonging to the next patients sitting one over the other on top. It was the first day he’d had nothing but return visits.

Okay, this place wasn't all bad so far. The women were easy on the eyes, the office was cozy and messy, and the rumors about awful hospital food were greatly exaggerated. Even his first patient hadn't been that bad. A bit cocky. Definitely cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. However, he was smarter and a lot more lucid than Venkman had been expecting. Had the kid been a student of his back at Columbia and not, you know, crazy, he could see himself actually giving a rat's ass about him. Not a big ass, of course. Maybe a little one.

That he could hold such high hopes for the next patient. Looking over the file, not only did the next kid's insanity stew have a big old heaping of neurosis mixed into it, but according to the scattered notes of the previous doctor, it was also flavored with a dash of Cotard's syndrome. Oho. I see your logic there, Landel. He thinks he's a ghost. You want me to "bust" that delusion. Aha. Ahahaha. Oh, it is to laugh, thought Venkman, rolling his eyes as he plopped down into his chair. He almost wished he had brought that PKE meter he had swiped borrowed from Egon before leaving for Doyleton. He really wanted to see what kind of reaction he could have gotten by waving it in this kid's face and raving on about how the needle was going off the scale.

Coming in a shift late following a rather surprising day off had not been Jizabel's intention, however he'd somehow managed it nonetheless. And worse was the frazzled look he had once he finally did arrive. Nothing save for the fact that he had managed to grab his coat on the way to work appeared professional about him, and he was quick to disappear into his office to straighten out the mess. A nurse or two was sure to have seen him, but they were hardly a threat to his position, and although he hated the thought of it, he knew how easily it would be to simply say that he'd had a rough night should anyone ask.

It was true enough in any event, but Jizabel would have to be more careful about letting any errands affect his image here.

His hair pulled back and spectacles set as they should be, Jizabel finally glanced the patient files he'd had no time to look at stacked on his desk. Three of them, by the looks of it. Of course. He couldn't expect that time had stopped in the Institute for his tardiness, so it only made sense that they would expect him to see to all three of his daily patients in the short amount of time before night fell.

Spreading the files, he found two, at least, to be ones he'd had before and filed those away into his desk to keep the unfamiliar patient file handy. If he was lucky, he'd have just enough time to glance it over before that particular patient graced his office.

Kaworu immediately gravitated towards the keyboard. It was not a piano, not truly, but it was attractive in all of the same ways. Music freed the mind from conscious thought, and Kaworu was feeling exceptionally weighed down by exactly that. There was a heaviness, as well as a lightness. He did not know where to begin approaching the situation with Shinji. It was a simple task to forget such things when the problem itself was caused by such an enamoring distraction.

Shinji needed to survive, he was supposed to continue, and yet he was here. This place would take his life without needing a reason. A soul so important could simply be put out, and the world would continue as it always had. It seemed wrong, but was it because it was not the way things should be, or simply because Kaworu wished it were so?

And yet, Kaworu could not say he was unhappy. He had done nothing to earn himself more time with Shinji. He had made his decision, and created for himself a fate apart from the Lilim. But as much as many Lilim wished the world to work in those terms, it rarely did. Events would move into place regardless of their actions. It was rare that something happened because an individual deserved it. It was only chance. Kaworu knew that he should not have been glad, but being with Shinji was indescribable.

His long, bony fingers moved across the keys easily, constructing Ode to Joy with each progressive note.

[Reserved for Albedo.]

As the intercom jingle came on, the Head Doctor gave a short yawn before speaking.

"Mm! It would seem I'm a bit tired already. Probably all that good pizza, eh? Hahaha... or perhaps I've been overdoing it on the paperwork for all of our new arrivals... hmm..."

He paused, then continued.

"In any case, our nurses will now escort the grand majority of you to the Music Room, aside from, of course, those of you who are heading to therapy.

"I... do believe that's all! And now it is back to the grindstone for me. Carry on, everyone, and I'll speak to you later!"

The intercom clicked off.

The mere fact that she'd been susceptible to whatever hold the Institute had had on her yesterday was sufficient to leave Ayumu both upset and angry - no, not angry, downright furious, both at herself and whoever was responsible for that. But there was also the fact that because of it, she'd lost out on an entire day of work, and in several ways had ruined some of what she'd done already. That little conversation with Himura the day before, for instance, was something she'd sincerely prefer not to remember if she'd had any choice in the matter.

Unless the man was a complete moron, which, unfortunately, was one thing she couldn't believe of him, he had to have realized just who her brother was. After all the effort to keep that fact quiet (not exactly a secret, but certainly not advertised; half the Shinsengumi probably never even realized it because there was no reason to) she'd gone and chatted about it with him. Told him all about it, practically painted a bright target around a weakness that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

She'd spent the shift in the Sun Room pretending to sleep, while in truth forcing herself into calm. After years of practice she could shunt away the useless and distracting emotions, focusing only on what was important and needed to be at the forefront of her mind, and by the time the intercom signaled the lunch period she was feeling considerably calmer. The time to silently observe others had, as well, alerted her to something she probably should have noticed earlier: Mello was back. Would her previous objective be reinstated now? He seemed to have far less of a bulletin presence this time, so perhaps not. Still, though, it bore investigating.

None of her thoughts were visible, of course, as she moved through the line, examining the lunch selection somewhat dubiously. Now with the benefit of Yuuko's memories she might recognize the food, but she certainly didn't share the enthusiasm for it that her imaginary self apparently had. Ayumu skipped past that part and settled for the salad bar and some bread, then positioned herself in a place where she could watch both the door and the rest of the room, setting her journal open in front of herself as though planning to write something. There was far too much that she'd missed, too much work to do now.

[for Okita]

The intercom announcement commenced with its usual jingle.

"Hello, everyone, and I hope not too many of you dozed off in the Sun Room today! A ha ha..." The Head Doctor's chuckle was loud and confident; it seemed he'd completely and officially gotten over whatever had been eating at him just a couple of days before. He continued with a hearty: "Anyway, next on today's schedule is some delicious lunch! Namely... pizza! Of several varieties, too! Cheese, pepperoni, sausage, tomatoes and basil, pineapple and ham... well, I don't quite understand the appeal of that last one, but... nevertheless! Many choices for your enjoyment! Of course, we also have our usual assortment of drinks and salad bar options – fruits, vegetables, legumes... the works. As sides for the pizza, we have potato chips and garlic bread with marinara sauce.

"Mmm... doesn't your mouth water just thinking about it? I suppose that's the cue for your nurses to escort all of you to your next meal. I hope that those of you in therapy made some notable progress and I'll talk to you after lunch!"

The intercom clicked off.

Further changes were afoot in the Institute, as if the fact he’d spent most of his recent time away from his office--where these therapy sessions were expected to be conducted--instead of in it didn’t say enough. Woe to the patients, who had received even less attention than usual. Daedalus, though, was more interested in the schedule alterations, and the presence of more than one new colleague. That there were additions to the roster was not all that curious from a logical standpoint: when the medical providers were already well outnumbered by patients, replacements would be expected for those doctors whose employment had been terminated just as suddenly as so many patients‘ stays. But logic was not necessarily a defining quality of the hospital Daedalus remained tied to.

The cancelled day of therapy, on the other hand, was something else. Something he was perhaps a little sorry to have missed--for he would have come in, anyway, had he known a handful of the patients had regained some sense of their former selves. He only had the aftermath to concern himself with now; a blip was all it seemed to have been, a moment in time.

Like a switch flipping, Daedalus thought as he stepped into Office 1 and clicked the lights on. Yes, interesting.

He wasn’t pleased with a great many things, but he was set for another meeting with one of his more fruitful relations first thing. If he were striving for progress, he could do worse than that. The stack of nine files, he had brought with him, and he dropped them on his desk while he settled himself in for the day. Time to play his part again.

Seated, Daedalus pulled the files into his lap. ‘Haze, Dolores’ was the name on the first tab.

With an airy sigh, he stored the stack away in his desk drawer.

If anyone was trying to make up for their sick-leave like no other, it was Maggie. How the hell did she manage to miss an entire week of work? And then the revise in the schedule this week had her tripping up even more. On top of that, there was an influx of new doctors, new patients, and an influx of released patients and doctors that weren't here anymore.

Every moment she had was spent pouring over her new files, putting away the ones she'd (weirdly enough) miss working on, and getting to know her new co-workers. How could so much change in a week here that it left her this disoriented?

And of course, the only other doctor she got on friendly terms with was gone. Thanks for the memories, Dr. Washu.

But in her mad-dash to get caught up, she lost track of time. Jesus, was it second shift already? Dr. Burroughs poured herself another cup of coffee, cleared her desk, and pulled out a single file for now: Zahm, Jacob.

"Here's to a new week..."

Mohinder's office was fully set up now - books all in order and lined up neatly on the shelves, floor clear of all boxes. The world map pinned to a bulletin board on one wall remained unmarked and had been joined by a life-size model of a skeleton, the sort you might find in a high school biology classroom. Sitting on top of one of the bookshelves was a small aquarium housing a single lizard, currently basking on a piece of driftwood.

The man himself stood behind his desk, in the middle of reorganizing some of his files since there'd been a change in patients since the previous week. He didn't recall authorizing the release of any of the ones he no longer had, but then he was also beginning to think he didn't have nearly as much authority as a patient's 'doctor' should have. It was just as well. Their sessions seemed terribly short sometimes.

There didn't seem to have been much progress made with the patients he still had, either, though a couple were on record for having been recently on the mend. He was curious to see how far they really had come, if they'd actually made any improvements at all.

This place had more paperwork to fill out before one could actually see a patient than both Delphi and Saint Francis combined - and that was saying something. Between that and the shifts around to her office...she let out a heavy sigh. That had been frustrating, all right.

Finally, though, Dr. Weaver was ready to see her first patients. She finished writing some notes to herself on the whiteboard: the words 'Savato', 'Bliss', and GUILT' - then took a seat at her desk.

She tapped a few keys on her computer's keyboard, pulling up the young woman's file. Ounishi Kazuko. Age 17, from Tokyo, black hair, green eyes. Nozomi sighed a bit. There wasn't as much information in the patient file as she would have liked. That was a bit frustrating, but she supposed every place had their way of going about things. It didn't mean that she needed to like it; in fact, the opposite was true.

That was all right in the end, though. She didn't much like trusting blindly in others' notes, a lesson she had learned first-hand. She'd take her own history when the girl arrived.

She kept the one tab open, then tapped a few keys, opening up the file for her second patient. Amy Dumas. Age 25, blonde hair, blue eyes. She made a mental note to take a look at the woman's arm, noting the recent injury to it, and also noted the woman's past professional record.

The extra day off had been a bit of a surprise, explained to her apologetically by the Institute staff as a last-minute schedule change. Despite the fact that such a change would have little to no effect on her plans, if there was anything that Makiko disliked, it was something unexpected. That in and of itself had been sufficient to put her in an unpleasant mood by the time she'd arrived in her office that morning, but once she'd arrived she found there had been even more changes to her schedule, and nobody had seen fit to warn her of these ones before she'd laid eyes on it.

It seemed that some of her patients had been released - released, already, and without consulting her? These were her patients involved here, didn't the administration understand that? She'd not be able to make any progress whatsoever without any kind of set regimen, a fixed schedule in which to work. This was simply intolerable; even with what she'd been given she'd been anticipating this week's sessions, a second opportunity with certain of them (she could almost taste the bitter tang of fear on her tongue, even more bitter now with the knowledge that that person was now out of her reach) and now she had to start over with several patients.

The only consolation she could find was that the first one for today was a certain Eric Derringer. Even though he certainly wasn't her usual target, he was still at least somewhat entertaining to bait. If she didn't have to spend the entire session listening to someone whine about their paltry problems, then at least it wasn't a complete waste.

She pushed a random CD into the player and punched the "play" button with considerably more force than necessary, barely even noticing the music as it began. After a moment to school her features into her standard calm, impassive mask, Kisugi Makiko opened the man's file and began to read over her notes from the previous week, mentally filling in some of the gaps with her experience with him in town. He should be arriving any minute now, and she had no intention of him seeing her in anything other than complete control.

Venkman jammed a pin into the last of the newspaper clippings, then stepped back to admire his handiwork. On the wall behind his new desk was a small array of Ghostbusters media coverage - news articles, magazine covers, and advertisements featuring his, Ray, and Egon's faces. Mostly his. And in the center of the array, he had hung his two framed degrees. Good. With that and the furniture in place, the formerly barren office looked a little more like the one he had enjoyed at the firehouse. Now all it needed was a little more clutter and a secretary he could tell to get back in the kitchen, and it would feel just like home.

Not that Venkman was desperate to be at home. Sure, he missed bustin' with Tex and Francine in the wild wests of Manhattan. For now, though, just a little reminder of more fun times was all he really needed. Too much of a reminder and he would just start to depress himself. What kind of a loser would he be if he let that happen? He had come to Doyleton and to Landel's to get a little distance, some breathing room. He had come to avoid getting depressed, so damn it, he was going to be the happiest little clam in this big, blue, mentally challenged sea if it killed him.

He strolled around the empty office, idly whistling a familiar little ditty written by a friend of his, one Ray Parker Jr. First patient of the day would be arriving sometime in the next little while. God, what was that going to be like, he wondered. On the one hand, maybe it wouldn't be too hard. After all, it could be said that he had a degree in abnormal psychology - just about every person on the planet had some really sick stuff going on at the core. Still, cynicism aside, he knew he didn't have much experience working with the real nutballs. The cuckoos, the loons, the wackos. These people. It was easy to make the Average Joe believe in lies and shams. It wasn't so easy, by comparison, to make Not-So-Average "I'm The Pope In A Beavermobile" Joe believe the truth. Regardless, he would do his best with these lost causes. For honor. For glory. For a damn good paycheck.

There was a new office.

Rather, it was still within the same space and confines as where a certain Vicodin-inhaling doctor had used to practice mental therapy but what was now there could no longer be called the same office.

There was a new desk; it looked like it had been stitched together out of different parts. There was a new interior design; everything was in different shades of gray, also looking stitched together. A not-so-new computer tower and bulky monitor sat on the desk, humming away. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, completely unnecessary given the lighting already installed in the room. There were shelves of books and a table, all covered in flasks and beakers, test tubes and jars. There was a chair, metal framed with stitched-up cushions standing by itself in the middle of the room, a little towards the front. There were even white arrows on the floor, which had been stripped to the concrete, one coming from the desk, making a right angle then pointing out the door and another beside it that came in before turning perpendicular to indicate the lonely chair where the patient was meant to sit.

What there was not, however, was a chair for the doctor to sit in. Nor a a doctor to sit in it.

Peter woke up suddenly, his body twisting in the bed and then forcing him to catch his breath in pain. Pain, which was coming from his middle because of the thing that had scratched him last night, and after that...

After that, Zach had jumped in front of him like some kind of martyr, like the exact opposite of everything Sylar stood for, to take the next hit for him. It got pretty fuzzy after that, so night must have ended right around then.

The man let out a pained grunt as he straightened himself up in bed. For some reason, he got the feeling that he'd slept in. There was no way for him to really tell without a window in the room, but he just knew. The fact that Sam's bed looked long since vacated was another clue.

Sam, but was he Sam again? Had the brainwashing worn off, as he and Roland had hoped, or was he going to have to go through this nightmare for even longer? He didn't know how long he could handle "Zach" and "Harrison" before he started going batty himself.

Pulling himself out of bed, Peter lifted his shirt and saw that he was tightly bandaged. The scratch most likely wasn't nearly as bad as the bite that "Zach" had received, but it still smarted. He let his shirt fall and then had to deal with a nurse chiding him for sleeping through the morning announcements. Not that Peter really cared at the moment. He was too busy thinking about last night and the fact that in a way, he now owed something to Sylar. Except it hadn't been Sylar. That was something he was sure of now.

Lost in his thoughts, Peter reached the Sun Room right as the rest of the patient populace was trickling in from breakfast. Sighing to himself, he headed over to the bulletin board and then saw a note written in familiar yet unpleasant handwriting. Holding his pen in a vice grip, Peter scribbled out a reply and then stalked over to an armchair and fell into it with a huff.

While Sylar was maddeningly frustrating, there was one good thing about the fact that he was himself again. It meant that Nathan was too.

[For Spock!]

Somehow, Wilson had ended up with an even longer weekend. When it turned out to be five days long, it didn't really count as a weekend anymore, did it? He had spent most of it trying to get a hold of either House or Cuddy, but both of them were doing a fantastic job of avoiding their calls.

It was weird, since his friend usually only did that when he knew he was in for some sort of lecture, and Wilson didn't have any to give at the moment. House might just be doing it to mess with him, but Wilson found that it was a lot harder to go into work at Landel's Institute knowing that his friend wouldn't be in the office a few doors down.

He hadn't been given much of an explanation for why they were starting on Wednesday as opposed to Tuesday. Apparently there had been some sort of occurrence, but that was the extent of what he'd been told. This place was shaping up to be a real winner, all right.

Though one of the nurses did tell him that a few patients had experienced vast improvements over the past few days. It was good to hear, but he had to wonder why he had been told not to come in until now if that was the case. Sighing and shaking his head, the doctor walked into his dusty office and started to tidy up as he waited for his first patient of the day to come in. It was a new one, but that wasn't surprising considering how this place seemed to operate.

The intercom's jingle came on with its usual tinny fervor, along with the Head Doctor's voice.

"I hope you all enjoyed that delicious breakfast! Mmmm! Of course, what's a good meal without people to enjoy it with, eh? Well, in case you weren't able to find someone friendly to chat with over your plates, perhaps you can in the comfort and relaxation of the Sun Room, where the nurses will be escorting you for your next shift.

"Of course, some of you will, instead, be spending your time with one of our very trusted doctors – old or new! – to sort out problems in a more active way. I hope you do choose to make your sessions productive! Of course, you all have been so well-behaved that I have nothing but the utmost confidence for all of you.

"I believe that is all for now! Until lunch!"

The intercom clicked off.