The two men had given up their staring contest an hour ago. Now, they looked about the room, pretending that they were observing the barren walls and the table and chairs that filled the otherwise empty space. In reality, they observed one another in painful silence, each sizing the other up with the occasional sideways glance. It was the salt-and-pepper doctor who broke the silence, albeit without words. He retrieved a bottle of pills from his jacket pocket, and rattled it towards the senator in a mock offering. He then proceeded to check his watch before swallowing twice the recommended dosage.
"Addictions are like secrets; everyone's got one, but they're best kept to one's self. Having grown up in Gaffney, I can appreciate a man who keeps his weaknesses in the light, if only because it makes exploiting them that much easier."
Frank had spoken the words to no one in particular, his head turned slightly to one side as though looking into a camera.
"Talking to one's self! A symptom of schizophrenia, paranoia, and being a genius."
Frank turned his attention towards House to give him an acknowledging glare. The doctor spoke again.
"Excuse me. I'm having a very important conversation here." He paused, this time looking directly at Senator Underwood to mock him. "That means I'm doing the opposite of your job."
Frank didn't allow the surprise to show on his face. He wondered if the deck was stacked against him. The senator had only been told that the man opposite him was to commit suicide and then, and only then, he himself would go free. He knew neither the man's name nor his occupation. House continued talking.
"I talk to myself because I'm a genius. That means you're either, mmh, a pothead or a mental patient. I'm guessing the former. Crazy is usually more of a right-wing thing." He whispered the last statement as though he was making gossip with his weekly crochet circle.
"Am I supposed to be impressed that you know who I am? I'm a United States senator. My face has been on T.V. before. People like to think that they know things about important people. I don't know the first thing about you, what do you think that says?"
Frank hoped his words stung, but if they did, the man didn't let it show. Instead, he grabbed his cane and limped over, stepping casually around the table, not sparing a glance at the loaded gun. When he reached the senator, he shifted the cane to his other hand, extending his right.
"Greg House, head diagnostition at Princeton-Plainsborough."