Chapter Text
“This is not up for discussion.” Cuddy said firmly, arms crossed over her ample chest. “You have an appointment tomorrow morning and you will go even if I need to drag you in by your ear.”
“Sexy.” House intoned dryly. Not his best retort, but sue him, he was exhausted. Cuddy frowned at him, refusing to take the bait.
“Didn’t we go through this song and dance five years ago?” He tried again. “You know, the last time you tried to send me to a shrink.” Cuddy has insisted on counseling sessions in the months after the infarction and, seeing as he was basically immobile and hopped up on pain medication there was little House could do to stop her. He did, however, burn through three therapists in the span of three weeks, a hospital record. He’d even reduced the last one to tears. Eventually, Cuddy was forced to admit defeat and House settled into a routine of caffeine, booze, and pills to keep him somewhat functional. It worked fine until it didn’t.
“Dr. Addams wasn’t employed here five years ago.” Cuddy replied calmly. “And, unlike the rest of the psych department, she isn’t refusing to treat you on principle.”
“Lucky me.” House sneered, tossing his cane between his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. “Look, we both know this is pointless. I’ve been handling things just fine on my own and I doubt some fresh-out-of-med-school-bleeding-heart-quack is going to offer any insight.”
“ Just fine? ” Cuddy repeated incredulously. “You’ve slept, what, eight hours total in the past week?”
Try six. House thought bitterly. And those few hours had been plagued by nightmares. Not that Cuddy needed to know that.
“I’ve been working on a case.” He lied. Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him.
“You haven’t been eating for weeks , other than the pills you’ve been popping like candy.” She continued. Because all food tasted like cardboard and the moment House tried to eat his stomach cramped hard in protest. Not that he’d had much of an appetite recently.
“I always do that.” Cuddy glared at him, completely unamused.
“You passed out during the differential yesterday.” She persisted. That was a bit dramatic. He’d momentarily lost consciousness, it wasn’t like he’d fainted like a Victorian woman. “And I can smell the ketones on your breath.” Denial wasn’t cutting it. Time to switch to distraction.
“Do you make a habit of smelling me?” He leered at her. “Kinky.”
“You’re scaring Wilson.” Cuddy insisted. “And your team. And me. But I know you don’t care about that part.”
“Wilson should learn to mind his own beeswax.” House grumbled, slumping further down in his chair. He knew he was scaring Wilson and the thought sent an uncomfortable pang of guilt through his chest. It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose. He’d tried to hide his insomnia and lack of appetite from his best friend but it was difficult to manage when they shared an apartment.
“Please, House.” Wilson had begged him last week after his third sleepless night in a row. “I know there’s something going on with you. I want to help you but you have to tell me how .” House could only shake his head, exhausted tears welling up in his eyes. Of course Wilson had snitched to Cuddy; it wasn’t like House had given him another option. He was too tired to even be angry at him.
“Five sessions.” Cuddy bargained, drawing House out of his memories. “One a week for five weeks. Do that and I’ll knock three months off of your clinic duty. I’ll even stop bugging you as an added bonus.” It was a good deal and House knew it. Hell, he’d given up Vicodin for a week just to get one month off clinic duty. This ought to be a piece of cake in comparison.
“If I get her to quit before five weeks are up do I still get three months off?” Cuddy gave him a deeply unsettling smile.
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” She said sweetly. “Apparently, Dr. Addams has a reputation. The psych staff call her ‘the child whisperer’. She’s more than qualified to handle you.”
“Are you joking?” House snapped, sitting up quickly enough that it made his leg spasm. “You're not just sending me to a shrink, you're sending me to a shrink for babies?”
“One might say you’re a match made in heaven.” Cuddy said, a smug smile on her lips. “Tomorrow morning, 11:00. Be there.”
This was humiliating, House seethed. Beyond humiliating. Dr. Addams' waiting room was full of bright colors and ugly, plush furniture. A painting of a cartoon elephant riding a bike stared at him from across the room. It looked like Disneyland had thrown up everywhere. Cuddy was so going to pay for this.
Dr. Addams emerged from her office, which according to the plaque on her door, was called ‘The PlayRoom’, at 11:00 on the dot. She was young, as House had suspected, maybe 35 at the oldest. Not fresh out of med school but close enough. She was prettier than he had imagined her, all big blue eyes and shocking red hair. The appeal was somewhat ruined by her outfit which featured a dress patterned in cartoon cat faces and what appeared to be matching earrings. Ugh. Child whisperer indeed.
“Dr. House?” She asked, smiling at him in a way that reminded him a bit of Wilson. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please come in.” House smiled politely in return, using his cane to lever himself to his feet and head towards the door.
I’ll bet I can get her to run screaming from the building in two sessions. He thought smugly. He looked around the (unsurprisingly) colorful room, eyes wandering over plastic bins of toys, shelves stacked with books and boardgames, a seating area with honest to god beanbag chairs.
“Huh,” House mused, heading to one of the two adult sized chairs in the room. “From my experience, playrooms tend to have a lot more whips and chains hanging from the walls.” Dr. Addams laughed lightly, annoyingly undisturbed by the comment.
“I’m sure this is different from your previous therapy experiences.” She said, taking a seat opposite him and producing a notepad and pencil from somewhere. “Perhaps we can start there. Dr. Cuddy mentioned you were in counseling a few years ago?”
“I’ll bet Dr. Cuddy mentioned a lot of things.” House said snidely. “And you’ve obviously read my files, don’t act like you haven’t.” Dr. Addams didn’t refute the accusation, not that House had expected her to.
“Session notes don’t tell the whole story.” She countered, tapping her pencil against her notepad. “And I’m far more interested in your version of events anyways. I’m guessing you found previous therapists to be unhelpful?”
“Impressive deduction.” House deadpanned. “It’s like you went to medical school or something.” Dr. Addams shrugged.
“Actually, I got my doctorate in psychology, not psychiatry.” She corrected. “No offense, but you couldn’t have paid me enough to go through med school.”
“PHD, not MD.” House noted, latching on to a potentially important detail. “And yet you work at a hospital.”
“We’re here to talk about you, not me.” Dr. Addams pointed out. “I’m happy to answer any questions you might have about the therapeutic process.” Bingo. Three months off of clinic duty in the bag.
“Do you have those anatomically correct dolls here?” House asked, tapping his cane obnoxiously against the floor. “You know, so your traumatized kiddos can point out where their funny uncle touched them?” Dr. Addams considered him for a moment, her face unreadable.
“Do you think those would be relevant to our conversation?” She asked, her voice never rising in volume. There was something knowing in her expression that House did not like one bit. Time to backtrack.
“Well, there’s just so much to cover.” He snarked. “Don’t you want to ask me about my addiction to painkillers and life altering surgery first?” Dr. Addams scribbled something on her notepad. House resisted the urge to knock it from her hands with his cane.
“Is that what you want to talk about?” She asked in the same calm tone. House glared at her.
“Not particularly. And stop answering every question with a question. That’s like therapy techniques 101.” Dr. Addams gave him a nod of understanding.
“You’re uncomfortable with the fact that I’m so young.” She stated. “You think I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“And that’s reflections, therapy techniques 102.” House groaned, rolling his eyes. “Come on, give me something interesting here.” Dr. Addams shrugged, still looking unbothered.
“Alright. Where would you say you rank on the Kinsey scale?” It was such an abrupt change of subject that it momentarily threw House for a loop.
“Huh?” He said intelligently. Dr. Addams gave him a patient look.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with Dr. Kinsey’s work.” She continued, crossing one knee over the other. “That’s part of therapy techniques 105 afterall.”
“Cute.” House muttered through gritted teeth. He was starting to understand Cuddy’s smugness about this little arraignment. She and Dr. Addams had the same warped sense of humor.
“I’m a 3, for the record.” Dr. Addams disclosed, glancing at her watch. And wait, what? “We’ve got about twenty minutes left of today’s session. Think you can get all the lesbian jokes out by the time we wrap up?”
“No promises.” House said cheerfully. He was already thinking up ways to exploit that interesting little tidbit of information. Suddenly the cat themed outfit was less of a turn off. “Aren’t shrinks not supposed to self-disclose personal information?” Dr. Addams smiled at him sweetly.
“Says the man who gets accused of medical malpractice every other week. And you never answered my question.” Damn. She was irritatingly good at her job.
“What, you trying to figure out if I’m available?” He asked with an unfriendly sneer. “Guess the rumors about bisexuals being massive sluts are true.” Other than the slight lift of an eyebrow, Dr. Addams didn’t react.
“Answering a question with a question, Dr. House?” She quipped, clicking her tongue with disapproval. “I thought that was therapy techniques 101.” House slammed his cane down on the floor, hard enough to knock a nearby toy off a shelf. Dr. Addams didn’t so much as flinch.
“Why are you harping on this so much?” He demanded. Dr. Addams met his gaze head on.
“Why are you avoiding the question?” He was trapped. There was no way to sidestep her inquiry and House had a sneaking suspicion that Dr. Addams could tell if he was lying.
“Fine!” He snapped at last. “1.5, maybe a 2 at the most. Happy now?” The serene smile was back. House felt like he might puke.
“I appreciate you sharing that with me.” She said sincerely. “Do many other people know?” House shook his head. He could feel a tremor starting in his hand and he gripped the handle of his cane to steady it. Fine, so he came out to someone he wasn’t screwing for the first time in his life and he was freaking out a little. He was not going to have a panic attack in this technicolor hellscape of an office.
“I’m sorry to say that we’re out of time for today.” Dr. Addams said. To her credit, she did sound genuinely apologetic. “Wanna hit me with your best lesbian joke before you go?” House gave a long suffering sigh, the panic thankfully receding from his mind.
“What did one lesbian say to the other?” He asked wearily. Dr. Addams gave him an indulgent smile.
“What?”
“‘Your face or mine?’” That got a genuine laugh out of the younger woman and House knew gay jokes were not going to be enough to scare her off. She wasn’t Wilson.
“Not bad.” She conceded, rising from her chair. “Same time next week?” Addams: 1, House: 0. This was going to be harder than he thought.