House MD Fanfiction

Shrink

Old!Hilson, kinda sad, 1,208 words
By: Hibernia1

"Doctor House? You can come in now.”

House didn’t look up. Wilson poked him.

“Doctor Bets is calling you. It’s your turn,” he hissed.

“Not deaf,” House said. He got up in extreme slow motion and limped to his geriatric psychiatrist’s office door even slower. Wilson smiled at Bets apologetically.

“Doctor House, do you feel comfortable with your partner being in here for our talk?” Bets asked after House had taken a seat. Wilson was still hovering near the door.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice.”

House shrugged. “Don’t care one way or the other.”

Bets sat down behind his desk, facing House. “Do you want to stay, Doctor Wilson?” he asked.

“Yes. Please.”

“No problem. Have a seat.”

House stared at the ceiling. Bets checked his file.

“So, Doctor House,” he then started, “how have things been going since your last visit six months ago?”

“Fine.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

“That’s not really the answer I was hoping for,” Bets said calmly, “but well, let’s see, you’ve recently joined a Cognitive Training Program. How’s that working out?”

House snorted.

“House,” Wilson pleaded, “please! This morning before we left you promised me you’d co-operate this time!”

“Don’t remember. Dementia, see?” House said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I’ve read the reports of the psychiatrist overseeing the program,” Bets continued imperturbably, “and she seems to be under the impression that you’re not getting the full benefits the sessions could provide because you’re not committed. Why do you think that is?”

“She’s in dire need of psychiatric help herself,” House told him.

“Right. So, she’s delusional, and in reality you’re very committed to the program?”

“I don’t know what her problem is. I’m not a shrink, for fuck’s sake. I’m a real doctor with a real specialty.”

“House!” Wilson exclaimed, shocked.

“So, what is your specialty?” Bets asked.

“Should be in my file,” House answered.

“Humor me.”

House narrowed his eyes in anger.

“Always with the trick questions! I can’t think of it right now, okay? Happy?” he spat.

Bets shook his head. “I’m not trying to trick you at all. What I’m trying to do is to assess your mental condition. Which would be easier, by the way, if you’d be more forthcoming with information.”

“What do you want to hear?” House demanded, “how much I hate that stupid program and the games they want you to play and the way they want you to think of words that rhyme with other words?”

“That’s a good start,” Bets said, “do go on.”

“Nothing more to tell.”

“I’m sure there is.”