I went to a shrink
To analyze my dreams
She says it's lack of sex
That's bringing me down...

Sometimes I give myself the creeps
Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me
It all keeps adding up
I think I'm cracking up
Am I just paranoid?
Or I'm just stoned
"Basket Case" - Green Day

For a little over two weeks, Bobby Goren went around with his face to the floor, refusing to look me in the eye. His unwavering "not-looking" told me just how obsessively he must be "not-thinking." I watched him with equal determination. Even while he shunned me, I distracted myself by studying his idiosyncrasies.

One day, we sat staring over lunch -- he at his sandwich and me at him -- when Bobby suddenly looked up and fixed his eyes directly on mine for several seconds before looking away again. For the rest of the week, I kept to my room, thinking. I carried out a differential in my head as I lay on my bed and tried to figure out what it all meant.

I couldn't understand my reactions to Goren. Given the similarities between a nuthouse and a prison, the sex made sense. The sudden intense emotional involvement didn't. The whole situation was outrageous. And I enjoyed it. Perversely.

I wondered if sharing a room with Bobby would make it easier to figure things out. His roommate had been discharged and the bed remained empty. I was in a private room. It might be a challenge to arrange a transfer to Bobby's room, but I was sure it could be done. It might even make my individual therapy sessions less boring if I figured out how to get my shrink to make it happen. With the right prompting, I was sure she could be convinced of the therapeutic benefits of my becoming Bobby's roommate.

I was prepared by the time I showed up for my next session with my shrink. I dangled my leg over the armrest as I relaxed into the chair. "Afternoon," I said.

She looked slightly amused and leaned back in her own chair. "Yes, it is. Afternoon," she acknowledged, dryly. "How are you doing this afternoon, Dr. House?"

I shrugged. "My leg hurts like hell," I supplied insignificantly. "Things appear O.K. otherwise."

She glanced down at the file in front of her. "Any change in the frequency of Amber and Kutner's appearances?" Her tone betrayed curiosity but no expectation of a change in either direction.

"They've been quieter," I admitted. "Not gone, though."

She nodded and glanced back at the folder. "And Dr. Wilson?" She looked up at me. "How was the last visit -- from your point of view?" Her tone invited me to share a confidence -- but not too eagerly. She usually held the empathetic psychiatrist schtick in check during our sessions. She tried to play it cool, even indulging in mild sarcasm occasionally.

She liked to ask about Wilson. "Things went fine," I supplied shortly. "I got to play self-destructive jerk and Wilson got to play caring friend. He left happy."

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't think Wilson cares about you?" Not exactly what I'd said, of course.

I considered it for a second. "He doesn't approve of me."

I had her full attention now. "What is it about you that provokes his disapproval?"

"I'm selfish. I'm cynical. I hurt people intentionally." I thought about her for a moment. She was the type to think that gaining my trust was the best way to evoke some ridiculous 'breakthrough.' "He thinks I do anyway. I prefer to think of it as an unintentional byproduct. The way my mind works, it's hard to consider feelings as really all that important -- mine or anyone else's." She seemed to soften at the self-reference. I assumed she was buying it.

"So you find it difficult to consider other people's feelings and you end up hurting them? And that leads Wilson to disapprove of you?" As she restated what I'd just said, her brow furrowed with the effort of delving into my self-image and the mysteries of my relationship with Wilson. Of course, she wanted to draw me out. And I wanted something from her.

"That's exactly it," I replied, prepared to play along in pursuit of a larger goal.

"How does Wilson express his disapproval?" She looked like she was prepared to offer me all the empathy in the world if I wanted to unburden myself.

I wasn't sure what to give her. A little honesty wouldn't hurt. "He tells me I'm a jerk. A self-destructive jerk." It seemed a fair assessment.

"He sees you as self-destructive?" she prodded.

Time to look embarrassed as I admitted my list of failings. "Self destructive," I said, looking to the floor, "impulsive, bitter, self-loathing..." I trailed off. Self-revelation, even in the interests of manipulation and deceit, sucked.

"And how does Wilson see himself in relation to this self-destructive side of your personality, Dr. House?" She squinted a little, determined to see the inner workings of our dysfunctional relationship.

"As the enabler." I took a breath and considered the ramifications of letting her know too much. My purpose was to get Goren as my roommate, not open up new areas of my personal life for her to probe.

I wondered what it would take to get her to do what I wanted. And even if she agreed that asking Goren to be my roommate was a good idea, I couldn't predict his reaction. He was no longer completely ignoring me but we weren't interacting either. Whatever he wanted would be fine with me. All I really wanted was a chance to study him more.

Story time, I decided. "I made a friend here," I volunteered.

She looked surprised. "Really? I'd like to hear more about that, Dr. House." There was some excitement in her voice. I could get her invested in this really quickly.

I shrugged to evidence some insecurity. "Well, I tried to make a friend. I keep...trying. To reach out," I added. She seemed genuinely intrigued. "I don't know what happened." I cleared my throat. "It's just got me thinking. Maybe I miss out on a lot?"

"You said you tried to make a friend but you don't know what happened? It would be helpful if you would share some of the details. If you think you may be missing out on social cues, perhaps we can learn something from the experience." So earnest and sincere on the surface. She was dying to hear the details.

"I don't think it's that." I shook my head and fought off a chuckle. "We really hit it off. I trust him. He even got me to go to group," I added, knowing group was her favorite prescription. I shook my head again. "I don't know what led to the argument. But I want this to work. Things are better with us now. But I know I've messed these things up before. And I want...I just want a chance to make it work," I said, sighing.

"So you became friendly with another patient? You came to trust him. The two of you had an argument but you've since gotten past it. You're willing to work at the relationship because you perceive this person as someone who brings value to your life?" I nodded along as she annoyingly repeated everything I just said. "Do you think your friend wants things to work out between you?" she asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk. Leaning in for the kill.

I nodded. "He seems open to the possibility."

"Would you be willing to tell me the name of your friend?" She looked at me hopefully. I expected her to bat her eyes any minute.

"Of course. Robert Goren."

She smiled. "You two actually have a lot in common. I would encourage you to get to know Mr. Goren better. You really are uniquely suited to offer each other emotional support -- in group and outside of it." She nodded approvingly.

I nodded and closed my eyes to avoid rolling them. "He's interesting. I guess I have a hard time getting close to people." I scanned my brain for the best psychobabble I could invent. "I'm an only child," I started. "I think that made it difficult to get close to people. I can't live with other people. Or I've never learned to. I pushed away the only woman I ever loved enough to live with. Wilson lived with me for awhile and I pushed him away. I don't understand why this happens." I looked into her eyes, hoping she was following along, enchanted by her own god-like ability to get Gregory House to open up. Moron.

"How did you push Wilson away exactly?" She was taking notes now. We were onto something significant!

I shrugged. "I guess I was a difficult roommate. Immature. Playing pranks and..." I trailed off and shook my head. "Nonsense. I just...have no idea what I'm doing."

"Did you want to drive Wilson away? Consciously or unconsciously?" She waited pen poised for my assessment.

"I think part of me wanted to and part of me didn't."

"Explore with me for a minute why you would want to drive Wilson away. He's your best friend. You enjoy spending time with him. What would be the downside of having him live with you?" Shrinks lived for moments like these. Meaningful self-revelation under their guidance. I hated encouraging her but it seemed a necessary evil.

"I guess..." I began, inserting the pauses for dramatic effect, "I guess it's just that...I don't want anyone close. Not close enough to know me the way...not close enough to really know me."

"If they really knew you, Dr. House, what would happen?"

I stopped to consider her question. It wasn't one that I had anticipated. I finally replied with the first answer that came to mind. "They wouldn't like me at all."

"Living with you is the key to discovering what it is that makes Greg House ultimately unlikable? Or unlovable? Have I got that right?"

I nodded quickly. "Exactly."

"And you realize that the inability to maintain close and intimate contact with another person is one of the reasons you're here, is that right, Dr. House? You haven't learned how to share space with someone you like -- or love?" There it was. Empathy and self-congratulation all rolled into one. I'd achieved a painful breakthrough under her tutelage.

I took a deep breath and laid it on thick. "It is right. I do know that. But I can't learn how to do that. Certainly not here. Who would I live with? The only person I like is Robert Goren and I'd just ruin another friendship in close quarters. I don't see it happening."

"Perhaps you create the behavior that drives people away in order to protect your self-fulfilling prophecies? I'm not convinced that you and Robert Goren couldn't be roommates and friends if you both had an interest in achieving that outcome."

Excellent. "I dunno," I said with a shrug. "I'm not confident you're correct."

"It might be worthwhile to find out -- if it can be arranged," she smirked. Bingo!

I sighed. "Whatever you think is best," I said.

"I'll check into Robert Goren's rooming situation and get back to you. In the meantime, perhaps you can think about what kinds of issues might arise with a roommate so we can try to be proactive."

I stopped listening as she started talking about being considerate of others, respectful and sensitive. I started wondering what Bobby would say when he found out I was going to be moved into his room for therapeutic reasons. I suspected indifference or veiled suspicion, but not refusal or disappointment. Someone like Robert Goren, I figured, makes eye contact because he's interested. Someone like Robert Goren forgives. Obviously, someone like Robert Goren possesses enough passion to meet my own, a rare quality. But he was sensitive, emotionally delicate, and quick to fall in love. I, on the other hand, wasn't. I was anxious to study him and understand what happened between us. Though I wasn't after anything more than pieces of the puzzle, I wondered whether we'd reconnect. Or if we already had.