"But you just proved my point. Therapists are never quiet." he pointed out, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, even if there was a level of seriousness in his tone. He had a certain disdain for the head doctors. Or perhaps he just didn't like the idea of someone picking up on the subtlties most were oblivious to. "So that's what you do when I'm sleeping," he said, taking a drink from his glass. "Tell the window all your innermost secret desires." Another smirk, but he was watching her as he traced the rim of the glass with one finger. Whatever she was thinking about--which, honestly, he didn't know if he wanted to get into--one thing was clear: it was bothering her. And on some level, that bothered him. He wasn't about to go announcing it in the typical way, though. No, that wasn't how House worked. Everything had to be specifically designed for benefit. Or amusement. But he didn't really think those tactics would work in this case.
An eyebrow arched at that comment, though. "I'm fine. Grown man and everything. Can completely decide when I should sleep all on my own." Of course, they both knew she was just trying to push this conversation off, not have to deal with it, and there was a rather large part of him that was actually okay with that.