"Okay, you're fine," Cuddy said although she didn't believe it for a moment. He'd made enough complaints about how he felt, about the place and the other patients, for her to know that he wasn't at all fine with the situation. She also knew arguing with him about it would be counter-productive. She was tired of arguing with him. Let his therapist battle through his defenses for a while.

She frowned when he pushed her away but she folded her hands in her lap without commenting. She hesitated to even attempt to reassure him when he started talking again. She was afraid he'd just argue with her about that as well. He was irritable, he was clearly unhappy, but there was nothing she could do about it. She'd known he wouldn't be happy about getting help but he needed it. She was sure if he could just get through this initial stage, things would seem a lot better.

When House pushed away from the table, Wilson took hold of her chair to pull it back. He leaned in and whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay. He was just...venting."

"He's miserable," Wilson said, looking over at House as he approached the door.

"You think I don't know that?" Cuddy said, grabbing her purse from the table as Wilson pushed her chair in. "What am I supposed to do about it? He needs this."

"I know, I know," Wilson murmured. "I'm just saying...."

"Well, don't," Cuddy whispered harshly. "It's not helping." She glanced guiltily at House, hoping he hadn't noticed the exchange between her and Wilson. Normally she wouldn't have a hope but with his mind fogged by drugs, it was at least possible he was oblivious to their whispered conversation. She didn't want him feeling even more self-conscious about his situation.

She tugged on Wilson's sleeve to get him to follow her as she hurried after House.