Psychoanalysis

"Sometimes, when you start making those serious, concerned doctor faces of yours…" House paused thoughtfully. "You look just like Anthony Perkins."

"What?" Dr. Wilson looked up, startled.

House nodded and thumped his cane on the carpet in triumph. "Yep! Tony Perkins as Norman Bates! When everyone still thought he was a 'nice boy.'"

"Oh, I do not." Wilson fiddled with his pen for a moment, staring fixedly at the paperwork on the desk in front of him, before adding awkwardly, "And, before you ask, I'd like to add that I've never had any interest in taxidermy." His hand went down into the pocket of his lab coat.

"Or in killing people while dressed up like a little old lady, I assume." With a snide little smile, House pointed to where Dr. Wilson's hand had disappeared up to the wrist in his pocket. "If you pull out a piece of candy, I'll scream."

"Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt." Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Am I allowed to have a Jolly Rancher, or is that too creepy for you?"

"No, no, go ahead." The crinkle of unfolding plastic-wrap filled the momentary silence. "You know, now that I come to think of it, everyone thinks you're a 'nice boy.'" House scratched his chin in a theatrical show of deep thought. "You don't have any issues with your mommy that you haven't shared yet, do you?"

Wilson frowned. "No, although I sort of doubt that I'd tell you even if I did."

"An excellent point." House's lips continued their spasmodic quirking, suggesting that he was trying to hold back a nasty Cheshire cat's grin, and Wilson sighed in defeat.

"Do I really look like Anthony Perkins?"

House shook his head. "No, no. He was much skinnier in that movie."

"Thanks." Wilson gave him a dark look and shifted his jaw, crushing the piece of candy. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you would keep your brilliant observation to yourself." House had the good grace to attempt a look of innocence, but Wilson held up one hand in a gesture of preemptive warning. "Oh, no. I know you, Greg. You'll ask everyone their opinion, and no matter how you say it, it'll put ideas of showers and weird old motels into everyone's heads. And I'd really prefer not to be interrogated by Dr. Cuddy about whether or not I've ever felt guilty watching girls undressing."

"Oh, don't worry about Dr. Cuddy," House said dismissively.

"Why not?"

"Well..." House leaned forward, the glint of conspiracy and gossip manifesting in his eyes. "Doesn't she put you in mind of Elsa Lanchester in Bride of Frankenstein?"