07x21 - The Fix

[bunniefuu]

Tony: I have been fantasizing about this for months.

Glenn: Forget it. We're not here to fool around.

Tony: I'm not fooling around. I need this.

Glenn: You're an idiot. You know that?

[They are standing in front of a round, concrete structure in the middle of nowhere. It’s about 8 or 9 feet high. Tony tosses the picture on top and turns to Glenn.]

Tony: Just shut up and give me a boost.

[Glenn sighs and cups his hands.]

[Cut to Tony on top of the blockhouse. He looks around. It’s very overcast — there’s a storm coming.]

Glenn: Hurry your ass up.

[There’s the sound of a piece of duct tape being torn off the role. Glenn waits impatiently on the ground. Tony rubs a trapezoidal thing on top of the building. He jumps down. He and Glenn run to their car. The engine starts. The car backs up and they haul ass out of there.]

Glenn: Hey, sometimes a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. [into a two-way radio] Jaguar one to control. Uh, sorry for the delay. Glenn had to take a leak. It was unavoidable. [grins] Target area is clear. Repeat: Target area confirmed clear.

[Cut to the trapezoidal thing. Whatever it is, it now has the picture of the woman in the bikini taped to it.]

[Cut to a computer center. The same woman, Dr. Lee, is wearing a business suit. Cesar approaches her.]

Cesar: Dr. Lee, target area is cleared. Launch vehicle's in range. All systems go.

Lee: Thank you, Cesar. Whenever you're ready. [to a couple of m*llitary men flanking her] The CT-10's light enough to launch from a UAV, but can penetrate 8 feet of 6,000-psi concrete before detonation.

Cesar: [kibitzing on one of the manned computer terminals] b*mb's away.

Lee: Precision guidance system's not affected by darkness or weather and can hit a 2-foot-wide target from 69,000 feet.

General: What about sound?

[The target appears on a computer screen. It’s the blockhouse Tony and Glenn were at.]

Lee: None inbound at all. We've developed a new fan and a baffling design that—

Cesar: Ordnance on target in three, two, one.

[The computer guy clicks a button and the blockhouse becomes a huge cloud of black smoke. Lee smiles slightly.]

[Cut to Tony and Glenn in the car in a field.]

Tony: I feel better already.

Glenn: You need to see a shrink. Seriously.

[Tony grins.]

[Cut back to the computer center. The General addresses Cesar.]

General: Well done.

[Cesar looks at him then runs past him.]

Cesar: Wendy! [Dr. Lee is on the floor, convulsing.] Call 911!

[Opening Credits]

[Cut to red rubber tubing attached to a table leg. The other end is attached to black, Velcroed strap around House’s right ankle. He’s on his kitchen table doing leg lifts against the resistance of the tubing. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The scar on his leg is still massive but, after all these years, it’s no longer red.]

[House does one more lift, grunting from the effort despite the fact that he doesn’t get his leg very far up. He slides off the table, landing on his left foot. He holds onto his right thigh and breathes through the pain.]

[Cut to Diagnostics.]

Thirteen: Karma's a bitch.

Foreman: You think her seizures are the result of bad karma?

Thirteen: I think if you spend your days designing ever more effective ways to blow people up, stuff's bound to come back to you.

[Everyone turns to look at House who is downing an entire bottle of water in one breath. He finishes and belches.]

House: Thirsty. Side effect of a new antihistamine I'm on.

Chase: You don't seem congested.

House: Hmm, intriguing.

Taub: You have any thoughts about our patient?

House: Got some questions about whether Thirteen really believes in karma or just wants to. As for the patient, it's not gonna be easy to break into her office. Might want to start with her home.

Foreman: We could ask to look through her office and we could do an MRI first.

House: Sure. Go ahead.

Taub: If you're not interested in the case, why'd you take it?

House: I am definitely interested. Could be a tumor. Could be a CNS bleed. What do you do when you got two interesting puzzles?

Taub: Two?

[The door opens and Wilson slides in, making a “gimme” gesture with both hands.]

Wilson: [loudly and triumphantly] 50 bucks! [normal voice] Pay up.

[Wilson does a full end-zone dance with humming, arm gestures and some nice hip action as he turns full circle, ending facing House again.]

Wilson: Let's go. Let's go. [Again wiggling his fingers for the money]

House: Bet's off. Fight was fixed. [Wilson opens his arms wide in “what are you talking about?” fashion.] That punch barely touched him.

Foreman: You bet on Foley to b*at Zachary?

House: Speed beats power… unless speed has been paid to speedily take a dive.

Wilson: He touched him enough to put him on the canvas and the official counted him out, which means you officially owe me… 50 bucks. [As soon as he says the amount, the dance starts again. Wilson is really enjoying this win.]

House: We bet on a sporting event. That was not sporting. Less than 30 seconds. That was barely even event-y.

Wilson: Okay, here's what I saw. You lost and I won.

House: Yeah, well, you can take that to your grave. You're not taking my 50 bucks.

Wilson: Prove it. Prove it or pay up. You got one day. And don't make me send my boys out looking for you. [He turns toward the door, stops, and puts up a warning finger, which he points at various members of the team. Quietly] What? All right. [He leaves.]

House: So, two puzzles. Tie goes to the one that costs me money. [He grabs his cane and heads for the door.] Keep each other posted.

[Chase, Foreman, Taub and Thirteen grin widely.]

[Cut to Thirteen and Chase wheeling Lee in for her MRI.]

Lee: I've always been healthy. I never even get colds.

Thirteen: I guess your luck finally ran out.

Lee: [to Chase] I take it she doesn't like people who makes bombs.

Thirteen: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

Lee: [getting onto the MRI] It's all right. Half of my family feels the same way. Of course they all work on Wall Street, so… Ever since the first 4th of July I can remember, I've always loved explosions. When I got to college and I had to pick a major, figured I might as well pick something I'm passionate about.

Thirteen: Destroying things. You weren't passionate about anything else?

[Chase clicks the headpiece into place, leaving her to talk through the window framing her face.]

Lee: Bombs are tools, just like anything else. You can use it to make things better or you can use it to make things worse. I also like romantic poetry and picnics. Is there anything else you want to know before we do this MRI?

Chase: Nope. Try to stay as still as possible. This shouldn't take long.

[Cut to a diner. House sits down in a booth, across from a black man wearing a hoodie. He has his head down.]

House: Hey, how's it going?

Foley: You mind? I mean, there are plenty of other seats.

House: I'm not here to judge. You did what was best for you and I got no problem with that.

Foley: I'm not gonna ask you nice again. Just go away.

House: Or what? You're suddenly gonna fall down? Listen. I got a problem. A guy who knows absolutely nothing about boxing, because of you now thinks he does. You can imagine the potential ramifications. I need you to get on the phone with him and tell him you took a dive.

Foley: I didn't take a dive.

House: Take a picture of you to prove that it was really you and we're done. Just enough to convince him. Not enough to get you in any trouble.

Foley: [slowly, enunciating clearly] I didn't take a dive.

House: Yeah. That story's getting boring. Look, I'm not from the commission. I'm not some bookie. I'm a doctor. This is my I.D.

Foley: Look, if you were a bookie, you'd know no one pays a guy to throw a fight he has no chance to win. I was a 12-to-1 underdog. Lost my last five fights.

House: But you were the better fighter. That last punch barely touched you.

Foley: You ever been barely touched by a guy who weighs 230 pounds? Look at me. Look where I am, what I'm wearing. Now, do I look like a guy who just got a payday? I didn't throw the fight. I just suck.

[House stares at his face, studying it.]

[Cut to Wilson’s office. The door flies open and House enters.]

House: Ha! [slams door] Proof.

[He shoves his open cell phone at Wilson. There’s an extreme close-up of Foley’s face on it. Wilson takes the phone, looks at the picture and scoffs.]

Wilson: Just because he wasn't hit in the face—

House: Look at his pupils. He has anisocoria, which, given his age, the adrenaline surge of the fight, the fact that he's still alive means he was tachycardic. He has Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome.

Wilson: The bet was on who would win, not who would live the longest.

House: If he's physically unable to continue because of a preexisting illness, then it's technically a "no contest," which means all bets are off.

Wilson: You know that just because I was right about this one fighter doesn't make you any less of a man?

House: Actually, it would, if you were right.

Wilson: Then as I said earlier, prove it. And one possibly Photoshopped cell phone pic does not a diagnosis make.

[Cut to the hallway. Wilson’s door slams and House appears and heads for the elevator where Cesar catches up with him.]

Cesar: Oh, excuse me, Dr. House.

House: Désolé, je ne parle pas anglais. [Sorry, I don’t speak English.]

Cesar: I'm a co-worker of Wendy Lee's. I'm also her boyfriend.

House: Great. I'm a guy who doesn't care.

Cesar: She's your patient.

House: Oh, you thought I didn't know who Wendy Lee was? Yeah, makes sense. I'm not good at names. Did Dr. Fortune tell you that?

Cesar: Her last boyfriend was a real nut. He's basically stalking her.

House: See, this is what I don't care about. [The elevator arrives. House gets in and pushes a button.] I don't care who cares about her. Used to care about her. Either one you falls down dead, you can drop me a note.

Cesar: [stopping the elevator door from closing] I think I know what's wrong with her.

House: You screwed up in the lab and accidentally spilled some b*mb on her?

Cesar: No. He really is crazy.

[Cut to the team walking down the hall with House.]

Thirteen: Poisoned?

House: Apparently our mad scientist is also a slutty scientist whose milkshakes got all the nerds in the yard fighting over her.

Thirteen: She's a slut because she's dated two different guys at work?

House: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were still judging her.

Foreman: [or “Dr. Fortune” according to House] She's not a slut and it's not poison. When we tested her blood and cerebral spinal fluid for toxic exposure, it was negative for every poison we could think of.

Taub: Well, that just leaves every poison we didn't think of. She works in a b*mb factory.

Foreman: So do a lot of other not-sick people.

Thirteen: The guy had any actual evidence she was poisoned, he would have gone to the police, not to us.

Taub: And if we had any evidence of what was wrong with her, you'd be showing us MRI results. I assume they were negative.

Chase: Couldn't hurt to start activated charcoal, see what happens.

House: You know what else wouldn't hurt? This case is getting interesting. Let's add a little danger.

[Cut tonight. A glass patio door slides open. A flashlight shines around the room. It’s Chase, followed by Thirteen with her own flashlight.]

Thirteen: Hmmm.

[Her light comes to rest on a photograph of Tony, crouched over a deer he has k*lled. There’s a stuffed eagle on the wall next to the photo. She turns away and gasps. There’s a huge bear mounted on the wall, posed as if it’s about to att*ck.]

Chase: Just because he has g*ns doesn't make him a m*rder*r.

Thirteen: Tell that to the bear.

Chase: Look in the desk. See if he's got a diary or a journal.

Thirteen: Something tells me he's not exactly a diary kind of guy. Maybe a manifesto.

Chase: Just look. I'm gonna check out the rest of the place, see if he's got a computer.

[Her cell phone rings. She looks at the caller ID.]

Thirteen: It's Foreman. [answering] Yep?

Foreman: You break in yet?

Thirteen: Yeah, we're in the abattoir now. Why?

Foreman: You can leave. I think Taub and I found what we're looking for.

[Bottles clang. Taub hauls a carton with more than a dozen bottles. He drops it on the desk next to two more cartons similarly filled.]

Foreman: Looks like she actually was being poisoned, but she's been doing it to herself.

[Cut to Lee’s room. Taub and Foreman are there.]

Lee: I'm not an alcoholic.

Taub: I know. I know the whole label thing is so limiting. You're a person who happens to suffer from alcoholism.

Lee: You broke into my house and now you're being a smartass?

Foreman: During your history, you said you didn't drink at all.

Lee: I don't.

Taub: You just collect bottles.

Lee: Yes. I collect them for my friend. She uses them in her art projects.

Taub: And you're ashamed of these art projects. The bottles were hidden.

Lee: That's because my housekeeper keeps throwing them out. I-I've told her a dozen times not to but either she doesn't understand or she doesn't care.

[Cut to the hallway. The team heads for Diagnostics.]

Chase: Why would she lie?

Thirteen: That's the easy question. She needs a government security clearance for her job.

Taub: And what's the hard question?

Thirteen: If she's an alcoholic, why doesn't she have at least some partially full bottles in the house? I mean, why keep the empties? Why not just throw them away?

Foreman: So she's probably telling the truth.

Taub: So what do we do?

Foreman: We start her on Valium for alcohol withdrawal. [They all stop walking to look at him.] It's the best we've got right now.

[Foreman and Chase head off in one direction, Taub and Thirteen in another.]

[Cut to the glass door in a treatment room opening. House follows Foley, talking loudly.]

House: One normal EKG does not a healthy person make.

Foley: Look, I told you I just suck.

House: Oh, you make me so sad. Don't talk like that.

Foley: [turns to face House] Why do you care so much?

House: k*ll me for loving my patients. It's just what I do.

[Foley snorts and takes off down the hall. House doesn’t follow.]

House: Hey, stop. Stop! [Foley turns around] Look, my–my leg hurts. Okay? Just talk to me for a moment. [House holds his leg as he sits on one of the benches in the hall. Foley stands in front of him.] You don't have to be a loser.

Foley: [Scoffs] Thanks.

House: Whatever's wrong with you, it's real. Sick is good. Sick means it can get better. You cold get better. And I don't mean healthier. I mean… maybe you don't have to suck.

Foley: Figure out what's wrong with yourself. Leave me alone.

[Cut to Lee’s room. She screams with pain. Nurse Hoffner is treating her. Foreman and Chase enter. Cesar is by the windows.]

Hoffner: Abdominal pain.

Cesar: She said it felt like she was being stabbed.

Lee: Ah! Ah!

Foreman: Give her morphine, 5 milligrams IV.

[Cut to Diagnostics. Everyone but House is there.]

Taub: Is it a symptom of the underlying condition or a symptom of our treatment?

Chase: We'll know soon. I stopped her treatment.

Foreman: We should restart it. Acute pancreatitis from alcoholism would cause this kind of pain.

Thirteen: It's stress related.

Foreman: She's in a lot of pain.

Thirteen: She's under a lot of stress. She's got two guys fighting over her and she got done with the final test of a new b*mb. Her guilt is k*lling her.

Foreman: As far as you know, she likes being the center of attention and loves her job.

Thirteen: As far as you know, she doesn't drink.

Chase: What if it's a kidney infection? Acute pyelonephritis could k*ll her if we don't start her on IV antibiotics.

Foreman: Would k*ll her if it was pyelonephritis, but since her urine and CSF don't show signs of infection—

Taub: I paged House. [Foreman rolls his eyes at him.] What? We got nothing. Less than nothing since he's actually ignoring my pages, which means we have a sick patient and apparently a sick boss.

[Foreman thinks about it, gets up and leaves.]

[Cut to Wilson’s office. Foreman walks in without knocking. He takes out his wallet and puts some money on the table.]

Foreman: Tell him you admit he's right. Let's get him back to work.

Wilson: If he's ignoring you, it's because he trusts you.

Foreman: No, it's not.

Wilson: No, it's not, but he does.

Foreman: Thanks. I feel warm inside. Right now I'm debating which bad idea I should pretend is a good idea and force everybody to implement.

Wilson: I think this is good for him.

Foreman: Obsessing over a bet is good? And doing his actual job, treating actual patients, that's bad?

Wilson: House only doing what House wants is the only way he can function. Since the breakup, he's been seeking out crazier and crazier things to do because they're crazy. This is — well, it's not crazy.

Foreman: No, just irresponsible and possibly dangerous.

Wilson: By House standards, it's dull. This he's doing just because he's interested. I think House getting back to doing… stupid House stuff for stupid House reasons is the best thing that could happen to him.

Foreman: I'll go explain that to the patient.

[Wilson hands him his money. He takes it and leaves.]

[Cut to House’s apartment. He’s sitting on the kitchen table, wearing long pants, doing leg lifts against the tubing again. He pants with the effort. He rubs his thigh and undoes the strap.]

[Cut to House unzipping a toiletry kit and taking out a packet of white powder, a needle and a tourniquet. He ties the tourniquet on his left bicep using his teeth and his other hand. He puts some powder in a soupspoon and adds some water. It’s directly over a flame and it bubbles. House taps a full syringe to get out the air bubbles then injects himself in the crook of his arm. There are about a dozen healing scabs and hematomas there already. He waits a moment, then undoes the tourniquet.]

[Cut to Lee’s room. She is convulsing while Taub and a nurse tend to her. Cesar looks on from near the foot of the bed.]

[Cut to Diagnostics.]

Taub: It's definitely not pancreatitis. Restarting the treatment obviously didn't help anything. I assume you tested for infections. [Chase gives him a “duh” look] And I assume that look means "yes, and I was wrong." [to Thirteen] You call for a psych consult? Wow. That's the same look I just got from Chase. So an hour ago, we had three theories we couldn't agree on. Now we've got no theories, but we're in agreement.

Chase: CT and ultrasound showed inflammation in the renal capsule. Could be an obstructing calculus or a perinephric abscess.

Foreman: Blood cultures came back negative. It's probably just a benign cyst.

Chase: Yes, let's just dismiss an idea because it's probably nothing.

Thirteen: Could be gas in the perinephric space, in which case, we should be prepping her for emergency surgery.

[Door opens. House comes in.]

House: What looks like Wolff-Parkinson-White but isn't?

Foreman: Her EKG was normal.

House: So was his. That's why I said "looks like." As in similar to, but not the same.

Taub: You want us to help you get out of paying your bet while your actual patient lies in agony.

House: Who's the real bad guy here? The guy who doesn't care enough to help or the four guys who are not competent enough to help? He works out too much, gets pounded too much, and not in the romantic way. His pupils—

Taub: I got it.

House: Your patient? No. Plenty of time to save her life after we save my money.

Taub: [ignores House and returns to the DDX] Underlying neurological condition exacerbated by an acute UTI brought on by her sexual escapades.

Thirteen: Slut? Escapades? How do we treat? A scarlet "A"?

Taub: Sorry. Acute UTI brought on by her healthy enjoyment of her womanhood. We start her on IV ampicillin and an aminoglycoside.

[They all get up and leave. At the door, Foreman turns back to House who is still thinking about Foley.]

Foreman: You ignore us all the time. You go on crazy joyrides all the time. But you answer pages, you sleep. [House doesn’t even look at him.] I know I'm gonna regret doing this, but I'll ask anyway. Is there anything I can do to help?

House: [lifting his head] Although…

[He has an idea, walks past Foreman and leaves.]

[Cut to a gym. There are guys sparring in the ring and in front of it. Guys are warming up, punching a heavy bag, etc. Foley is mopping the floor.]

House: Great news! You have an underlying neurological condition, which together with your heart—

Foley: You said my heart was fine.

House: Yeah, I also said I would get you your career back. But it doesn't seem to matter since you've so clearly been handed the golden spit bucket. [Foley glares slightly at him.] Sympathetic overdrive. It's a medical term. So is "great news." Of course, if you prefer wallowing… [Foley turns away from him. House follows.] All you need is a chin. And a heart, apparently. Then you can go back to being the guy who won 20 of his first 20 instead of the guy who lost 5 of his last 5. Although, technically, I count the last one as a "no contest."

Foley: And you save 50 bucks.

House: I'm a doctor. I don't tell a fat guy to lay off bacon for less than 300. [Foley almost laughs.] This is about dignity for both of us. Give me your arm. [He hangs his cane on a piece of equipment and pulls something from his pocket.] Give me your arm.

[He sticks a syringe into Foley’s arm through his sweatshirt.]

Foley: What the hell?

House: Don't worry. It's just epinephrine.

Foley: Ep-is it dangerous?

House: In the wrong hands, very. So… yeah, sort of. This will only take a few seconds. [He checks the pulse in Foley’s neck.] And… you are tachycardic.

[Foley’s breathing heavily]

Foley: Yo, are you psycho?

House: We combine the increased heart rate with chest trauma by applying a little sweet science to the science. Don't worry. I'll–I'll explain more when you wake up. Now, the punch that supposedly knocked you out looked like it was thrown by an old cr*pple. Kind of like this.

[He puts his hands in classic boxing position and taps Foley in the chest with a left jab.]

Foley: Look, stop it.

House: Three, two, one. [He waits but nothing happens.] Huh. Seem to be older and more crippled than I thought. [He punches Foley again.]

Foley: Look — no. You're embarrassing me.

House: Doesn't make sense. Maybe if I—

[He throws another punch but Foley grabs his arm and tosses him to the floor.]

Foley: Look, get the hell out of my life, you lunatic.

[Foley leaves. House sits up and looks puzzled.]

[Cut to Lee’s room. Alarms are beeping. Nurse Gibbs is there as Taub and Chase rush in.]

[Heart monitor beeping frantically]

Gibbs: She's in V-tach. BP's dropping.

Cesar: Whatever you're doing isn't working again. There's got to be some way to stop the seizures.

Taub: It's not a seizure. She's having a heart att*ck. No pulse.

Cesar: That's impossible! She runs marathons!

[Chase grabs the defibrillator while Taub uses an Ambu Bag on Lee.]

Chase: Charging to 200. Clear. [Taub pulls back.]

Taub: Still no pulse.

Chase: Charging to 300.

Cesar: Why is this happening?

Chase: Clear.

[Cut to a nurses’ station. Foreman is talking to Cuddy.]

Foreman: My theory is that he's only avoiding us because he really wants to avoid you.

Cuddy: Ma nishtana? [Foreman looks puzzled.] You made it through med school without ever attending a Seder? It means "why is this night different from all other nights?"

Foreman: I'm not sure it is. But usually when push comes to shove, he shows up.

Cuddy: If the patient's still alive, then push hasn't met shove yet.

Foreman: Patient is hanging by a thread and we don't have a clue why.

Cuddy: Then we have to assume he does and she isn't.

[She walks to the elevator. He follows.]

Foreman: We could or we could assume that something is seriously wrong with House and try to do something about that. This way, even if we're wrong, nobody dies.

Cuddy: House is fine. House is always fine.

[The elevator arrives. She starts to get in. Foreman grabs her arm. She looks shocked.]

Foreman: I'm expanding my theory. He's avoiding you and you're avoiding him and this patient is gonna die.

Cuddy: Not if you do your job.

[She walks off.]

[Cut to House’s kitchen. He gives himself another injection and removes the tourniquet.]

Thirteen: You're an idiot. [She’s in the doorway to the living room.]

House: How did you get in here?

Thirteen: My boss has me break into places all the time.

House: Pain has been getting worse. I figured if I upped the Vicodin any more, I'd end up back in a rubber room, so this seemed like the smarter choice.

Thirteen: You're an idiot.

House: You drove all the way over here to break in and call me an idiot?

Thirteen: No, I drove all the way over here to tell you we're implanting an automated cardio-defibrillator, which won't actually do anything to help the patient except maybe give us enough time to come up with a guess as to what's actually wrong with her.

House: Oh, that makes more sense.

Thirteen: And I broke in here because Cuddy and Wilson both separately asked me to.

House: Even more logical.

Thirteen: And that's not heroin, which means you knew I was coming over here, and Cuddy and Wilson are right. You're just playing a game. Throwing out a bone and watching us fight over it. {She starts to leave in a huff.]

House: There is another theory. [He picks up a report from a table and hands it to her.] Compound CS-804. It's an experimental drug that's supposed to regrow muscle.

Thirteen: [flipping through it] This experiment was done on rats.

House: It's groundbreaking. Huge success.

Thirteen: In rats.

House: Well, they got four legs. Think how fast it should work on one.

Thirteen: You're an idiot.

[She gives him back the report and leaves.]

[Cut to OR. They’re implanting the automated defibrillator. Chase looks puzzled and walks from Lee’s head further down the table.]

Chase: We've got a problem.

Taub: AICD not working?

Chase: If it's the defibrillator, I'd be looking elsewhere. [Lifting the blankets.] Smells like bleeding.

Taub: Rectal?

Chase: And vaginal.

[Cut to Diagnostics]

Foreman: Is it possible something got perforated during surgery?

Taub: Is that an accusation?

Foreman: Sounded like a question. Just a straightforward inquiry that only someone with serious insecurities would take issue with.

Taub: Okay, so in answering, I have to decide between the only two possibilities. "No" and "yes, we might have screwed something up, but are intentionally hiding it because we're incompetent and we're asses." Answer is "no." Glad we didn't shortchange that avenue. It's a blood disorder. A coagulopathy.

Foreman: That's not a diagnosis. That's like saying she has a runny nose.

Taub: True, but not saying she has a runny nose risks getting snot all over us. We can treat it.

Foreman: Cause could still be a toxin. She must have been exposed to who knows—

Thirteen: Past tense, which means she would have been better now that she's not.

Chase: Same goes for House. If this was about Cuddy, he would have checked out weeks ago. Something else is going on. Something new.

Taub: That's an awfully simplistic approach to matters of the heart.

Chase: House is rational. He prides himself—

Taub: No one is rational about emotion. That's why they're emotions.

Foreman: What do you think?

Thirteen: Me? I didn't say anything.

Foreman: Exactly.

Thirteen: You always have some opinion on these things, especially when it comes to House, double especially when it comes to men and romance, but suddenly you're keeping your mouth shut.

Thirteen: House can't help us. I respect his privacy, no matter how stupid and I'd appreciate it if you'd respect mine.

Foreman: [nods slowly] We need to treat the underlying condition. Could be cancer, sepsis, trauma, liver disease, hemorrhagic fever—

Taub: I'm gonna start treating the symptoms while you finish listing the possible causes.

[He leaves.]

[Cut to House’s apartment. He’s doing leg lifts again. As he pulls his leg up he releases it suddenly, grunting in pain or frustration. He rubs his thigh then hops down and undoes the ankle strap. He pulls the toiletry case out of a kitchen drawer and removes a syringe and the Compound CS-804. He looks at the packet which is almost empty.]

[Cut to a rat in a cage. It’s the lab that’s test the drug.]

Riggin: The rats are doing great.

House: "Great" is a little vague.

Riggin: Even better than the previous study. 12% increase in strength, 22% in flexibility, and some improvement in at least 60% of the subjects.

House: Have you done maximum tolerated dose studies?

Riggin: Not yet. But that's part of the beauty. Since the compound is easily excreted in urine, as long as they keep hydrated, there's really no reason to expect any danger at virtually any dose. I mean, obviously you can't know for sure.

House: But if it's worthy of the preface "obviously," then obviously it only needs to be explained to idiots. Do I look like an idiot? [Riggin looks offended.] Sorry. Cranky. What I meant to say was: Why don't scientists have groupies? 'Cause I'd do you right now if society wasn't telling me that you're just an underpaid dork.

Riggin: Thank you.

[His expression says “Thank you, I think.” House sits down and winces.]

Riggin: You all right?

House: Leg hurts. Would you mind getting me a coffee?

Riggin: How does coffee help your leg?

House: It will prevent me from walking to get the coffee.

Riggin: Right.

[He walks off. As soon as he leaves the room, House goes to the refrigerator and swipes a couple of packets of the compound. He returns to the chair and assumes a carefully nonchalant pose.]

[Cut to the hall. Taub and Foreman are walking fast.]

Taub: Page said she's now bleeding from her mouth.

Foreman: You start treatment?

Taub: I said I would.

Foreman: A "yes" would have been fine.

Taub: Not asking the question would have been even better.

[They enter Lee’s room.]

Foreman: Any breathing issues?

Lee: No, but—

Gibbs: I'm not sure it's internal.

Taub: If it's coming from both ends, it's internal.

Gibbs: Her gums look like they were b*rned.

[Foreman pulls out a flashlight and Taub pulls down Lee’s lower lip. Gross.]

[Cut to House doing his leg lifts on the kitchen table. He pants and massages his thigh then gets down and releases his ankle. He gives up and drops the rubber tubing and the kit in the trash. He walks into the living room, rubbing his thigh as he grabs his cane from the molding. He limps heavily to the fireplace. He opens a wood box on the mantle and takes out a bottle of Vicodin. Three pills go into his hand. He looks at them for a moment then pops them in his mouth. Back in the kitchen, he drinks from the faucet and swallows hard. As House stands there, leaning against the sink and panting, he thinks of something.]

[House has his jacket over his arm and is walking quickly to his front door when there’s a knock. House stops and waits.]

Wilson: [loudly through the closed door] Experimental dr*gs?

House: [opening the door] That's unfair. 'Cause at one point, even Vicodin was an experimental drug. I have to go.

Wilson: Well, unless you're going to do your job, it can wait.

House: I'm going to do my job.

Wilson: I'll give you a lift.

House: [turning back into the living room] I'll give you two minutes. But first, I'm gonna tell you that I'm off the dr*gs and you'll feel silly 'cause you've got nothing to say for two minutes.

Wilson: Hmm. Why are you off them?

House: Because they don't work.

Wilson: Why were you on them?

House: Because they come in banana flavor. You know the answer.

Wilson: You think fixing your leg will fix your life.

House: I think that my life will be somewhat better if part of my life, specifically my leg, is somewhat better.

Wilson: You think all your problems are your leg.

House: And you're here to tell me that no matter how depressed I may be, it's not enough.

Wilson: I think you want everything to be physical, tangible, simple. You want unhappiness to have a cure. [House picks up his jacket which he had put on the couch.] House, you obviously—

House: [standing and walking past Wilson] I hate that word. I have to go now. Actually, I don't, but it would be rude to walk out without saying anything.

[He walks out.]

[Cut to Diagnostics. The table is covered with reference books. Taub is almost asleep with his head on the table.]

Chase: What about this? 28-year-old woman presenting with burn-like wounds in her mouth and esophagus from a candidiasis infection.

Foreman: Interesting. It would also be relevant if the woman had had seizures.

Chase If the fungus had entered her bloodstream—

Thirteen: We would have seen it in the blood work.

Taub: Acute myeloid leukemia can cause swelling in the gums.

Foreman: Again, interesting but not relevant.

Taub: Again, you're being an ass.

Foreman: She doesn't have a history of blood diseases in her family, her blood count's normal, and she hasn't been exposed to chemical toxins.

Taub: Not that we know of.

Chase: Guy that she works most closely with is also her boyfriend. You don't think he would have told us if there had been some sort of chemical spill or accident?

Thirteen: There is one other cause of AML.

[Cut to the hallway. Thirteen, Foreman and Gibbs are rapidly wheeling Lee down the hall. Cesar follows them.]

Cesar: Wait! Where are you taking her?

Foreman: We need to get her into an isolation room and prep for a hematopoietic stem cell transplant.

Cesar: Isolation? Why?

Thirteen: We think her blood and immune system have been destroyed by an exposure to ionizing radiation.

Cesar: But we don't work with radiation.

Thirteen: Well, apparently your girlfriend does.

Cesar: [grabbing the bed and stopping them] No, she doesn't. You're wrong. It must be something else.

Thirteen: We found reports that your company was developing tactical nuclear warheads for bunker-busting bombs.

Cesar: Where? On Wikipedia? Some paranoid idiot's blog? I don't care where you read it. It's not true.

Foreman: You're saying there's absolutely no chance that anyone in your company is doing any experimental research that you don't know about?

Cesar: No, but I know Wendy and she wouldn't.

Thirteen: Well, maybe you don't know her as well as you thought you did.

Foreman: Excuse me. We have to go.

[They wheel the bed around a corner.]

[Cut to a street. House, in his car, turns the corner and catches up with Foley who is jogging.]

House: [leaning out the window] You need a drink.

Foley: I'm fine.

House: That wasn't a question. You really do need a drink.

[Foley slows down, then stops running.]

[Cut to Isolation.]

Foreman: Found a match. We'll start treatment as soon as we get the HSC from the donor. Shouldn't be long.

Lee: Where's Cesar?

Foreman: Uh, he's in the waiting room.

Lee: I want to see him.

Foreman: You can't. It's too dangerous with your immune system this compromised.

Lee: Why can't he just put on a gown and a mask like you?

Foreman: I'm sorry. The more people you're exposed to, the greater chance of infection.

Lee: I'm scared.

Foreman: I know. We're doing everything that we can.

Cesar will be with you soon.

Gibbs: Dr. Foreman, you should look at this.

Lee: What is it?

Foreman: You feeling any pain in your pelvic region?

Lee: No, why?

Foreman: Your genitals… they're engorged.

[Cut to the street. House has parked and he’s watching Foley down a one-liter bottle of water.]

Foley: I drink any more, I'm gonna explode.

House: You're not going to explode. You're just gonna have a seizure, which will prove that your kidneys are not working, which will also prove that they weren't working Saturday night. That's why a glancing body blow sent your blood pressure into the toilet and you onto the canvas.

Foley: How many bottles is this supposed to take?

House: Six.

Foley: And I've drank how many?

House: [looking in the trunk] Eight. It's not an exact science.

Foley: So in other words, nothing's gonna prove you wrong. You're just gonna keep making me miserable because you're too miserable—

House: You're an idiot. [Foley looks understandably angry.] No, you're not gonna hit me… 'Cause somewhere deep in that way-too-thin skull of yours you know that you're full of crap. That's why you stopped jogging for me. That's why you drank eight bottles. Because even though you want to think that I'm wrong 'cause it's simpler, you also desperately want me to be right. I'm only an ass for building your hopes up if I'm wrong. [hands Foley another full bottle] Last one.

[Foley takes the bottle and drains it. He tosses the empty into the trunk. House observes him closely. Nothing happens.]

Foley: You're an ass.

[He leaves.]

[Cut to Wilson’s office. The door flies open and House enters. He walks to the desk and extends a $50 bill. Wilson spreads his arms wide in acknowledgement, then takes it.]

Wilson: You were wrong. It's not the end of the world.

[House lays his cane on the desk and sweeps everything to the floor. Wilson looks mildly nervous.]

House: Anything else you want to say?

Wilson: [after a pause and a deep breath] You have a problem. I think if you seriously look at everything that—

[House walks behind the desk and smashes the glass in the Vertigo poster’s frame.]

House: Anything else?

Wilson: Okay, look, this isn't—[House raises his cane and turns toward the Ordinary People poster. Wilson jumps up to stop him.] Okay! Okay! Okay! Okay! [House stands back but keeps his cane ready. He looks pissed.] No… I don't. [He gestures locking his mouth and throwing away the key.] Just get out of here. Go home. We'll talk later. Someplace without any of my stuff.

House: Nothing to talk about. That was my point.

[He leaves. Wilson looks at the wreckage.]

[Cut to Diagnostics. It’s nighttime. Thirteen enters. Chase and Foreman are already there.]

Chase: Inflammation of the genitals means we were wrong.

Thirteen: Thanks for the statement of the obvious.

Chase: You'd think so, wouldn't you? [Taub comes in and takes a seat.] Foreman wants to keep sh**ting for radiation poisoning.

Foreman: Because the seizure's have stopped. Because her fever's gone away. Because she's improved. By luck.

Foreman: I don't think the patient cares.

Chase: Yes, she's gonna die in considerably less discomfort thanks to you treating a few of the symptoms instead of the disease.

Taub: I paged Ho—

All: Shut up.

[Cut to a bar.]

Bartender: You're drunk.

House: Well, whose fault is that? Give me another scotch.

Bartender: I can't serve you.

House: This 'cause I'm black? 'Cause I'm not, so…

Bartender: Come on, buddy.

[The bartender is drying glasses behind the bar. House is a few feet away, at the banquette next to the room divider.]

House: Look, you can't get me drunk and then give me crap for being drunk. That's like dumping someone and then giving them crap for being upset. That's just not decent. Let me explain why people come here. [He lurches over to the bar.] They come here to drink. Which causes us to ask, why do people drink? Hmm? Is it sustenance? [He grabs a guy’s bottle of beer and reads the label.] No. Is it taste? [He takes a swig of the guy’s beer.] No.

Fellow Patron: Don't be a jerk.

House: Is it the company of stout-hearted men? I don't think so. Is it k*lling pain? Yes. [looks at the bottle again.] Seven and a half percent life duller. That's the business you're in. You're in the "screw the world" business. You're in the "reality sucks and fantasy temporarily appears to not suck" business.

Fellow Patron: Just get the moron a drink so he'll shut the hell up.

[The bartender puts the dry glass down and goes to get House a drink.]

House: No.

Bartender: I'm giving you your drink.

House: Have you no pride? Either serving me is a good idea or it's a bad idea. Shutting me up is a crappy reason for compromising what you believe.

Fellow Patron: Not even an effective one apparently.

[House thinks this over. He leans his elbows on the bar and gestures for the bartender to come over.]

House: Am I gonna have to hit him?

Bartender: Not a good idea.

House: But what if it's the right thing to do? Compromise is never the answer. [He turns to Fellow Patron, who is sitting on the side of the bar, and gets into a boxing stance.] Stand up. I will allow you to throw the first punch.

Fellow Patron: Sit down. I'm not gonna hit you.

House: Just as well, 'cause I was lying.

[He swings. Fellow Patron leans back and House misses. He freezes as he realizes that almost all of his weight is on his right leg. And it’s holding him. Fellow Patron throws a punch. This one connects. House lands on the floor.]

[Cut to the hallway outside Isolation.

Thirteen: You can relax.

Cesar: She's getting better?

Chase: Bad news is, because of your extended exposure to her and her workplace, we're gonna need to treat you as well.

Cesar: I feel fine.

Thirteen: Unfortunately that's the way it can be with radiation. No symptoms until it's too late to do anything.

Chase: You're gonna need a bone marrow transplant.

Cesar: [chuckles] No.

Thirteen: A marrow transplant does leave you exposed to all sorts of illnesses, but there really is no choice here.

Cesar: She doesn't have radiation poisoning.

Chase: She's getting better.

Thirteen: We need to start your treatment before it's too late.

Cesar: No!

Chase: You're either suicidal or you know we're wrong. And the only way you could know for sure what wasn't k*lling her is if you knew what was. And you do, don't you?

Thirteen: Because you've been poisoning her and the reason she's getting better is because you haven't been near her.

Chase: Our co-workers are on their way to your home right now to search for poisons. You mind saving them the trouble?

Thirteen: Attempted m*rder is better than m*rder.

[Cesar hangs his head and shakes it a little.]

[Cut to House’s apartment. He’s doing his leg lifts again. This time he effortlessly extends his leg fully and he rotates the ankle. He hops off the table, releases the strap and gives his thigh a rub. He’s smiling. He heads into the living room. He has a very pretty, purple bruise under his right eye. House unhooks his cane and gives it a twirl. He taps himself at the top of his spinal cord, reaches back and touches himself there again.]

[Cut to the gym. It’s still dark. As Foley enters, punches can be hear landing. It’s House, working out with a heavy bag. No one else is there.]

Foley: What are you doing here?

House: Training for my big fight. Just need you to—

Foley: Drink five more bottles? Get punched a few more times? Look, just get out and give up.

House: That's your specialty.

Foley: [Scoffs] Ooh, looks like you already lost your big fight. [House takes down his cane. As Foley passes, House presses the bottom of the cane to the base of Foley’s neck. Foley turns around, angry.] Look, I may not be able to take a punch, but I can still throw one.

House: Three, two… [Foley starts to demonstrate but falls over, unconscious.] What a lovely day.

[Cut to Lee’s room. Thirteen is checking her out.]

Lee: Where's Cesar?

Thirteen: Um… in jail. He was trying to k*ll you. He found out about you and Glenn, which, he admitted, shouldn't have surprised him since he started seeing you while you were dating Tony.

Lee: He poisoned me?

Thirteen: Repeatedly… with Spanish fly. The active ingredient cantharidin is a potent toxin and can cause a lot of the same damage as radiation.

Lee: He poisoned me?

Thirteen: I'm sorry.

Lee: He had a security clearance.

[Cut to Wilson’s office. Sonny Boy Williamson's “Unseen Eye” begins to play as a hand appears through the open doorway.]

House: Ahem! [Wilson looks up.] What's this? [House enters] A palm. Hmm, useful for many things. Slapping, greasing, probably some other applications too. Right now it's ready for $50 and humiliation.

Wilson: He was actually sick?

House: He wasn't knocked out by the punch. He was knocked out by the clinch before the punch. Took a sh*t to the back of the neck. More specifically, to an abnormal growth of nerves caused by a glomus tumor. Kind of like a built-in taser. Sent a massive shock to his entire body, shut everything down.

Wilson: Wow. Fascinating. Completely explains exactly how he lost.

House: Oh, you are not gonna be like that, 'cause you got a lot more posters here.

Wilson: No, I'm not. Well done, House. You might have saved that guy. Given him his life back.

House: Oh, no. He needs surgery. He's never gonna fight again.

[Wilson gives him the money. House starts to leave.]

Wilson: What happened to your eye? You okay?

House: Better than okay.