06x11 - The Down Low

[bunniefuu]

[Open in a dark garage. It’s night and a drug deal is going down.]

Eddie: So I'm thinking 35.

Marco: Seems high to me.

Eddie: That's a fair price for quality like this.

Marco: I'll give you 30.

[Mickey laughs. Marco turns and glares at him.]

Mickey: What? I thought you were joking. I didn't...

Marco: Who am I dealing with here, Eddie? Him or you?

Eddie: Mickey, relax. Now, if things move forward with Gorski, he lets us into Philly, then maybe I cut you a break.

Marco: You cut me a break now, or maybe you don't get with Gorski.

Eddie: [sighs and starts packing up the car’s hatchback.] Marco... I thought we had an understanding. [Tommy, Marco’s associate, cocks his g*n and points it at Eddie.] Whoa, whoa.

Marco: Tommy, don't be stupid. Put the g*n down.

Tommy: First, he shows you some respect.

Mickey: [approaches him with his arms held wide] Hey, you just – just listen to your boss, all right, moron?

Tommy: You shut up!

Mickey: Just relax, buddy.

[When Mickey gets close enough, he grabs Tommy’s arm. They struggle for a moment then a g*nsh*t is heard. Mickey ends up on the floor.]

Tommy: Agh! Oh, God!

Marco: What the hell were you thinking?

Tommy: [hopping around] I didn't sh**t him!

Marco: Are you sure? Look at him. He's face-down on the pavement!

[Eddie has turned Mickey over. He has blood on his face from where he hit the pavement. Eddie feels around, looking for the b*llet hole.]

Tommy: I nailed myself in the foot! God!

Eddie: I–I don't think he's hit.

Marco: Then what happened?

Tommy: [hopping to a car] Let's get outta here! [Marco joins him.]

Eddie: Come on, Mickey, wake up. [Marco’s car starts up.] Mickey! Wake up!

[The car peels out.]

[Opening Credits]

[Cut to a clinic exam room. The room is almost dark. A bright light is on Mickey’s head. House, wearing a glove and glasses, carefully stitches up Mickey’s wound while Eddie paces.]

Mickey: We almost done here?

House: Assuming you did this shaving your forehead... Okay, then. I'm ordering a head C.T.

Mickey: No, I don't have a headache. I'm not dizzy. Eddie, I gotta get back.

Eddie: You gotta stay here. We'll straighten out that mess with Marco tomorrow. Let the doc do his job.

House: Actually, stitching you up is really the E.R. doc's job.

Mickey: Yeah. Too long of a wait.

House: Yeah. Also, a lot of cops in the E.R. [pause] Not that you care about that. So how did this happen? [looks from Mickey to Eddie] Yeah, you're right. That was a stupid question. 'Cause the answer's kind of obvious. No scrapes on your hands means you didn't try to break your fall. Means either out cold or totally disoriented when you went down. No sign of trauma other than the cut means no one hit you in the head. Powder burn on your jacket sleeve means someone sh*t a g*n.

[Mickey gets off the table and grabs his stuff and starts putting on his jacket.]

Mickey: All right, Eddie. Come on, let's go.

House: I don't care what you guys are into. If you don't get this checked out, it'll happen again.

Eddie: Whoa. What will?

House: This. [He slams his cane against the paper-covered exam table. It makes an explosively loud “cr*ck” sound. Mickey and Eddie stare at House for a seconds then Mickey crumples to the floor. House peers over the exam table at him.] Cool.

[Cut to Diagnostics. House flips blue file folders to the members of the team.]

House: 32-year-old man, recent developed loud-noise-induced vertigo. C.T. was clean. No internal bleeding, no edema. Everything else is in the file. [He sits then leans toward Chase.] Cameron get your hair in the divorce?

Taub: This guy strained his back three years ago. And that's it. All the rest of these pages are blank.

House: Yes, he won't tell us anything. Understandable, since he's a drug dealer.

Thirteen: So he's dangerous and withholding, which you find irresistible. [confidentially] But guys like that, they never call.

Chase: He actually said he was a drug dealer?

[Foreman gets up to do something. He sees a piece of paper on the floor and picks it up. He glances at it and puts it in his pocket.]

House: Not out loud. But he was wearing a solid gold Patek Philippe. His friend had a Rolex. But their phones were prepaid burners, so they can toss 'em as soon as they're done.

Foreman: [sitting back down] It doesn't matter if this guy's a drug dealer or not. Noise-induced vertigo means ear or brain. Head C.T. was clean, so I'm thinking acoustic neuroma. We need to do an A.B.R. to test his hearing.

House: Acoustic neuroma fits. So does lidocaine toxicity. Or benzocaine – depends what he's cutting the coke with.

Thirteen: So now he's not just a drug dealer, he's a cocaine dealer.

House: He seemed peppy. You test his ears. I'm gonna go test his cocaine.

Taub: You think this guy's just gonna hand over a briefcase full of illegal dr*gs because you ask nicely?

House: I hope not.

[He leaves. The team stays at the table.]

[Cut to the lobby of House and Wilson’s building. The elevator bell dings. Wilson and Nora get off. She’s laughing.]

Wilson: So the best coffee's at Geena's, and the best pizza is at Gino's.

Nora: Yeah, and don't mix those up, because the coffee at Gino's could k*ll ya.

Wilson: And how's the drycleaner on the corner?

Nora: Go two blocks over to Eco-Clean. The one on the corner used to shred all my boyfriend's shirts.

Wilson: Good to know.

Nora: In retrospect, I should really thank those cleaners. We broke up. This is my stop. [She goes to the mailboxes as Wilson heads for the front door. The address of the building, 89x Brook Street, can be seen, reversed, on the glass panel above the door.]

Nora: So if you have any more questions about the neighborhood, I'm your girl.

Wilson: Uh, favorite sushi place. Maybe we could get dinner sometime.

Nora: Sure... if you promise to bring that good-looking guy with the cane.

Wilson: You mean House?

Nora: Your boyfriend's name is House? [She giggles.]

Wilson: [turning his head back and forth, confused] H–he's not my boyfriend.

Nora: Oh... [mimes pinching her mouth closed] Heh, I'm sorry. Wh-what do you call each other? Husband? Partner? Lover?

Wilson: [laughing] We're not gay.

Nora: Seriously?

[Cut to a treatment room. Mickey is in a chair with an electrode taped to his forehead. Taub is applying one to his earlobe.]

Taub: You're gonna hear a series of clicks and hisses. Sensors measure electronic activity to your auditory nerve.

Mickey: How long is this gonna take?

Taub: An hour, maybe an hour and a half. Or you could walk away with a tumor in your ear.

[Cut to the observation room. Taub joins Foreman.]

Taub: Guy's probably late to a stabbing.

Foreman: Impedances look good. Starting at 13 clicks per second at 50 decibels. Check this out. [He hands Taub the paper he picked up in the office.]

Taub: Thirteen's middle name is Beauregard? [looks at monitor] Wave three latency is 3.8.

Foreman: Slightly delayed, but nothing significant. That's what sticks out to you? House is clearly screwing with us. It's a fake paystub.

Taub: Looks real to me.

Foreman: There's no way she makes that much money.

Taub: I make that much money. [He turns to give the paper back to Foreman and sees his face.] And... apparently, you don't.

[Cut to an atmospherically dark O.R. Eddie sides on a stool on one side of a table. He is also on a TV screen in the corner. House leans on the table on the other side, facing him.]

House: I need the dr*gs.

Eddie: We're in textiles.

House: [screams, his face furrowing down the center in a very good imitation of Sabretooth from X-men] I need the dr*gs! Hmm... works for Jack Bauer.

Eddie: Is this really necessary? The chairs in the hall are way more comfortable.

House: But way less genre-appropriate. Okay, here's the deal. I need information. You have reasons not to give me that information. So either I can force it out of you... [Eddie looks skeptical] or I can't.

Eddie: I wish I could tell ya.

House: Okay... Well, let's work with that. Forget the dr*gs. Let's talk about textiles. What's your major product? Is it "h"? And by that I mean "hosiery."

Eddie: We do more with... culottes.

House: Is that with a "c" or a "k"?

Eddie: "C." Nobody wants "k" anymore.

House: Does your friend cut the fabric?

Eddie: No, he's a sales guy.

House: Well, he must cut a culotte here and there.

Eddie: No one touches the culottes.

[The door opens. Wilson enters.]

Wilson: I'm sorry. Can I talk to you for a second?

House: [walking over] I'm interrogating a suspect. Make it quick.

Wilson: [clears throat and whispers] Everyone in our building thinks we're gay. [He clears his throat again.]

House: We're grown men over the age of 30 who moved in together. We're two tigers away from an act in Vegas. They'll figure out we're straight eventually.

Wilson: Eventually is not when I want to go out with the cute girl in 3-B.

Eddie: Any chance I could get some water over here?

[Wilson pours him a glass of water and hands it to him while House talks.]

House: If only there was some way to communicate that information to her. Perhaps using, I don't know, sounds. If only the larynx was capable of –

Wilson: She didn't believe me. She sidestepped my dinner invite.

House: And a woman would only reject you because she's worried that you might not be interested in her.

Wilson: We were chatting, having fun. There was definitely a spark.

House: When she thought you were gay. [to Eddie]You sure your friend isn't secretly tr – [turns back to Wilson] What is a culotte, anyway?

Wilson: Pants that hang like a skirt. [House and Eddie stare at him.] Just...

[He puts his hand up to his face level and waves it, indicating that they should continue with whatever they were doing.]

Eddie: Mickey hates the stuff. He's one of the few guys I trust to watch the product overnight. They took him away an hour ago. You think he's okay?

House: It's an ear test. Pretty sure he'll live.

[Cut to the treatment room. Mickey is having a seizure to rival House’s in Wilson’s Heart. His leg kicks a tray table away. Taub and Foreman rush in.]

Taub: Pupils are constricted. Pulse is bounding!

Foreman: Airway's clear. Need a crash cart in here!

Taub: Gotta be his blood pressure. We need to get it down before he strokes out!

Foreman: At least we know his ears are okay.

[A nurse enters with a crash cart.]

[Cut to Diagnostics.]

Taub: We put the patient on vasodilators, got his hypertension under control.

Thirteen: He got worse here at the hospital. Means thug life probably isn't what's making him sick.

Foreman: Which means we can stop the bloodhound g*ng routine and go back to being doctors.

House: [whining] But we're doctors all the time. It's so boring. [speaking normally] Fine.

Chase: Could be sick sinus syndrome.

Taub: No chest pain, shortness of breath. Brain aneurysm secondary to polycystic kidney disease?

Foreman: Normal urinalysis. Kidney's impalpable. [to Thirteen] Is... that a new watch?

Thirteen: Thought I'd give myself a little treat. What if it's not his brain, but it's on the way to his brain? Carotid stenosis.

House: Get an ultrasound of his carotids. See if his arteries are clogged.

[Taub and Thirteen leave. House goes to his office. Foreman clears his throat and turns to Chase.]

Foreman: How much money do you make?

[Cut to Cuddy’s office. She’s playing with her Blackberry and barely looks at him.]

Foreman: I want a raise.

Cuddy: And I will be happy to talk about that at your next review... in August.

Foreman: I know that you're paying me less than everyone else on the team.

Cuddy: [looking up] I can't discuss other people's salaries. You know that.

Foreman: Now that they know I'm making less than they are, they'll never respect me.

Cuddy: [putting down the Blackberry] And who told them how much you make?

Foreman: It's not fair for me to make less than the people I supervise.

Cuddy: Salary isn't about fairness. It's about what you can leverage in negotiation. Which isn't much without a competing offer on the table. And we both know you don't have one.

[Cut to House’s office. Thirteen and Taub enter. House is fidgeting with the dials on some electronic equipment on his desk. It starts making static and feedback noises.]

Thirteen: Ultrasound showed no narrowing or obstruction in the patient's carotid.

Taub: Not that he's worried – keeps asking me when he can leave.

[House looks at them as Mickey’s voice comes over the machine House is playing with.]

Mickey: A place in the business of healing people, you'd think they'd have better chicken soup.

Thirteen: You bugged his room?

House: Our patient sleeps in the building where they keep their stash. Eventually, he'll say something that gives away where that is. And we'll find out what's making him sick.

[Mickey’s voice can continue to be heard although the words are drowned out by the conversation in the office. House continues to play with the dials and produces more feedback shrieks.]

Thirteen: But we ruled out environmental causes.

House: You ruled out environmental causes.

Taub: And you pretended to agree, just so we'd take him out of his room so you could plant the bug.

House: Carotid stenosis was a decent idea. But an even decent-er idea is that he's got toxins stored in his fat cells. Every calorie he burns makes him sicker.

Taub: If we're going with toxic exposure, we should just start testing for the most likely suspects.

Thirteen: Bug's a better idea than blindly running tests for days.

[The receiver shrieks. House pulls his hands back then turns it off.]

House: Tell him it'll take weeks. It'll be faster.

[Cut to Mickey’s room.]

Mickey: What do you mean weeks?

Taub: These tests take time. There are a lot of possibilities.

Mickey: No, but I-I can't sit here this long. I got things I gotta take care of.

Taub: If you're worried about all the poor school children going without their dr*gs, I'm sure someone –

Mickey: I wanna be discharged.

Taub: I'll get the forms.

[Cut to Thirteen and Chase following Mickey’s car.]

Chase: This is ridiculous.

Thirteen: Beats sitting in a lab all day.

Chase: In the lab there is significantly less chance of getting k*lled. You're too close. Slow down.

Thirteen: We're in a car in broad daylight. What's gonna happen?

Chase: You honestly think he doesn't have a g*n in that car?

Thirteen: That he's gonna use to sh**t doctors?

Chase: Just... back off. [pause] Hey, well played with the watch, by the way.

Thirteen: Borrowed it from a friend.

Chase: How much longer are we gonna keep lying to him?

Thirteen: Until it's no longer fun. We all thought he needed to be taken down a few notches.

Chase: So we're just having fun, not getting even?

[Mickey drives through an intersection just as the light turns red.]

Thirteen: Oh, crap.

[She speeds up and follows him, regardless of the light which has changed.]

Chase: Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Thirteen: He's gonna get away.

[A siren is heard. Chase turns and looks out the back window. A police car, with it’s lights flashing, is gaining on them. Chase turns back, snickering.]

Thirteen: Shut up.

[Cut to the lobby of House and Wilson’s building. Nora opens her mailbox. House is there.]

House: 3-B? You're Nora, right? My roommate tells me you're the one to thank for all the tips about the neighborhood. Greg.

[He smiles fully – showing teeth – and extends his hand before opening the mail box for 3-F.]

Nora: Nice to meet you.

House: I hear you thought that Wilson and I liked to polish each other's swords. And by swords, I mean pistols.

[He looks at the far wall and walks away.]

Nora: Of course he told you about that.

House: Oh, don't worry. Actually, I'm surprised that doesn't happen more often. We're both straight. [There’s a flat package, about 6 feet tall, wrapped in brown paper, leaning against the wall. House rips the paper off. It’s an enormous, framed poster from “A Chorus Line.” House steps back and clasps both hands and his mouth, admiring it.] Oh, my... God, that is beautiful. [to Nora] We finally have the room to display it the way it deserves. Would you – would you help me get this upstairs?

Nora: Absolutely.

[She takes hold of one side of the poster as he gets the other.]

House: Nice shoes, by the way. Louboutin?

[Cut to a hallway at PPTH. Foreman and Taub are leaving for the day.]

Taub: You talk to Cuddy?

Foreman: sh*t me down.

Taub: So, uh, what are you gonna do now?

Foreman: I'll wait for my review in August.

Taub: Oh.

Foreman: [stopping] What?

Taub: Nothing. That's what I would do. But I'm a coward.

[Both their pages beep. They check them.]

[Cut to the ER. Mickey is in a bed. Eddie stands next to him. Nurse Yvette fills Taub and Foreman in.]

Yvette: His friend brought him in 15 minutes ago. Temp's 105. Pulse is weak and thready.

Eddie: He's not making any sense.

Mickey: [trying to get out of bed] It's too much money, Eddie. That wasn't the deal. That wasn't the deal.

Eddie: Is he gonna be okay?

Mickey: Eddie!

[Cut to Diagnostics.]

Taub: We gave him antipyretics and soft steroids to reduce the fever and prevent organ damage. He's no longer delirious.

Chase: Patient went out, came back worse than before. Points us back to environmental, tied to wherever he went.

House: No, it doesn't. Where's Foreman?

Taub: He had a meeting with Cuddy.

Thirteen: What do you mean, "No, it doesn't"? We screwed up the tail. My car was impounded.

House: True, amusing, and irrelevant. Foreman fall for the paycheck thing?

[Long pause while all three look at him.]

Taub: Uh, yeah.

House: Mazel tov. Should be fun to watch.

Thirteen: You're off environmental?

House: Wherever he went, it wasn't for long enough. Add in the fever and infection's way more likely. And if it is an infection, his symptoms suggest it's moved to his brain. Which means...

Chase: [getting up] I'll do a lumbar puncture.

[Taub follows Chase out.]

[Cut to Eddie’s room. Taub is doing the lumbar puncture. Chase is assisting.]

Mickey: Next time you're tailing someone, take two cars.

Chase: You knew we were following you?

Mickey: [chuckles] I'm sorry. I had to lose you. I had business to take care of.

Chase: Right, because you're a businessman. Do you know how many junkies come into the E.R. every week with their brains melting?

Mickey: I'll bet there's more drunks with their livers giving out. A liquor store owner laying on this table – I'm guessing he doesn't get attitude. [cries out in pain] Aah!

Taub: I hit bone. His old back injury must have flattened out his discs. Sorry, but I've got to try this again. You okay?

Mickey: Yeah. An adult wants to get wasted, why is it anybody's business what substance they use?

Taub: Because some of those substances are against the law.

Mickey: So your problem isn't that it's immoral. Your problem is that it's illegal. [grunts] I got the same problem.

Taub: I'm in.

[Chase hands Taub an instrument. He looks at a monitor, then at Mickey, puzzled.]

Chase: Look at his heart rate.

Taub: It's normal.

Chase: I know.

[Cut to House’s office. He’s on the computer. Wilson comes in.]

Wilson: I ran into Nora this morning. She told me about your Evita listening party.

House: The London and New York recordings are so different.

Wilson: You were supposed to tell her that we're straight.

House: She didn't believe me, either.

Wilson: [smiling] You're doing this to mess with me.

House: Correction – I started doing this to mess with you. Now I'm honestly trying to hit that.

Wilson: By pretending you're gay and in a relationship with me?

House: [standing] We're in a relationship and we're really unhappy. Communication's never been easy for us. Probably 'cause we're so closeted. I got it all figured out. Nora and I spend the next few weeks hanging out, become best girlfriends. I confide in her about our issues.

Wilson: I can't decide if this plan is more despicable or illogical.

[House drapes his cane across his shoulders like a yoke and hangs his hands over it, gesturing slightly.]

House: Then, one night, we get drunk... back rub turns into a front rub... The next morning, "I've never felt this way about a woman before."

Wilson: That's... quite a commitment you've made to jumping the girl I'd like to date.

House: I'd like to date her. In the sense that I'd like to jump her repeatedly.

Wilson: I saw her first.

House: Seriously? You're invoking the guy code?

Wilson: We're guys. It's a code.

House: You're only bringing this up 'cause you know you're gonna lose.

[Chase enters.]

Chase: It's not an infection, but it might be an autonomic nerve disorder.

House: The hair is still bumping me. Did you get it cut because you're ready for the next chapter or –

Chase: We stuck a needle into his spinal bodies twice. His heart rate stayed normal. If we add that to his other symptoms...

House: That would be a mistake.

[He heads for the door, followed by Chase.]

Wilson: She's never gonna fall for it.

House: [over his shoulder] Well, then, you got nothing to worry about, sweetie.

[Cut to Mickey’s room.]

House: You're a wuss.

Mickey: [sitting up] Say that when I'm better.

House: What, are you gonna b*at me up? That sounds stressful. Maybe you should pop one of your beta blockers first.

Chase: You have a heart problem?

House: Medically, no. He would have told us about that. Metaphorically...

[Mickey looks around. House goes over and closes the door.]

Mickey: It's an effect from operating outside of the law. Sometimes, I have to do bad things. And not always to bad people. Last few months, that hasn't been so easy. A guy got me the pills. [House nods.] And they control the stress. Look, don't – don't say anything to Eddie. All right? The last thing I need is the guys thinking that I've gone soft.

House: When was your last pill before we originally admitted you?

Mickey: Um, the night before.

House: And we stuck you in here, and you went into beta blocker withdrawal. That's what caused the hypertension. When he got out of here, he took another pill, and the hypertension went away. Which means it was never a symptom. We take that off the table, we've got vertigo, fever...

Chase: …and stress. He's been in this game for a while. Either he grew a conscience over the last few months or he's producing excess adrenaline.

House: Pheochromocytoma.

Mickey: What?

House: It's Greek for, "You'll be back doing bad things to good people in no time." [to Chase] M.R.I. his adrenal glands. You're okay with that, right? You're not gonna put a pillow over his face?

[Chase chuckles humorlessly.]

[Cut to the new apartment. Wilson comes in. Past the still-packed boxes, the TV is on.]

Wilson: Oh, great. Cable guy came.

Woman on TV: You know what? It's going good. How about I just learn to keep people out of our business? And that's the real thing.

[As he gets further in the apartment, he sees Nora and House sitting on a blanket on the floor. Candles line the edge of the blanket. House is sitting behind her, legs outstretched, giving her a backrub.]

Wilson: Hello.

Nora: [muting the TV] Hi, James. We've got some kung pao left. [arching her back as House finds a knot] Oh! God. Right there. Oh. Oh.

House: We're having a picnic... with wine.

Nora: I'll pour you a glass.

House: He doesn't drink.

Nora: [shrugging and picking up her glass] Oh. Well, more for us, then.

Wilson: Well... I think I might... [briefcase plunks down] have a little... kung pao.

[Still wearing his overcoat, he sits on a box, which collapses slightly. He picks up a take-out box. His shoes keep slipping on the floor as he tries to settle in. House stares at him but doesn’t stop the backrub.]

[Cut to MRI room. Taub and Foreman are monitoring Mickey.]

Taub: How'd it go with Cuddy?

Foreman: She told me I needed leverage. So, I told her about an offer I had to help run the neuro department at Mercy.

Taub: Wow. Are you really gonna take the job?

Foreman: There is no other job. I bluffed. She called it. I'm not gonna beg to be underpaid. I'm leaving when this case is over.

[Taub looks upset.]

[Cut to the apartment.]

Wilson: House is lying to you.

Nora: I know. And so are you. It's 2010, I mean... You know, nobody cares if you're gay anymore. I mean, you don't have to be in the closet.

Wilson: I'm not, I... Look around you. Does this really look like a place gay men live? A-apart from the poster. Those stools are our only furniture. There are no window treatments.

Nora: Well, my ex-boyfriend didn't even know what window treatments were. [pointing] Is that Greg's Carpenters album or yours?

Wilson: Look, House hates musicals and fashion and meringue. This whole thing is an act designed to earn your trust... [deep breath] in order to sleep with you.

Nora: I get it.

Wilson: [relieved] Finally.

Nora: You're jealous. You know, if you want to spend more time with Greg, you should just tell him.

[Wilson’s face is frozen.]

[Cut to House’s office. He enters. Thirteen is behind his desk, listening to the bug.]

Foreman: You were wrong. M.R.I. revealed no sign of a pheochromocytoma, which means Mickey's stress is just stress. We're back to vertigo and fever.

Taub: And environmental is back at the top of our list of suspects. We're trying to narrow down the possibilities.

House: [to Thirteen] That receiver doesn't respond to manual stimulation. Maybe if you took off your shirt.

Thirteen: Actually, I resorted to something more exotic. I call it reading the instructions. Turns out if you screw the antennae into the wrong sockets, it doesn't actually work.

Chase: We lost Mickey just outside Trenton.

[Thirteen winces and pulls off the headphones when there’s very high-pitched feedback]

Thirteen: [clears her throat] It's supposed to search for an open frequency.

Chase: Most buildings there were built between 1920 and 1940. We're compiling a list of toxins most common –

[House continues to stare at Thirteen and ignore Chase.]

House: There's got to be at least one open frequency.

[Cut to Mickey’s room. House and Thirteen enter. Eddie is there.]

House: I need a few minutes with your friend. Or stay if you want. [He grabs a rubber glove and waves it around.] Rectal exam.

Eddie: I'll check out the cafeteria.

[He leaves. Thirteen closes the door after him.]

House: [dropping the glove on the bed] Why the beta blockers?

Mickey: What do you mean?

House: Valium and Xanax actually reduce stress. Beta blockers just control the symptoms of stress.

[He shoves his hand deep under the mattress. Mickey backs away from him.]

Mickey: Whoa.

House: Keep the heart from racing, hands from shaking, and all those stage fright issues. That's why some people take them when they perform.

[House pulls out a fingernail size thing on a stick.]

Mickey: What the hell is that?

House: This is my bug. [He puts it in his pocket.] And this... [reaching between the pillows on the bed]

Mickey: Um...

House: This... This is yours. [He pulls out another one.]

Thirteen: You bugged your own room? Are you... an informant?

House: An informant would have sold his pals out to us at the first sign of a sniffle. This guy... is a cop.

[Cut to the nurses’ station outside Mickey’s room.]

Foreman: I don't see how this is relevant.

House: In the land of no fun, you got a really sensible piece of property.

Taub: Give him a break. Knowing this guy's an undercover cop doesn't get us any closer to curing him.

House: Good point. You know what they say. Information is not power. Wait...

Thirteen: You're saying we should use the cop thing to force him to talk?

House: Force? I'm talking about the womanly art of persuasion. [She starts toward the room.] I said womanly.

[Chase looks at him, shifts his jaw and heads into the room, followed by Thirteen.]

Thirteen: If you won't talk to us, we'll find someone who will. I mean, you must have a supervisor. A... handler.

Mickey: Good luck with that. You don't know my real name. You don't know if I'm local or state, F.B.I., D.E.A. But, by all means, get on the phone.

Chase: I get it. These guys are lowlifes. You want off the street.

Mickey: They're not just lowlifes. Eddie k*lled a snitch three weeks ago. Boss' orders. The-the boss, he's one of the biggest cocaine importers in the entire state. And he wants to expand down to Philly. Tomorrow night, he and Eddie are meeting the big fish. And the cops are gonna bust it. But if you guys get caught poking around there, the whole thing gets called off.

Thirteen: That's noble, but you can't put your life at risk.

Mickey: I've been undercover for 16 months. I haven't seen my wife... my house, my dog. I have put far too much into this, and I will not let it fail. So just... just keep me alive for another 24 hours. And I will tell you everything you need to know.

[There’s a knock on door. Eddie opens the door and pushes the blinds out of the way.]

Eddie: Hey. Uh, can I come in? Nurses out here can't keep their hands off of me.

Mickey: [chuckling] He's a Casanova, huh? What, you bringing me my sandwich?

Eddie: No, because, guess what. I don't read minds. [Mickey sits up straighter and holds his abdomen.] You okay?

Mickey: Aggh! Gah! Aaaa!

[Cut to Diagnostics.]

Chase: He had a G.I. infarction caused by a clot in his superior mesenteric artery. We had to remove a foot of bowel.

Thirteen: Any more clots keep forming, he may not last 24 hours.

House: And the moron still won't talk.

Taub: Bad guy, cool; good guy, moron?

House: Pretty much.

Chase: Guy's a hero. He's risking his life to put these dealers in jail.

House: I'm sure the dealers who take their places will be very grateful.

Foreman: So vertigo, fever, and thrombosis. We've already ruled out cancer and infection. He got worse on steroids, which suggests it's not autoimmune. So we're stuck with environmental.

Taub: But what kind of environmentals? Toxins, parasites, allergens.

Foreman: We should just pick the top ten possibilities and treat for all of them.

Thirteen: Except that treating for everything could k*ll him faster than whatever's k*lling him.

House: Got a better idea?

Thirteen: Sort of. Chase is right. Our patient is holding out for noble reasons: protecting his bust. Anybody else on that crew got sick, I'm guessing they'd be a little more self-serving.

[Cut to a waiting area. Eddie’s reading a parenting magazine. Thirteen comes over, holding two cups of coffee. She hands him one and sits down.]

Eddie: Thanks.

Thirteen: Surgery went well. You'll be able to see him soon.

Eddie: Yeah, used to be all about Ferberizing your kid. Now they're saying it could mess them up. Heh. My – mine's six and a half.

Thirteen: Mickey's getting worse. The clot is a very bad sign. We really need you to tell us where he's been.

Eddie: Heh. I do that, there's a very good chance that I could end up John Doe at the county M.E.

Thirteen: Look, Mickey got sick because he had the most exposure. Other guys are at risk too. You don't want to... [She looks at Eddie.] You okay?

Eddie: I – I feel dizzy. [He puts down his coffee cup.]

Thirteen: Are you diabetic?

[She puts down her cup and puts her hand on his neck.]

Eddie: No.

Thirteen: When was the last time you were at your office?

Eddie: Whoa... did you drug me?

Thirteen: What?

Eddie: You're trying to make me think that I'm sick so I'll take you to the stash.

Thirteen: Of course not, but if you are sick –

Eddie: No, I don't feel sick. I feel drugged! Trust me, I know the difference.

Thirteen: [pause while she thinks, annoyed] You didn't even drink half of it. You'll be fine in an hour. [She gets up to leave.]

Eddie: You think Mickey could die? Ah, it's just a deal. I'll take you.

[Cut to a darkened drycleaner’s.]

Thirteen: Couldn't have given us a heads up that he was living
in a drycleaner? It's like living in a vat of poison.

Eddie: Is that it? Can we get out of here?

Thirteen: I gotta cover all our bases.

Eddie: Okay, fine. Look... back there. Hurry up.

[Thirteen takes samples from various surfaces and the rug. She picks up a large plastic bag from a cardboard box.]

Thirteen: What are these, more chemicals?

Eddie: Oh, not exactly. [He takes it and puts it back in the box.] Uh... If this stuff was the problem, there'd be a lot more sick people. [A heavy metal door slides open somewhere.] Did you call the cops?

Thirteen: No.

Eddie: No one's supposed to be here.

[There are footsteps approaching. Thirteen reaches over and pulls Eddie toward her.]

Thirteen: [whispering] Come here. [loudly, shoving him away] I said no kissing!

Guy: Eddie. I didn't know you'd be here.

Eddie: Um... uh...

Thirteen: Look, the deal was just for you. This guy wants to watch, it's an extra 50.

Eddie: Yeah, private party, man. Uh... I got it covered tonight. [After a moment, the guy walks off, giving Eddie the thumbs up. Eddie turns to Thirteen.] Nice.

[Cut to a restaurant. House is dining with Nora who is wearing a dress that cost several hundred dollars.]

House: The jealousy is... k*lling me.

Nora: Well... he clearly cares about you. Very much.

House: Why can't he show it in a – in a normal way? I'm so tired of... the whole silence and the resentment. I don't know if I can go back there tonight. [Dean Martin's "Sway" playing] [voice breaking] I need some time.

Nora: Come stay at my place.

House: Really?

Nora: Mm-hmm. It'll be fun. You know, like a – like a sleepover.

[They both giggle.]

House: That would – that would be... It would be such a help. Thank you.

Wilson: House.

House: What are you doing here?

Wilson: I'm here because...

House: Nothing you can say is going to change anything.

[Wilson takes a step closer to the table. Gathering his courage, he turns his head away and announces, loudly, to the whole restaurant…]

Wilson: I love this man. And I am not wasting another moment of my life denying that. [He pulls something out of his overcoat pocket and kneels down next to the table. The “something” is a ring box, which he opens.] Gregory House... will you marry me?

House: Wow. This is unexpected.

[He stares at Wilson. Wilson stares back. Nora smiles, happy for them. House stares, still not talking. Wilson cocks his head, asking a silent question.]

Lady: Say yes!

[House looks over at her. Wilson, still not saying anything, shakes his head, inquiringly.]

Nora: I'm gonna go.

House: No – no, no, no.

Nora: You two obviously have some talking to do. [whispers to Wilson] Excuse me.

[Wilson touches his fingers to his forehead, saluting her or doffing an invisible hat. She slides past him. In one fluid movement Wilson closes the ring box, stands, takes her seat, her almost full glass of wine and drinks. House glares at him as he drinks from his own wine glass.]

[Cut to a lab where Taub and Thirteen are testing all the samples Thirteen brought back. Chase enters.]

Chase: How's it coming?

Taub: So far, nothing. Carpet, paint, insulation. Even the gross food in the fridge. Everything's coming up clean.

Thirteen: Which leaves the dry-cleaning chemicals. Should have the results in a few minutes.

Chase: Foreman's already started him on inhaled albuterol. Chances are, this case is over.

Taub: We have to tell him.

Thirteen: We can't tell him. Won't change the fact that Cuddy let him walk. It'll just let him know it was all because of a stupid prank.

Chase: [sighs] We have to tell Cuddy. We confess and beg her to take him back.

Taub: If begging worked, he would have a raise, and we wouldn't be screwed.

Foreman: Albuterol is not helping. Patient started coughing blood.

Taub: What about adding ipratropium? That might –

Thirteen: Don't bother. We assumed this place was using perchloroethylene. Turns out... petroleum solvents.

Chase: The drug dealers are running a green drycleaner?

Taub: I hate to push past the irony, but our patient's bleeding into his lungs, and we've got nothing.

[Cut to Diagnostics. Chase is putting scans on the light board.]

Chase: The V/Q scan last night showed a pulmonary aneurysm. Explains the coughing blood. I did an embolization to stop the bleeding, he then started up again this morning. Three more aneurysms.

Foreman: Those look like mycotic aneurysms. Indicates a fungal infection.

Taub: That'd be consistent with his other symptoms: the vertigo, the fever.

Thirteen: I didn't see any fungus at the location, and none of the samples –

House: Looks like somebody missed something. Which is embarrassing for somebody.

Thirteen: And... the steroids we gave him would have suppressed his immune system. If that was a fungus, he'd have 30 aneurysms.

House: Somebody's got a good point.

Taub: One bleed to four in less than 12 hours? That seems like an uptick to me.

Foreman: We need to start him on antifungal meds before he drowns in his own blood.

House: [staring at the scans] Do it.

[Cut to Mickey’s room. Foreman is hanging an IV bag.]

Eddie: How long till it starts working?

Foreman: Give it a few hours. I’ll be back to check on you.

[Mickey starts coughing. Eddie picks up an emesis basin and helps him sit up. He coughs some blood into the basin.]

Eddie: There you go. Take it easy.

Mickey: You shouldn't have taken her there, you imbecile. They found nothing. You could have got your brains blown out.

Eddie: I had to do something. I couldn't just sit and watch and... [They look at each other. Eddie sighs.] You're my friend.

Mickey: Thanks.

Eddie: You'd do it for me. [slight laugh] Ah. I... I should get going. Got the big man from Philly coming in tonight. [Mickey coughs weakly.] You want me to stay, I'll stay. Jimmy knows everything that we know.

Mickey: No. The six months we put in on this... You gotta be there.

Eddie: [nods] I'll swing by tomorrow.

Mickey: Hey, Eddie.

Eddie: Yeah?

Mickey: I'm sorry. You know that... I can't go with you.

[Eddie nods and leaves.]

[Cut to Cuddy’s office. Chase, Taub and Thirteen are there.]

Thirteen: It was all our fault.

Taub: We were screwing with Foreman, trying to make him think he made less than we did. Obviously, things got out of control.

Cuddy: Well, someone does something stupid and insensitive, I always figure it was House. Good to know it's catching.

Chase: Look, there is no other job. He was just trying to get a raise. Even if you gave him a little more money, I know he'd stay.

Cuddy: I'm not giving Foreman a raise because the three of you decided to amuse yourselves.

Thirteen: We know, and that's why we want you to take it out of our paychecks.

Cuddy: You two okay with this?

[Chase nods.]

Taub: Is there any other option?

Chase: We're okay with it. Foreman is a good team leader. He deserves it.

Cuddy: Okay, then. That is what I will do. And just so you know... I have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't seen Foreman in three days.

[As the three of them leave Cuddy’s office, Foreman is there, leaning on the nurses’ station.]

Foreman: The phrase "who's your daddy?" comes to mind.

[They leave. Foreman chuckles to himself.]

[Cut to House’s office. He’s sitting and thinking while repeatedly clicking the top of a retractable pen against his forehead. There’s a knock on his door. He looks over.]

Nora: [sticking her head in] Want to grab some coffee?

House: Kind of a bad time.

Nora: Sorry. Uh, you told me to drop by, so... This is when I could make it.

House: Right. [He mumbles something as he gestures for her to have a seat.] This whole thing with Wilson... It's all my fault. We're not closeted, because we're not gay. [She smiles, disbelieving.] For real. [She stops smiling.] Wilson thought you were cute, and I was just yanking his chain. Maybe that's not the best phrasing.

Nora: So you were only spending time with me to screw with him?

House: God, no. I was spending time with you because I want to touch your boobs. [She puts her hand to her chest.] Enough to listen to Evita, twice. And I really hate Evita. That's how much I like your boobs. [She puts down her hand and stands to go.] Wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait, wait. [He gets up and comes to her.] Wilson... he's a really good guy. And he really likes you.

Nora: Well, it's really... It's sweet of you to stick up for your friend like that. [She looks at his face.] And you're still trying to sleep with me. You know, maybe I will call him. It would serve you right.

House: Wilson's a jerk too.

Nora: Well, at least he tried to do the right thing.

House: He's been divorced three times. He slept with a dying patient. Sure, he looks like a boy scout, but then...

[House stops, mid-sentence, to think. He walks out as if Nora weren’t even there. Not used to his epiphanies, she gestures, planning to say something and ends up looking puzzled as the door closes behind him.]

[Cut to Mickey’s room. Thirteen holds a basin as he coughs blood into it. Chase is checking the equipment.]

House: The aneurysms look mycotic, but they're not. They're inflammatory. Because this is not a fungal infection. The hypertension was a real symptom. You've been unwittingly treating it with beta blockers. You stopped taking them, and your blood pressure went up. It's Hughes-Stovin.

Mickey: Okay, so how – how do we treat this?

Chase: [long pause] We don't. Hughes-Stovin is an autoimmune disease. Once it's this advanced, there's not much we can do. The aneurysms keep multiplying. Eventually... one of them will rupture.

Mickey: Are you sure?

House: If you die in the next day or so, I will be.

Thirteen: Even if you had told us everything we wanted to know, it wouldn't have made a difference. You did the right thing.

Mickey: I think I should call my wife now.

[Montage to "Maggot Brain" by Funkadelic.
– It’s snowing.
– Mickey’s room. He and his wife lie on his bed. She’s crying.
– The drycleaner’s. Eddie shakes hands with Gorski.
– Mickey coughs. He seems to be in pain. His wife turns to look at him.
– Gorski gestures that Eddie should give him a pack of dr*gs, which he does.
– Eddie is now in obvious pain. His wife gets off the bed to go get help.
– Marco picks up the box with all the dr*gs in it. Suddenly there are cops in the room.
– Chase removes a pillow from behind Mickey’s back.
– Gorski tries to run away. He stops when there’s a cop there.
– Mickey is dying. His head is thrown back on the pillow.
– Outside the drycleaner’s Eddie is being taken away. His hands are cuffed behind him.
– Chase talks to Mickey’s wife.
– Close-up of Eddie’s face, looking toward something.
– Close-up of Mickey as he stops breathing.
– Eddie is put in the squad car.
– Mickey’s wife runs her hand over his forehead.]

[Cut to the new apartment. It’s almost dark except for the ice hockey game on the TV. House and Wilson are almost swallowed up by a massive, orange home theater sofa/chairs. The armrest between the two sides is wide and flat and does double duty as a table.]

Wilson: I'm sorry about your patient.

House: He d*ed a hero in his own mind. Guess it's better than nothing.

Wilson: Ran into Nora in the elevator. She no longer thinks we're gay. Now she thinks we're mendacious dirt bags.

House: Mendacious dirt bag comes much more naturally to me. Least we can get rid of that. [He gestures at the A Chorus Line poster.]

Wilson: I kind of like it. [House stares at him.] Unlike this sofa.

House: It's 500 bucks. And... [he pulls a lever on the side] it reclines.

Wilson: [takes a deep breath and sings]
♪♫ One
♪♫ Singular sensation
♪♫ Every little step she takes

House: I will punch you in the face.

Wilson: I'll stop, if you get rid of the sofa.

House: [glares at him] No chance.

Wilson: [vocalizing the orchestration as well]
♪♫ Buh duh duh duh duh duh
♪♫ One
♪♫ Thrilling combination
♪♫ Every move that she makes

♪♫ Buh buh, buh buh, buh buh
[The cast recording joins in but the “booms” are all Wilson, complete with hand gestures.]
♪♫ One smile, and suddenly
♪♫ Nobody else, boom
♪♫ Will, boom
♪♫ Do, boom boom, boom boom

[House stares at him as if he’d lost his mind. The camera pulls back so all that’s visible is the back of the sofa and the game on the TV. Wilson drops out, leaving the soundtrack to sing the last line.]

♪♫ You know you’ll never be lonely with you know who.

[The End]