08x01 - Twenty Vicodin

[bunniefuu]

Delaire: Given good… [he flips a page in the file] …ish behavior and 8 of 12 months time served, we have the discretion to grant parole, Friday the 10th, five days from now. [He closes the file, folds his hands on the table and looks directly at House.] Are you sorry about what you did?

[House pauses before answering. There is a uniformed guard standing between him and the door.]

House: Yes.

[A couple of people on the panel shift. Delaire looks at them then back at House.]

Delaire: Yes?

House: Well, that's the correct answer, isn't it?

Female Case Worker: Are you trying to annoy us?

House: No, I'm just trying to give you the answers you need to cover your asses, fill out your forms, and let me out of here.

Female Case Worker: We need you to show us remorse.

House: Is that how our system works? Release the best actors? I shudder to think what that world would be like.

Female Case Worker: You drove your car into your ex-girlfriend's house and then fled the country for three months.

House: I knew that her daughter was at grandma's, like every Friday, and I saw everyone else move into the living room.

Female Case Worker: They could've moved back.

House: Which I would've noticed since I was driving right towards them. [He just can’t stop himself from being a smart ass.]

Delaire: Shut up. We got an order to reduce overcrowding. But let me be clear — you mouth off to one guard, we catch you with a single cafeteria tray in your cell, you break any rules I don't even remember, you can park your ass here for four more months. So forget being sorry. Can you stay out of trouble for five days?

[As the warden speaks, what he’s saying sinks in. There’s a long pause.]

House: Yes.

**

[Black screen — MONDAY. House is asleep. He turns his head and his eyes pop open. He lifts his head. He’s on a cot in a cinderblock cell. There are physics equations scrawled on the “whiteboard” of the wall. His cane is next to his bed. At the foot of his bed, Asofa, House’s very large roommate, sits on the toilet. His shorts are around his ankles and he’s holding a roll of toilet paper. Silently, they make eye contact.]

[Cut to the Day Room. It’s a double height room filled with tables with attached chairs. This is the social center of the prison. There’s a balcony halfway up, resulting in two floors of cells. Prisoners mill around, talking, playing checkers, etc. House walks through. Correction Office Hseuh calls out over the various conversations.]

Hseuh: Gather for meds! Asofa!

[House’s cellmate approaches the desk, with House right behind him. House looks at Asofa’s pills.]

House: [quietly] Yeah.

[Mendelson, a short, middle-aged skinhead is first on line. His subordinates, including the very larger Sullivan, are right behind him.]

Mendelson: Why you keep helping him out?

House: Yeah, why would I wanna make sure that my homicidal cellmate is taking the right anti-psychotics?

[Asofa swallows his pills and opens his mouth for Nurse Hostetter to check.]

Hseuh: House!

{House dumps two Vicodin into his hand from a paper cup. He drinks the water in another cup, throws back his head and swallows. He opens his mouth, Hostetter looks in and nods.]

Hseuh: Mendelson!

[Mendelson approaches the desk. He picks up his pill packet and shows it to House.]

House: He's on 80 mg of Propranolol. That's 40.

Hostetter: [checks the list] You're right. Sorry.

Mendelson: No worries. I like my nurses naughty.

[He is seriously creepy. As Hostetter turns to get the rest of his meds, House pulls a Vicodin from his mouth. He surreptitiously puts it in Mendelson’s waiting hand.]

House: I'm starting to think, Mendelson, that you just really like the taste of my spit.

Mendelson: [laughs] Hey, House. Check out our new brand, huh?

[He pulls his collar aside. On the right side of his neck is an ugly tattoo of a skull with a swastika on its forehead. Above the skull, just below Mendelson’s jaw, it says “New.” “Confederates” is scrawled below the skull, on Mendelson’s collarbone.]

House: You really got a thing for swastikas… Mendelson. Like an ironic thing?

Mendelson: [defensive] It's a German name.

House: So’s "House." I'm Jewish. [Mendelson looks at him.] Nah, I'm a black, gay gypsy. [He walks away. Mendelson is not amused.]

[On the upper floor, House pauses in front of Frankie’s cell. Without looking up from the chessboard in front of him, Frankie calls out his next move.]

Frankie: Knight to King's Bishop three.

House: Queen to King's Bishop seven.

[He walks on. He starts to pass a new guy, Nick.]

Nick: Hey. You're House, right? I got these weird pains in my elbows and in my knees—

House: You know what's weirder? It’s how the clinic is a large room and you somehow confused me with it. Although, to be fair, I am large.

[House reaches his room. There’s a lot of banging and clanging. He stops in the doorway to observe. A tall, thin man is going through the shelves, stuffing things in his shirt.]

House: Hi, Rollo. I realize this is probably a rhetorical question — Why are you stealing my stuff?

Rollo: [friendly but not stopping what he’s doing] Hey, House. I heard you're on short time. You won't need this.

House: You heard about my parole, but not about my violent reactions when people steal my tuna. Put it back.

Rollo: Nuh-uh.

House: Really? You're stepping to a guy who outweighs you by 50 pounds and who’s carrying a cane, which, while prison-approved, would still cause some issues if inserted into your colon.

Rollo: Yeah, like you losing your parole. And you ain't gonna rat me out neither, 'cause you don't wanna get a snitch jacket and wind up shanked in the showers. So you're just gonna let me walk out of here.

[House takes half a step toward him when Frankie enters and grabs House’s shoulder. Rollo smiles and leaves.]

Frankie: You wanna get back at these guys? Get out alive on Friday. [A buzzer sounds.] All right, now go to work, House. [He claps House on the shoulder. House walks past him.] Oh, and that was Checkmate, right?

House: [voice from the hall] Yep.

[Frankie’s head drops back against the wall and he nods, resignedly.]

[Cut to a bathroom. Stomper, a large, black man with muscles that are even larger, is using the urinal. House, the janitor, wheels his mop and bucket in.]

Stomper: I heard you're on that short time, House?

House: If you like tuna, you're a little late.

Stomper: I want your stereo and your headphones. [He turns to face House and rolls his hips so his urine covers as much of the floor between them as possible.] It can wait till you finish your work. [indicates the fresh pee on the floor] Drop it off in my cell. [leaves]

[Cut to the clinic. Sykes, the doctor in charge is treating a patient on one gurney. Adams, a young, female doctor is examining Nick. House enters.]

Adams: 99.9. I'm gonna start him on ceftriaxone.

[House pauses from emptying the trash to listen to this.]

Sykes: Good catch. I might've missed that.

[As House passes Adams on his way to the trash can by the window, he leans in and tells her:]

House: It's not gonorrhea.

Adams: I didn't say it was.

House: Not out loud, but you're figuring that joint pain, plus fever, plus a low lifestyle equals a ceftriaxone prescription.

Nick: So you're saying I got the clap? I've only been in here one week. My girlfriend's clean. I ain't got a girlfriend in here.

[House returns to the trash can out the door. Adams follows him.]

Adams: How do you know about ceftriaxone?

Sykes: House used to be a doctor.

House: Not going back. And that look of shock is elitist and offensive. Doctors can be degenerates. This is America. [back to the case] There's subtle eyebrow loss. It's lupus.

[Adams inspects Nick’s face closely.]

Adams: Well, there's no discoid or malar rash on his face.

House: Which would be dispositive if he was just a giant head.

Sykes: He's got a point, but I'll let you make the call.

Adams: No, there's no reason to search for a bodily rash since lupus doesn't usually present that way.

House: "Usually"? Well, I guess that's good enough for prison work. [She gapes at him as he turns to leave. Sykes is amused. Then House turns back, a little worried.] You don't write people up for mouthing off, do you?

Adams: Not usually.

[Cut to House’s cell. He holds his radio, which has “PROPERTY OF HOUSE QUESTIONS CALL THE NEW CONFEDERATES” on it in permanent marker. Frankie sits on House’s cot.]

Frankie: You don't wanna mess with Stomper. He didn't get that name because he's a fan of Santa's reindeer.

House: You think one of Santa's reindeer was called Stomper?

Frankie: Y-you're missing my point.

House: I'm not gonna listen to a guy who can't name the reindeer.

Frankie: Well, you saw what happened in the yard with Diaz. He barely said a couple of words and set the boy off. [House looks at him, then off in the distance.] Oh, no. I know that look.

[Cut to the hallway. House looks around then nonchalantly enters a cell. He slides his radio on a shelf, behind some things.]

[Cut to House’s cell. He’s lying on his bed, reading a scientific journal. He holds a pencil in his mouth, which he drops to his side when Stomper enters.]

House: Hey, Stomper.

Stomper: Where's my stereo?

House: I brought it to your cell.

Stomper: It ain't there.

House: I was just getting to that part. Rollo followed me in and took it.

[Stomper thinks about this then shakes his head.]

Stomper: No way Rollo'd diss me like that.

House: Way. I don't wanna start any rumors, but—

Stomper: But what?

House: Well, he was all, you know, "I can take Stomper." And I was all, "how come?" And he was all, "'cause of how Diaz kicked his ass last month." In fact, he actually called you "Stompee," with an "ee." I think his gist was…

[Stomper leaves. House remains on his cot and listens to the conversation from Rollo’s cell, next door.]

Stomper: [off camera] You took my stereo?

Rollo: [off camera] Get out of my house, Stomper. I ain't got no stereo.

[There’s the sound of things being tossed around.]

Stomper: [off camera] Well, then what's this, then?

Rollo: [off camera] What? I didn't put that there!

Stomper: [off camera, over Rollo’s voice] You're gonna lie to my face, you lying son of a bitch!

Rollo: [off camera] What? I didn't do anything! Next time I will take your stereo! Ow!

[Rollo’s voice gets louder, buzzers go off. House smiles and returns to reading. In the hallway guards take Stomper and Rollo away while other prisoners look on.]

[Cut to House’s stereo on a cot. House has it back and he’s listening to jazz while he eats some of his tuna. Frankie enters.]

Frankie: That was stupid.

House: [removes his earphones] Is that, like, a synonym for "clever"? By the time they get out of solitary, I'll be teaching physics at the University of Fiji.

[Asofa is lying on the upper bunk, facing the wall.]

Frankie: You have four days left. How many more tricks do you got?

[Frankie leaves House to think about this.]

**

[Black screen — Tuesday. It’s dark. House is trying to sleep but there is a cricket chirping. He gets up and lifts a shirt that on top of the shelves. Under that, there’s a cricket on a towel. He gets ready to flick the cricket off when a hand drops on his shoulder.]

Asofa: Don't.

House: This another pet? 'Cause it's gonna end badly. Again. Remember we talked about this? At least I talked, and you stared at me eerily. [Asofa stares eerily.] I think it was eerily. "Eerily" felt like the best-case scenario.

[Cut to the common room later that morning. House limps through.]

[Cut to Nick’s room. He’s sitting on his bunk, sketching a picture of a girl. House enters.]

House: Hey. Take off your shirt so I can find the rash.

Nick: Oh, now you wanna help me. 'Cause that doctor didn't believe you?

House: Well, if you can think of a better way to prove that she's an idiot, I'm all ears. Now, let's get this over with.

Nick: Yeah. [He puts down his sketch pad and takes off his shirt. House looks at the picture then starts inspecting Nick’s torso.] That's Nicole. She lives at her mom's now on account that she lost her job. Her mom hates me, so she can't visit, she ain't accepting my calls.

House: Well, that's what happens when you date a 12-year-old.

Nick: You don't believe me?

House: Belief implies a level of giving a crap that I am never gonna achieve. Pull down your pants.

[Nick drops them.]

[Cut to the clinic. House comes into the office with his janitorial cart. Adams is doing paperwork.]

House: Hey. It's not that I was trying to prove that you're an idiot or anything, but lupus boy and I were at the beach this morning, and I noticed a rash on his left thigh.

Adams: I checked you out. You were a pretty big deal. What went wrong?

House: Something very obvious and very boring.

Adams: Drug related? Forging prescriptions?

House: Oh, you're good, just like lupus boy will be when you start him on prednisone. Name should've been a giveaway. I'll send him up.

[She turns to face House as he goes to empty the trash can behind her.]

Adams: Why are you so sure I'm gonna do what you say?

House: Because you're a smart, old-money, trust-fund girl who took this job because your liberal ideology makes you wanna make a difference, but you're already getting bored, and this is interesting.

Adams: Why would you say any of that?

House: Your shoes — different, expensive pair every day, but never leather, which means you're both rich and liberal. Antique locket — it's unpolished gold. Not some hipster thing. It's a family heirloom, which means old money. Osler scarf — only on Fridays, which means you did your residency at Hopkins, which means you're smarter than our interactions would so far indicate. And your eyes — the only time you haven't looked bored in the three months since you've been here is when we've been discussing this diagnosis. So, yeah, you'll treat him for lupus.

[He knocks twice on the door and a guard lets him out.]

[Cut to the Day Room. House walks through. Mendelson’s muscle, Sullivan, calls to House from the upper tier.]

Sullivan: House. He wants you.

[House looks worried.]

[Cut to Mendelson’s cell. Several New Confederates are there. House enters, Sullivan right behind him. House looks scared.]

Mendelson: [purring] Parole? You didn't tell me.

House: I didn't want a big, emotional scene.

Mendelson: But you know what the rules are. On short time, tax goes up.

House: How many do you want?

Mendelson: All of 'em.

House: Come on, Mendelson. I should be on six a day. I get four, and I give you two. [silence] Fine. Get one in my cell after lights-out. Plus Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, that's 11 in all.

Mendelson: I count 20. You knew on Monday, you get out Friday. Five days. You should've told me earlier.

House: They give out four a day, Max.

Mendelson: [laughs] You'll figure something out. You're a creative guy.

House: What if I just go into protective custody, spend the next three days in the hole?

Mendelson: Oh, you could P.C. up. But then you'll get out, and unlike you… I got friends on the outside.

[Cut to the corridor. House catches up to Porter, who is delivering toilet paper to all the cells.]

House: Porter.

Porter: Doc, what ya need? I'm running a special on grilled cheese this week. Got some new girly mags too.

House: I was thinking of something more… Vicodin-y. At least 16, and I need them Friday at noon.

Porter: [chuckles] That's pricy, but it can be done. How about you have one of your peeps on the outside send $200 to my boy up in Trenton?

House: I am peep-less.

Porter: This is just you haggling, right?

House: No. I mean, you ever see me chatting on the phone, taking visitors?

Porter: All right, but I'm gonna have to clean you out. I'm gonna need to see some tuna. I'm gonna need to see some stamps, uh, stereo—

House: Just get 'em to me as soon as you can.

[There’s a cry from the far side of the Day Room, by the pay phones. Nick holds his arm. A guard backs several other inmates away from him.]

[Cut to Nick sitting on a table, breathing through the pain, loudly. House hurries over.]

House: What happened?

Nick: I was trying to use the phone. I just—I just got jostled a little, that's it.

House: [quietly] Who hit you?

Nick: I just—I just bumped into the wall.

[House gently touches Nick’s arm. Nick grunts and pulls away.]

Nick: [pulls away] Huh!

House: It’s not lupus.

Nick: Is that good?

House: Does it feel good?

**

[Black screen — WEDNESDAY. House wakes up and starts rubbing his leg. He lifts his pillow and pulls out a blister-pack card that used to hold square things, maybe gum. All the compartments are open and empty and a single Vicodin is shoved in one. He inspects it and sighs before putting it back under his pillow.]

Asofa: Sick. [He peeks one eye over the edge of his mattress to look down at House.]

House: No, I'm just going through a bit of withdrawal. I'm trying to survive on one a day for the next few days.

Asofa: No. [Asofa’s lowers his arm. The cricket is cupped in his massive hand. It’s not moving.] Fix him.

[Asofa looks down at House who looks at his new patient.]

[Cut to the clinic. A guard lets House and his cart into the office where Adams is doling out meds into paper cups.]

House: It's not lupus. He broke his arm.

Adams: Or it is lupus, and he was in a fight.

House: He was in a jostle.

Adams: 'Cause if he admits he was in a fight, then he goes to the hole.

House: That's why he'd lie to the guards. He's got no reason to lie to me.

Adams: [straightening up and thinking about this] Huh.

House: See? There are those eyes again. [He moves toward the desk and Adams grabs Nick’s folder and holds it away from House.] How about a viral syndrome? Or MRSA? No, that wouldn't chew up the bone that fast. But reaction to meds could. [holds out his hand for the chart] May I?

Adams: May you what? Make me lose my job by showing you a patient file? [House drops his hand and looks down.] But why don't you assume no recent meds?

House: How long can I assume that he's been smoking? Based on his yellow fingers.

Adams: You're thinking lung cancer. Metastatic. I'll x-ray him on Friday. [House gives her an annoyed look.] We share a traveling x-ray machine with two other clinics.

House: I'm out of here on Friday.

Adams: He's not.

House: Well, how about… if he throws a clot and strokes out, you can use the x-ray to do the autopsy. Start him on blood thinners.

Adams: Very interesting practice you must've run. No need for tests. [House taps on the door and the guard opens it.] No need for proof. Where are you going?

House: [leaving] To the proof store.

[Adams smiles then opens Nick’s file and begins to read.]

[Cut to the Day Room. Nick is sitting on a stool at one of the tables. House is behind him, ear to Nick’s back. His left hand is on Nick’s chest.]

Nick: You were right about Nicole.

House: [lifts his head] About me not caring? I thought so. [He goes back to listening, tapping on Nick’s chest with a couple of fingers.]

Nick: It wasn't her mom. It was her. She doesn't wanna talk to me.

House: Listen, I'm trying to listen to your lungs, not your self-pity. [He stops and gets up, grabbing his cane.] Cancer can wait. [joining Frankie who was walking past] Hey, heading out to the yard?

Frankie: Mm-hmm.

House: You mind trying to find me a cricket?

Frankie: The ol' swap trick? You don't think that will piss off your cellie even more when he figures it's a different bug?

House: I'll dress 'em the same, like in Vertigo.

Frankie: Well, I'll try, but they spray so much pesticide I'm surprised we're alive.

House: [thoughtfully] Good point. [He sees Porter and turns to follow him.] Hey. How's it coming?

Porter: It ain't. The Confederates be giving themselves spankin' new tats. They putting a claim on all of my Vicodin. Now, I love you and all, my brother, but not as much as I love my g*ng of crazy, roided-out n*zi b*tches.

[He walks on. House stops and contemplates the fix he’s in.]

[Cut to the clinic. Adams is listening to Nick’s lungs with a stethoscope while taping Nick’s chest.]

House: [sitting on the next gurney] Now try an inch to the left. Hear the difference?

Adams: [impressed] Yeah!

House: It's called an acoustical shadow. It means he's got a tumor.

Adams: How did you find that without a stethoscope? I didn't even know you could do this!

House: Start the blood thinners.

Nick: So I for sure got lung cancer?

Adams: No.

House: [simultaneously] Yeah

Adams: All you've proven is there's an anomaly in his chest.

House: [incredulous] Which means your initial diagnosis could still be right?

Adams: Which apparently really bugs you. [She has an idea] I could do a clotting test.

House: That's… that's a good idea.

Adams: We're just gonna cut your earlobe a bit and check back in two minutes. If there's a little blood bubbling up, that's normal. But if it's completely clotted, it may indicate cancer. Okay? Ready?

[She uses a scalpel on Nick’s ear then goes into the office. House follows her, closing the door behind him.]

Adams: Are you really leaving medicine? What are you gonna do? [no answer] You know, for someone who asks as many favors as you do, you sure don't make any effort to win me over.

House: Before I went to med school, I thought about getting a Ph.D. in physics. You ever heard of dark matter? The way galaxies rotate, the motion of the Universe… it means there's six times more stuff than we can detect. It's been theorized but no one's ever proved it exists.

Adams: So, uh, so you wanna research it? Why?

House: It's the greatest mystery there is — the theory of everything.

Adams: And completely divorced from humanity.

House: Well, me and humanity, we got together too young.

Adams: Tsk. You have a gift. There is something in this world you are undeniably great at. You can read people. You-you understand them. You gotta go back to medicine.

House: Well, if that gift is related to what brought me here, you'll understand if I wanna check the returns policy.

Nic: Hey! Is this supposed to happen?

[He’s at the office window. The hand he’s using to hold a cloth to his ear and his t-shirt are covered in blood. Adams leans toward him, fascinated.]

Adams: Cool.



[Black screen — THURSDAY. Asofa is asleep on his bunk, face down with his head turned to the wall. He turns his head as House uncaps a bottle of water.]

House: Jiminy didn't chirp much last night. If it's a disease, then he's six inches under. [He taps some bicarb into the bottle.] But this could also be pesticide poisoning… [He shakes the bottle well] Which bicarbonate of soda has been used to treat. [He adds some to a postcard which he picks up and, blocking the view with his body, slips under an upturned half bottle with the new cricket in it. He steps to the side so Asofa can see the “cured” cricket.] See? Just so much and no more.

[House turns and looks at Asofa who is silently staring at him from his bunk.]

House: Mm… [silence] This is where you say "thank you." [nothing] Or I say thank you for not k*lling me. [long pause] Thank you.


Adams: Hey. The x-ray didn't show any tumors. The acoustical shadow was just a lipoma. [House sits down and rubs his leg.] I'm thinking — you all right?

House: I'm fine.

Adams: Ibuprofen?

House: It’s not gonna help.

[He reaches for the x-rays. She backs away and goes to her desk where she picks up the file.]

Adams: You can look at the patient file if you want.

House: You trust me?

Adams: Any reason I shouldn't?

House: You're really not good at reading people, are you? Or buildings.

Adams: People are complicated. And people change.

House: [reaching for the file] Not that much to the first, and not at all to the second. But if it'll get me the file…

Adams: If we add "clotting disorder" to the symptoms, it's gotta be a toxin.

House: This guy's the only one with symptoms. It's either gotta be his cell or his work station.

Adams: The laundry room. So maybe a solvent or detergent?

House: Can you get me an escort to gather samples?

Sykes: [entering] Dr. Adams. Why does this man have a file?

[House hands the file back to Adams and stands up. Adams looks at Sykes.]

[Cut to the Day Room. House walks through and enters Nick’s cell. There’s a completed portrait of Nicole on the wall next to the door.]

House: You need to get cotton swabs...

Nick: ... but not now. I got something to do.

House: You're a prisoner on tier time. By definition, you have nothing to do.

Nick: Call her family, her friends, her work. I'm gonna get through eventually.

House: You're moving slower. You're getting weaker. This thing's attacking your bones, your joints, your blood.

Nick: Look, my girl's more important.

House: [frustrated and annoyed] She's not your girl, you idiot. She was the girlfriend of a loser drug dealer. Think she's got the self-control to wait around for three years? You think she should? There's a reason we're locked away from nice, normal people. [relenting, nicer] Your life outside is over. Your friends, your girl, everyone you worked with, they've moved on.

Nick: Get out of my house. [shouts] Get out!

[House turns and leaves.]

[Cut to the clinic. The guard opens the door. House stands in the doorway.]

House: Where's Sykes?

Adams: Off at his other clinics.

House: Great. I'm gonna go through the laundry. Give me some swabs.

Adams: No.

House: What? He yelled at you for letting me see the file? You'll get over it. A few years of therapy—

Adams: Why did you lie to me about what you were in for?

House: [enters and closes the door behind him] Okay, so I drove a car into a wall instead of stealing some pills. You obviously don't care what I did. You care that I lied to you. You feel jilted.

Adams: I feel stupid. It-it doesn't even make sense. Why are you doing time? You didn't have any priors. You didn't hurt anyone.

House: I had a bad lawyer.


Adams: I'm sorry. We can't talk about this case anymore.

[She goes to her desk. House takes a step away from the door so the guard can let him out.]

[Cut to House walking across the Day Room and entering a cell. An arm grabs him by the neck and throws him into the cinderblock wall. It’s Sullivan, who now has House’s cane in his other hand. Mendelson enters.]

House: Uhhh!

Mendelson: We hear you're gonna need an incentive to get all my pills by tomorrow.

[House stays down on the floor, non-confrontational for once.]

House: I-I-I can't get all 20, but once I get out—

Mendelson: [to Sullivan] Give us a minute. [Sullivan leaves, giving Mendelson House’s cane. He kneels next to House and talks quietly, as if he’s confiding in him.] Why do you think I'm on buspirone? The stress! I get the runs almost every day. Any sign of weakness, 20 guys would line up to stick a sharpened-up toothbrush in my eye. So as much as my better nature really wants to give you a pass… it just wouldn't be good for my health. See you tomorrow.

[He leaves with the cane. House stays on the floor. He touches the bruise where his cheekbone hit the wall and nervously contemplates his options.]

[Cut to House walking down the upper floor corridor. Without his cane, House uses the railing to navigate and he holds his thigh. He enters Frankie’s cell. Frankie’s sitting on his bunk, studying his chess board.]

House: I need your help. You have any matches?

Frankie: No, that's serious contraband. What are you planning to do?

House: What about a stick of gum?

Frankie: Sure. [pulls one out of his pocket]

House: I'm gonna need that too.

Frankie: [suspicious] Why?

House: Why do I need the pen that you always carry around and never write with? [Frankie hands it over.] This is plan "B." [He clicks the pen, revealing a blade.]

**

[Cut to the bathroom. House puts the gum wrapper in an electric outlet above the sink. He reaches for a bottle of a cleaning solvent with which he saturates the toilet paper he’s filled the sink with. He looks at the clock – it’s 2:56. He takes a roll of toilet paper that has the tube stuffed with more toilet paper and holds it up to the outlet. There’s the sound of a short as the paper in the middle bursts into a small flame. He drops it in the sink and steps back as the flame grows.]

[Cut to the clinic office. House wheels in. Adams is at the desk.]

Adams: What happened to your cheek?

[House doesn’t answer. He looks out the window behind her. There’s a lot of activity. Alarms are going off.]

House: What is it?

[Adams gets up to look. House grabs a bottle from the tabletop and dumps most of it in his pocket.]

Adams: Fire? House, we gotta evacuate this area. Come on.

[He puts the almost-empty bottle back on the table and follows her.]

[Cut to the Day Room. Two prisoners are playing chess. Nick, carrying his sketch pad, follows House who is trying to walk away.]

Nick: Hey. Hey, House. You were saying something about how I should, like, uh, swab or—

House: You're confusing me with the clinic again.

[He enters his cell, pulls the blister pack from under his pillow and begins filling the pockets with the Vicodin he just stole.]

Nick: What? You're abandoning me?

House: As soon as you leave, I am.

Nick: Why? What changed?

House: I'm just done. No you, no medicine, no fixing people. Done. Now get out.

Nick: [leans against the door jamb] No!

House: [looks at Nick for the first time] Your lips are swelling. Open your mouth. Did you just eat something?

Nick: Meatloaf, potatoes, coffee…

House: You allergic to anything? [Nick collapses. House lowers him to the floor while yelling for help.] Guard! You're going into anaphylactic shock. Guard! Dammit. I gotta make a hole so you can breathe.

[He thinks then pulls out Frankie’s “pen.” He finds the spot on Nick’s throat and makes a hole. He drops the blade in the toilet and flushes. He starts to insert the empty pen tube in the breathing hole when the guard enters.]

Alvarez: House, get away from him.

House: He's having an allergic reaction. He can't breathe.

Alvarez: Lie on the ground with your hands behind your head.

House: Alvarez, look at what I'm doing! It's a tracheotomy. Come on, man. You know I'm a doctor.

[House gets the tube inserted. Nick takes a loud breath.]

Alvarez: What's wrong with him?

House: I have no idea.

[Cut to House lying sleepless in his bunk that night. He rubs his thigh and listens to the cricket chirp. He rolls over and pulls his Vicodin stash out from under his pillow. He looks at it, weighs it in his hand then puts it back. He lies back down and reaches up to the underside of Asofa’s bunk, which is his whiteboard with Nick’s symptoms.]

[He rubs his forehead and pulls the Vicodin out again. This time he eats one. After a moment, he eats two more.]

**


[Black screen — FRIDAY. House sits up in bed and looks at card with three Vicodin missing. There’s no way he can get Mendelson enough now, so he eats two more. As Asofa watches, House drops the rest of them in the toilet and flushes.]

House: Saving us both from contraband charges. It was great knowing you. [He knocks on his cell door. A guard arrives. House talks to him through the locked door.] I need to be taken into protective custody.

[Cut to the Day Room. House limps through, followed by the guard. It is empty except for a few guards getting ready for the day. One guard sits on a table, drinking a steaming cup of coffee. House stops and looks at him.]

House: Wow. [The guard accompanying him waits impatiently.] That was great. I think I really dodged a b*llet there.

Guard: You don't need P.C.?

House: [walking away, toward his cell] Uh, it's nothing personal. We'll reschedule. Rain check, I promise.

[Cut to the Clinic. Adams and Sykes are at Nick’s guerney. House enters.]

House: It wasn't the food. It was the heat. It's mastocytosis. It can be set off by hot liquids, like the coffee he just drank.

Sykes: Masto's usually a skin disease.

Adams: Usually? It can hit any organ. Joint pain, osteopenia, and anaphylaxis,eyebrow loss… It fits.

Sykes: It's a possibility. I'll run some blood tests. Thank you.

House: No, no! It's almost impossible to confirm masto with blood work. Just give him five aspirin. [Adams looks very puzzled.]

Sykes: If he has masto, he'll go into anaphylactic shock and won't be able to breathe again.

House: You do understand the meaning of the word "confirm."

Nick: I'll do it. I almost d*ed in that cell.

Sykes: House, you're in here because you think you can do whatever you want whenever you want. You can't, and neither can I. The A.C.L.U. would have my job, my license, maybe even my house, if I do an unauthorized experiment—

Adams: But if-if it is masto—

Sykes: It's not.

House: Well, what do you have to lose by giving him the aspirin?

Sykes: I'm not taking the risk.

House: It's his risk to take. If he has another att*ck and there isn't a doctor in the next cell, he could die! So for one second, will you stop covering your ass and do the test?

Adams: I think House is right.

Sykes: No.

House: [quietly, choosing his words carefully] You're a moron and a coward. I'll do it myself.

Sykes: Guard. [to House] You're done here, just like every other place you've ever set foot in your life. If I ever see you in here again, I will write you up, and they will revoke your parole.

[House, looking defeated, leaves. Adams follows him into the hallway.]

Adams: Dr. House. Did you get all the Vicodin you needed? [he looks at her] I'm not an idiot. That fire, the bruise on your face… I talk to prisoners. I know about exit taxes. You're clearly getting squeezed.

House: I need 20. [She pulls a bottle of pills out of her pocket and gives him some.] And let me back into the clinic when Sykes is gone.

Adams: We'll take care of Nick.

House: You can't if you're not willing to do—

Adams: Just take care of yourself. [She returns to the clinic.]

[Cut to the Day Room. Mendelson is playing baseball with one of his guys, using House’s cane. As House approaches, Mendelson sits on a table and waits. House pulls the Vicodin out of his pocket and opens his hand so Mendelson can see them.]

Mendelson: Well done. If knew if you'd learned nothing else in here, you'd learned the smart thing is to fall in line.

House: [looks around, worried; nods] You're absolutely right.

[He throws the pills into the air. For a moment there is total silence. Then, as the pills rattle to the floor, prisoners start scrambling for them.]

Alvarez: Hey, hey, hey! [into his radio] I need backup here. Hey! Hey!

Mendelson: Son of a bitch.

[He stands and punches House in the face, then drops the cane so he can punch him a few more times.]

Alvarez: You'd better be fast…

Mendelson: Come on. Come on!

House: [pleasantly] Thanks for getting me to the clinic.

Mendelson: [to Sullivan] Take him out.

Sullivan: I've got only two years left in my stretch.

Mendelson: [grabs Sullivan’s shirtfront in both fists, threatening] Take him out.

House: [off-screen] C.O.! We have a little problem here!

Alvarez: [into radio] I need backup, I need backup! We got a big fight here.

[While two Confederates hold House, Sullivan pulls a Kn*fe out from under a table. He slowly heads for House.]

House: Alvarez!

Alvarez: Sullivan, back off! [A prisoner is keeping him from getting to House] Mendelson! You're gonna be held responsible.

Mendelson: Hey… I'm just playing solitaire.

Guard: Hands behind your head!

[Several guards grab Asofa and pull him off Mendelson. House clasps his hands behind his head as he looks around.]

[Cut to the Clinic. House is on a gurney. Adams is tending to his bruises.]

Adams: You are so lucky. We got a guy in an ambulance heading to Princeton General. Another dozen getting teargas hosed off them.

[In the other room, a female correction officer yells at a prisoner.]

Officer: Hey! Sit down! Back off.

House: Where's the aspirin?

[He gets up and starts opening cupboard doors.]

Adams: Oh, God. Did you get beaten up on purpose?

Sykes: House, what are you doing?

[House closes the door to the rest of the clinic and wedges a large binder under it. He’s alone with Adams and Nick.]

Sykes: Hey!

Officer: House, open up! This is a direct order!

House: Yeah, it's always a direct order. Eight months. Haven't heard an indirect order in here.

Sykes: Dr. Adams!

Adams: They're gonna revoke your parole. They're gonna charge you with extra crimes. You'll be here six more months, minimum!

House: [putting some aspirin in a folded sheet of paper and smashing them] Sorry. Distracted. You were saying?

Adams: I checked your file. You didn't have a bad lawyer. You had no lawyer. You took the first deal they offered you, because you wanted to punish yourself. Do you think getting beaten up, you think saving this one guy will wipe your slate clean?

[He pours the pulverized aspirin into his water glass and stirs it.]

House: No.

Adams: Then why are you doing this?

House: 'Cause I have a gift. [to Nick] Once you drink this, you should get an att*ck almost immediately. That is, if I'm right.

Adams: You just bought yourself months in solitary. Was it really worth it?

House: If I'm wrong, no, it wasn't.

[Some of the guards get in through the hall door. They grab House. Sykes yells from the other room.]

Sykes: No! No! No! Get the cup! Get the cup!

House: Just drink it! Drink it!

[Guards pull House away from Nick and force him face down on the next gurney.]

Sykes: No! Grab the cup!

[Another guard takes the cup out of Nick’s hand and puts it on a table. Sykes and the female officer finally get in.]

Officer: [to House] Hands behind your back.

Sykes: [to Adams, who is standing in the middle of the room] What were you thinking?

Adams: I don't know. I-I-I was-I was scared.

[The guards are pulling House, backwards, towards the door. Adams comes to a decision and grabs the cup. She brings it to Nick and helps him drink it.]

Sykes: No! [Everyone freezes] You're fired. You're beyond fired. You're completely unhireable anywhere. You understand that?

Adams: Yes. Now shut up and let's see if he has an att*ck.

[30 seconds after Adams gave Nick the aspirin, there’s no change. The guards start to take House away.]

House: Come on, just a little more time.

[Several more seconds pass. House waits anxiously.]

Sykes: Get him out of here.


Black screen... SATURDAY. House, wearing an orange jumpsuit, sits in a darkened cell. The hatch closes. He goes over and picks it up. There’s a piece of paper on the tray. He sits on his bunk and unfolds the paper. It says “You were Right!”