(We start with two f*re fighters carrying a huge slab of cement and chatting while they work, one is telling a joke to the other.)

Fireman1: So, you've got a green beret, a Navy Seal and a sister from Brooklyn. The general hands each of them a g*n and says your spouse is seated next door, in a room, in a chair. In order to pass this test you must go inside and k*ll them. [They drop the slab on the ground.]

Immediately the green beret says 'No sir, I could never k*ll my wife. I just can't do it'. General looks at him and says 'You know what? You ain't got what it takes, take your wife and go on home'.

Navy Seal then heads in, 5 minutes later comes out tears strolling down his face. 'I tried, I tried, I tried, I just can't do it, she looks so beautiful on the chair, I can't do it!' General looks at him and says 'You know what? You ain't got what it takes'.

Finally, sister from Brooklyn, strolls in with a swagger. Blah blah bang! sh*ts rang out, there's banging, there's screaming, it's going crazy! Then suddenly, everything goes silent. General says 'Well what the hell happened inside?' Sister from Brooklyn screams back 'The damn g*n had blanks in it so I had to b*at him to death with my bare hands!'

[Suddenly a really big slab of cement is dropped from a floor above in the building next to them and lands almost at their feet.]

Fireman2: What the hell?

Fireman1: A little bit of warning would have been nice!

[From the Firemen above.]

Fireman3: Sound of a saw cutting a hole in the wall wasn't warning enough?

Fireman1: Bite me. [Fireman3 air blows a kiss at him.]

(Scene shifts upstairs to see why they've cut a hole in the wall of a bedroom. The guy in the bed is hugely [and I mean hugely] overweight and they're trying to lift him out of it and downstairs since he's apparently d*ad.)

Fireman1: What are you kidding me? Tub of goo there's got to be over 6 bills, you ain't gonna lift him with a couple of blankets.

Fireman4: Got a better idea, Einstein?

Fireman1: Yeah, just roll him off. [The others laugh.] What he's already d*ad, ain't like he's gonna feel it.

Fireman5: How the hell does a guy get that big?

Paramedic: If you roll him off from this side, he's likely to go right through the floor and take us with him.

Fireman4: You ready? Alright 1, 2 lift!

[They all try to lift but there's a huge farting noise and they all let go laughing out loud.]

Fireman4: Come on man!

Fireman1: Me? You're the kielbasa king!

Fireman4: Wasn't me!

[They start looking around at each other.]

Fireman5: Whoa, wasn't me either.

Paramedic: Don't look at me.

Fireman6: Please tell me d*ad guys can fart.

Paramedic: Of course, d*ad bodies are full of all sorts of gases.

Fireman1: But a d*ad body can't tighten his sphincter, you need a tight sphincter to make a fart.

Paramedic: You need a loose sphincter, a tight sphincter--

Fireman4: Did you check his femoral?

Paramedic: No, he peed all over himself! [Fireman 4 is pissed, throws off the blankets and starts reaching to find the femoral artery.] Look, I've heard d*ad bodies moan, groan, hiss, hell even seen them sit straight up on a gurney. Trust me, skin's cold, pupils are fixed and dilated, he's not breathing.

Fireman4: He's got a pulse!

Paramedic: No way.

Fireman4: Alright give me an ambu bag and an EKG, it's thready but its there, lets get him in the basket. Ready? 1, 2, lift!

(The scene opens on Cuddy walking into the conference room. Foreman looks up from his book, Chase and Cameron look up from their breakfasts.)

Cuddy: 46-yr-old guy in a coma; doesn't appear to be anything wrong with him except for the fact that he weighs over 600 pounds. What time does he usually get in?

Cameron: Any time between 8 and 10. [She picks up the patient's file.] Did you say 600?

Cuddy: At least. The biggest scale we've got only goes up to 350 but this guy's waistline is over 7 feet.

Chase: Which means he's a diabetic with blood thicker than pancake batter. No mystery there, not much we can do.

Cuddy: Blood sugar's normal, cholesterol's lower than mine, tox screen's clean, no sign of trauma.

Foreman: Sure there wasn't a mix up with the lab?

Cuddy: 3 times? Its almost 11. Where is House?

(In a holding cell, a very dirty vagrant is singing the same line in a song over and over and over again. House sits on the floor of the cell in t-shirt and jeans, looking rather scruffily delectable I might add, glaring at him.)

Vagrant: Have my baby, what a lovely way to say how much you love me...

[House has finally had enough and gets up.]

House: Excusez-moi gar篮! Hello?! Its 11 o' clock. Which means my friend is ready for his sponge bath and I shouldn't be here. Hey! Gomer Pyle! I know you can hear me!

[There's the sound of a door being unlocked and Tritter walks in with a cup of coffee, still chewing his nicotine gum.]

Tritter: I think you mean Barney Fife.

House: So many great idiot icons to choose from.

Tritter: You need time to think of some more?

House: Either arraign me or let me go.

Tritter: No problem, which do you prefer?

(House steps out of the police station with his jacket and cane back; Wilson meets him outside.)

House: What took you so long?

Wilson: Sorry, I didn't have 15 grand in my loose change jar. What the hell did you do? [He takes a bottle of vicodin out of his pocket and hands it to House.]

House: Nothing. [He takes a vicodin.]

Wilson: The motorcycle was impounded, that explains the speeding, DUI and driving without a license. The fact that you're you explains the illegal possession of narcotics and resisting arrest.

House: Where's your car?

Wilson: What happened?!

House: Some idiot cop with crotch rot obviously thought that I didn't treat him with the deference due to a man of his stature. Trumped up a traffic stop, next thing I know I'm sharing a cage with a guy who thinks that showers are the way the devil gets inside you.

Wilson: Does Cuddy know?

House: I don't think she needs to. [Wilson looks at him and he shrugs.] I'm innocent!

Wilson: Til proven guilty.

House: The guy wanted to punish me, he did it. Its over.

Wilson: Better get yourself a lawyer.

House: I already got one.

Wilson: You know what they say about the lawyer who has himself as a client?

House: Same thing they say about the doctor who lends 15 grand to a friend he knows can't pay him back. [Wilson gives him a look and sighs.] Relax, you'll get it. Where am I going to take off to? [They get into Wilson's car.] Does Salma Hayek live in Mexico or Spain?

(Meanwhile back at the conference room.)

Foreman: There's nothing abnormal in the EEG or the neurological example.

Chase: I'm guessing its food related. [He's sitting in one of the chairs away from the table filling in something in a newspaper - probably a crossword; he doesn't seem to really care.]

Cameron: Improperly prepared puffer fish can have toxins that could cause a coma and might not show up on the tox screen. Where do you think he is?

Chase: He's probably at the track.

Foreman: If he was at the track he'd tell us so we don't have to page him and if it was a puffer fish, he'd be d*ad in 6 to 8 hours tops. He's been in a coma for at least 24.

Chase: The guy didn't get to 600 pounds eating a load of sushi.

Cameron: What if he was in a motorcycle accident?

Foreman: That explains the coma, but how'd he get back in bed? Ahhh! Cameron's talking about House!

Cameron: Did you ever see how he drives?

Chase: No, WE haven't.

Foreman: But I have seen how many pills he's been popping lately, I wouldn't be surprised if he's in a coma somewhere himself.

[House walks in.]

House: If I am, this is one lame hallucination.

Chase: What happened to you?

House: If you ever end up in a bar with a Cambridge woman's heavyweight eight, do not accept the offer of an upside-down kamikaze sh*t.

Cameron: We have a case.

House: Fat guy in a coma, I know.

Chase: Cuddy found you?

House: Nope, but the wall between Wilson's office and this one is thinner than you think; which means we need to stop talking about what a pathetic loser he is. Start treating Jabba for Pickwickian Syndrome. His 96 double Zs are probably putting pressure on his chest suffocating him. [He finds some spare clothing.]

Foreman: CO2 and oxygen stats are normal.

House: For you and me, what's normal for a hippopotamus? [Cameron gives him a look, Foreman looks annoyed.] Get a detailed medical history.

Cameron: From who? He was brought in alone.

Chase: And I doubt a guy who weighs 600 pounds bothers with annual physicals.

House: Talk to the neighbors, search the house. Let's see what else Shamu's been up to besides eating. This conversation is over because I have officially run out of clever things to call the guy.

(Foreman and Chase in the room with our patient George.)

[Foreman attempts to take George's blood pressure but has problems getting the strap around George's arm. Beta Comment: They did nice make-up on the actor, Pruitt Taylor Vince is a big guy but not that big.]

Foreman: It's hard to believe you can even attach this much flesh to a human skeleton.

Chase: I wouldn't exactly call this attached. [He puts on a clip on another metal tab stuck to George's skin on his chest.] This is ridiculous, a person shouldn't be able to eat themselves into oblivion and then just expect everyone to pull out the stops to fix everything.

Foreman: What are we supposed to do? Refuse treatment to anyone who's obese?

Chase: Come on give me a break; this guy isn't obese, he's not even morbidly obese. He's suicidal.

Foreman: Well people who attempt su1c1de get treated.

Chase: But yet non-compliant diabetics don't. We don't give drug addicts dialysis or alcoholics liver transplants.

Foreman: What is your problem? You get b*at up by a g*ng of fat kids when you were in grade school or something?

Chase: Yeah, I'm the one with the problem

(Cameron enters George's apartment accompanied by his neighbor Sophie.)

Sophie: So umm, I think his bedroom's through there and kitchen's to the left.

Cameron: Have you seen any changes in his personality? Any trouble with memory or balance?

Sophie: No, but I really don't see him that often. He's not unfriendly or anything, I guess he just likes to keep to himself. I think he only gave me a spare set of keys 'coz I gave him mine.

[Cameron checks out the apartment - it's quite neat, shelves of books, a piano, little drums and a saxophone on an armchair.]

Sophie: What?

Cameron: Nothing, just reminds me of someone I know; who is unfriendly. Does George have a job?

Sophie: He has a head-hunting business he runs from home. Occasionally he'll interview people here but he does most of it over the phone.

[They enter the kitchen which is very well appointed with very well-stocked fridges.]

Cameron: Wow!

Sophie: Yeah, he loves to cook, and eat. Obviously. Four course gourmet meals almost every night, sometimes for lunch too.

Cameron: Do you know if he ever uses any unpasteurized cheese or wild game?

Sophie: I'm not sure. He gets all his groceries delivered from that market down on Alden, they probably know.

[They enter the bedroom with the chunk of wall missing and blocked off.]

Cameron: He have any friends?

Sophie: No. I mean, sometimes women do come by. Young, attractive, never the same one twice if you know what I mean.

Cameron: I see.

Sophie: There can't be many women who'd want to be with a guy like him.

(Back at the hospital, House is doing his clinic duty.)

Patient: It's usually worse in the morning. Especially if I've slept on my arm. [He's massaging his shoulder as he talks to House.] If I sleep on my back or you know, with my arms out, I'm usually ok.

House: So your arm only hurts after you lie on top of it all night.

Patient: Yeah.

House: Hmm. Well have you thought about, I don't know, not doing that?

Patient: Yeah, but it's how I sleep. Its how I've always slept.

House: Well there's always surgery.

Patient: To do what? Like clean out some cartilage or something?

House: You're not sleeping on some cartilage; you're sleeping on your arm.

Patient: You wanna remove my arm?

House: Well it is your left, a guy's gotta sleep.

Patient: Are you insane?!

[House returns a confused look.]

[The patient storms out of the exam room, Tritter watches from the nurse's station as House walks out of the exam room whistling.]

Tritter: I see spending a night in jail hasn't humbled you a bit.

House: While following my every move is flattering, a single rose on my doorstep each morning would be more enticing.

Tritter: Just bringing your boss up to speed which I guess you didn't feel was necessary. [He takes out some more gum and puts it in his mouth.]

House: You going to add that to my list of charges? [He takes out a vicodin and swallows it.]

Tritter: People who are innocent tend not to try to hide their arrest.

House: Is that based on your years of experience arresting innocent people? The way you're going at that gum, it's obviously not having the desired effect. You're the addict; you're going to be back at the butts in a month. You're just taking out your frustration on me because my meds actually work. Why don't you quit while you're ahead before you end up as a security guard working the night shift at some strip mall?

Tritter: I think working around a bunch of nurses has given you a false sense of your ability to intimidate. [He walks out of the clinic while House glares daggers at his back. Foreman and Cameron walk in to find House.]

Cameron: Who's that?

House: Apparently Cuddy's widened her sperm donor search to include Neanderthals.

Foreman: Cuddy's looking for a sperm donor?

House: It's a joke. Like Cuddy would ever want a kid. Or a kid would ever want Cuddy. Hello, that's why it's funny! Why are you guys here?

Foreman: It's not Pickwicks. Intubation and steroids have had no effect. Except maybe to cause whatever it is to get worse; he's got a fever now.

House: [He turns to Cameron.] What'd you find out?

Cameron: That you and George have the same taste in home furnishings and women.

House: Danish modern and Russian gymnasts?

Cameron: Pianos and prost*tute. We should do an LP, look for neurosyphilis.

House: Its not syphilis.

Cameron: How do you know?

House: Because you get STDs from people you trust. People you don't feel you need to protect yourself from. Whatever he has is connected to his gut, not what's below it. MRI his brain; look for clots.

Foreman: Weight limit on the MRI machine is 450 pounds.

House: So do a CT.

Foreman: Limit's 350.

House: Then just start treatment.

Foreman: We give him blood thinners and the coma's caused by a bleed instead of a clot we'd k*ll him.

House: Either start treatment or start building a stronger MRI. Whatever you do, do it fast. The longer he stays in the coma, the less likely it is he'll ever wake up.

(The Ducklings stand next to George's bed which has been wheeled in next to the MRI machine as they contemplate their next move. George is very obviously too big to fit into the MRI.)

Foreman: There's no way.

Cameron: His head's the only part that we have to get in the machine. We can just get him on the table.

Foreman: We get him on the table, we break the table. We break the table, hospital's out of a million dollars and we're out of our jobs.

Cameron: The weight limit's obviously just an estimation. It's not like it can hold 450 pounds fine and then collapse under 451.

Chase: He's not 1 pound over, he's 150 pounds over.

Cameron: I don't care; he still deserves the same standard of care as anyone else.

Foreman: And you believe the machine will stand on principle?

[Cameron steps forward and tries to futilely push George on to the table.]

Cameron: You guys going to help or not?

(Next scene, the Ducklings and 6 nurses are crowded around George still trying to lift him on to the table.)

Brenda: How much does this guy weigh?

Cameron: 440.

Brenda: Looks like a lot more than that.

Cameron: Its 'coz he's lying down. [Foreman lifts an eyebrow.] You guys ready? 1, 2, 3.

[Everyone groans as they finally lift George on to the MRI table. The table creaks and makes suspicious noises for a moment and everyone looks around warily hoping the table won't break.]

(Scene cuts to House napping in the comfortable chair in his office with his feet up on the ottoman, there's the sound of paper rustling which wakes him up.)

Cuddy: Here. [She hands him a piece of paper.]

House: What's this?

Cuddy: [Shifting House's feet so she can sit down next to them.] I made some calls for you. The guy's the best criminal attorney in Princeton.

House: Thanks but I don't need it. I assume you told Inspector Clouseau that I have a valid prescription for the vicodin?

Cuddy: Yeah, and I assume you did as well; did it make a difference? The guy's pissed, and with the DEA now treating pain doctors like Columbian--

House: I'm not a pain doctor, I'm a pain patient.

Cuddy: Tell it to your lawyer.

[She leaves. House crumples up the paper and throws it at his wastepaper bin and misses.]

(Back to the MRI, George now has his head stuck in it and the Ducklings are in the little glass office watching as the results of the scan come up on the computer.)

Foreman: No midline shifts, no bleeds, clots, infarcts.

Cameron: Haven't seen any edema either.

Chase: So what do we do now?

Cameron: An LP, even if it's not an STD a fever points toward some sort of infection.

Chase: I'm not sure we can do an LP on a guy his size.

[Foreman and Cameron share a look as if to say there goes Chase about fat people again.]

Chase: What? You have to be able to palpate the spine to go know where to go. [Foreman gives a conceding look.]

Cameron: We could use fluoroscopy to guide us.

Chase: He still wouldn't be able to bring his knees up and bend forward in order to open a space between--

[There is a sudden muffled sound. The Ducklings turn to look at the screen - George is awake and struggling to say something. He pulls he respirator out of his mouth and starts physically struggling to get out. Foreman rushes out to the machine while Cameron tries to reassure him through the microphone.]

Cameron: George it's alright, you're in a hospital.

Foreman: Calm down man, calm down! Get him out already!

[Cameron rushes out too leaving Chase to stop the machine from the computer.]

Chase: I'm trying.

[Cameron and Foreman trying to hold George still but the patient's struggling finally breaks the MRI table.]

Cameron: Gonna get you out!

[Chase finally runs out and the Ducklings finally pull the table out of the machine. George is still screaming as he slides out, looking around in shock.]

(In the conference room later, House is pacing as he listens to the Ducklings. Chase is sitting in a chair reading something still looking disinterested.)

Cameron: We still have no idea why he was in a coma to begin with.

Foreman: Or why he woke up.

Chase: It was probably just some sort of head trauma and we missed the swelling because, well, his head's already swollen.

House: Bump on the noggin doesn't explain the fever.

Cameron: An infection made worse by the steroids we gave him for Pickwicks does.

Chase: He's not worse, he's better.

[Cuddy bursts into the office.]

Cuddy: We just replaced the last MRI you broke.

House: Referring to the fund-raising funbags by the royal 'We' now?

Cuddy: Let me explain cause and effect to you.

House: I specifically told them to skip the boring testing part and jump right to the dangerous treatment.

Cuddy: You blow stuff up, makes my life miserable. Makes me need to make your life miserable.

Cameron: He's telling the truth. [Everyone looks up at Cameron.]

House: [Shrugs.] Kids these days - got no respect for other people's property.

Cameron: Repairmen cost less than lawyers. Morbid obesity is a legally defined disability [Chase rolls his eyes.] which means if we denied access to the MRI, he could have sued us for discrimination as well as malpractice.

Cuddy: This was your idea?

Cameron: Yeah.

[Cuddy exchanges a look with House, makes a sound that indicates she's unimpressed, and walks back out.]

House: Looks like Cameron is going to be having a lot more ideas in future. Who knew that being bloated and bitchy could actually come in handy?

Cameron: Shut up.

Foreman: What if it is hormones?

Cameron: Its not hormones.

Foreman: I'm talking about George. Acute adrenal insufficiency could cause a temporary coma.

Chase: A glandular problem would cause his temperature to be low, not high.

Foreman: Maybe the fever's not related.

Chase: If the fever's not related there's nothing to talk about.

Foreman: We should do an ACTH stimulation test and check his skin for acanthosis nigricans.

Cameron: Or the fever is related and so are the prost*tute. We should a full STD panel and check his genitals for Schankers.

Chase: We should do nothing. Just keep him a couple of days for observation, if he doesn't get any worse it was probably just a hematoma that dissipated on its own.

House: Or we do all of the above. [Points his cane at Foreman.] You check his belly for patches. [Points at Cameron.] You check underneath for sores. And you [Chase looks up.] just sit on your ass.

[Chase looks nonplussed, Foreman and Cameron walk out of the office.]

(Next scene, Foreman is checking George's belly for patches.)

Foreman: Acanthosis nigricans is a hyper-pigmentation of the skin, usually indicates some sort of hormonal imbalance.

George: There's nothing wrong with my hormones. It's the first thing every doctor I've ever gone to has checked. Then it's the blood pressure, then it's gotta be diabetes. They all figure there's gotta be something wrong with me. [Cameron is doing other tests on George on the other side of the bed.]

Foreman: You having any problems with your vision?

George: [His eyes keep moving by themselves every few seconds, twitching slightly.] No, I have nystagmus, I've had it since birth I'm fine.

Cameron: You're not fine, you were in a coma for 2 days, there's something wrong with you.

George: Was something wrong with me, now I'm better now I'd like to go home.

Foreman: A coma's not like a stomach ache; you can't just shrug it off and hope it's not anything serious.

George: My company places a lot of insurance executives. There are over 300,000 deaths caused each year by medical mistakes and hospital associated infections. I'll come in for tests--

Foreman: There are over 400,000 deaths caused by obesity-related illnesses.

George: CDC says those figures are a gross overestimation.

Foreman: George, you ever notice you don't see a lot of obese old men?

George: If I'm going to have a heart att*ck, I would rather it be caused by a perfect pan-roasted Ris de Veau [Beta Comment: That's veal sweetbreads for the gourmet challenged.] than running 26 miles for no reason other than to brag that I can do it or to have an MRI machine break in the middle of a procedure!

Cameron: We're sorry about that, it was the only way to rule out a stroke or brain hemorrhage.

George: And now that you have, when can I go?

[Cameron looks over at Foreman worriedly; he just lifts an eyebrow in return.]

(Next scene, Wilson is seated at a nurse's station eating some salad while looking over some papers. House comes and sits next to him.)

House: It's probably her mom, I bet she's huge. She's from the Midwest. [Looks at the salad.] Since when did you eat beets?

Wilson: Since I was 5? And who are we talking about? You know, just in case you need me to chime in and tell you you're a lunatic at some point.

House: [Picks a cherry tomato from the salad and pops it into his mouth.] Cameron. She's lying, destroying hospital equipment, telling Cuddy off, gotta find out where she got the Fat Scratch fever.

Wilson: Yeah you definitely better get to the bottom of that. I heard Cuddy gave you the name of a lawyer.

House: Or it could just be pity, she feels guilty about being born beautiful so she overcompensates by being nice to ugly people. Would explain why she gets along so well with you.

Wilson: From what I hear the patient reminds her of you, not me. Call the lawyer.

House: Cameron sees a clump of dirt and she thinks of me.

Wilson: Or a lump of something else, you're a lunatic, call the lawyer.

[House picks out another cherry tomato and this time deliberately bites on it so that the juices are squirted on to Wilson's lab coat.]

Wilson: Very mature.

House: You started it.

[Foreman and Cameron walk up to them as Wilson takes out a tissue and wipes at the stain.]

Foreman: Skin exam and ACTH stimulation test were both normal. He has nystagmus, but it's congenital; no way it's related to the coma. [He hands House a sheet of the results.]

House: You say no way I say... yeah, no way.

Cameron: Blood and urine were negative for Chlamydia, Herpes and Syphilis.

House: [In his Southern accent.] Looks like we got ourselves a mystery.

Foreman: Not for long, he wants to be discharged.

House: Oh sure. Places to go, people to eat.

Cameron: He insisted chance of dying from hospital acquired infection is greater than him dying from whatever caused his coma.

House: Did you tell him that statistics also say he's a big fat idiot?

Foreman: Yeah I did.

Cameron: He's not backing down. He says if we don't discharge him he'll leave AMA (Against Medical Advice).

Wilson: Selectively rational? Stubborn? Uncooperative? Maybe you ought to check his leg.

House: [Bursts out in sudden mocking laughter.] You see what he did there? The patient's like me, the patient's three me's. If I were him-- [House suddenly gets a thoughtful look.] Maybe it's not such a mystery after all.

(George is eating away at a meal placed in front of him on the bed when House steps into the room.)

House: Enjoying your Salisbury steak?

George: Putting chopped parsley on a hamburger does not a Salisbury steak make. You must be doctor House.

House: And you must be full of baloney. A lot of it.

George: [Laughs.] Right, fat joke, always fun. Only people you can still make fun of.

House: And Christians. Oh and black people. No one in their right mind comes out of a coma and immediately asks to go home with an unknown condition which means that either you're not in your right mind or it's not an unknown condition. So what is it? You tried to off yourself?

George: You figure, I'm fat therefore I hate myself.

House: That's a huge leap of logic.

George: I don't wanna die; I just don't wanna be here.

House: Then it's a condition you've already had diagnosed or its something you know you've inherited. Let's see your stomach has the deep-seated feelings of abandonment written all over it which points towards sexual abuse. Well a fear of hospitals; that points to a more specific traumatic event so I'm going to say-- [Takes a deep breath.] your mom, in the hospital with a candlestick. And by candlestick of course, I mean inherited OTC deficiency.

George: My parents are both alive and well and living in Boca Raton.

House: Thyrotoxic periodic paralysis?

George: I have no idea what that is.

House: Leukoencephalopathy?

George: [Angrily throws his cutlery on to the tray.] Will you stop? If I knew what was wrong, I would tell you. I'm not an imbecile, and I'm not miserable. I'm just overweight.

House: [Mobile rings, he picks up.] What? When? [He puts it down.] To be continued.

(Back at House's apartment - he enters to find that it has been thoroughly searched through and there's stuff thrown around everywhere. Tritter is standing in the doorway of the bathroom.)

House: What are you doing here?

Tritter: Executing a search of the premises.

[Some cops appear and put a couple more vicodin bottles into an evidence bag that is completely filled with what looks like a hundred or so vicodin bottles.]

Tritter: When you err... when you got bailed out, before we could get a judge to approve this [He holds up a search warrant and takes the evidence bag.] I almost didn't bother. I thought for sure you'd come straight home and throw everything out. Rookie mistake; never underestimate the stupidity of an addict. There's got to be over 600 vicodin in here which most DA's would say proves intent to traffic. Even if all you'd really intended was simply to be wasted 24/7 while practicing medicine.

House: In case you hadn't noticed, those are prescription bottles. Now I'm not an expert on linguistics per se but I think that means they were prescribed. [He picks up a guitar lying on the floor and puts it back into its proper case.]

Tritter: [Shakes the evidence bag and listens to the pills rattle in the bottles.] All these were legally prescribed to a man who's in constant pain but never misses a day at work?

House: Ever occurred to you that's why I don't miss a day?

Tritter: Yeah, yeah, crossed my mind. Among other things like what an unprofessional, unethical, arrogant ass you are. Because if you're unprofessional in one area it only makes sense.

[Dramatic music suddenly starts up in the background and House's expression grows wary.]

Tritter: Now maybe just a few of these are in someone else's name. Forged prescription. Just swiped from the pharmacy when nobody's looking. [He steps closer to House with a smug expression on his face.] You wouldn't do that, right?

(Next day, House is talking to Cameron even as he keeps opening doors searching for something or someone during their conversation.)

House: Send him home.

Cameron: Why, you think he's healthy?

House: Either I'm right and he knows what's wrong, he's just too stubborn to admit it or I was right and its Pickwicks. Treatment just had a delayed effect.

Cameron: You don't have delayed effects to oxygen. And Pickwicks doesn't explain the fever.

House: Being engulfed in an electric blanket of blubber could explain the fever.

Cameron: Yesterday you insisted on keeping him here because of the fever, we have no idea what's wrong with the guy. For all we know he could be d*ad in 12 hours.

House: He does not want our help, which means he doesn't want your help.

Cameron: He's obviously just rationalizing and so are you! You would never give up this easy if you weren't so busy dealing with your own personal problems.

House: [Finally spots Wilson at the vending machines.] Send him home. [Turns away and approaches Wilson.] What'd you tell that cop?

Wilson: Nothing.

House: Nothing as in nothing; or as in nothing to cause him to think that I have a stash in my apartment?

Wilson: He called to see if I prescribed the pills, I said yes, that's all.

House: Obviously not.

Wilson: What happened?

House: He searched my house, found a butt load of pills. [Wilson sighs.] A guy's gotta be prepared for a rainy day.

Wilson: Last I checked pharmacies are still open when it rained.

House: And because I never know when you're going to be in one of your moods and cut me off.

Wilson: Oh, it's my fault.

House: I'm not the one who talked to the cop.

Wilson: Well I'm not the one who put a thermometer in his rectum. So stop yelling at me and start talking to your lawyer.

(Lift doors open - George comes out in a wheelchair assisted by a nurse and Cameron. They start across the lobby towards the entrance of the hospital.)

Cameron: Is there someone who can check on you?

George: Oh don't worry, there's going to be a whole crew of carpenters in my bedroom for the next week at least.

Cameron: You know there's an Overeaters Anonymous meeting here at the hospital.

George: If I wanted to jump out of airplanes or climb Mt. Everest would you be telling me to go to Daredevils Anonymous?

Cameron: I would be worried about you just like I am now.

George: Don't be. I enjoy food. I like cooking it, I like looking at it, I like smelling it and I especially like eating it. Whatever happens is going to happen. Ultimately it's all out of our control anyway. [The wheelchair stops a few metres away from the entrance.]

Cameron: Why doesn't that philosophy apply to medical mistakes and hospital acquired infections as well?

George: [He smiles softly.] I'm a complicated man, Doctor Cameron. But don't worry; I plan on staying that way for a long time. [He tries to get up out of the wheelchair.]

Cameron: Wait; let us take you all the way outside.

George: I'm fine.

Cameron: Doesn't matter, its hospital rules.

George: Oh screw the rules, I've been on my back for 4 days, I need the exercise right?

Cameron: George, come on; let us just take you to the taxi.

George: Don't worry, I may not be able to climb Everest but I can walk, okay?

Cameron: George--

George: No, enough already. [He stands up and starts to walk but after a few steps starts looking around dazedly.]

Cameron: George are you alright? George you alright? George?

[She runs to grab him but he loses balance and falls backward into a huge pane of glass, she falls on top of him.]

(Outside George's room, House, Foreman and Cameron discuss the case. Cameron is nursing a couple of scratches she got from the glass.)

Foreman: Disorientation and loss of balance could mean a neurofibromatosis.

House: Where's Chase?

Cameron: Dunno. Haven't seen him since you told him to sit on his ass yesterday.

House: Interesting. NF-2 is also inherited which means I was right.

Foreman: Kept saying it was Pickwicks.

House: Between the first Pickwicks and the second Pickwicks, I said it was inherited. [Brenda is coming out of George's room and House rather abruptly grabs the patient file from her.]

Cameron: Whatever, NF-2 doesn't explain fever. I think we should focus on the coma and the fever.

Foreman: Why? The disorientation and loss of balance are more recent.

Cameron: The coma was the most severe symptom.

Foreman: But he's not in a coma anymore and he is disoriented.

Cameron: No, he's not.

House: We have a rather large piece of tempered glass that begs to differ.

Cameron: I just mean it's not connected.

Foreman: You don't know that.

Cameron: Yeah I do.

Foreman: How could you possibly know--

Cameron: Because I did it. I didn't think he should be discharged so I gave him 3 grams of phenytoin. [Foreman and House look shocked.] I wasn't going to just let him leave.

Foreman: But you were ok with him crashing through a glass wall?

Cameron: I tried to keep him in the wheelchair but he's tough to stop.

House: Nice audible, Peyton.

Foreman: So what do we do now?

House: Discharge report says he didn't eat his breakfast. Humpty Dumpty didn't get to be the size of all the King's horses by skipping the most important meal of the day. What causes coma, fever and a loss of appetite?

Cameron: It can't be Chagas'; he's never been outside the country.

House: But his stomach has, the food we eat no longer comes from America's heartland, it comes from South America's deforested jungle land where lettuce now grows and lettuce pickers now poop. Get a sample of his CSF before the little bugs that are now feasting on his brain move on to dessert.

Foreman: How are we going to do that? He's too big to do an LP.

House: So go straight to the source.

(Cameron talks to George in his room)

George: You want to drill a hole in my head?

Cameron: It's the only way.

George: It's got to be something other than a parasite. I buy my produce at the best market in town and I always wash it.

Cameron: Leafy vegetables can suck contaminated water through their roots right into the plant. You could have washed them in chlorine and it still wouldn't have mattered.

George: Then other people would be sick as well.

Cameron: Parasites could have been on only a few items or maybe they just didn't eat as much as you did.

George: It's always about my weight isn't it? Why can't you people come up with one theory--

Cameron: [Interrupting.] This one fits, George. It explains your coma, your fever, your loss of appetite.

George: And the disorientation?

Cameron: It's all explained, and if we don't treat it while it's still in the acute stage, it'll be too late. It could go on to infect your heart, intestines, esophagus.

George: This is what I get for eating salad. [Cameron smiles.]

(Operating room - they drill a hole in to get a sample of the CSF. Foreman seems to be the one handling the procedure while Cameron stands off to the side waiting to get the sample to test it)

Foreman: Suction.

Nurse: Suction.

Foreman: Aspirator. [Hands the sample to Cameron.] Your turn. Irrigation. Sponge.

George: What... what'd you do?

Foreman: Nothing, why, what's wrong?

George: I can't... I can't see!

Foreman: Vision's blurry or you've lost it?

George: I didn't lose it, you took it from me.

Cameron: George, calm down!

George: I can't see!!

[There's a lot of confusion as the doctors and nurses try to keep George calm and hold him down while George gets increasingly worked up, screaming at them and thrashing around.]

George: What'd you do to me?!

(Foreman and Cameron are speaking to House in his office - House is looking for something in his desk as the conversation goes on.)

Foreman: There's no inflammation in the optic nerve and his retina's intact. The blindness has to have been caused by something in his brain.

Cameron: And not surprisingly there was no sign of Chagas or any other parasites in his CSF.

House: So we've ruled out his parents, prost*tute, the arugula - means either--

Foreman: I took the sample from the pre-frontal, I was never anywhere near his visual cortex.

House: Or you missed a tumor on the MRI.

Foreman: Not a chance, the MRI was clean.

House: [House finally seems to have found his wallet.] Mind? [Foreman steps out of his way.]

Foreman: Where are you going?

House: To get a 400 dollar butt plug.

Cameron: What about George?

House: He's going to have to get his own. Come on; let's see if we can get this thing figured out by the time we get to the elevator.

[They exit the office and start walking towards the lifts.]

Foreman: It could be MS; it'd explain the coma, the blindness, loss of balance and the fever.

Cameron: It could also explain his lack of concern for his health. MS can cause excessive cheerfulness.

House: Yeah, he's a delight. You don't get to MS with coma as the first symptom, blindness plus coma says diabetes. [He presses the button to call the lift with his cane.] Just in time.

Cameron: No, blood sugar and urine dipstick and hemoglobin A1C are normal.

House: Were normal when you tested it. He's been in and out of a coma, whatever's going on is waxing and waning, unlike his pant size which only waxes. Which also points to diabetes. Test him again, this time add a glucose tolerance test and a HEC. [The lift arrives.]

Foreman: We already have a CSF sample; we might as well check it for proteins and rule out MS first.

House: [Steps in and pushes the button for the floor he wants.] Agreed; except for the part about doing it first.

Cameron: [Stopping the doors from closing.] Where are you going?

House: The butt plug was my way of saying mind your own business; apparently too subtle.

(Cameron in George's room trying to persuade him to drink something.)

Cameron: George, all it is, is sugar water, I promise.

George: Just because I'm overweight doesn't make me diabetic, you tested me, everybody's tested me. [He sounds very upset and very snappy.]

Cameron: Sometimes the blood sugar levels can fluctuate, make it difficult to diagnose.

George: You stuck a needle in my brain and 10 seconds later I was blind! How's that difficult to diagnose?! Who the hell knows what else you guys done to me? I should have never come here!

Cameron: You didn't come here, you were brought here because you were in a coma and barely alive! We didn't do that to you. You need to let us figure out what did.

[She tries to get him to hold the cup of sugar water but he throws it away.]

Cameron: For someone who insists he enjoys life as much as you do, you certainly don't seem willing to do much to prolong it.

George: Yeah, because I don't agree with the brilliant doctors suddenly I'm suicidal.

Cameron: Refusing to cooperate with us does not make you suicidal, it makes you an idiot. You think we want to see you blind or in a coma?

[She tries to make him hold a new cup but he throws that away as well.]

George: I've been fat all my life. I've only been sick for the past few days. You look for a disease that has nothing to do with my size and I will help you. Otherwise, leave me alone.

(House is in his lawyer's office.)

Lawyer: Speeding. [House taps a gavel on to a spot below his knee to induce a reflex knee jerk.] DUI. [House continues tapping after every charge is read out.] Reckless driving, resisting arrest, possession of a class 3 narcotic and now it looks like they've added another possession with intent to traffic charge as well. They found some pills at your house.

House: All of which I had a prescription for.

Lawyer: That's a lot of pills.

House: I'm in a lot of pain. This is all because some cop came into the clinic, I was rude to him. This is his way of getting back at me.

Lawyer: You've made it pretty easy.

House: His insane reaction to a simple rectal thermometer reading, [He gets a chuckle out of the lawyer.] probably says a lot more about his mother than it says about me.

Lawyer: I'm inclined to think your particular charm may not be immediately appreciated by a jury.

House: I'm not interested in a plea bargain.

Lawyer: It's your best bet to make this go away.

House: There is no "this", there's a him; the only thing I'm guilty of is humiliating a bully. I wasn't speeding, I wasn't impaired, I didn't resist and I certainly wasn't distributing narcotics to anyone but myself because I need those narcotics.

Lawyer: [Nods.] 5 grand retainer, if we end up going to trial there'll be another 32 before the first day. My hourly is 450. That work for you?

[House looks rather resigned.]

(House walks into the conference room where Cameron and Foreman are waiting.)

Cameron: What did your lawyer say? [House looks surprised.] I looked up butt plug in a legal dictionary, what'd he say?

House: That a smile like mine can't lose. [He then pulls a funny face and flashes it at both of them.] What did the test say?

Foreman: You're right about MS, no myelin basic proteins in his CSF.

House: What about diabetes?

Cameron: Don't know, says we think only think its diabetes because of his weight, won't let us test him.

[House rolls his eyes and sighs. He walks out followed by his 2 Ducklings back to George's room.]

[House signals the cleaner in the room to get out and leave them alone with George.]

House: So, you would rather be a blind invalid than admit the fact that maybe you might have a little problem with overeating? And by a little problem of course, I mean you've eaten yourself half to death.

George: And you would rather let me die than consider the fact that whatever is wrong with me has nothing to do with my weight.

House: I go where the symptoms tell me to go. Right now they're asking why this stuff is the first thing you've ever refused to swallow. [He picks up a bottle of juice and tries to put it into George's hand. George jerks his hand away.]

George: I am not diabetic!

House: Grocery stores giving away medical degrees with the free turkeys now? The sooner you drink this, the sooner I get to go waste my time with something else. [He tries to put it near George's mouth.]

George: [Pushes House away.] Get the hell off of me!

House: No dessert 'til you've finished your dinner. [He pushes the bottle back at George and they both struggle with the bottle and end up splashing loads of juice all over George.]

Cameron: George, just drink it!

George: Nurse! Get this jackass off of me!

Brenda: What the hell is going on? [She rushes in but is stopped by Foreman from interfering.]

House: Just trying to force a horse to-- [He suddenly notices something about George's grip and lets go. He looks at George's fingers and the light of realization comes into his eyes. He grabs his cane, puts the bottle of juice back down and walks out of the room, ducklings in tow.]

Foreman: What's going on?

[They walk back to the office.]

House: Get x-rays of his hands, then bronc him do a sputum cytology and check his CSF for anti-Hu antibodies.

Cameron: How are we going to get him to do all that when we can't even get him to drink a bottle of sugar water?

House: Tell him that lung cancer is in no way connected to obesity.

Foreman: Err... you don't think he'll realize we're lying?

House: We're not; lung cancer's got nothing to do with--

Foreman: I meant about him having lung cancer.

House: You didn't notice his fingers?

Foreman: [Shrugs.] I noticed they were fat?

House: Should have pissed him off. He would have grabbed you and you would have felt the bones, they're not just fat, they're clubbed.

(A sh*t of Cameron taking an x-ray of George's hand, we see Foreman and Cameron looking unhappily at the x-rays of the clubbed hands. We then see a sh*t of Wilson performing a bronchoscopy on George.)

(Next scene, Cameron goes into George's room alone that night.)

Cameron: George? [He looks up but also looks confused since he can't see who it is.] It's me. Your tests were positive. You have a small cell lung carcinoma; caused a paraneoplastic neurologic syndrome which in turn caused your blindness and coma. The cancer's metastasized to your lymph nodes. It's inoperable but there are radiation treatments available. [George is starting to take shaky breaths as the news is delivered.] They might give you a few more months.

George: I never smoked. [Sighs.] C'est la vie. [This is French and translates to "This is life". She leaves him as he lies there resigned to his fate.]

(House in his office fiddling around, Cameron stands next to the open door.)

Cameron: You were right.

House: So was he.

Cameron: He said, c'est la vie. [She walks into the room and starts playing with the BOUO (ball of unknown origins - the oversized tennis ball).]

House: He's a complicated man.

Cameron: What about you? What are you going to do about your problem?

House: Nothing. I just got a call from my lawyer, he gave the DA copies of my prescriptions. As soon as they confirm that it's bona fide, they're going to drop the possession, DUI and resisting arrest. As soon as I pay my 85 dollars speeding ticket and impound fine, I get my bike back.

Cameron: I guess that's good.

House: You guess?

Cameron: No, it's good. You get to keep going like you always have.

House: Alright, I give up, who was it? Who in your family had the weight problem?

Cameron: You think I can only care about a patient if I know someone else who's been through the same thing?

House: You care for everybody. You only lie and stand up to Cuddy for a few.

Cameron: You lie for everybody and only care about a few.

House: You're avoiding the question.

Cameron: I like damaged people, remember? Explains everything I do.

House: Almost everything. [Cameron grins.] Wasn't you, was it?

Cameron: Does it matter?

House: Nope, but it'd be interesting.

Cameron: Sorry to disappoint you, sometimes the answers just aren't that simple. [She leaves.]

(Wilson is being interviewed by Tritter in his hotel room.)

Wilson: I know he can be a real ass and he has no problem lying when it serves him but he's not lying about the pain. He needs the medication which is why I prescribed it. All of it.

Tritter: Well I see a lot of cases where people who have real injuries end up getting addicted. [Wilson nods.] And then well, things kinda spiral out of control. And lives get ruined and not just their own.

Wilson: [He runs his fingers through his hair.] Err... I don't know what else to tell you.

Tritter: [Drags an end table to sit closer to Wilson by the desk. He takes some more prescriptions out of the file he's holding and hands them to Wilson.] What about these?

Wilson: [Without looking.] This is getting... if it's got my name on it, it's a legit script.

Tritter: You sure?

Wilson: Yeah.

Tritter: Because the signatures on these look a little different than the signatures on those.

[Wilson takes a look and a slight look of alarm crosses his face for a moment but he hides it well. Wilson's normal scripts are signed with a squiggle like what most signatures look like. There is one however which is signed "James Wilson" in clearer letters and with obviously different handwriting. This must be the one House forged back in 3.01 - Meaning at the end of the episode.]

Tritter: You look surprised.

Wilson: No I'm just... I hadn't thought about it, I do sign my name differently sometimes.

[Tritter is about to laugh derisively at that but Wilson's expression remains honest and innocent.]

Tritter: Are you sure?

Wilson: Yeah, I guess I get bored signing it the same way, you know what they say about doctor's handwriting.

Tritter: I'm going to give you a moment to reconsider that answer because if you're for some reason mistaken we will find out and that will not be good for you, or Doctor House.

Wilson: [Nods.] I am sure. Absolutely.

Tritter: Alright. I guess that's it then.

[Wilson stands up and tucks his chair in. Tritter also stands and they shake hands.]

Tritter: Thank you for your help.

Wilson: Ok, no problem.

[Tritter leaves the room and Wilson turns back to the desk looking very dejected and stressed.]

(Last sh*t is off House playing his guitar in his apartment alone.)
{"type": "series", "show": "House", "episode": "03x06 - Que Ser\u00e0 Ser\u00e0"}