Orderly (reading a file): Dr. Treiber…

Treiber: I'm cold.

OPENING CREDITS

Wilson: Yes, it's mine. And yes, I know that I can't drive stick. And no, I don't care that I parked in a handicapped spot.

House: "Staring death in the face has changed my life." What a cliché.

Wilson: The cliché is to lead a more meaningful life. I've taken a holy vow to lead a less meaningful one. I've spent my life caring, giving, and searching for the profound. Now it's time for selfishness, indifference, and embracing the shallow. [He pushes a button on the car remote but activates the horn instead of locking the car. Then it is the car’s trunk, which opens. Wilson pushes it down. They both walk side by side to the elevator.

House: Your scan's in three days. Tell me this isn't just you k*lling time until you find out if your cancer's gonna k*ll it for you.

Wilson: I just paid $75,000 for a ridiculously impractical car, the depth of shallowness. And tomorrow, I'm driving it to Cleveland to meet my boyhood crush.

House: The years have not been kind to David Cassidy.

Wilson: Julie Christie. Dr. Zhivago, Shampoo. I was precocious. She's opening some kind of charity animal clinic or something. I'm neglecting my patients to fulfill a silly fantasy. Textbook selfishness and indifference.

House: Or you've made sure that your patients are well-covered, the car is a rental, and while waiting to get Julie Christie's autograph, you'll adopt a puppy.

[To the elevator.]

Wilson: I don't even care whether you believe me or not. [As the elevator doors close, Wilson does nothing to stop them whereas a man is running towards them to catch the ride.] Indifference.

[Cut to Diagnostics room. House is sitting on the couch, feet on the coffee table, and reading a file. Foreman is standing in front of him. The team is sitting around the table.]

Foreman: He tried to cut open his own skull. Head CT and tox screen were clean.

House: Interesting. Cotard delusion. Also known as "walking corpse syndrome." Disconnect in the amygdala convinces you that you're secretly d*ad. Case solved. [He closes the file, hands it to Foreman and gets up to go to the coffee machine.] Rendering it… What's the past tense of "interesting?"

Foreman: No prior history of mental illness, and before you say it was caused by antivirals, I've already ruled that out. Plus, Cotard's doesn't explain the paresthesia in his hand. Also… Treiber won't let any other doctor near him. He trusts your work.

Chase (surprised): Treiber's the patient?

House (finally convinced): What's the future tense of "interesting"?

[Foreman drops the files on the table and leaves the room.]

Park: How's Wilson doing?

House: Wilson's scan is at the end of the week. If his kick-ass chemo shrunk the tumor to an operable size, he'll live. If it didn't, he'll die.

Adams: That must be very hard. Is there anything we can do?

House: Other than the prayer circle, what is there?

Adams: Patient's AST is high. Psychosis could be brought on by liver failure. Maybe Hep C?

House (holding a cup of coffee): Bilirubin and serum protein levels were normal. Doesn't explain the tingly hand or why Chase hates him.

Chase: I don't hate him. He hates me.

Taub: He hates all doctors, and it's mutual.

Park: He only hates the ones that screw up. And you. And they only hate Treiber because he finds their mistakes.

[Chase turns on the laptop in front of him. It looks like he suddenly had an idea.]

Taub: Mistakes are a wee bit easier to find on a d*ad patient, a distinction he fails to recognize. He's a rat.

Park: Who makes the hospital a safer place by keeping doctors accountable and focused. [She tries to shut down Chase’s laptop but he stops her from doing so.]

Chase: What if he got something from a cadaver?

Adams: He handles a lot of 'em. You suggesting we DDX them all?

Chase: No, just his last one. [reading on the screen.] She had bad knees. She used dimethyl sulfoxide for joint pain. Current from the defibrillator could've converted it to dimethyl sulfate. When Treiber cut into her, her blood released toxic fumes.

Taub: Everyone in the basement would be sick.

House (walking to the table): Gas would've dissipated quickly.

Park: His lungs are fine. Blood clots make more sense. One in his hand explains the paresthesia, one in his carotid explains the psychotic episode.

House (sitting down): You two look for toxic exposure. Adams, you can help Chase ultrasound his evil nemesis for evil clots.

[The team gets up and leaves the room.]

[Cut to a procedure room. Chase and Adams perform the ultrasound on Treiber. Treiber has a bandage around the head; he is lying on a bed.]

Treiber: I know House doesn't like seeing his patients, but doesn't a fellow doctor rate an exception?

Adams: Psychosis appears to be intermittent.

Treiber: Just snapped out of it long enough to ask if House actually ordered this test.

Chase: Don't worry. We're simply carrying out his direct orders.

Treiber: Right. Forgot. It's what you were hired to do. Which is fine, his diagnostic error metric is .17 compared to the hospital average of .32.

Adams: You actually think you can quantify the value of every doctor?

Treiber: Someone should. And since I'm the only one who sees everything—

Chase: Right, you were hired to diagnose people after they're already d*ad.

Adams (looking at the ultrasound screen): No sign of stenosis or clots.

[Cut to the morgue, Park and Taub are wearing white hazmat suits. Park is standing in front of the whiteboard chart, impressed. Taub is using a microscope.]

Park: Every doctor, every diagnosis, every treatment, every result. It's pretty impressive.

Taub: It's pretty Orwellian. All written in his secret code.

Park: He has to keep it confidential.

Taub: Just like the Wannsee conference.

Park: The "Big Brother" metaphor wasn't pointed enough for you? You had to throw in h*tler? [She approaches Taub.] A couple years ago, he noticed a link in child deaths, and it's completely changed hospital policies all over—

Taub: I get it. Treiber is nerd king. The more people we k*ll, the more lives he saves. Test is negative for dimethyl sulfate, her blood is not toxic. [He stands up.]

Park: Then we should look for toxic exposure from something else.

Taub: You really think the hospital is idiotic enough to issue toxic supplies?

Park: Have you seen his tools? [She holds up a Kn*fe.] Treiber doesn't always use hospital-issue.

Taub: Then he's the idiot?

Park: No, but I don't want to explain that assumption to House.

[As Taub takes off his gloves to put them in the bin, he notices something in it. Park also notices something under a shelf.]

Taub and Park (together): Found something.

[He is holding a couple of empty energy drink cans while she is holding a whole case of them.]

[Cut to House’s office. House is sitting with his feet on the desk, wearing his glasses and reading a book. Wilson comes in.]

Wilson: Thought we'd make it a road trip. '80s music, junk food, beer.

House: I have a dental appointment. That I'm going to make now. [He reaches for the phone.]

Wilson: Ah. I'll let you drive.

House: Not worth listening to you whine about your feelings and fears for three days.

Wilson: It's not gonna happen. I've taken a vow.

House: People don't change. You are a person, ergo, pass.

Wilson: Yes, that's why I brought this. [He shows him a small bottle.] 20 CCs of propofol. You can accompany me willingly, or I will, when you least expect it, inject the contents of this vial into your bloodstream. The fall might result in a concussion, or fractures, or you might get lucky and simply wake up somewhere near Allentown with a nasty headache. The choice is yours, and in case you've forgotten, I am indifferent. We leave tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m.

Chase: No clots.

Park: No gas.

Taub: But we found enough of this… [He throws a can of the energy drink to House who grabs it.] …to reanimate the entire morgue. He's jacked on caffeine.

House: Stimulant psychosis. How many times do I have to solve this case?

Adams: So all we have to do is hydrate and observe him for 24 hours.

House (to Chase): Why don't you tell him it was your idea? [He throws him the can.] He might warm up to you. If you get an ear in the mail, it's probably mine. [House grabs his backpack and leaves his office.]

Treiber: My abdomen! It's my abdomen!

Park: It's just the effects of withdrawal. The pain is normal.

Treiber: No! No! This isn't right!

[Cut to Diagnostics room. Chase is leading the conversation of the team on the case. House is not there.]

Chase: Abdominal pain and distention means we were wrong about stimulant psychosis.

Park: It could be coexistent problems. He might just have an obstruction.

Adams: You know what House says about coincidences. I didn't feel any masses when I examined him, and no bowel sounds.

[Taub comes in the room.]

Taub: Where's House?

Adams: He hasn't come in yet, and neither has Wilson. I've already tried them three times.

Taub: Here we go again. Diabetes could cause nerve damage in his hand and guts, and—

Park: Except his glucose levels are normal, and he probably would've mentioned he was a diabetic.

Chase: What about ulcerative colitis? Earlier att*cks caused thrombosis—

Adams: We already looked for clots, and there was no blood in his stool.

[Taub makes himself a cup of coffee. Nobody has an answer to give.]

Taub: Try him again.

Taub (holding up both phones): And Wilson's.

Chase: Wherever they are, they don't want to be disturbed.

House (reading a map): We take 78, we can do the "sweet treats and salty eats snack food trail."

Wilson: My trip, my itinerary. We have to cover 300 miles today to be there with plenty of time to catch Julie by 4:00 tomorrow. And that thing I said about letting you drive, I lied.

Wilson: What?

House: I'm–I'm impressed. Not by that. But by your real effort to maintain the facade. It's been almost an hour, and there's been no mention of the elephant in the car.

Wilson: Well, I declined the elephant option.

House: Uh-huh. In three days, you're gonna find out if you live or die. You don't want to talk about it.

Wilson: No, but obviously you do.

House: So, we're gonna talk about it, but because I want to.

Wilson: I am neither talking about it, nor talking about not talking about it.

House: You are hard-wired to talk about it. It's how you cope, it's who you are.

Wilson: Yeah, well, from now on, I'm not me. I'm… I'm… Kyle Calloway.

House: I thought your p*rn name was Rusty Packard.

Wilson: Kyle is roguish, carefree, and shares no qualities with James Wilson.

House: Can Kyle drive stick?

[Wilson accelerates and the corvette continues its journey on an empty highway.]

♪♫ And I'm sure I've had enough

♪♫ she sends me comfort coming in from above

[Cut to Wilson’s office where the team is still deciding on their next move.]

Adams: Treiber won't let us do anything without House.

Chase: House just took himself off the case. You said no bowel sounds when you examined him. "No" like diminished, or none at all?

Park: None.

Taub: You think it's an intussusception?

Chase: If it is, it could mean cancer's behind everything. Let's get a plain film of his abdomen.

Adams (pissed): Treiber will refuse any procedure that wasn't ordered by House.

Chase: Only if he knows it wasn't.

Taub: You want to lie to a guy whose favorite pastime is getting doctors fired.

Chase: We're adults with advanced medical training, not children left alone with scissors. It's one X-ray. [He gets out of the office, leaving his teammates behind.]

[Cut to a roadside diner called “The New Olymous Diner: Home of the Big One”. House and Wilson are sitting at a table, looking at the menu.]

House: If we had a phone, we could've found somewhere a little less charming.

Wilson: If we had a phone, you'd be making calls, downloading p*rn, and playing Angry Birds. This trip is about me, and I like this place.

House: This is not about you not wanting me to have a phone. You're weak. You knew that you'd backslide and spend your time talking to teary ex-wives and your parents, trying to make them feel better about you being sick. [The waitress approaches them.] Bacon burger with fries looks awful. I'll have that.

Wilson: I'll have the Big One.

[The waitress looks at House to confirm, with a surprised look.]

Waitress: You sure? It's $79.

Wilson: Unless I finish it in an hour, in which case, it's free.

House (holding up the menu): It's an 80-ounce steak.

Wilson: I'm hungry. And an iced tea, please.

Waitress (screaming toward the kitchen): Big One's up!

[Everyone in the diner turns around to see who ordered it.]

House: This place doesn't take credit cards.

Wilson: My meal is going to be free, and I'm going to be inducted into the wall of pain. [He points at the wall where there are pictures of all the people who were able to eat the steak in the given time. There is also a digital clock showing 0:00 for now.]

House (smiling): Hello, Kyle.

[Cut to Treiber’s room. He is holding his abdomen in pain. Chase and Taub are showing commenting on the X-ray scans put up on the portable screen by the bed.]

Taub: Belly film was normal. No sign of an intussusception or any other obstruction.

Trieber: House says it's there.

Chase: Sometimes House is wrong.

Treiber: Run my bowel.

Taub: That's serious surgery. General anesthesia, long recovery…

Chase: We can do a contrast enema if you need more proof.

Treiber: I have drawers filled with people who had clean scans. I know how easy it is to miss something unless you use your own hands and eyes; Run my bowel.

Chase: We'll let House know how you feel.

Treiber: How I feel is twisted in white-hot agony. His orders were to look for an intussusception. Until you actually do that, I refuse any other tests.

Chase: Fine. [He turns off the screen and heads for the door.]

Taub: Uh, no. Not fine. We need to talk—

Treiber (to Chase): And I want you to do the surgery. [Chase stops.] Statistically, you're the best surgeon in the hospital.

[Cut to the diner. All the people are gathered around Wilson who has the mouth full of grease. It looks like he already had to much to eat. House is sitting beside him, cutting the steak in small pieces for Wilson.]

Crowd (chanting): Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!

House: Come on, you got this! You got this! Come on! [A look at the clock: 25 seconds left for Wilson to finish his meal.]

Waitress: 25 seconds.

House: You've got this. Come on, home stretch, Kyle, home stretch!

Waitress: 15 seconds!

[Chanting continues. House feeds Wilson with another bite of steak.]

House: Now, don't chew, just swallow. Just muscle it down!

Waitress: Six, five… four…

House (screaming): For the love of God, swallow! [He glances at the clock.]

Waitress: Three, two, one…Time!

[The diner is suddenly silent. Wilson opens his mouth to prove that he ate the whole thing. The crowd cheers. House is ecstatic!]

House: Yes! Yes! Oh, you magnificent bastard! [He hugs Wilson.]

Waitress (holding a camera): Yeah. Smile!

[But Wilson ends up throwing up. The crowd lets out its disappointment.]

House (to the waitress): That still counts, though, right?

[Cut to the procedure room. Orderlies wheel in Treiber who is on a gurney. Chase is ready for the surgery; he needs to check on his patient first.]

Treiber: No hard feelings, right?

Chase: You'll find out when you wake up. If you really think I'm a good doctor, why do you treat me like an idiot?

Treiber: It's not because you lack talent. It's 'cause you've wasted it. Did you know I applied to be a fellow with House the same year as you?

Chase: No.

Treiber: Quit my other program, relocated, broke up with my girlfriend. Then your father made a call, and suddenly you had the spot.

Chase: That was almost ten years ago.

Treiber: Do you know what I could've done after even three years with House? Gone to the CDC, W.H.O. Started a diagnostics department someplace they'd never even heard of such a thing. You've been given everything. Looks, talent, my future. Nine years later, look what you've done with it.

[Treiber is all prepped; they take him out of the room. Chase is left speechless.]

[Cut to the diner’s washrooms. We hear a toilet flush. House is cleaning his tennis shoes; he has got vomit on it! Wilson approaches him and tries to clean up a bit, over the sink.]

Wilson: Ah…

House: Must be nice to be puking for the old-fashioned reasons.

Wilson: Ah. I'm glad I did it. You see those people out there cheering for me? I was a hero. For one fleeting moment, for an incredibly stupid reason, for a bunch of morons

I'll never see again. God, it felt good. And now, if you'll excuse me. I think I've made room for dessert.

[Wilson exits the washrooms. House still has the concern look on his face.]

[Cut to the operating room. Chase is doing the surgery and Taub is assisting him.]

Chase: How long do you think you'll work for House?

Taub: As long as he lets me.

Chase: When House was in prison, you worked at Mercy in plastics, right? Know what I did? Surfed. For nine months.

Taub: Yes, and if I didn't have two daughters and alimony, I might have done the same.

Chase: A fellowship's supposed to train you to stand on your own. Foreman's Dean of the hospital, Cameron's head of emergency medicine in Chicago.

Taub: And Kutner and Amber are d*ad, and Thirteen is having sweet, sapphic sex on some island.

Chase: Look at this. The small intestine. [He is holding it in his hands.]

Taub: Is it an intussusception?

Chase: No.

Taub; Guess Treiber was right.

[Cut to House’s office. Adams is on the phone and Park is in front of the computer.]

Adams: He hasn't checked his voicemail.

Taub: Or his email.

Park: It's been almost 24 hours. Shouldn't we call Foreman or the police? I think this makes him a fugitive.

Chase (who is sitting on the ottoman): We don't have to tell anyone. Treiber's symptoms started in his frontal lobe, and moved through his nervous system, hands, bowels, muscles.

Park: Intermittent porphyria.

Chase: He's in the middle of an att*ck. The longer we wait to treat with hemin, the more damage it causes.

Adams: The longer we wait to tell him House isn't running the case, the more damage that causes. It's fraud.

Chase: It's only an issue if we're wrong.

Adams: It's more than one X-ray. More than exploratory surgery, even. This is a drug that will damage him if you're wrong.

Chase: Same principle. [He leaves the room.]

[Cut to the car. Wilson and House are once again on the road. Steppenwolf's Rock Me is playing.]

♪♫ she asked me maybe I could share her sorrow

Wilson: I want a threesome.

House: Shouldn't we try a twosome first?

Wilson: Two women.

House: Oh.

Wilson: I know they're probably overrated, and I'll probably be gravely disappointed, but I want one anyway.

House: No, you don't.

Wilson: Well, Kyle wants one.

House: Kyle's only one day old. He doesn't know what he wants. I don't want to think about consequences. I don't want to think about — I don't want to think about anything. I just want to… do. [House gives him a resigned look.]

♪♫ Rock me, baby, rock me, baby

♪♫ all night long

♪♫ rock me, baby

House: okay. I need you to do exactly what I tell you.

♪♫ Rock me, baby, all night long

♪♫ rock me, baby, rock me, baby

Wilson (smiling): Yeah, yeah.

[Cut to Treiber’s room. Chase is filling up a syringe for an injection.]

Treiber: Porphyria?

Chase: I know the anesthesia makes it hard to focus, but we need to start you on hemin right away. [Treiber stares at Chase.] House believes very strongly. This is the right call.

Treiber: Okay.

[Cut to a bar. House sits down with two bottles of beer. Wilson is wearing a bald cap to look sicker.]

Wilson: This thing is peeling.

House: Well, that is the cost of cowardice. Should've gone for the real thing.

Wilson: I feel like I'm cheating.

House: A, it is only cheating if you don't have cancer, and B, it's Wednesday afternoon. Pickings are slim, and more importantly, sober. The cancer cut is the surest way to the pity pooty party. [He puts a baseball cap on Wilson’s head. Then he looks intensively at a young woman sitting at the bar.] One down, one to go.

Wilson (looking in the same direction): What? Wait, wait, wait. She said yes? To a threesome?

House: She's empathetic.

Wilson (suspicious): She's a hooker.

House: Gave me a cancer rate.

Wilson: No. I have never paid for sex in my life.

House: You still haven't. It's my treat. It's either that, or you find two very open-minded women to fall in love with you in the next hour. [Wilson looks at his watch, then notices the bartender.]

Wilson: Bartender seems nice.

House: Seems female.

[As she is cleaning nearby tables, the bartender turns to Wilson and House.]

Waitress: Want something to eat?

House: My friend is dying of cancer.

Bartender: Oh, you poor thing. It took my mother two years ago. But you can't give up hope. [She pats him on the shoulder.]

House: He's pretty much resigned. Just wants to go out with a bang. And another pun, what time do you get off? [She smiles at them.]

[Cut to Treiber’s room. Chase comes in as Adams is checking on Treiber who has trouble breathing.]

Adams: Pleural effusions. It's not porphyria.

Chase: We're gonna need to put in a chest tube.

Treiber: I wanna talk to House.

Adams: We'll tell him exactly what's happening.

Treiber: I wanna talk to him! [He stops Chase from touching him.] I want House. [He gets angrier.] Where is House? Where is he? Where's House?

Chase: We don't know.

[Cut to a motel parking lot. It’s the morning. House is asleep in the car, cap covering his eyes. Wilson comes out of a hotel room and knocks on the window, waking up House. His bald cap is torn up. House opens the window.]

Wilson: You didn't have to sleep out here.

House (in a sleepy voice): Four's a crowd.

Wilson: Apparently they left a long time ago.

House: So, how was it? Was the amateur as good as the pro?

Wilson: It was confusing. Perfunctory. A bit sad.

House: Never mind.

Wilson: And exactly what I needed. [Looking grateful] Thank you. [House nods.] You feel like buying me breakfast? One of them stole my wallet.

[Cut to Foreman’s office. He is pacing. The team is sitting around a table.]

Foreman (pissed): You're lucky he's not pressing charges.

Chase: Porphyria was a legitimate call.

Taub: Until the pleural effusions.

Chase: We've done everything House would've done if he'd been here.

Foreman (angry): You lied to a patient. [Chase doesn’t care.] Treiber's condition is declining rapidly. He's agreed to let me take over the case. Dr. Chase will have no further contact with the patient.

Chase: Fine. [He gets up to leave but Foreman stops him.]

Foreman: I didn't say you were off the case. Sit down. [Chase obeys.] Ordered a cardiac MRI. [He hands the team files.] Enlargement of the left ventricle suggests an infiltrative disease.

Taub: It's sarcoidosis.

Foreman: We'll start him on corticosteroids and do a cardiac biopsy to confirm.

Chase: I disagree. I was wrong about the porphyria, but I wasn't wrong about the nervous system. It's a prion disease. That's why his symptoms have progressed so rapidly.

Adams: It's possible he was exposed and didn't know it. Brains are often stored and not tested until weeks after autopsy.

Foreman: Treiber's too good to not take the right precautions.

Chase: Maybe the problem is he thinks the same thing. His job's built on the premise that doctors make mistakes; That includes him. We should do a brain biopsy.

Foreman: In his condition?

Chase: Then we biopsy the brains in the morgue. Find the one that exposed him.

Foreman: It's a needle in a haystack.

Chase: There's four of us. Come on, we can at least start him on amphotericin to halt the progress while you do your heart biopsy.

Taub: No, we can't. Amphotericin plus the contrast dye for the biopsy would overwhelm his kidneys. We have to choose one or the other.

[They all wait for Foreman’s answer.]

Foreman: Biopsy his heart.

[All but Chase get up and leave the office. Chase stares at Foreman, pissed, and finally leaves.]

[Cut to the corvette. Wilson is driving, House is holding his wallet as he speaks.]

House: Wallets go in the minibar freezer. If there's no minibar, the toilet t*nk. I've got exactly… [He counts his money.] $20 left.

Wilson: I'm sorry, I wasn't familiar with hooker protocol. We can use your credit cards.

House: No, we won't. I'm still on probation. Leaving the state without permission will really P.O. my P.O.

Wilson: Doesn't matter.

House (looking at the dashboard): We can't even afford gas to get home. We're three hours behind schedule.

Wilson: We have enough gas to get to Julie. I don't care about anything else. [House stares at Wilson in silence.] What this time?

House: Just wondering how long this can last.

Wilson: You're still hoping that I'm gonna wake up and admit that Kyle Calloway is just some lame excuse to have some naughty thrills aren't you?

House: I'm actually hoping you won't. I like Kyle. [He puts his cap on backwards.]

[Cut to the empty morgue. Chase enters and turns the light on. He looks around silently. He grabs a pair of plastic gloves, heads for the cold room, and takes one of the brains in a jar on the shelf to do a first biopsy.]

[Cut to the convertible. Motorhead's Ace of Spades is playing Wilson is still driving. At an intersection, a man, wearing a suit, is standing in the middle of the road, forcing the cars to stop. We don’t know why.]

Wilson: Oh, come on.

[While Wilson checks his watch, House waits patiently. Suddenly the expression on his face changes as they discover the reason why they had to stop: it’s a funeral procession; the hearse is the first of a long parade of cars. House looks at Wilson, who seems… indifferent. He puts the car in gear and speeds past the cars.]

Wilson (screaming): Move! Move!

[House is ecstatic; he is holding his cap and has both arms up in the air, as if he was on a rollercoaster.]

House: Whoo!

Wilson: Whoo-hoo! [As he finally got in front of all the cars, Wilson holds his arms up in the air, as a victory sign, but quickly puts them back on the steering wheel.]

[Suddenly, the car is not under control anymore, Wilson struggles to drive and ends up going right off the road, through a fence, and into a field. It’s finally immobilized; smoke is coming from the car’s engine. House looks hurt; he is lying on the door, head between hands. Wilson breathes heavily. Seeing that House is not moving, he quickly takes off his seatbelt, gets out of the car and runs to the other side.]

Wilson: House. [He opens the door. House moves and looks at him.] You okay?

House (looking confused but fine): My leg still hurts.

[Wilson grabs his backpack and House’s in the backseat and starts walking away. House is looking at him, puzzled.]

Wilson: Come on. We got 20 bucks to go 11 miles.

[House gets out of the car and starts walking too.]

[Cut to the morgue. Chase is working on the brains. Park comes in.]

Park: Why aren't you answering your pages?

Chase: Busy.

Park: The biopsy showed fibrosis in his cardiac muscle.

Chase: So it's not a prion disease.

Park: It means Foreman was wrong too. He wants everyone to meet in his office to DDX.

Chase: So he can tell us all it's an infection?

Park: Interesting. Or maybe you should consider not being such a baby.

Chase (walking around the room, looking for things): First instinct was an exposure from a corpse. Treiber spends all his time here. If it's not toxic gas, not prions… [He looks at a file closely.] Then it has to be something else. He's not perfect.

Park: Are you trying to cure him or discredit him?

Chase: Treiber can only see me as not House. Foreman too. And they're not wrong.

Park: So you're not coming upstairs.

Chase: No. And when this case is over, I'm quitting.

[Cut to Foreman’s office. The team, sans Chase, is standing in front of Foreman’s desk.]

Foreman: He's not quitting.

Taub: He already called other hospitals. Treiber did get under his skin.

Foreman: He'll get over it. Fibrosis has to be a response to an infection.

Park: Chase said you'd say that.

Adams: We'll test the biopsy samples for viruses and start him on antivirals.

[Park and Adams get out, leaving Taub and Foreman alone.]

Taub: You're not even gonna talk to Chase?

Foreman: He didn't leave after he got s*ab in the heart. I think we're okay.

Taub: Either you're right, and your friend is just really upset, or you're wrong, and he's come at this calmly and rationally, and you're about to lose a good doctor. Either way… [Foreman gives him a meaningful look. Taub leaves.]

[Cut to a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. House is standing on the side. Wilson is sitting next to an old man.]

House: This is Oubliette, Ohio. Buses don't run here after 1968.

Wilson: Ina said there's a bus every 15 minutes.

House: Ina is living in Alzheimersville. [He looks at his watch.] Been here at least half an hour.

Wilson (turning to Ina): Where are you going, Ina?

Ina: Naples, Florida. Ben and I have a beautiful three-bedroom condo. All on the one floor.

Wilson: You're waiting for a bus to Naples? [He looks at House…]

Ina: Comes every 15 minutes. Ben'll be wondering where his dinner is.

House: Cab.

[House spots a cab driving by on the deserted road. He moves closer to the road to stop it.]

House (holding up his cane): Whoa, cab! [He turns to Wilson and wants him to move.] 20 bucks, 11 miles. Come on. [The cab stops and he opens the backdoor.] Come on, let's go. [Wilson looks at Ina. House glances at his watch.] Julie's gonna be at the clinic for another 45 minutes; We can make this. [House understands what is going on and looks like he doesn’t know what to do anymore] She thinks she's in Florida. [Wilson doesn’t move.] Okay, bring her with.

Ina (to House): I'm waiting for the bus.

House: Bus isn't coming, Ina. But this cab is going to Naples.

Ina: Ben'll be getting awfully hungry.

Wilson: House.

House: We'll tell the cabbie to call the cops. They'll come pick her up, take care of her.

[Wilson considers the situation and finally gives his answer.]

Wilson: Then I'll stay with her until they do.

[House looks resigned. He walks to the cab, talks with the driver and closes the backdoor. The cab drives away.]

House (whispering): Good-bye, Kyle.

Ina (to House): Bus comes every 15 minutes.

House (pissed): Oh, shut up.

Foreman: Find anything?

Chase (turning around on his seat): Not yet. [He keeps writing.] Running tests for MRSA.

Foreman: You've got everybody worried about your quitting.

Chase: You here as my boss or my friend?

Foreman: If I was here as your boss, you'd be suspended by now.

Chase: I've learned a lot here. Enough to run my own team. It's time I moved on. Unfortunately, that's how I felt last year. And the year before that.

Foreman: Maybe there's a reason you haven't left. You need structure. And support. Somebody else calling the sh*ts.

[Chase gets up to face Foreman.]

Chase: You didn't come down here as my boss or my friend. You came down as House. You're trying to insult me into making a decision.

Foreman: We've both seen it work. Either you rise to the challenge and quit, or you stay. As a team member.

[Foreman exits, leaving Chase to think about the situation.]

[Cut to Treiber’s room. Monitors are beeping. Park is the only doctor there and Treiber is unconscious and unresponsive.]

Park: Dr. Treiber! Dr. Treiber.

[Taub enters the room in a hurry.]

Park: He stopped responding when I was changing his I.V. bag.

[Taub grabs the patient’s shoulders and shake him but fails to wake him up.]

Taub: Peter, open your eyes. [He looks at his eyes with a penlight.] Coma.

[Cut to the morgue. Chase is sitting in front of his whiteboard deep in thoughts, but without success so far. The whiteboard is full of crossed-out writings, rewritings, and scrabbles. Foreman and the team enter in a hurry, looking for his ideas.]

Foreman: Treiber's comatose.

Taub: All brains on deck.

Adams: Where should we start? We think you might be right.

Chase: I'm not.

Park: You couldn't have gone through all of these.

Chase: Don't have to. [He gets up and crosses out all the solutions on the board.] Treiber's reports are thorough to a fault. His methods are fastidious. The answer isn't down here. [He moves to the other side of the room to wash his hands.] Treiber didn't miss anything. We did.

Foreman: So what? Psychosis, abdominal pain, pleural effusions, enlarged heart, coma.

Park: Autoimmune, maybe Goodpasture's.

Adams: Kidneys are fine. Vasculitis?

[As he washes his hands, Chase notices something.]

Foreman: No fever.

Taub: Lymphoma?

Foreman: Would've seen it on the heart biopsy.

Chase: Soap. It's the soap. [He holds up the bottle of soap, puts it down on the counter, and exits without a word, leaving the team behind.]

[Cut to a bus. It’s late at night. House and Wilson are on it, going back home. House is laid down on two seats, eyes closed. Wilson is sitting behind him.]

Wilson (sighing): I blew it.

House: Oh, God, here it comes.

Wilson: As always. All I wanted was some meaningless fun, and I couldn't even last three days.

House (trying to avoid the conversation): Sound asleep. I'm sleep talking.

Wilson: I had the chance to fulfill a lifelong dream.

House: I swear, I will jump out of this moving bus if you don't shut up.

Wilson: But instead, I sat with a sad, old woman for 1 1/2 hours who forgot I existed three seconds after she left. And the stupidest thing. I never even had a crush on Julie Christie. [House understands he won’t be able to escape the situation so he turns to look at Wilson.] In 12th grade I was madly in love with Melanie Robbins, who happened to look exactly like Julie Christie in Dr. Zhivago. And she really liked me. Played spades every lunch period in Mr. Charlton's classroom. But of course, there was this other guy. A great guy. Very popular. He had a car. He had a band, a mustache…

House (figuring it out): Kyle Calloway.

Wilson (smiling): I assumed that — I hoped that we would go to the senior prom together, but she asked me for a favor. She asked… [He lets out a laugh.] …if I minded if she went with him. She asked me if I minded. [Another small laugh.] And I said I didn't. And that was it. And I just did it again. I let it go, like I let everything go. And here I am, sitting on this bus, with tickets I bought with my watch, heading back home, so a… a CT scan can decide my fate — My fate. [His eyes are filling up with tears. He is on the verge of crying,] I don't wanna go back, House. I just — [sighing] I just wanna keep being Kyle.

House: Kyle would've ditched that sad, old woman from the bus stop. Probably would've ditched me too. I can live without Kyle. [They look at each other and give each other a small smile. No need to say anything else.] Snowball? [He has a couple of them with him!]

[Cut to Treiber’s room. He is waking up, Chase is there.]

Treiber: Guess this isn't heaven.

Chase: We found out who screwed up. You. It was your industrial-strength antibacterial soap. [Holding the bottle of soap.] The additional triclosan does two things well: Kills MRSA and makes your thyroid look stupid. It thinks the triclosan is a real hormone and closes up shop. Excessive use over time combined with excessive use of this led to hypothyroidism. Which went undiagnosed until it presented with psychosis. When the ER put you on the sedatives, it kicked you into myxedema crisis.

Treiber: Don't know that I ever would've thought of that.

Chase: House told us to look for irony.

[Chase heads for the door.]

Treiber: Hey. This wasn't House.

[Chase throws something to Foreman.]

Chase: My locker key.

Foreman: I'll give you your own team.

Chase: Thanks. But it's time to step out of the shadow.

Foreman: It's about time.

[They hug. Chase smiles and leaves the office.]

Chase: Any news?

House: Not yet. You come here so I could talk you out of it?

Chase: I came to say thank you.

House: Sounded pithier than… "We've shared a variety of situations."

Chase (looking through the window): Let me know about Wilson.

Wilson: Why did you let him go?

House: Legal loophole. 13th Amendment. Abraham Lincoln may have looked great in that hat, but his labor policies...

Wilson : House.
{"type": "series", "show": "House", "episode": "08x20 - Post Mortem"}