[Alley behind Nightclub. Night. Three bored-looking punk rockers hang outside. One of them, Jimmy Quidd (late 30s), keeps flicking his Zippo lighter on and off absently. He looks stoned. A cigarette rests in his mouth. The drummer, Ian, taps his sticks on his chest. The heavy iron door opens and Rex, the guitarist, joins them outside, carrying a teardrop-shaped guitar. He seems more upbeat than the rest of them.]

REX: Roman emperors were the real punks.

IAN: Don't say "punk", it's cliché.

REX: [leaning near Ian] Whatever. Lemme tell you about these dinner parties.

[Quidd coughs. Next to him, Fred sits down, bl*wing out smoke.]

REX: Nero loved a good poisoning.

IAN: At a dinner party?

REX: He arranged one right at the table...

JIMMY QUIDD: [drawling] I don't feel like goin' on tonight.

[Rex keeps talking to Ian, while Fred speaks to Quidd.]

FRED: [smiles] Too bad. 'Cause that's what makes the club feel like paying us.

[Ignoring him, Quidd puts the cigarette to his lips.]

REX: ...This is all in the book. Titus would ply his guests with wine...

[Quidd notices Rex's guitar and glances over at Fred.]

REX: ... then bind their privates with a cord.

JIMMY QUIDD: [calling] Hey! [to Rex] D'you get a new guitar?

[Rex, happy that he noticed, stands upright, displaying the guitar.]

REX: [enthusiastically] '64 teardrop reissue. Not a mark on it.

JIMMY QUIDD: Alright.

[He stands and ambles over to Rex.]

JIMMY QUIDD: [holding out his hand] Can I see it?

[Rex hands it over. Quidd looks at it, while rock music is heard in the club.]

JIMMY QUIDD: It's nice.

[Suddenly, he slams it on the ground and drags it along the ground, scratching it badly. Rex, shocked at the damage, yells out and chases after Quidd, trying to rescue his guitar.]

REX: Hey! Hey! He-ey!

[Quidd hammers the guitar against the nearby dumpster for good measure, while Rex struggles to grab it back.]

REX: Hey! Cut it out, man!

[Ian looks mortified while Fred laughs heartily.]

REX: Hey! You stupid sonuva...!

[Stopping, Quidd finally pulls away from Rex.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Hey, it's a hunk of wood, bro.

[He shoves it at Rex, who snatches it away, pissed.]

JIMMY QUIDD: It should look like a hunk of wood. We're not the Philharmonic.

[Rex angrily inspects the damage on his guitar.]

JIMMY QUIDD: [chuckles] See, look, man. It's better already.

[Rex decides to make the guitar even better by ramming it hard into Quidd's jaw. Quidd falls against the dumpster. The other bandmates come over and pull Rex away. The heavy iron door opens and the club owner comes outside.]

CLUB OWNER: [brusquely] Hey! It's 10:45. How 'bout takin' that on stage?

[Quidd stands up straight, smiling.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Now I feel like goin' on.

[Quidd rubs his nose. The club owner grabs Rex and yanks him inside. Ian and Fred enter the club, while Quidd starts to follow. He stops at the door, leaning against it, looking tired. He walks back into the alley, swinging his arms, trying to loosen them up. He leans against the dumpster and drops his head. He coughs. Then he vomits out blood. He coughs some more and groans. Frustrated, he kicks the dumpster a couple of times. His coughs intensify. He knows something's wrong and looks back at the club backdoor, looking for someone. He doubles over, coughing harder each time. The camera zooms onto his ashen face. His eyes go blank and he falls to the floor, landing on his back. He coughs once more, then passes out.]

[Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Doctor's lounge. Day. Camera holds on the TV, where "General Hospital" (I'm guessing) is running. The stunning blonde nurse, Luisa Maria, speaks to a younger guy, Chris, who doesn't seem to want to listen to her.]

LUISA MARIA: [on TV] You're my child. And so were the quadruplets. And I'm not gonna give any of you up.

[Dr. Gregory House sits on the couch and watches the soap opera in rapt attention, eating popcorn. Behind him, the door opens and Dr. Lisa Cuddy enters. House rolls his eyes at the interruption and arches his neck backwards to see her.]

CHRIS: [on TV] Don't you dare talk to me as a mother.

GREG HOUSE: Sign on the door says "Closed for private event".

LISA CUDDY: You're alone.

GREG HOUSE: How much more private can you get? [eats some popcorn, then reaches out] Can you pass me a tissue?

LISA CUDDY: Who are you keeping? You owed me a decision ten days ago.

GREG HOUSE: [ignores the question, points to the TV] Total amnesia.

[Cuddy looks at the TV.]

LUISA MARIA: [on TV] ... you ever had. You're my whole life. You.

GREG HOUSE: Luisa Maria can't decide if she's gonna keep the quadruplets.

[Cuddy has enough. She reaches for the remote control on the couch and switches off the TV. House doesn't move.]

GREG HOUSE: She keeps them. I read it online. You happy now? I ruined it for you.

[Cuddy walks in front of him.]

LISA CUDDY: I want two names by Friday.

GREG HOUSE: Fine. I'll arrange for a patient with a mysterious illness to come in on Thursday. [munches popcorn]

LISA CUDDY: Yes. You need more tests. 'S only been... two months. Who knows how they'll react to freak weather patterns?

GREG HOUSE: They all did fine in the wind tunnel.

LISA CUDDY: Two names by Friday, or the pay overruns come out of your salary.

[Still holding the remote, she starts to walk towards the door, near the TV. House, hardly bothered, pulls out another remote and switches on the TV. Cuddy is stunned at the insubordination. She stands in front of the TV.]

LUISA MARIA: [on TV] I can hurt too. I know that now.

LISA CUDDY: [meaning business] And I'll move your parking space to the "E" Lot.

CHRIS: [on TV, crying] Don't ever leave me, mom.

[Cuddy leaves. House turns off the TV reluctantly.]

[PPTH Emergency Room. Day. House limps into the ER and walks past Dr. Allison Cameron.]

GREG HOUSE: [to Cameron] Hey! Who's the sickest patient you got?

ALLISON CAMERON: I've got a guy who'll be d*ad in the next ten minutes.

[House stops limping and looks at her.]

ALLISON CAMERON: [chuckles] Ohh! You mean someone who might actually survive a diagnosis.

[House turns and pulls open a curtain with his cane, exposing an old lady, lying in a bed.]

ALLISON CAMERON: There's nothing here. Just the usual cracked heads, g*n, false alarms.

GREG HOUSE: Who'd you pick to fill your narrow little flats?

ALLISON CAMERON: [smiling] So you could f*re them off my recommendation? Nice try.

[A patient calls out.]

JIMMY QUIDD: [vo] Hey! Who do I have to grope to get some turn-down service in here?

[Cameron goes over to a curtain and pulls it back. Jimmy Quidd sits inside on a bed, hooked up to a monitor and an IV drip. He has the same dopey expression on his face.]

ALLISON CAMERON: Jimmy Quidd. He's a punk rock singer.

JIMMY QUIDD: Punk rockstar to you.

GREG HOUSE: [checking Quidd's chart] Repeated trauma, self-cutting, fever, arthralgia, hyperinflated chest, fatigue, anaemia, [turns the page] blood in the stool and urine. [interested] I've died and gone to diagnostic heaven.

ALLISON CAMERON: [taking the chart] His blood results shows booze, cocaine, amphetamines, opiates. The only mystery here is how he made it to be thirty-eight.

JIMMY QUIDD: [weakly pulling out a cigarette] I'm twenty-eight.

ALLISON CAMERON: And he lies. And he's a pain in the ass.

[She pulls the cigarette out of his mouth.]

JIMMY QUIDD: [tries to get it back] Hey, c'mon.

ALLISON CAMERON: No, no...

GREG HOUSE: Wrap him up. I'll take him to-go.

[He leaves. Quidd starts to rip off the IV-drip and monitor leads on him. Cameron struggles with him, while getting sprayed with the IV liquid.]

[PPTH Lecture Hall. Day. House stands, facing the array of boards on the wall, while he speaks to the four remaining Fellows and Dr. Eric Foreman.]

GREG HOUSE: Dizzying array of symptoms. Any of which could be caused by drugs, trauma, being a loser.

ERIC FOREMAN: [reading Quidd's file] The guy's a walking pharmacy. Could be anything.

GREG HOUSE: [suddenly] Oh, forgot to mention... Final case. Get it right, you're hired. Runner-up will be decided strictly on some definition of merit.

[The Fellows, now facing a "do-or-die" situation, sit forward. Dr. Lawrence Kutner jerks in his seat as he offers his suggestion. Dr... "Thirteen" follows immediately.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [quickly] Endocarditis.

"THIRTEEN": Hemorrhagic lesions in the lungs and gut. Bronchiolitis obliterans.

[Foreman, sitting away from them, shakes his head at House's new game.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: He smoked his airways into oblivion.

[Camera pans from Dr. Amber Volakis to Dr. Chris Taub.]

CHRIS TAUB: Endocarditis.

[Camera quick-pans to Kutner.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Ah, I already said that.

[Camera quick-pans to Taub.]

CHRIS TAUB: I'd heard of it before you mentioned it.

GREG HOUSE: [to Taub] Speed counts. Find something else.

"THIRTEEN": Could be bacterial meningitis.

GREG HOUSE: You already picked.

CHRIS TAUB: [raises his hand] I'll take meningitis.

GREG HOUSE: Too late. Go run your tests.

[The Fellows stand up and prepare to leave. Foreman speaks.]

ERIC FOREMAN: No, he's sick 'cause he's a drug addict.

GREG HOUSE: No, he has every symptom you'd expect of a drug addict.

ERIC FOREMAN: So you think it's all too perfect? Some other disease is trying to throw us off its trail?

GREG HOUSE: If he had four out of twenty possible symptoms, he'd be a garden-variety druggie. Twenty out of twenty, there's an underlying disease. [to the Fellows] Run your tests.

ERIC FOREMAN: No!

[He stands, stopping the Fellows in their tracks.]

ERIC FOREMAN: He's weak, in withdrawal, just spewed blood. They're gonna rip off a piece of his lung, ram instruments down his throat, and roto-rooter his intestines. [lower-lip-pouts] Be nice if we didn't k*ll him trying to figure out what's k*lling him.

[The Fellows look at House, waiting for his decision.]

GREG HOUSE: [concedes] One diagnosis, one test at a time.

[Amber steps forward, pleading her case.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: O2 stats are low. Hyper-inflated chest. I need a bronchoscopy to...

GREG HOUSE: [interrupts] You just lost two points.

AMBER VOLAKIS: What for?

GREG HOUSE: For thinking it makes a difference who goes first. Only one person can be right.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: What points?

GREG HOUSE: Can't have an objective system of measurement without numbers. You lose three for not knowing that.

[He looks on the desk and holds up an anatomical model of an eyeball on a stand - "The Eyeball".]

GREG HOUSE: From now on, only the person holding this can treat or run tests.

[He hands it to Amber.]

GREG HOUSE: I wanted to give you the Serpent Staff with the poison axe head, but I left it in my car.

[Amber slowly takes the Eyeball and quickly walks out the door at the back, followed by the others. Foreman stands there, arms folded, giving House an annoyed look. House limps quickly towards the side door. Foreman moves to follow.]

[PPTH Hallway. Day. House limps into the hallway, Foreman hot on his heels.]

GREG HOUSE: [seeing Foreman] Don't need you.

ERIC FOREMAN: It's one thing to hire based on a game.

GREG HOUSE: Do-on't need your lecture.

ERIC FOREMAN: It's insane to treat based on a game.

GREG HOUSE: You're not taking the long view.

ERIC FOREMAN: The one where we stuff another patient in a body bag?

GREG HOUSE: Nope, if we're wrong, it'll come pretty fast. The long view is the one where we pick the best team. That way we can use all the bags we save for grocery shopping.

[At the elevator, Foreman stops and sh**t House a "are-you-kidding-me?" look. House stops and looks at Foreman.]

GREG HOUSE: You're not buying that argument, are you?

ERIC FOREMAN: No.

GREG HOUSE: In which case, I'm back to my original position - don't need you.

[He retreats into the elevator. Foreman stands there, defeated yet annoyed.]

[Dr. James Wilson's Office. Day. House enters. Not seeing Wilson at his desk, he looks around and sees him sitting on the couch, holding a file. Wilson has a troubled look on his face. House moves towards Wilson's unoccupied desk.]

GREG HOUSE: What do you think of Amber?

JAMES WILSON: I screwed up a diagnosis.

[House sits at the desk, propping his feet on the table. Wilson just nods his head.]

GREG HOUSE: You don't seem that upset by it.

JAMES WILSON: [stands] Diagnosed a guy with adenocarcinoma three months ago. Told him he had six months.

GREG HOUSE: So now you've got to tell him that he's way behind on his Christmas shopping.

JAMES WILSON: He didn't get worse. I re-checked everything. Biopsy was a false positive. Harmless lesions caused by talc inhalation.

GREG HOUSE: Medical clemency. Interesting.

JAMES WILSON: Why would you use that word?

GREG HOUSE: Because I'm interested. When I'm interested, I describe the things that make me interested as interesting.

JAMES WILSON: Most people would say "good", possibly "great". Why aren't you able to just enjoy...?

GREG HOUSE: [standing] Why aren't other people able to just be interested?

[He leaves. Wilson looks over the file again.]

[PPTH Hallway/Men's bathroom. Day. Amber stands outside the men's bathroom. "Thirteen" walks up to her.]

"THIRTEEN": 'S he in there?

AMBER VOLAKIS: Yeah.

"THIRTEEN": Why'd you go right for the drug theories?

AMBER VOLAKIS: If he had a history of shoving cancer into his veins, I'd have guessed cancer.

"THIRTEEN": [nods as if understanding] Okay. You're an idiot. Either that or you've decided you can trust a smoking addict alone in a bathroom with an oxygen t*nk.

[As if on cue, an expl*si*n, sounds of shattering glass and a metal cylinder noisily falling are heard. Amber, scared and astonished, runs inside. Inside, the bathroom is a mess, smoke everywhere. Quidd lies prone on the ground, too stoned to be in pain. A lit cigarette lies an arm's length away from him. Amber and "Thirteen" run to help him. Almost figuratively, the Eyeball falls out of Amber's lab coat.]]

[Wilson's Office. Day. Restraining his joy, Wilson speaks to his not-dying patient, Mr. McKenna.]

JAMES WILSON: I got your new test results back.

[The door opens and some sour-looking guy, in a lab coat, enters. Hey, it's House! In a lab coat!]

GREG HOUSE: Sorry I'm late.

[Wilson seems more surprised by the sight of House in a lab coat, than by his latest intrusion.]

MR. MCKENNA: Who's your colleague?

[House goes behind Wilson and leans on his bookcase.]

JAMES WILSON: Dr. House...

GREG HOUSE: Yes, Dr. Wilson?

JAMES WILSON: I really don't need the consult.

MR. MCKENNA: I know the prognosis.

GREG HOUSE: Apparently not.

[McKenna looks confused.]

JAMES WILSON: [happily] Mr. McKenna, I can't believe I'm able to say this, but... you're cancer-free. The biopsy looked like adenocarcinoma, But it wasn't. Harmless lesions on your lungs. You're fine.

[House watches McKenna intently. McKenna still looks confused. Wilson chuckles. McKenna doesn't look very happy though.]

MR. MCKENNA: I don't get it.

[Wilson did not expect an answer like this. House smiles.]

GREG HOUSE: Cool.

JAMES WILSON: [waving his hand at House] No, it's-it's... I know this must come as a shock, but I've double-checked the labs.

MR. MCKENNA: [despondent] I just accepted an offer on my house. I've had three good-bye parties. I-I'm buying plane tickets to Venice.

GREG HOUSE: You can still use those if you're alive.

MR. MCKENNA: I have to pay a six thousand dollars broker commission on a house I'm not selling. Money I don't have. [b*at] Thank you... for letting me know.

[He gets up and leaves. Wilson's turn to look confused.]

JAMES WILSON: I, uh, I would have thought the living would mean more than the expenses.

GREG HOUSE: It's not about the money.

[Diagnostics Office. Day. House writes the Fellows' points on the whiteboard:

BITCH KUTNER 13 TAUB

-------------------------------------------------

17

The Fellows enter, Amber carrying the eyeball.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [sitting, happy] I have seventeen points?

GREG HOUSE: I started you all out on a hundred. And you blew up part of the building.

[Amber looks nonplussed.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Where's Foreman?

GREG HOUSE: He got paged.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: By who? Is it about our...?

GREG HOUSE: By me. I needed him right away. Somewhere else.

[He enters the others' scores as 97, 100, 100 respectively.]

CHRIS TAUB: We're hiding from Foreman?

GREG HOUSE: [mock-hurt] Foreman accused me of playing games with patient care.

"THIRTEEN": Who gets the eyeball next?

AMBER VOLAKIS: I haven't run my test yet. It still might be a lung issue.

"THIRTEEN": You can't run your test. The patient had massive smoke inhalation. Do a bronchoscopy, it'll set off a laryngospasm.

AMBER VOLAKIS: I'll do an open-lung biopsy instead.

"THIRTEEN": You want an invasive surgery because you screwed up?

[House slowly moves behind the whiteboard, in anticipation of a catfight.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [defensively] The patient snuck a cigarette.

"THIRTEEN": The patient is an addict. It's not his fault he's jonesing for whatever he can get his hands on.

AMBER VOLAKIS: Not his fault he's jonesing? In what universe does that make any sense?

GREG HOUSE: [peeking from behind the whiteboard] Get him on a nicotine patch. It'll keep up with his joneses. Do your biopsy.

[With a smug smile to "Thirteen", Amber stands and leaves, followed by Kutner and Taub. "Thirteen" looks peeved, but leaves wordlessly. House comes out from behind the whiteboard.]

[PPTH Waiting Area/Quidd's room. Day. Foreman sits on a couch, reading a magazine, in the waiting area. Dr. Robert Chase comes up.]

ROBERT CHASE: How's the new us'es final case going?

[He sits next to Foreman.]

ERIC FOREMAN: It's a moving target. House keeps moving it so I can't find it.

ROBERT CHASE: [peeking at the magazine] So... you've decided to focus on solving the problem in Darfur.

ERIC FOREMAN: [jerks his head towards Quidd's room] Taub is in there prepping the patient for a biopsy. Stay close to Taub, stay close to House.

ROBERT CHASE: And stay close to the game.

ERIC FOREMAN: I'm trying to stop the game.

ROBERT CHASE: That's your role in the game.

[Foreman's pager beeps. He goes to get it.]

ERIC FOREMAN: You wander over here to annoy me?

[Foreman looks at his pager.]

ROBERT CHASE: You're not wearing a lab coat. House doesn't wear one, does he?

ERIC FOREMAN: Damn! Now when I walk away, it's gonna look like I Have a reason other than just annoyance.

[He gets up to leave.]

[In Quidd's room, Amber and Taub are having a hard time doing a biopsy on Quidd, as he refuses to allow them to touch his left arm, which he keeps under his sheets. Foreman enters.]

CHRIS TAUB: [struggling] He won't let us finish prepping him for the biopsy.

ERIC FOREMAN: You try the other arm?

AMBER VOLAKIS: [irritated] The problem's not the arm, it's the entire patient.

[Foreman gloves up and goes towards Quidd. Amber gives him the biopsy needle. Foreman picks up Quidd's right arm without any protests from Quidd. He pushes in the needle.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Ow.

[Foreman frowns at Quidd.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Hi.

ERIC FOREMAN: [to Taub and Amber] He let you check his chest. He let you do anything except check that arm.

[He pulls back the sheet to expose Quidd's left arm. He holds up the arm, which is covered with nicotine patches.]

ERIC FOREMAN: He wallpapered himself with nicotine patches.

[Dropping the arm, he motions to Amber to continue. Amber, miffed, steps forward.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: Real rebellion has a point. It's not just juvenile and purposeless.

JIMMY QUIDD: Maybe purposelessness is my purpose.

AMBER VOLAKIS: [nods] Mission accomplished.

[Taub meanwhile has been checking Quidd's left hand.]

CHRIS TAUB: Amber... it's not the patches. He's got blood clots moving through his body.

[He shows Amber and Foreman Quidd's left arm index finger, the tip of which is darkened considerably.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [somberly] Means... I was wrong.

JIMMY QUIDD: [mock-concerned] Oh-oh.

[Diagnostics Office/House's Office. Day. House paces in front of the whiteboard, while the Fellows (minus Taub) sit at the glass table.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: If a clot reaches his lungs or his heart, it'll k*ll him.

[House throws him a look and ominously hangs his cane on the board and sets Kutner's points to 87. Amber is down to -6 and Taub is down to 80, by the way,]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [protesting] It's true.

GREG HOUSE: We all know it's true. You just wasted our time.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: And what you're doing?

GREG HOUSE: I'm not competing.

"THIRTEEN": Where's Taub?

GREG HOUSE: Foreman was following him.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: So you paged Taub.

GREG HOUSE: Didn't see that I had much choice. [re: Quidd, not Taub] He has schistocytes in his blood smear. Which means the DIC's causing clotting. What's causing the DIC?

AMBER VOLAKIS: Drug impurities.

GREG HOUSE: You lost your round.

AMBER VOLAKIS: New symptom, new round. This has to be drug related.

"THIRTEEN": This is how doctors k*ll patients. By seeing the stereotype instead of the truth.

AMBER VOLAKIS: [arguing] Drug addicts use drugs is a stereotype? Drugs are bad is a stereotype? Losers lose is...

"THIRTEEN": [ignoring the tirade] Malaria.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: He hasn't left the country in years.

"THIRTEEN": Malaria's relapsing-recurring. For all we know, he could have been sick for years. It explains not just the DIC and the bleeding, but the tiredness, fever.

[Amber chuckles wryly.]

"THIRTEEN": Everything we attributed to drugs.

AMBER VOLAKIS: Oh, yeah, it's much more likely that this ass punk rocker was exposed to malaria than drugs?

GREG HOUSE: If you were always right, then you wouldn't have just been wrong. Or let the patient mainline nicotine. Or ravaged my anatomical model, which Grandma House bought me when I aced my MCATs.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: A pharmaceutical rep left that here on Tuesday.

GREG HOUSE: [picking up the Eyeball] Grandma does some part-time work.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: The rep was a thirty-something babe.

GREG HOUSE: Thank you. I got her hips. [hands the Eyeball to "Thirteen"] Carry it with pride.

["Thirteen" stands and leaves, followed by Kutner and Taub. House addresses Amber. ]

GREG HOUSE: [pointing to his office] Manipulative bitch, you're wanted in the loser's circle.

[He limps to his office, with Amber following him. He goes to his desk.]

GREG HOUSE: Why do you hate drug addicts?

AMBER VOLAKIS: [carefully] Your situation is different. You're taking a necessary prescription.

GREG HOUSE: [sits] I know... I'm fabulous. And I'm not the patient.

AMBER VOLAKIS: I'm not allowed to have a problem with junkies?

GREG HOUSE: You're allowed, but there's gotta be a reason. He's a patient. You don't know him. But you hate him.

AMBER VOLAKIS: He's throwing his life away.

GREG HOUSE: 'Cause he's setting his own terms? Not living in fear of every pop quiz?

[He swallows some Vicodin.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: I thought we were talking about him.

GREG HOUSE: [exhales] We were never talking about him. Why are you afraid to lose?

AMBER VOLAKIS: [laughs] Are you gonna f*re me because I like to win?

GREG HOUSE: Just want to know the reason.

AMBER VOLAKIS: [pretends to think] Um, I watched this football game once. And I noticed something odd. [sarcastic] The winning team was the happy one. I did the math.

GREG HOUSE: Our patient's happy.

AMBER VOLAKIS: [softly] He's an idiot.

GREG HOUSE: He's a happy idiot. That screws with your world view. There's something freeing about being a loser, isn't there? Why are you afraid to...?

AMBER VOLAKIS: [interrupts, irritated] Mommy didn't love me enough. Daddy expected too much from me. [b*at] Something!

[She glares at House.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: Let's assume that's true. I get how that can make me a screwed-up person. [choking] But how is my willingness to do anything to get the right answer bad for my patients? [b*at] Or put in terms you can understand, how is it bad for you?

[House doesn't answer. She smiles and leaves.]

[PPTH Hallway. Day. "Thirteen" walks with Taub (who's carrying two paper bags).]

"THIRTEEN": I didn't ask you to pick up the meds.

CHRIS TAUB: I'm trying to be a good colleague.

"THIRTEEN": You're trying to boost your score by prescribing drugs for House. Why else would you have a second bag?

CHRIS TAUB: Didn't say good colleague to you.

"THIRTEEN": You realize we still have a patient.

CHRIS TAUB: Don't care about the patient.

"THIRTEEN": Do you care about this job more than you care about his life?

CHRIS TAUB: I care about my wallpaper more than I care about his life.

"THIRTEEN": [chuckles] Okay, you're jerking me around. There's no reason to be a doctor if you don't care...

[He stops walking, making her stop and turn to him.]

CHRIS TAUB: I care about life. I just don't care about his. He doesn't care. Why should I? My time is better spent...

"THIRTEEN": Kissing up to your boss.

[Taub gives her a sideways glance. They resume walking.]

CHRIS TAUB: Average doctor cuts off a patient eighteen seconds into a history because that's all the time he's got. Meanwhile six of us are administering to a guy with a death wish.

["Thirteen" stops, prompting Taub to do the same.]

"THIRTEEN": So why do you want the job?

CHRIS TAUB: Not because I'm maximizing my service to mankind.

"THIRTEEN": [smiles] Good for you.

[He gives her a characteristic tight smile and they resume walking towards Quidd's room, a few steps away. They stop in surprise, seeing Ian sitting near the bed, but no Quidd.]

"THIRTEEN": [to Ian] Where is he?

[Ian shrugs in ignorance.]

CHRIS TAUB: [calmly] We're gonna spend the next hour looking for a guy who doesn't want to be found.

[They go off in search of Quidd.]

[Wilson's Office. Day. House sits at the desk. A really loud and incoherent electric guitar riff (accompanied by drums) blasts from the record player. Sounds a little less annoying than fingernails running down a chalkboard and more unsettling than a death rattle. Wilson enters, not surprised to see House there, but definitely rattled by the loud "music".]

GREG HOUSE: [loudly over the noise] Jimmy Quidd's greatest stiff. 1989.

JAMES WILSON: A profit-seeking entity released this?

GREG HOUSE: Put it out himself. He wanted people to listen, but apparently didn't want people to enjoy listening. Now, why would someone...?

JAMES WILSON: Truly a mystery. Why would anyone do something just to aggravate people?

[Wilson does himself (and the viewers) a favor by turning off the record player.]

GREG HOUSE: Why would _you_ have a blank liability release form, plus your checkbook, on top of your desk?

[He holds them up.]

JAMES WILSON: [annoyed] Probably because they were in the second drawer in a manila envelope under a book, and you put them on top of my desk.

GREG HOUSE: You usually keep your checkbook at home. It's your go-to excuse for why you can't lend me money. You're gonna pay the guy

the six grand, aren't you?

JAMES WILSON: [denying] There are other people I write checks to. I do have cable.

GREG HOUSE: [supportively] There's no negligence without injury.

JAMES WILSON: I handed the guy a death sentence!

GREG HOUSE: He's not distressed with a death sentence. He's distressed with a life sentence.

JAMES WILSON: I gave him three months of misery!

GREG HOUSE: You gave him three months of being someone special. You're paying the guy because he used to be boring, and without you he's gonna be boring again.

[The door opens. Taub and "Thirteen" enter, sheepish expressions on their faces.]

"THIRTEEN": Hi.

GREG HOUSE: Results of the malaria test already?

CHRIS TAUB: Well, no. But, uh, we were wondering if you'd sent the patient for any additional... tests.

[They look at him hopefully. Wilson looks at House.]

GREG HOUSE: You lost the patient.

[Noncommital looks from "Thirteen" and Taub. House stands.]

GREG HOUSE: Taub, you check Lost-and-Found. "Thirteen"...

[He puts the record player back on, blasting the unholy tunes of Jimmy Quidd.]

GREG HOUSE: Come with me.

[Wilson winces at the "music", as House and the two Fellows leave.]

[House's Office. Day. House and "Thirteen" walk into his office.]

GREG HOUSE: Why do you love drug addicts?

"THIRTEEN": I won't pigeonhole the patients, so that means I'm...

GREG HOUSE: I'm perfectly capable of drawing my own conclusions. Are you capable of answering a question?

[The third degree begins... yet again.]

"THIRTEEN": I think there's more to him than the drugs.

GREG HOUSE: Admirable. Why?

"THIRTEEN": I need a reason for doing something admirable?

GREG HOUSE: There's always a reason. He's a patient, you don't know him. Why do you like him? The alcoholic parent, druggie youth. There's no such thing as a saint without a past.

"THIRTEEN": Or a sinner without a future.

GREG HOUSE: What makes you so sure that drugs are a mask for something else?

"THIRTEEN": Drugs are always a mask for something else.

[A b*at.]

GREG HOUSE: That's the dumbest thing I've heard in my life.

[She smiles and leaves. House goes to the Diagnostics Office and changes her points to 102, a small smile on his face.]

[PPTH Hallway. Day. "Thirteen" rejoins Taub in their search for Quidd. They walk.]

CHRIS TAUB: You really want this job?

"THIRTEEN": You think you can talk me into leaving?

CHRIS TAUB: You're a person who likes her privacy working for a man who needs to know everything. You're a person who cares about her patients working for a man that cares about games.

["Thirteen" stops walking, hearing something. Children's laughter is heard.]

"THIRTEEN": Shh-Shh. I hear him.

[Pediatrics Ward. Day. "Thirteen" and Taub enter the Pediatrics Ward and see Quidd entertaining the sick kids there. He's dressed like a superhero (in a hospital gown and a blanket for a cape).]

JIMMY QUIDD: [dramatically] "Neither sleet nor hail nor dread of night. Ha!"

[Taub goes to grab him, but "Thirteen" stops him.]

"THIRTEEN": W-w-w-wait. Malaria's not contagious.

JIMMY QUIDD: Children, I bid you... good night! And I'm off! Aah!

[He leaps into the air, like he's flying off, but falls down comically with a thud. The kids have a hearty laugh. Taub and "Thirteen" smile at each other. Quidd gets up, acting angry, hands on his hips.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Hey... which one of you guys sapped my powers?

[The kids keep laughing.]

JIMMY QUIDD: [to different kids] Was it you? Did you take my powers? Maybe it was you. Well, no matter. See, I'm feeling stronger already.

[He arches back, flexing his arms. Suddenly, his eyes roll up and he collapses to the floor, unconscious. The kids laugh, blissfully unaware that he's not play-acting this time. Taub and "Thirteen" run over to attend to him.]

"THIRTEEN": [to the kids] It's okay! It's okay. He's okay.

[The kids understand now.]

"THIRTEEN": Respiration's good, pulse is solid.

CHRIS TAUB: [calling out, waving towards the kids] We need a lot of nurses in here.

[PPTH Lecture Hall. Day. House sits at the piano (near the side door) and plays. The door at the back opens and Cuddy enters. She "ahems", getting his attention. He looks back at her and stops playing.]

GREG HOUSE: Dr. Cuddy. That face that launched a thousand long faces.

LISA CUDDY: Get control of your patient. Strap him to the bed if you have to.

GREG HOUSE: I want to keep all four.

LISA CUDDY: [firm] You can have two.

GREG HOUSE: You don't get negotiation, do you? I say four, you say three, we finally settle on three and a half. Which would be good news for Taub.

LISA CUDDY: You don't want four. You don't want three. But if I say three, you get to keep playing your game.

GREG HOUSE: [softly] Who would you pick?

LISA CUDDY: [genuinely surprised] Are you asking my opinion?

GREG HOUSE: If you have any absolute truths, that would be even better.

LISA CUDDY: [uncertainly] You never want my advice. You spend your life trying to avoid my advice.

GREG HOUSE: [stands and faces her] You're a bureaucratic nightmare. You're a chronic pain in the ass. And you're a second-rate doctor at best.

LISA CUDDY: [smiles] Am I blushing?

GREG HOUSE: But you do... [conceding] know this stuff.

[Cuddy looks at him, appreciatively.]

GREG HOUSE: Can we get this over with?

LISA CUDDY: Taub and Kutner. Taub will stand up to you. You won't like him, but you'll respect him. Kutner shares your philosophy of medicine. God knows I don't need two of you, but he will actually help you.

[The side door opens and Kutner and "Thirteen" enter.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: It's not malaria. Bloodwork's negative.

"THIRTEEN": But we did find the reason for the DIC. Bad blood fragments. If we can figure out how they got there...

[The door at the back closes. House looks and sees Cuddy's gone. House wordlessly starts to walk towards the side door.]

[PPTH Hallway/Quidd's Room. Day. House, followed by Kutner and "Thirteen", walk past a nurse's station towards Quidd's room.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Blood exposure during sex?

"THIRTEEN": Hemolysis from the malaria meds?

GREG HOUSE: Stop guessing. You'll spoil the surprise.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: If you're looking to get information out of the guy, he's not exactly the "bare-your-soul" type.

[Kutner and "Thirteen" stop at Quidd's room, but House walks past it and moves to the waiting area near it (the Lucas Wing). Fred and Rex sit there.]

GREG HOUSE: [to Fred and Rex] Hey, I was wondering if you guys know "The Girl from Ipanema".

[House grabs Rex's arm and looks at it. Rex pulls it away.]

REX: What are you doing?

GREG HOUSE: Nothing. What are you doing?

[He grabs Fred's arm next. There are multiple track marks on the arm. House releases the arm and picks up Fred's coat off the armchair he's sitting on. Fred gets up in protest.]

FRED: That's mine, man.

GREG HOUSE: Oh, you're gonna be denying that in a second.

[House shakes the coat vertically. A lot of spare change falls out, accompanied by a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a syringe. He looks at Kutner and "Thirteen".]

GREG HOUSE: Hmm. [to Fred and Rex] Next time make sure you bring enough for the whole class. [to "Thirteen"] He's been sharing needles with this guy. As he injected this guy's blood, his own blood att*cked it, chewed it up. Those were the fragments we found.

"THIRTEEN": So DIC was nothing?

GREG HOUSE: We're back to bloody vomit and his two dozen other drug or non-drug symptoms. Re-check everything. Throw these guys out, and strap the patient down.

[A shuffling sound and a thud are heard. Kutner reacts.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: House!

[He runs into Quidd's room, where Quidd lies on the ground, gasping for air. The monitors beep constantly. "Thirteen" and House follow him.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Respiratory failure.

[A nurse and "Thirteen" crouch at Quidd's side, attending to him.]

GREG HOUSE: Good news for you, "Thirteen". 'Cause that is definitely not drugs.

["Thirteen" doesn't seem all that relieved though.]

[Quidd's room. Day. Quidd is unconscious, wearing an oxygen mask.]

GREG HOUSE: [vo] The blood clots were drug-related.

[Hospital Laundry. Day. House confers with the Fellows.]

GREG HOUSE: The coughing up blood and the respiratory arrests are still on the table.

AMBER VOLAKIS: Inhalants...

GREG HOUSE: If I'd wanted a knee-jerk drug diagnosis, I would have told Foreman where we are.

AMBER VOLAKIS: He knows where we are.

[Foreman steps into the room, slowly and rather dramatically, his usual scowl on his face.]

GREG HOUSE: [angry at Amber] Because he followed you!

ERIC FOREMAN: I followed Taub.

CHRIS TAUB: [points to Amber] I followed her.

"THIRTEEN": He had a bleeding problem. That could cause respiratory arrest.

GREG HOUSE: If I wanted to forgive his Drano-drinking ways, I wouldn't ignore what you just said.

CHRIS TAUB: Could be an infection.

GREG HOUSE: [reading a test result] Nope, lumbar puncture's clear.

CHRIS TAUB: Uh, what lumbar puncture?

AMBER VOLAKIS: You didn't authorize that test.

["Thirteen" looks guilty.]

GREG HOUSE: True, and yet, here I am with the results.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: "Thirteen" thought it was bacterial meningitis.

"THIRTEEN": [defensively] And I had the... Eyeball.

ERIC FOREMAN: It was a harmless test. The patient's welfare still counts for something, doesn't it?

GREG HOUSE: Yep. Minus fifty.

["Thirteen" looks shocked.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Chronic pulmonary embolism would explain the, uh, breathing problem and the blood coming from his lungs.

[House ponders it for a second and hands "Thirteen" the result, taking the Eyeball from her. He hands it to Kutner.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: I'll run an ultrasou...

AMBER VOLAKIS: [interrupts] You're not running any tests. [to House, complaining about Kutner] He knows it's not PE's. The guy's D-dimer's normal.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: That doesn't always rule out...

AMBER VOLAKIS: You go in to run one test, run eight more like she ["Thirteen"] did, find out which one's right. Then comes back with a brilliant guess.

GREG HOUSE: [to Kutner] Is this true?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [denying] No.

GREG HOUSE: 'S too bad, 'cause that would have earned you forty points for cleverness. The points go to Amber. Foreman, you run the tests.

ERIC FOREMAN: [deadpan] Sure. Anything I can do to help your game.

[Foreman leaves.]

GREG HOUSE: [after a few seconds] He's not gonna run the tests, is he?

"THIRTEEN": I don't think so.

GREG HOUSE: No.

[Quidd's room. Day. House runs the ultrasound test on Quidd. Quidd removes his oxygen mask to talk to House.]

JIMMY QUIDD: So what's wrong with me?

GREG HOUSE: You mean besides your music?

JIMMY QUIDD: [rolls his eyes] Oh, well, sure, 'cause I don't play your kind of music, it's not music, right?

GREG HOUSE: Yeah. I resent you because you're not Perry Como.

JIMMY QUIDD: [chuckles] Look, I don't... I don't play for an audience, okay?

GREG HOUSE: Well, then, that stage you stand on is an odd choice.

JIMMY QUIDD: I just... I do it for me, okay? I don't do it for you.

GREG HOUSE: You have three choices in this life. Be good, get good or give up. You've gone for column "D". Why?

[Quidd doesn't reply. He smiles wryly and puts the oxygen mask back on.]

GREG HOUSE: Simple answer is, if you don't try, you can't fail. [b*at] Are you really that simple?

[Quidd removes the mask again.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Look, you know, some people... They like my music. Most people can't stand it. But they just sort of just shrug and ignore me. But a few, they feel like they have to tell me... what I'm screwing up. You know, what I'm wasting. Why do they care?

[House looks at the monitor.]

GREG HOUSE: You have some peculiar masses near your heart.

JIMMY QUIDD: Peculiar how?

GREG HOUSE: Well, unlike your music, they elicit some emotional response.

[Quidd laughs good-naturedly at the joke.]

GREG HOUSE: That's odd.

JIMMY QUIDD: What?

GREG HOUSE: You care if I appreciate your music, but you don't care if you live or die.

[Again, Quidd doesn't say anything. He just puts the mask back on.]

GREG HOUSE: Maybe the answer is that simple.

[Wilson's Office. Day. Wilson sits at his desk, speaking to Mr. McKenna.]

JAMES WILSON: I... can't apologize enough. To you, to your family. There may not be any technical liability here, but...

[McKenna rips up Wilson's check.]

JAMES WILSON: You're ripping it up because you think it would be wrong to take money from me?

MR. MCKENNA: I think it would be wrong to take so little money from you.

JAMES WILSON: [shocked] You're out six thousand...

MR. MCKENNA: You ruined my life.

JAMES WILSON: I ruined... three months.

MR. MCKENNA: For the first time in my life, I was living in the present. 'Cause that's all there was.

JAMES WILSON: [confused] You're suing me not for the wrong diagnosis, but for the right one? Have you spoken to a lawyer?

MR. MCKENNA: You gave me happiness... and then you took it away.

[He drops a sheet of paper on Wilson's desk and leaves. Wilson wonders what just happened.]

[Diagnostics Office. Evening. House, Taub and Kutner go over the ultrasound results. The points tally so far:]

BITCH KUTNER 13 TAUB

-------------------------------------------------

17 97 100 100

-6 87 102 80

34 52

House paces about.]

CHRIS TAUB: Definitely no emboli.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: It's pretty fuzzy.

GREG HOUSE: Hey, for point and sh**t, I thought I did okay.

CHRIS TAUB: It's fuzzy because he was still shaking 'cause he was coming down from the heroin. [looks around] Where is everybody else?

GREG HOUSE: The clinic's been quarantined. A patient came in with avian-flu-like symptoms. And fifty extra dollars in spending money.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Can you do this echo again?

[House hangs his cane on the board again.]

GREG HOUSE: [angry voice] Okay, minus five for ingratitude! No "Thank you, Dr. House". No "Here's a bottle of codeine for your troubles, Dr. House". Oh, no.

[Just like that, Kutner's down to 82.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: I was asking if you could do it again after giving him a sedative to keep him still.

GREG HOUSE: I could. We'd definitely get the answer. But since the opiates would decrease his respiratory drive, and he already can barely breathe, minus ten for asking me to k*ll the patient.

[And now he's 72.]

CHRIS TAUB: What if it's a congenital defect? An anomalous vessel on his heart?

GREG HOUSE: You know that the heart does the blood stuff, right? And the lungs do the breathing.

CHRIS TAUB: If the vessel wrapped around his trachea?

[House considers it. He puts the Eyeball in front of Taub.]

GREG HOUSE: What do you want me to do?

CHRIS TAUB: MRA. See if you can get a clear picture of that vessel.

[House thinks for a second... and decreases his points to 60.]

CHRIS TAUB: [stammering] What-w-wait-what-what-why?

GREG HOUSE: You said the picture sucked because the patient was shaking. MRA will be worse.

CHRIS TAUB: We have to get a picture.

[House turns to the board and sets his points to 20. Taub squirms in frustration, racking his brain for an answer.]

GREG HOUSE: You were doing better before you had a good idea.

CHRIS TAUB: How can we see it if we don't take a picture?

GREG HOUSE: [thinks] You can see me, right?

[He starts for the door.]

[PPTH, Outside Operating Room. Night. House and Taub speak to Chase, who reads Quidd's file.]

GREG HOUSE: We want to look at his heart. With our eyes.

ROBERT CHASE: So I k*ll the patient on my operating table. You get to keep testing your team and I take the heat from Cuddy.

GREG HOUSE: If it goes that way, yeah, that'll be excellent.

CHRIS TAUB: His respiratory status is through the floor. If there's a vessel and we don't remove it fast, best case, he's on a ventilator for life.

GREG HOUSE: Granted, it'll be a short one. Who do you think I should hire?

[Chase looks at Taub uneasily. Taub looks back, just as uneasy.]

ROBERT CHASE: You want me to tell you in front of him?

GREG HOUSE: It would be rude to ask him to leave now.

CHRIS TAUB: [to Chase] If you don't do the surgery, patient will die. You'll have had nothing to do with it. And everyone will know that you had nothing to do with it. And everyone will know that it's because you were pissed off at House for f*ring you.

ROBERT CHASE: [protesting] You know that's not why I'm saying "no"...

CHRIS TAUB: [interjects] But that's how it's gonna play out.

[Chase looks incredulously at Taub, who looks at him with his usual bored look.]

ROBERT CHASE: [to House] Keep him and Amber. You'll get stuff done. [nods to Taub] Prep him for surgery.

[Taub looks at House.]

[PPTH Operating Room. Night. The surgery is underway. Quidd is on the table, his chest opened up, his beating heart exposed. Chase operates while Taub watches.]

ROBERT CHASE: This isn't an anomalous vessel. Look at these lymph nodes. Way too big.

[Taub leans in for a closed look.]

ROBERT CHASE: There are the masses you saw.

[The monitors suddenly start beeping.]

CHRIS TAUB: 70 over 40. He's crashing.

ROBERT CHASE: Two units of PRBCs.

[The nurses scramble.]

CHRIS TAUB: Starting dopamine. We're losing him!

[In the Observation Deck, House watches. Foreman walks up to him.]

ERIC FOREMAN: So... how's your game going?

GREG HOUSE: It's not whether you win or lose.

[The monitors continue to beep. Foreman looks at House.]

[Diagnostics Office. Day. House paces about, while the Fellows sit at the glass table and Foreman leans sulkily against the glass wall.]

GREG HOUSE: Respiratory failure. Enlarged lymph nodes. Whatever this is, he's not gonna be breathing much longer.

AMBER VOLAKIS: Does Foreman being here mean the game's over?

GREG HOUSE: It means the patient's life is almost over. You can call it what you want.

[Not a peep from the Fellows.]

GREG HOUSE: We're done, people! Come on! I need idea and I don't care who they come from.

[He goes over to the whiteboard and rubs off the points.]

ERIC FOREMAN: 'Course you do. This is still a game. You're still gonna reward whoever gets the right idea, punish whoever's wrong. Hire who you want, get this over with.

[House thinks it over, then...]

GREG HOUSE: "Thirteen", Kutner.

[They look up, apprehensively.]

GREG HOUSE: I'm sorry. Go home.

"THIRTEEN": [stands shell-shocked] Why?

GREG HOUSE: Doesn't matter. He just told me that I've gotta...

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Lungs are stiff, could be ARDS.

GREG HOUSE: You fluid-overloaded him. Anyone's lungs would leak after that surgery. Good-bye.

"THIRTEEN": Anaphylactic shock.

GREG HOUSE: No sign of bronchospasm.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [stands] What if the lymph nodes are caused by chronic stimulation of his immune system? Impurities in his drugs could have caused...

"THIRTEEN": [quickly] Street drugs are laced with all kinds of things. An immune overreaction would explain everything.

GREG HOUSE: Drug diagnosis. That's what you're going with?

[Amber looks at "Thirteen", who nods nervously. Foreman looks at House.]

GREG HOUSE: That f*ring thing... was all a dream.

[Kutner and "Thirteen" heave a sigh of relief.]

GREG HOUSE: Go find where he gets his drugs and what's in them. Put him on dimercaprol for heavy metal poisoning.

[The Fellows file out. Foreman continues to scowl at House.]

GREG HOUSE: [purses his lips] Competition works.

[Unhappy, Foreman leaves.]

[Quidd's room. Day. Amber speaks to Quidd.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: So you're not gonna tell me who sells you drugs?

JIMMY QUIDD: Why does it matter?

AMBER VOLAKIS: You're dying. Does that matter?

JIMMY QUIDD: [swallows] Not really. [exhales heavily] I'm not an adult. I never wanted to be. So if the choice... is running out the clock with a walker... and a bedpan...

[He swallows again. A teardrop slides along his cheek.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [softly] You don't regret anything?

JIMMY QUIDD: Well, there was a lot of drugs. A lot of drinking. Lot of fights. [swallows] I regret everything else.

[Amber looks away.]

JIMMY QUIDD: You hate me, don't you?

AMBER VOLAKIS: [closes her eyes] Yeah.

JIMMY QUIDD: I don't care. [swallows]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [whispering] What's it like?

JIMMY QUIDD: Means you have no regrets.

[He gasps for air. She puts the oxygen mask on him. He breathes in it. His words have had an effect on Amber.]

[House's Office. Day. Jimmy Quidd's ear-splitting music plays in the background, while House listens at his desk, fiddling with a stapler, trying to make sense of the noise. Wilson enters.]

JAMES WILSON: Kinda sticks in your head, doesn't it?

GREG HOUSE: This guy's amazing. There's not one redeeming note.

JAMES WILSON: What sort of a lawyer tells his client he's got a case because he's going to live?

GREG HOUSE: I've heard that not all lawyers are as ethical as the ones we see on TV.

JAMES WILSON: I don't think this guy even has a law degree.

GREG HOUSE: A lot of the guys on TV don't, either.

JAMES WILSON: [looks accusingly at House] I think he has a medical degree.

[The music is really irritating at this point. House mercifully turns it off.]

GREG HOUSE: It directly affects my bottom line. You have less money to lend...

JAMES WILSON: [mad] I'm trying to take responsibility!

GREG HOUSE: And I'm trying to teach you that everyone is out for theirs. You might as well keep yours.

JAMES WILSON: And lend it to you? You have to control everything. How come you're going around asking everyone who you should f*re?

GREG HOUSE: I'm asking for input! I thought you would have admired the humility.

JAMES WILSON: You like games because you can control them.

GREG HOUSE: [pointing at the record player] God, I'm gonna put the record back on.

JAMES WILSON: You like what's interesting, never mind if it's real or good...

GREG HOUSE: [stands] Wanna know why you offered that guy six grand?

JAMES WILSON: Life just happens, and that scares the hell out of you!

GREG HOUSE: You think you can cure pain!

JAMES WILSON: [even louder] You think you can avoid pain!

GREG HOUSE: You think you're responsible for every failure, every... patient's boring life, every friend's screwed-up...!

JAMES WILSON: You don't want to face it any more than my patient does! Dying's easy. Living's hard!

[House smiles at the remark.]

GREG HOUSE: That can't possibly be as poignant as it sounded.

[Kutner (in the Diagnostics Office) knocks on the glass door. He opens the door and speaks to them.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Uh, still can't find the drug source, but I don't think that's the problem. The dimercaprol isn't working. [adding] And Quidd volunteers at a home for abandoned kids.

GREG HOUSE: Why are you telling me this?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Because his bass player told me.

GREG HOUSE: Is it medically relevant?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: I dunno.

GREG HOUSE: Well, then why are you...?

JAMES WILSON: [to House] Stop playing games and do your job.

[House looks at Wilson, then an Kutner. He picks up his coat and cane, and starts to leave.]

GREG HOUSE: [to Wilson] No.

[He motions for Kutner to follow. Wilson hangs back.]

[PPTH Lecture Hall. Day. House faces the Fellows, who sit at their seats. Foreman watches in the background.]

GREG HOUSE: This time, I'm f*ring Taub and Amber.

[Taub and Amber look shocked.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: This is a joke, right?

GREG HOUSE: It's only a joke if you come up with the answer. It's not really funny if you don't. "Thirteen" and Kutner, you're fired too. Foreman...

ERIC FOREMAN: He's a druggie. I was never sure there was a disease in the first place.

GREG HOUSE: So all we know is that he's dying. [to the Fellows] Who wants to tell the patient?

[Morose looks from the Fellows.]

GREG HOUSE: Fine. We'll get some kid to go talk to him. It's the only people he gets along with anyway.

[He starts to walk out the side door.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [apprehensively] Are we still fired?

[House stops and turns to Kutner.]

GREG HOUSE: He works with abandoned kids?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [pettily] Is it medically relevant?

GREG HOUSE: [epiphany-time] I think so.

[Cuddy's Office. Evening. Cuddy sits at her desk, doing paperwork. The door opens and House enters, followed by the Fellows.]

GREG HOUSE: I need a brain biopsy.

[Cuddy gives him a quizzical look.]

GREG HOUSE: [clarifying] For the patient.

[He raises his "bitchin' cane" to stop the Fellows from going out of line.]

GREG HOUSE: Stop it. [to Taub and "Thirteen"] You two switch.

[He makes them stand in a line in this order: Amber, "Thirteen", Taub and Kutner.]

LISA CUDDY: You want to drill into a skull of a patient who almost died on the operating table yesterday?

[House nods enthusiastically. Cuddy shakes her head just as enthusiastically.]

LISA CUDDY: [re: the Fellows] Why are they here?

GREG HOUSE: Because I wouldn't have gotten the answer without each of them.

LISA CUDDY: You could have just told me.

GREG HOUSE: I want you to feel guilty. [points at Amber] She thinks the patient's a loser. ["Thirteen"] She thinks the patient's a winner. Just a regular guy with a regular problem. [Taub] He thinks he's gonna be great once he's all growed up. [Kutner] And he thinks... what did you think?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Autoimmune.

GREG HOUSE: Right. Less interesting, but just as important.

AMBER VOLAKIS: We can't all be right.

GREG HOUSE: You're all wrong. My mom always said that two wrongs don't make a right. She never said anything about four wrongs. I always found that suspicious. [points his cane at "Thirteen"] Plain old measles. [points at Taub and Kutner] Constant exposure from hanging out with Oliver Twist and his lot.

LISA CUDDY: I assume he's been vaccinated.

GREG HOUSE: [points to Amber] Patient's immune system was shredded with years of drugs. They're early markers of rash and fever. Would have been lost in a druggie. His immune system overreacted. That's why his body went haywire.

LISA CUDDY: That's clever.

[The Fellows look at her nervously.]

LISA CUDDY: You're not doing a biopsy without neurological symptoms.

GREG HOUSE: If I'm right, the virus is in his brain. Wrong course of treatment could be his last course.

LISA CUDDY: [slowly and firmly] I need a neurological...

AMBER VOLAKIS: [cuts in] He kept swallowing. Could be neurological. Could be a complex partial seizure.

GREG HOUSE: What did it look like?

[She mimics Quidd's swallowing (though she puts her tongue out).]

GREG HOUSE: [to Cuddy, mock-urgently] Good... god, woman. How much more proof do you need?

LISA CUDDY: If you can induce a seizure, you can have your biopsy.

[She sits back in her chair. Disgruntled, House turns.]

GREG HOUSE: Hu-up!

[The Fellows about-face and follow him.]

[Procedure room. Night. Kutner prepares to induce Quidd's seizure. He brings down a surgical light towards Quidd's face. Quidd slaps Kutner's hand off his head. Quidd has a ventilator in his mouth.]

LAWRENCE KUTNER: We're gonna use flashing lights. Noxious stimulation, it'll irritate your brain. If there's damage to your neurons, it'll trigger a seizure that we can...

[He trails off, as House enters, dragging a massive speaker.]

GREG HOUSE: I got something much more noxious.

[Quidd looks up, curiously. House sets up the speaker, with the record player on it.]

GREG HOUSE: It's not as commonly used, but sound can be just as big an irritant.

[He plugs it in and plays it. Quidd's own wince-inducing music starts. Quidd listens.]

GREG HOUSE: [loudly over the cacophony] Now remind me of your influences here. 'Cause I'm gonna say, Thelonious Monk and the sound a trash compactor makes when you crawl inside it.

[Quidd, unable to protest to the criticism through the ventilator, mumbles something.]

GREG HOUSE: I don't do it for you. I do it for me.

[Quidd listens a while. Suddenly, his head jerks back and he starts seizing. House watches calmly as Quidd convulses. Kutner covers his ears.]

GREG HOUSE: [to Kutner] What do you think? Is he seizing or dancing?

LAWRENCE KUTNER: [just as calm] Seizing.

GREG HOUSE: Play him the "B" side. It's even worse. Schedule an OR for the biopsy. See you in the lecture hall.

[He leaves. The music continues.]

[PPTH Lecture Hall. Night. The Fellows wait anxiously in their seats. The door opens and House enters, carrying a record. He opens the lid of the record player. Removing the record's cover, he blows the dust off it, almost reverently. Slowly, he puts it on the turntable and places the arm gently on top of it. A much nicer, less loud, guitar solo plays.]

GREG HOUSE: A little mood music. Build the suspense.

LAWRENCE KUTNER: Sounds more folky.

GREG HOUSE: You seriously have no idea when to shut up, do you?

[Kutner shuts up... for now.]

GREG HOUSE: Amber, please stand.

[Amber stands nervously.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: You didn't call me "bitch". Is that bad?

GREG HOUSE: You play the game better than anybody else here.

[Amber smiles.]

GREG HOUSE: But for the wrong reasons.

AMBER VOLAKIS: Reasons don't matter. Results are the only thing...

GREG HOUSE: You were wrong. [b*at] Twenty years ago, [points to the record player] this was recorded by Jim Moskowitz. Who later became known as Jimmy Quidd. Loves kids, apparently has a heart, perhaps even a soul. If you're gonna work for me, you have to be willing to be wrong, willing to lose. 'Cause you just did. [somberly] You're fired.

[Amber doesn't protest. She nods tearfully. The other look at her sympathetically. She sits heavily back down.]

GREG HOUSE: "Thirteen", please stand.

["Thirteen" stands, calmly.]

GREG HOUSE: You're fired.

[She seems stunned.]

"THIRTEEN": You just said I was right about...

GREG HOUSE: He was a drug addict. [b*at] Four applicants, two spots. If I had three, I'd keep you.

["Thirteen" doesn't say anything. Kutner and Taub look at her sadly, while Amber sobs silently.]

GREG HOUSE: Game over!

[He walks out. "Thirteen" sits down, bemused.]

[Aerial view of PPTH. Night.]

[Quidd's Room. Night. Quidd (a bandage wrapped around his head) stirs awake and exhales. Amber stands there, in street clothes, looking outside, sadly. She turns to him.]

AMBER VOLAKIS: [sullenly] You're gonna have to grow old after all. You've got measles. We're blasting you with corticosteroids.

JIMMY QUIDD: What's wrong with you?

AMBER VOLAKIS: I got fired.

JIMMY QUIDD: W-what are you doing here?

AMBER VOLAKIS: Trying not to care.

[He drops his head on the pillow.]

JIMMY QUIDD: Yeah. Yeah, that's not easy.

[Amber lets out a wry chuckle.]

[PPTH Lecture Hall. Night. House sits alone on the desk. Cuddy enters from the door at the back.]

LISA CUDDY: What the hell did you do?

GREG HOUSE: [shrugs innocently] You told me to hire Kutner and Taub.

LISA CUDDY: Because I knew you wouldn't.

GREG HOUSE: Oops.

LISA CUDDY: I can't let you hire two men.

GREG HOUSE: Now that is sexist.

LISA CUDDY: You've already got Foreman.

GREG HOUSE: Is he a dude?

LISA CUDDY: [conceding] Hire a woman too.

GREG HOUSE: Hire two women.

LISA CUDDY: You can have the one that gives a crap about people.

GREG HOUSE: [seriously] They both do.

LISA CUDDY: Right. Hire "Thirteen".

[House nods obediently. Cuddy starts to walk off. An evil smile forms on House's face. Cuddy stops midway to the door, suddenly understanding.]

[CUE MUSIC: "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum.]

LISA CUDDY: This was your plan all along.

[She turns to him. House keeps smiling. Cuddy chuckles at being had.]

LISA CUDDY: Well, at least the games are over.

GREG HOUSE: [sideways] How long have you known me?

[Cuddy smiles knowingly. She leaves. House gets off the desk and goes towards the door. He takes a (maybe) last look at the lecture hall, then turns off the lights and leaves.]
{"type": "series", "show": "House", "episode": "04x09 - Games"}