[Auditorium. Day. Focus on a chess clock. A hand slaps the clock and then moves a white pawn on the chessboard. Almost immediately, another hand slaps the clock and moves his black piece forward (diagonally in front of the white pawn). Slap. White pawn takes black pawn. The camera moves upwards, showing a Speed Chess Tournament in progress. Three rows of chessboards (mounted on tables), proctors' table in front. Players move fast and slap their clocks. In the midst of the players is Nate Harrison, 16, chess prodigy (playing white). He plays with an older player (lets call him Ben), taunting his every move.]

NATE: So you want me to explain how you just lost?

[Ben looks up, smiling humourlessly.]

NATE: Or do you wanna stare at the board your full... [checks the clock] three minutes? Cling to hope?

[Ben slowly places his fingers on a black pawn. Nate smirks and sits back, acting bored.]

NATE: C'mon. It's called speed chess.

[Ben has had just about enough. The two of them start giving new meaning to speed chess. Black pawn takes white pawn. Slap. Nate moves his bishop. Slap. Black knight takes white bishop. Slap. White rook takes black knight. Slap. Ben moves his king. Slap. Nate moves his rook. Slap. Black king takes white queen. Slap. Nate moves his rook in line with the black king. Slap. Ben takes the rook. Slap. Nate moves a pawn (three in a row). Slap. Nate looks at Ben, who seems unsure now. Nate exhales sharply through his mouth. Ben moves his king. Slap. Nate rests his head on his hand and looks at Ben, a snide grin on his face.]

NATE: [singing quietly] Na-na na-na... na-na na-na... hey-hey-hey...

[He slowly moves his knight. Ben looks panicked. Nate looks up at him as he finishes singing.]

NATE: [singing] ... good-bye.

[Nate taps his knight on the black knight in front of the king. Ben knows it's over. Nate slaps the white knight to the side of the black knight, effectively checkmating Ben. He slaps the clock with finality. With a pursed grin, he sits back. Ben looks, almost desperately, for any opening. He sees none. Finally, with a sporting grin and nod, he places his finger on his king and lays it down. Nate raises his hands in victory and sighs. Ben stands and holds out his hand to Nate.]

BEN: Good game.

[Nate doesn't seem to be very interested in this sporting gesture right now. He grimaces tightly. Ben looks around, bemused, and then back at Nate.]

BEN: [persisting] I said "good game".

[Nate, his head still lowered, still grimacing tightly, stands. He winces sharply in pain. Ben still stands, hand held out. Nate looks up at Ben, an enraged look on his face. He grabs the chess clock and swings it at Ben's face. WHAM!! The clock smashes into Ben's face, knocking him to the ground. The other people immediately turn to look, proctors running over to help. Nate jumps over the table and strikes Ben again in the head, multiple times. Screams are heard. Ben's face is covered in his blood; Nate's, however, is covered with uncontrolled rage. The proctors come running to rescue Ben.]

PROCTOR: Hey! Hey!

[Nate keeps hammering away on the unconscious Ben. As he's about to strike again, a proctor comes running up from behind and grabs his hand, yanking away the clock.]

PROCTOR: Stop it! Stop that!

[He throws the bloody clock to the floor. Three others join in and drag a struggling Nate away from the profusely-bleeding Ben.]

PROCTOR: Back away from him! Back away!

[A female proctor comes over to check up on Ben. She removes her sweater and applies it to Ben's face. She seems appalled at the sight. The proctors push Nate down near the proctor's table. Nate grasps his head in agony.]

FEMALE PROCTOR: [trying not to panic] Call nine-one-one! Get an ambulance!

[A proctor crouches next to Nate, who is holding his head and squirming on the floor.]

PROCTOR: Tell them to send two!

NATE: [through clenched teeth] My head's gonna explode! [cries out] Aaaah!

[PPTH, Nate's room. Nate is lying in his bed, still holding his head, but in much less pain than before. His mother, Enid Harrison, stands nearby, while Chase looks through an illuminated magnifying glass into Nate's eyes.]

CHASE: Your head still hurt?

NICK: You a moron?

[Chase looks at Nate in surprise.]

ENID: [admonishing] Nate.

NATE: I'm clutching my head in pain, and he asks if it hurts? [to Chase] What are you, some kind of med student? You look like you still have theme birthday parties.

[Chase hardly looks flattered.]

ENID: [to Chase, sheepishly] Sorry.

CHASE: [staying professional] Any problems concentrating in school lately?

NATE: Uh, besides the dreams of running my tongue along my French teacher's breasts? No, I'm doing quite great.

[Chase wonders at the kid's irreverence.]

CHASE: The rage and pain could be caused by a parasite. Does he eat a lot of sushi?

ENID: No. Uh, he was a vegetarian until just a few months ago.

CHASE: Any changes in behaviour since the new diet?

ENID: [sadly] No. He's been this way since he became a teenager. It doesn't matter how much I yell or punish, he's still gonna say...

NATE: [mock-crying] Yeah, let's all shed a tear for poor little Nate's mother. [mock-cries a little more, stops] Any more stupid questions?

ENID: Nate!

[Chase looks like he's ready to deck the little punk.]

[PPTH, Diagnostics Office. The Ducklings and House are present. Chase angrily writes "RAGE" on the whiteboard.]

CHASE: I hate this... kid.

HOUSE: I like this kid.

CHASE: You haven't met him.

HOUSE: I know you hate him. What more do I need to know? [addressing everyone] The kid's not a cliché. Anybody can get into a fight after losing. It takes real creativity to b*at up someone you just b*at.

CAMERON: Pain's not limited to his head.

CHASE: The rest is bumps and bruises accounted for by the seventeen fights he's been in this semester.

CAMERON: Concussion?

CHASE: MRI was clean. No frontal lobe tumor. And the tox screen showed no trace of coke or amphetamines.

FOREMAN: Nate went medieval on the other kid. Could be...

HOUSE: Hold on. [closing his eyes] I'm having a moment. This... [imitates choking back a sob] this could be Foreman's last time mistakenly suggesting adrenal gland tumor.

[Cameron finds the joke funny enough to smile at.]

FOREMAN: Which could create excess adrenaline. Causes the head pain and rage.

HOUSE: But not the personality disorder.

FOREMAN: There is no personality disorder. He's a teenager.

HOUSE: Being a teenager excuses the odd inappropriate comment. This kid say anything appropriate? [announcing] He's having cluster headaches. Probably been having them for years. Question is, what's causing them?

FOREMAN: If it were just a cluster headache, he'd have swelling around the eyes.

[House starts writing "PERSONALITY" on the whiteboard.]

HOUSE: ER gave him ibuprofen for the pain. Useless for this pain. It could have knocked down the swelling. Best bet is a vascular problem.

CAMERON: [reads a file] Normal treatment for cluster headaches is steroids, which the ER also gave him. He's still in pain. Which means...

HOUSE: [turns around] Normal treatment is called normal treatment because sometimes you have to use abnormal treatment. Start him on blood thinners and give his noggin Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation.

[The Ducklings start to get up.]

HOUSE: Don't you dare... touch that acerbic wit.

[He goes into his office.]

[PPTH, Outside Diagnostics Office/Hallway (continuous). The Ducklings walk out of the office, heading for the elevator.]

CHASE: Fifty bucks to whichever of you steps up and treats this brat.

CAMERON: Not the kid's fault, he's sick.

CHASE: Fine! You do it.

CAMERON: [turns, smiling] No way. He's your brat.

FOREMAN: I'll do it. But I've got a job interview after work. Anything comes up later, you guys handle it.

CAMERON: [supportive] Need a peer recommendation?

FOREMAN: Thanks.

[He looks at Chase for a similar gesture.]

CHASE: Cameron's should suffice.

[With a pout, he walks off. Foreman looks at Cameron. She shrugs, smiling, and follows Chase into the elevator. Foreman shakes his head and walks off-screen.]

[TMS Room. Foreman administers TMS to Nate. He holds a plastic handheld console over Nate's head, while looking in the monitors at the results.]

NATE: This isn't gonna turn me into some, like, drooling vegetable wets his pants, is it?

FOREMAN: It's safe. The magnetic pulses activate nerve cells which will hopefully squelch the head pain.

NATE: Is there anything you can do about the other pain?

FOREMAN: From the fights?

NATE: Yeah, I mean, my face, my shoulder, my stomach. I can barely bend my fingers.

FOREMAN: You're already on pain meds. Nothing more I can do.

NATE: Sure you can, man. Tell your [pounds his chest lightly] homies to quit stomping on me!

FOREMAN: [smirking] I'll get the word out that you're a great guy.

NATE: [looking at Foreman] So, do people watch what they say around you?

FOREMAN: Because I'm black?

NATE: [laughs] No, because you're gay.

[Foreman lowers the console and looks at Nate, having pretty much the same thoughts Chase had previously towards him.]

[Outside TMS Room. Enid watches the procedure, while Chase explains it to her.]

CHASE: Cluster headaches can persist for years, cause irritability or even hostility towards others.

ENID: You mean, the illness is affecting his personality?

CHASE: If these treatments work, it could...

ENID: ... change him?

CHASE: Yeah.

ENID: [tears of joy] Oh, thank God.

[Chase seems surprised.]

ENID: [looking at him] Oh. Oh, you must think I'm awful. Here, my son's lying in a hospital bed and...

CHASE: [understanding] I-I'm pretty sure I get it.

ENID: [shrugging] I thought I was a bad mother. And I hated myself. Because I hated him.

[Off Chase, we...]

[Aerial View of PPTH. Day.]

HOUSE: [vo] What do you got for me this...

[PPTH Diagnostics Office. House enters, wearing his jacket, bag around his shoulder and his Bitchin' Cane in his hand. The Ducklings are already there.]

HOUSE: ... fine morning?

CHASE: Blood thinners and TMS had no effect. It's not cluster headaches.

HOUSE: You accusing the symptoms of lying?

[He goes to the pantry. In the foreground, Foreman stands, not looking particularly cheerful.]

CAMERON: Could be hemochromatosis.

HOUSE: Wouldn't account for the personality disorder.

[House looks at Foreman (at his right, facing away from him), noticing the sour face.]

CAMERON: What about hypothyroidism?

HOUSE: He's not getting aggressive and lethargic, he's getting aggressive and aggressiver.

CAMERON: What about ruptured dermoid cyst?

[House feigns staggering backwards.]

HOUSE: Sorry. Just got dizzy there. I was expecting to turn right. It's Foreman's turn to be sh*t down.

FOREMAN: [hardly amused] The thing that Cameron said.

HOUSE: Way to think outside the box.

[Cameron and Chase exchange "huh?" looks.]

HOUSE: But no fat in the ventricles. It's cluster headaches.

CHASE: Normal treatment didn't work. Abnormal treatment didn't work.

HOUSE: Good point, Foreman!

[Foreman stands quietly, arms folded.]

HOUSE: The treatments don't always work. Symptoms never lie.

[He takes a swig of "ONS" Energy Drink.]

CAMERON: The only approved treatment left for cluster headaches is brain surgery. And that's not even a guarantee.

HOUSE: [shouting into Foreman's ear] Back off, Foreman!

[Foreman doesn't even react. Cameron looks really baffled and looks at a similarly clueless Chase.]

HOUSE: If the approved treatment doesn't work, we go with an unapproved treatment.

[He limps off. Foreman looks at him and follows, still angry.]

[PPTH, Outside Diagnostics Office, continuous. Foreman strides up to House.]

FOREMAN: Hey!

[House turns and keeps limping towards the elevator.]

HOUSE: Something on your mind?

[House hits the elevator button.]

HOUSE: Because you totally can't tell.

FOREMAN: I had a job interview lined up at New York Mercy yesterday.

HOUSE: Hospital for Manhattan's glitterati. Big coup. Your homies must be kvelling.

FOREMAN: [mad] Didn't happen, because apparently I called to cancel. I don't remember making that call. You think I have neurological issue?

HOUSE: Yes.

[The elevator dings and the doors open. Two other people are already on it.]

FOREMAN: [shouting] Why are you jerking me around?

HOUSE: It wasn't me.

[He enters the elevator.]

FOREMAN: Yeah! It was one of the other petty, socially repressed asses I work for.

[He joins House in the elevator.]

HOUSE: Maybe it was Ashton Kutcher.

[The elevator doors close.]

[PPTH Lobby. House and Foreman make way for the other passengers to get off the elevator and walk off themselves.]

FOREMAN: If you want me to stay, tell me you want me to stay.

HOUSE: Would it matter?

FOREMAN: No, but it'd be the adult way to handle it.

HOUSE: If the adult way doesn't work, why bother with it?

[Foreman, at the end of his rope, stops. House turns to face him.]

FOREMAN: I've been totally professional! Gave two weeks notice, continued to work cases! Scheduled my interviews on my own time! You have no right to screw with my future.

HOUSE: You're gonna be all whiny during the differential diagnoses, aren't you?

[Foreman sighs in frustration and starts to walk away.]

HOUSE: [calling after him] It wasn't me.

[Foreman turns.]

HOUSE: I only sabotage people I consider worth it.

[Foreman walks away, not feeling any better. House thinks about it and has a thought. He turns and walks towards the clinic.]

[PPTH, Cuddy's Office. Cuddy is at a desk near the door, with Nurse Unger (holding a file) hovering over her shoulder. House enters.]

HOUSE: [dramatically, pointing his cane at her] You are one evil,... cunning woman. It's a massive turn-on.

[Cuddy almost seems flattered, though she seems to have no idea what he's talking about.]

HOUSE: You girls can gossip later.

CUDDY: What are you talking about?

HOUSE: [takes a seat] You called New York Mercy to have Foreman's job interview k*lled.

[Cuddy seems genuinely surprised.]

HOUSE: [to Nurse Unger] When I said, "You girls can gossip later," I was throwing you out, but in a polite way.

[Nurse Unger grabs her files from Cuddy and leaves.]

CUDDY: Well, I take it you're off your antidepressants.

HOUSE: Ah, you're deflecting. Only I'm allowed to do that. [drinks his energy drink]

CUDDY: Does Foreman actually think I did that?

HOUSE: No, just me. But I know something he doesn't. I didn't do it.

CUDDY: Why would I do it?

HOUSE: Do you want him to leave?

CUDDY: No.

HOUSE: Were you planning on doing something?

CUDDY: I'm waiting for board approval.

HOUSE: But if he takes the job, there's nothing to be done. You had to stop him.

[She gets up from the smaller desk, files in hand, and walks towards her larger desk.]

CUDDY: Wasn't me.

[She places the files on a cabinet and starts to go through them, when she becomes aware of House standing behind her, at almost an arm's distance. Amused, she turns to face him.]

CUDDY: What are you doing?

HOUSE: Looking for a tell. Rapid eye blink, twitch of the lips.

CUDDY: [ushering him out] Send in Nurse Unger when you pass her on your way out.

[House stops near the door.]

HOUSE: Oh! Almost forgot. I need to give a sixteen-year-old magic mushrooms to treat a cluster headache. Is that cool?

CUDDY: [deadpan] Yeah, no problem.

[House nods and walks out. Cuddy looks fearfully at House leaving, suddenly coming to the realisation that sarcasm with House isn't the best idea. She races out after him.]

[PPTH, Lobby. Cuddy catches up with House.]

CUDDY: I was being sarcastic.

[House turns and keeps walking. Cuddy walks with him, towards the elevator.]

HOUSE: Wouldn't look that way in the court transcript. Mushrooms have psilocybins that work on cluster headaches. It's either that or cutting into his brain and going on a fishing expedition.

[They stop at the elevator.]

CUDDY: I assume you've considered he could have a psychogenic experience. Possibly suffer a fit of severe paranoia.

HOUSE: [pretends to think] Well, I have now. Yeah, it's definitely better that the Dean of Medicine prescribes it instead of an unhinged doctor with a history of drug use. Takes the stink off if the patient decides to put on a cape and fly off the roof.

[He takes a sip of his energy drink.]

CUDDY: Low dose. No more than ten milligrams. Tightly controlled setting.

[The elevator dings, door opens.]

CUDDY: And make sure the mother signs off on it.

HOUSE: Party on, Garth. And don't stand in Foreman's way. It's just wrong.

[Cuddy smiles at him, eyes closed. The elevator door closes.]

[PPTH, Nate's room. Chase and Cameron stand at the door with Enid, who goes through a consent form, while Nate lies in bed, still holding his head with his left hand, able to hear them.]

CHASE: New research shows that a chemical component in the mushrooms can be...

NATE: [interrupting] Yeah, lots of technical medical stuff. So, when do I get 'em?

ENID: I went to college. I know about mushrooms. A friend of a friend sh*t himself in the foot.

NATE: [sighs in exasperation] They're not giving me a g*n, Enid! Sign the consent form.

CHASE: We'll be monitoring him, but cardiac arrest is possible.

NATE: [air-writing] Big E... small N...

ENID: [apprehensive] And if... the mushrooms don't work?

[In frustration, Nate puts both hands to his head.]

CAMERON: The next step would be a type of brain surgery.

ENID: Oh, God.

NATE: Pain's gettin' worse! Need... 'shrooms... now!

[Enid signs.]

CUE MUSIC: Iron Butterfly's "In-a-gadda-da-vida"

[Nate's room, later. Safe to assume Nate got his 'shrooms. The camera rotates slowly as it zooms downward towards Nate's face as the music plays. He opens his eyes, a wasted smile on his face.]

NATE: Oh, yeah.

[Chase and Cameron stand in front of his bed.]

CHASE: Nate, how's the pain?

NATE: Hey, hey!

[NATE'S POV: Psychedelically-coloured double-vision of Chase and Cameron.]

NATE: It's Skippy, the bush kangaroo!

[Chase, of course, doesn't seem too flattered. Cameron seems to find it funny.]

CHASE: Your head, Nate. We need to know how the pain is.

NATE: [drawling] What I got here... is the opposite of pain.

CAMERON: That means you're suffering from cluster headaches. Which means, hopefully...

[NATE'S POV: He looks at Cameron.]

NATE: [laughs] Man, you're hot! [to Chase, wide-eyed] She's making me horny.

CHASE: Deal with it.

NATE: Hey, hey, hey, hey. You can't get me stoned, then not close the deal.

CHASE: [under his breath] Shut up.

CAMERON: [whispering to Chase] Take it easy. He's not well.

NATE: [laughs] You'll regret saying no. Check it out.

[He opens his gown, exposing himself to them. Cameron recoils, while Chase moves to cover him up.]

CHASE: [in disgust] Oh, for God's sake.

[Nate laughs. Cameron takes a look, but sees something (medically!!) interesting.]

CAMERON: Hold it.

[She holds Nate's gown open, looking at his groin.]

CHASE: What're you doing?

[She looks closer, while Nate sighs in satisfaction.]

[PPTH, Nurse's Station/Hallway. Cameron bends over the 'station, while Chase stands nearby.]

CAMERON: He has undersized testes.

[House jerks up from underneath the counter.]

CAMERON: His other secondary sexual characteristics are normal.

HOUSE: If you wanna curry favor with me, avoid discussions of other men's testicles.

[A nurse testily holds a fifty-cent coin in front of him (obviously that's what he was looking for). Cameron raises her eyebrows. House looks sheepish.]

HOUSE: [to the nurse] Thanks. [to Cameron] Focus on phrases like "You were right about the cluster headaches."

[They walk away from the nurse's station and roam the hallways.]

CHASE: But wrong about what caused them. Vascular problem in a major artery wouldn't cause hypogonadism.

HOUSE: Okay, what causes rage, headaches, personality disorder and hypogonadism?

CAMERON: [looking around] Where's Foreman?

HOUSE: He's mad at me.

CAMERON: Why?

HOUSE: No reason.

CHASE: [scoffs] Yeah, that makes sense.

HOUSE: Male genitals are controlled by the hypothalamus and pituitary gland. We're not talking about Foreman anymore.

CAMERON: The kid's being pummeled at school. A couple blows to the head could cause hypothalamic lesions. We ever gonna talk about what happens when Foreman's gone?

HOUSE: If this were an employee-owned airline in Scandinavia, yes. It's not lesions. His temperature would be all over the map. Symptoms don't lie.

CAMERON: [re: Foreman] He's gone in less than a week and you haven't even read a résumé?

[They stop at the elevator.]

CHASE: Doesn't even need to. The two of us can handle it. Craniopharyngioma fits the symptoms.

[The elevator dings, door opens.]

HOUSE: [jerks a nod] Biopsy the brat's pituitary. [enters the elevator] And let the record show I was right about the cluster headaches.

[Elevator door closes.]

[Nate's Room. Cameron and Chase speak to a now-sober Nate (seated in bed) and Enid about the procedure.]

NATE: Forget it!

CAMERON: It's a straightforward procedure. We thread an endoscopic tube through the nostril...

NATE: And cut something out of my brain? No way.

CAMERON: If it's a tumor, it could k*ll you.

NATE: Just give me more 'shrooms, okay? I'll be fine.

ENID: You only need my consent, right?

CHASE: Yeah, but it'll be a lot easier if he...

ENID: [interrupting] Do whatever you have to do.

NATE: [points at Chase] You don't touch me, all right? [points at Cameron] You can touch me. Just not my brain.

ENID: Nate, you gotta do this. I can't take it anymore.

NATE: [sighs in frustration] My God, Mom! Save me the melodramatic hand-wringing, okay? Loosen up! Get yourself coited.

[Enid looks hurt at this outburst.]

CHASE: [turning] I'm gonna give him a sedative.

[Cameron agrees. Chase goes to a medical cabinet nearby.]

NATE: [sleepy-eyed] You're decent-looking, Dr. Skippy.

[Enid looks confused, as does Chase. Nate starts to sway, appearing disoriented.]

NATE: [glassy look] Why don't you take her for a ride?

CAMERON: Nate...

[Nate blinks.]

[NATE'S POV: Blurred vision. Cameron looks at the camera, her voice slow and deep.]

CAMERON: Are you in pain?

[NATE'S POV: The light from the window engulfs Cameron's face.]

[Nate's eyes roll up and he drops backwards in bed, unconscious.]

ENID: [scared] Nate!

[Cameron and Chase hurry to check on him.]

CAMERON: His heart rate's normal. Respiration's even.

ENID: [panicked] What's happening? What's the matter with him?

[Chase shines his flashlight into Nate's mouth. He pushes down Nate's lower lip to expose his yellow gums.]

CHASE: He's jaundiced. His liver's shutting down.

[Zoom into Nate's face.]

[PPTH, ICU, Outside Nate's room. Nate is lying unconscious on his bed, hooked up to IV drips.]

CHASE: [voice-only] We started him on sodium polystyrene sulfonate.

[PPTH, Diagnostics Office. The whiteboard now reads:

PERSONALITY

RAGE

HEAD PAIN

HYPOGONADISM

LIVER FAILURE

House stands in front of it, while the Chase and Cameron stand behind. Foreman sits at the table, still sulking.]

CHASE: His liver's operating at about twenty percent and deteriorating fast.

HOUSE: Which means he'll be d*ad long before Foreman turns in his parking pass. So, what causes personality disorder, head pain, blah-blah-blah, and liver failure?

CHASE: Liver failure can cause hypogonadism, head pain. Altered mental status leads to the personality disorder and rage. All we need to do is figure out what caused the liver failure.

HOUSE: Yes. Also, we need to figure out how symptoms yesterday can be caused by liver failure today. [steals a look at Foreman]

CAMERON: If his liver's failing now, it wasn't great yesterday. If it wasn't operating at capacity, it could have caused...

[While Cameron speaks, House looks at Foreman and recoils backward as if suddenly scared.]

HOUSE: Ooh-aah! Whoa!

[Foreman looks at him, the sour look still fixed on his face.]

HOUSE: [scolding] Don't sneak up on a person like that.

FOREMAN: [monotone] I'm listening.

HOUSE: Well, listening doesn't help me. Okay. Let's go with the liver and a time-machine theory. Foreman, what causes liver problems?

FOREMAN: Wilson's disease.

CHASE: No. Ceruloplasmin's normal.

CAMERON: No enlargement and no palpable mass, so no cancer.

CHASE: Could be a narrowing of the bile ducts. Primary sclerosingcholangitis.

HOUSE: Most liver damage begins with what we put in our bodies. Foreman?

FOREMAN: [resigned look] Angry teen... alcohol.

CHASE: [emphatically] No. Blood tests were negative.

CAMERON: No signs of drug use or acetaminophen poisoning in his tox screen. Maybe the water was contaminated.

[Foreman's beeper goes off.]

CHASE: His mother would also be sick.

[Foreman checks his beeper. House looks upwards, as if guessing who it could be.]

HOUSE: Cuddy?

[Foreman looks at him.]

HOUSE: [shrugs] Sounded like someone with back. [jerking his head towards the door] Go.

[Foreman gets up and walks out.]

HOUSE: [as Foreman leaves] We'll try and muddle through without your blank stare to guide us. [to Cameron and Chase] So if it's not the bad things he's putting in, what about the good things?

CHASE: He was raised a vegetarian.

HOUSE: Was raised. Means he's all grown up. Or he's not a vegetarian anymore.

CHASE: He started eating red meat a few months ago.

CAMERON: Unless he's been buying cuts of mad cow, his body would have no problem metabolizing it.

HOUSE: Would if he had an OTC deficiency. Body can't metabolize nitrogen, damages the liver. Run a hamburger test.

[Chase and Cameron look puzzled.]

HOUSE: It's exactly what it sounds like. Stuff him full of meat, wait for his ammonia levels to spike.

[He goes to his office. Chase and Cameron leave.]

[PPTH, Cuddy's office. Cuddy is at her desk, going through some paperwork. The door opens, she looks up. Foreman enters.]

CUDDY: I'll double your salary.

[He doesn't answer. She waits anyway.]

FOREMAN: Chase and Cameron would mutiny if they found out.

CUDDY: Chase and Cameron wouldn't be heading up their own diagnostic group. [hands him a folder] You'll work in parallel with House. It'll be your practice. Separate staff, separate cases. Complete autonomy.

FOREMAN: [looks uncertain] I've only been doing this for three years.

CUDDY: Three years under House. No better training.

HOUSE: And when that case comes along that I can't figure out? You know who I'd have to go to.

CUDDY: [deadpan at first] Or you can just let that patient die. That's completely up to you. [smiles sweetly]

FOREMAN: [sighs] No.

CUDDY: Why?

FOREMAN: He's evil.

CUDDY: He didn't sabotage your interview.

FOREMAN: How do you know?

CUDDY: [quickly] Because I did.

[Foreman glares at her and starts to leave.]

CUDDY: [calling after him] I didn't! You believed me - means you're not sure House did it.

FOREMAN: Well, somebody did it. Somebody here did it. I can't work here.

[He leaves. Cuddy looks sullen. She thinks about who it could be. Then, it strikes her.]

[PPTH, ICU, Nate's room. Under Enid's watchful (ever-tearful) eye, Chase and Cameron perform the "hamburger test" on Nate, who is sitting up in bed, in front of a food-tray, on which a plate, glass, Kn*fe and fork rest. Chase removes the lid off the plate, displaying three hamburger patties. Nate sits back, disappointed.]

NATE: This isn't a medical procedure. This is just about Doogie making me eat garbage.

CHASE: Need to see how your liver processes the proteins.

NATE: Then get me a steak, some roast beef.

ENID: What if I brought him something from home?

[Frustrated at hearing his mother's voice again, Nate drops his head backwards into the pillow.]

CHASE: It has to be prepared here so we know there's no chemicals or preservatives that could affect the test results.

NATE: I'm not eating anything prepared by five-dollar-an-hour immigrant hospital cooks in hairnets.

CHASE: [snaps] Shut up!

[Nate looks at him.]

CHASE: [advancing thr*at] Either you start eating, or I'm gonna strap you to this bed and shove these down your throat one-by-one, got it?

[Nate looks at him for a while, then smirks.]

NATE: Can't get mad at me. I'm sick. [feigns coughing] You're supposed to feel bad for me.

[Without missing a b*at, Chase picks up the intercom.]

CHASE: [into intercom] Nurse, full set of body restraints.

NURSE: [from intercom] Yes, doctor.

[Nate doesn't look so cocky anymore.]

CHASE: [getting in Nate's face] Trust me. It'll be a lot less messy if you do it yourself.

[A resentful look on his face, Nate looks at Cameron. Cameron motions for him to comply. Knowing he has no other option, he reluctantly picks up a burger and starts to eat it. Cameron looks relieved and genuinely impressed at Chase.]

[PPTH, Nurse's Station. Cuddy marches up to Wilson, who is going over some paperwork in the 'station.]

CUDDY: [accusing] You k*lled Foreman's job interview.

[Wilson looks up in surprise. He thinks a couple of seconds.]

WILSON: Why would I...?

CUDDY: [speaks fast] Somebody did. Wasn't me, and it wasn't House, which means it has to be somebody who thought he was protecting House. Which means it has to be somebody who actually likes House. Which means it's either you or the... weird night janitor who wears his pants backwards.

WILSON: I want Foreman to leave.

[Cuddy looks astonished.]

WILSON: House has to realize he needs someone who stands up to him. Cameron's in love with him, Chase is afraid of him, and I enable him. House needs limits.

CUDDY: [protesting] I give him...

WILSON: You authorize magic mushrooms. House is a six-year-old who thinks he's better off without parents. A few tummy aches after dinners of ice cream and ketchup might do him some good.

CUDDY: [slyly] You're lying.

[Wilson rolls his eyes.]

CUDDY: An enabler doesn't conspire against, an enabler enables.

[Wilson looks over her shoulder, looking shocked.]

CUDDY: [looking back] What?

WILSON: [looking at her] You're paranoid. [smiles]

CUDDY: You made that call. And because of that call, you basically guaranteed Foreman's out of here.

[She walks away. Wilson thinks.]

[PPTH, Clinic, Exam Room Two. House's clinic patient is Doug, who sits shirtless on the table, displaying his badly sunburnt torso and face. There are eight circular lighter spots on his torso. His son, Mark, sits quietly at the side.]

DOUG: I thought it would be fun to work on my boat with him. [jerks his thumb at Mark]

HOUSE: And you went shirtless because... skin cancer looks cool.

DOUG: Well, I realize I got burnt.

[House looks at Mark, who looks down immediately.]

DOUG: I'm not too worried about that. [pointing] It's these white marks, you know?

[House gets off his stool and walks towards a cabinet.]

HOUSE: Lie down.

DOUG: [lying down] I mean, that boat has all sorts of, uh, lead paint, and there's... chemicals everywhere.

HOUSE: [to Mark] When daddy works on his boat, does he have a cooler with lots of brown bottles with long necks?

[House takes a syringe (sans needle) and pulls out the plunger with a pop sound. Mark nods.]

HOUSE: [filling the syringe with water] And does daddy like to lie down on his boat and go nap-nap in the sun?

[Mark nods again. House, syringe ominously held in his hand, steps forward. He spurts the water in it all over Doug's face.]

DOUG: Oh! What-what the hell?!

[Mark chuckles.]

HOUSE: [holding the syringe out to Doug] I will give you this for the... [calculates] one dollar, forty one cents in your pocket.

[Mark readily shoves his hand into his pocket to get the change.]

DOUG: Wait, how could you know...?

[Mark hands a bunch of coins to House and takes the syringe.]

HOUSE: A psychic once told me that I'm psychic.

[House begins to place the coins over the light spots on Doug's torso. The coins match the spots perfectly. Doug understands and sh**t his son a look. Mark shrugs guiltily.]

HOUSE: Hey, one of these quarters is Canadian. [mad] Give me back my syringe.

[Mark lets out an "easy-come-easy-go" sigh and hands it back to House, who snatches it back.]

[PPTH, Clinic/Nurse's Station. House exits the exam room and finds the Ducklings (all of them) assembled outside. Foreman seems to have cooled down.]

CAMERON: Hamburger stress test showed no change in his ammonia levels.

FOREMAN: Liver's properly converting the ammonia into urea. He doesn't have OTC deficiency.

HOUSE: Welcome back.

FOREMAN: Sorry. I shouldn't have been taking my problems out on the patient.

HOUSE: Or on me. Apology accepted. [walks to the Nurse's Station] Starve him.

FOREMAN: And what are we looking for?

HOUSE: [tossing Doug's file on the 'station] Diabetic steatosis would screw up his liver. Starve him overnight and see if his blood sugar pops.

CHASE: We mess with his blood sugar, we could set off another rage.

HOUSE: Not a problem. You can take him.

[He walks away.]

[PPTH, ICU, Nate's room. Nate, standing and brandishing the IV pole, smashes a lamp. The attending nurse jumps back as he swings it at her. His mother tries to calm him down, but to no avail.]

NATE: [yelling] I want something to eat!

ENID: [pleading] Honey, please don't.

[Foreman and Chase rush inside.]

CHASE: What happened?

NURSE: I was just trying to get a urine sample, and he went crazy.

[Foreman gets a sedative.]

NATE: I need to eat!

[He sees Foreman with the syringe and holds the IV pole at him.]

NATE: You're not sticking anything else in me!

FOREMAN: It's just a few more hours.

ENID: [fearful] You're gonna hurt yourself.

NATE: [almost crying] I'm gonna hurt you!

CHASE: As soon as we get a urine sample, we can leave you alone.

NATE: You want your sample?! Here's your damn sample!

FOREMAN: Nate, don't.

[Nate stands and let's 'er rip. The urine falls near his feet, staining his gown. He smiles defiantly. Foreman shakes his head. Enid doesn't know how to react. Suddenly, the urine changes colour to blood red.]

ENID: [frightened] Oh, my God.

[Foreman looks shocked.]

CHASE: Nate, you need to get back into bed. Right now.

[Nate looks down and sees the blood red urine flowing out of him onto the floor and his gown. He reacts in shock.]

[PPTH, ICU, Outside Nate's room. Nate is asleep, with Enid at his side. Nate is now hooked up to a dialysis machine.]

CAMERON: [voice-only] Chem panel and urinalysis confirms the bloody urine was caused by kidney failure.

[PPTH, Diagnostic Office. House and the Ducklings confer. Chase adds "KIDNEY FAILURE" to the whiteboard.]

CAMERON: He's on dialysis. He's gonna need it for the rest of his life.

HOUSE: Which is shortening as we speak. We are looking at a Chinese menu, and we've got symptoms from too many columns. They're going to overcharge us.

CAMERON: Multiple organ failure could mean primary HIV infection.

CHASE: [sarcastic] That would mean someone agreed to sleep with him. Plus his serology is negative.

FOREMAN: His uric acid's slightly elevated.

CHASE: Ten percent of males in this country have elevated...

HOUSE: So we're only gonna pay attention to _abnormal_ abnormalities?

CHASE: We've been stuffing him with meat and his kidneys are sh*t. Of course his uric acid levels...

FOREMAN: Could be hepatic fibrosis or MCADD. Brat's got a genetic disorder.

HOUSE: Get the sequencing primers. See if it's one of the ones we can treat.

FOREMAN: I can draw some blood, but then I gotta run.

HOUSE: [whirls around] Job interview?

FOREMAN: You gonna stop me if it is?

HOUSE: You do the nurse stuff, they'll do the doctor stuff.

[Foreman leaves. House looks at the whiteboard.]

[PPTH, ICU, Nate's room. Foreman performs the test on Nate, while Enid looks on. Foreman injects Nate.]

NATE: [drowsily] This a blood test for a marriage license? Plan on kidnapping me to Massachusetts... or Canad...

[His head drops and he's out.]

ENID: What did you give him? [standing] Are you treating him for something?

FOREMAN: Sedative.

ENID: Did he need a sedative?

FOREMAN: I did. Just shutting him up so I can draw some of his blood in peace.

ENID: [outraged] You walked in with that. You didn't even give him a chance.

FOREMAN: People are what they are.

ENID: [arguing] He's sick. The rudeness isn't his fault.

FOREMAN: If he had tuberculosis, it wouldn't be his fault either. But I still wouldn't let him cough on me.

[Enid has no answer to that. She folds her arms and watches, quietly.]

[PPTH, Elevator/Hallway. Cameron stands alone in the elevator, plastic baggie in hand, while the door closes slowly. Wilson abruptly grabs the door, opening it. He enters.]

WILSON: [seeming flustered] Hi.

CAMERON: Hey.

[A moment of awkward silence. Then, Wilson leans forward and hits a button. The door closes. Cameron seems a bit puzzled about his jerkiness.]

WILSON: Where are you going?

CAMERON: The lab. We're testing our patient's blood for hereditary...

WILSON: [interrupts] Cuddy thinks I sabotaged Foreman's interview. She's gonna f*re me.

CAMERON: [b*at] I don't believe it.

WILSON: She said it was unprofessional and...

CAMERON: No, I mean I literally don't believe it. Cuddy wouldn't f*re you for something like that.

[Wilson has a guilty look on his face.]

CAMERON: [suspicious] Which... means either she lied to you, or you're... lying to me.

[The door opens. They step into the hallway.]

WILSON: [loses the act] You so would have fallen for that three years ago.

CAMERON: You were looking for a reaction. You were looking for me to feel bad for you. Save your skin. [shrugs] But how am I gonna save you? [understands, stops] Unless... you think I'm the one who really did it.

WILSON: Cuddy's logic was Foreman's valuable to House. I care about House. Ergo, I would do anything to save him.

CAMERON: And your logic was... I care about House as much as you do, ergo...

[Wilson nods.]

CAMERON: It wasn't me. I don't care about House.

WILSON: I don't believe you.

CAMERON: No one does. [sincerely] House is nothing more than my boss. Foreman's nothing more than a colleague.

WILSON: [nods, yet...] You're lying.

CAMERON: [enough already] Everyone does. But it wasn't me.

[Wilson nods and leaves. Cameron ponders the matter and seems to have figured out the culprit.]

[PPTH, Lab. Cameron and Chase (wearing glasses) perform tests.]

CHASE: [looking at monitor] No markers for hepatic fibrosis. Nothing for MCADD.

CAMERON: Foreman's interview in New York got screwed up.

CHASE: [not looking up] I heard.

CAMERON: Foreman thought it was House, House thought it was Cuddy. Cuddy thought it was Wilson, Wilson thought it was me.

[Chase looks up and sees her staring accusingly at him.]

CHASE: And you think it was me? [chuckles] God... you think I... sabotaged Foreman? I don't even want him here.

CAMERON: I know.

CHASE: Then why would I do...?

CAMERON: I think you sabotaged Foreman just to sabotage Foreman.

[Hurt, but not showing it, Chase sits back in his chair, folding his arms.]

CHASE: So everyone's a suspect because everyone wants to help House. Except for me. I'm a suspect because I'm a petty, vindictive jerk?

[She only looks at him.]

CHASE: You actually think I would do something like that?

CAMERON: It was someone.

CHASE: [firm] It wasn't me.

[The nearby computer beeps, signaling the result of a test. He looks at it, still upset.]

CHASE: Negative for Von Gierke disease. [remembering] And it's Tuesday.

CAMERON: I know.

CHASE: [mad] I like you.

CAMERON: [smiling] I know. See you next Tuesday.

[Chase sh**t a look at her. Another result pops up. Chase looks at it.]

CHASE: Found something.

[Cameron looks at him.]

[PPTH, House's Office. House dumps his bag on his table, packing up to go home. Chase and Cameron stand in front of the table, giving him the results.]

CHASE: He's got a partial HPRT enzyme deficiency. Means he could have Kelley-Seegmiller Syndrome.

CAMERON: But it's a partial deficiency. So it may not be Kelley-Seegmiller.

HOUSE: [looks up] Yes. Those are the two options. It is... or it isn't.

CHASE: Kelley-Seegmiller explains the aggressive personality.

CAMERON: If he had Kelley-Seegmiller, he wouldn't just be aggressive, he'd be self-mutilating. Chewing his lips, banging his head.

HOUSE: [donning his jacket] Lovely disease. Degenerative, fatal, incurable. I wonder if that's why Cameron's on the "not" side.

CAMERON: That and the fact that symptoms don't lie.

CHASE: Kelley-Seegmiller carriers self-mutilate when they're stressed.

CAMERON: [turning to face Chase] He's in the ICU with a failing liver and no kidneys. Yeah, his life is sweet.

CHASE: [facing her] His vegetarian diet could have limited the purines in his system, slowing the disease's progress.

[House, all set to go home, stops near the door. He thinks.]

HOUSE: So let's speed it up.

[He goes back behind his desk.]

CAMERON: Why?

HOUSE: So you two kids will stop fighting. [removing his bag] Also, I don't feel like waiting for respiratory failure. Chase, find some way for the mother to get lost for a while. [cracks his knuckles outwards] I'm going to stress this kid until he bites off a finger.

[Chase and Cameron look a bit apprehensive, but comply.]

[PPTH, ICU, Nate's room. Nate is in bed, awake. House enters, wheeling in a hospital cart, on which a chessboard (with pieces) is placed.]

NATE: [weakly] They move me to geriatrics? Who are you?

HOUSE: [Greg's Anatomy's...] Dr. McCaney. The man who's gonna kick your ass all over this chessboard.

NATE: Yeah, well, I'm too weak to...

HOUSE: [pushing up Nate's sleeve] ...bite yourself, yeah. You need some liquid energy.

[Nate coughs drowsily.]

HOUSE: Now, if you consent, I'm gonna give you this sh*t of adrenaline.

[House injects him in the arm.]

NATE: Oww! [irritably] I don't wanna play.

HOUSE: Aside from being indicative of pituitary issues and certain kinds of genetic disorders, small testicles also indicate... [disposes off the syringe] that you're a big chicken. Please don't make me do the sound effect.

NATE: You're not gonna goad me into playing.

[House puts the chessboard on the food tray. Using his cane, he swings the overhead surgical light to illuminate the board.]

HOUSE: Didn't think I'd have to. Thought you'd just jump at the chance of humiliating someone.

[House takes two pawns - one white, one black - in his hands, mixes them up, and holds them (clenched in his fists) for Nate to pick one out.]

NATE: Age before cripple. I'm white.

[House places the pawns back.]

HOUSE: [winding the chess clock] It... is... on!

[He slaps his side of the clock. Scissor-holding a pawn, Nate moves it two squares ahead. Slap. House moves a pawn two ahead. Slap. Nate brings out a knight. Slap.]

HOUSE: Bird's opening. Passive approach.

[He moves another pawn.]

HOUSE: [Slap] Sign of a coward.

NATE: [moving a pawn] Sicilian defense. Sign of an idiot. [Slap]

HOUSE: [makes a move, Slap] Arrogance has to be earned.

[Nate brings out his other knight. Slap.]

HOUSE: [moving a bishop] Tell me what you've done to earn yours. [Slap]

NATE: I can walk.

[He moves his bishop. Slap.]

HOUSE: I don't bleed out of my penis.

[He moves a knight. Slap. Nate glares at him, moves a knight. Slap. House moves a pawn. Slap. Nate moves a bishop. Slap. Black knight takes white pawn. Slap. Nate takes a black piece. Slap. Black knight takes white knight. Slap.]

HOUSE: Check.

[House acts bored. Nate has a look of pure hatred on his face.]

HOUSE: You know, it's a real thin line between tortured genius and awkward kid who can't get girls because he's... creepy.

[White bishop takes black pawn. Slap.]

NATE: Why are you doing this?

HOUSE: To stress you out.

[House moves his queen diagonally. Slap.]

HOUSE: Check.

NATE: [moving one of his pieces] Yeah, but why? [Slap]

HOUSE: I'd tell you, but I figure it's more stressful if you don't know why.

[Black bishop takes white pawn. Slap. Nate glares. White pawn takes black bishop. Slap.]

NATE: Not feeling too stressed.

HOUSE: You know that no one likes you, right?

NATE: Yeah, well, anybody like you?

HOUSE: [declaring] You're dying.

[He looks at Nate for a reaction, doesn't get one. Black queen takes bishop-k*lling white pawn.]

HOUSE: Check. [Slap]

[Nate seems flustered. He goes for his king, but decides against it.]

HOUSE: Your move.

[Nate seethes. Then, he sits forward. He moves his king. Slap. House moves his knight. Slap. Nate looks at the setup and smiles. He chuckles. He moves his knight. Slap of authority.]

NATE: [taunting] Care to lay down your king?

[House only stares.]

NATE: You can't win. You can pin my queen. My knight to E7. Your king to H8. Sacrifice rook takes pawn. Bishop blocks. Queen to H5. Checkmate. [demeaningly] Save what's left of your dignity. Lay down your king.

[Suddenly, Nate starts to convulse. The monitor starts beeping rapidly.]

HOUSE: Crap.

[He calmly moves the food tray away. Nurses come running in, one of them preps a crash cart.]

HOUSE: He's having a seizure. Four milligrams IV Lorazepam.

NURSE: Right away.

[As the nurses attend to Nate, House hovers over the chessboard. He drops his king down with his finger.]

[PPTH, House's Office/Diagnostics Office. Day. House sits in front of the chessboard, trying to analyse how he got beaten. He doesn't look too relaxed. Chase stands behind, Cameron and Foreman in front.]

HOUSE: [under his breath] I hate this kid.

FOREMAN: I like this kid.

HOUSE: You get the job?

FOREMAN: They're gonna let me know.

CAMERON: Kelley-Seegmiller didn't cause this seizure.

HOUSE: So we've got one more symptom, one less diagnosis. [to Foreman] I assume they're gonna call for references? You give 'em my name?

FOREMAN: No. Amyloidosis can cause seizures, and the protein buildup could cause organ failure.

CHASE: Wouldn't alter his personality.

HOUSE: Whose name did you give?

FOREMAN: [b*at] My last boss.

HOUSE: Ouch! That can't look good. [still frustrated at having been beaten] I hate this kid.

[He gets up and starts moving towards the Diagnostics Office.]

CAMERON: What if we're not dealing with one condition? What if it's multiple conditions?

HOUSE: Uh-uh, it's gotta be one. It's always one.

CHASE: Nothing explains this constellation of symptoms. We've gotta be missing something. Maybe the kid lied about some medication. Maybe he's hiding something.

CAMERON: Why would he be hiding something?

CHASE: I don't know, because he's... evil?

[House has a thought.]

HOUSE: What if he is? What if the symptoms lied?

[He cancels out "PERSONALITY" at the top of the board.]

HOUSE: [looking at the Ducklings] There. Now all we're looking at is a simple, evil jerk with amyloidosis.

FOREMAN: You're not being objective.

HOUSE: Amyloidosis was your idea.

FOREMAN: You were right, it doesn't fit the symptoms.

HOUSE: Yeah, it does. [now erases the crossed-out "PERSONALITY" word] Look.

FOREMAN: You crossed it off because you wanna hate the kid. And you can't hate him if he's a victim...

HOUSE: You want him to be a victim because you wanna believe that people are good. And if they're not, it's gotta be a chemical problem. Except they're not, and it's not. [to Chase and Cameron] Flush him with immunosuppressants. Get a biopsy to confirm, and find him a marrow donor.

[Foreman sighs defeated. Chase and Cameron leave.]

[PPTH, ICU, Outside Nate's room. While a nurse checks on Nate, Chase speaks to Enid.]

ENID: What will happen to him?

CHASE: Substances called amyloid proteins build up in the body's organs, shutting them down. It's a fairly rare disease. And I'm afraid it can be fatal.

ENID: [afraid] So do you operate or something to take them out?

CHASE: He needs a bone marrow transplant. Dr. Cameron is searching the donor bank. We should test you as well.

[Enid nods, depressed. She looks at Nate.]

ENID: When you first told me he was sick, I was... happy. Relieved. Now...

[She can't finish. She just looks tearfully at Nate.]

[PPTH, Operating Room. Chase and Foreman (scrubbed up) perform a biopsy on Nate. Nate is sweating heavily.]

FOREMAN: Nate, I'm gonna take a small piece of nerve from your ankle. Let me know if you feel any pain.

NATE: [weakly] I'm burning up. Couldn't you just knock me out like you did last time?

FOREMAN: Wish I could. But your body has to be clear so it's ready for a marrow transplant.

[sh*t of the open incision on Nate's ankle.]

NATE: Hey, Dr. X.

[Foreman looks at him.]

NATE: I know you've busted ass trying to save me.

FOREMAN: It's all right.

NATE: I wasn't gonna thank you. [coughs] I was gonna tell you you really suck at this.

FOREMAN: [calmly] We're doing our best.

NATE: That's sort of my point. Your best really sucks.

[Foreman sighs underneath his mask.]

[PPTH Hallway. House takes a "Chomp" candybar out of a vending machine. Foreman stands at a distance. He starts limping towards him.]

FOREMAN: Nerve biopsy was clean. No evidence of amyloidosis.

HOUSE: It was your idea. Don't give up on it so fast.

[They start walking together.]

FOREMAN: He's running a fever. If it's two conditions, one of them's gotta be an infection. We should start him on antibiotics, see what clears up, what doesn't.

HOUSE: Is he having trouble breathing?

FOREMAN: Yeah, he has mucus in his chest from an infection.

HOUSE: Could also be an amyloid buildup. Keep him on immunosuppressants and biopsy somewhere else, his sinuses.

[Foreman stops walking, about to protest.]

HOUSE: [cutting him off] Look, you got two choices. Engage me in a futile argument then do what I asked, or just do what I asked.

[Foreman shrugs in defeat and starts to walk away.]

HOUSE: You're not ready.

[Foreman stops and turns annoyed.]

HOUSE: There was a third choice. Don't do what I asked. You coulda defied me, stuck the kid on antibiotics. But you didn't. Because you still trust my judgment more than your own.

[House enters his office. Foreman looks pensive.]

[Aerial view of PPTH. Night.]

[PPTH, House's Office. House still sits at the chessboard, trying to outthink Nate. Chase enters, wearing street clothes.]

CHASE: You sabotaged Foreman's job interview, didn't you?

HOUSE: [sighs] Foreman's already been over this. [clearly] It wasn't me.

[House goes to pick up the king, but Chase beats him to the punch.]

CHASE: Everybody's chasing ghosts over this. Which means either nobody did it, or somebody wants everybody chasing ghosts. Now, who does that sound like?

HOUSE: And why would I do that?

CHASE: Because as long as Foreman thought you were guilty, he was gonna be useless around here.

HOUSE: [smiling] You know, [smirks] sometimes I forget why I hired you.

CHASE: You cost him a good opportunity and gained nothing.

HOUSE: I cost him a crappy opportunity. New York Mercy's where you go to treat boils and cysts and build a 401K.

CHASE: If you want him to stay, tell him.

HOUSE: I don't and there'd be no point.

CHASE: You do. And the point would be to make him feel like he's wanted.

HOUSE: He doesn't need that.

CHASE: All right, then. It'd make him feel like maybe you weren't evil.

[Chase starts to drum the king on the table. House notices how he holds the piece - between his thumb and pointer.]

CHASE: He needs that.

[Chase drums a couple more times. House has a definite epiphany. Chase holds the king out to House, still unaware of his boss' brainstorm.]

CHASE: Talk to Foreman.

HOUSE: We dumped one symptom. But forgot to add one.

[Chase, hand still held out with the king, looks puzzled. House gets up, picking a white and black pawn and leaves.]

[PPTH, ICU, Nate's room. Nate is in bed, awake, with his mother beside him. The door slides open and House enters.]

HOUSE: [declaring] Revenge time, Nate.

ENID: Are you...?

HOUSE: Yes! I am. [holds his hands out, clenched] Black or white?

NATE: [irritated] Just limp away.

ENID: [upset] He doesn't wanna play. Leave him alone.

HOUSE: Pick one, or... [points to an IV bag] this comes out. And, for all you know, this is really important.

[Nate weakly points to House's right hand. House unclenches the hand, revealing the white pawn. Nate slowly brings up his right hand and holds the pawn - between his pointer and middle finger, with his thumb extended out.]

[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: This is how Nate has been holding all his chesspieces from the start. I never mentioned it before because... well, you guys would not have figured out that it was a problem all along. OK, back to the show...]

[House calmly grabs Nate's thumb and yanks it backwards. Nate groans in pain. Enid jumps up from her chair, protesting.]

ENID: Stop it!

HOUSE: That hurts, right? Which is odd, because I'm really enjoying this. You hold the pieces that way because you can't bend your thumb.

[Nate looks at his thumb.]

HOUSE: Because your bones have formed abnormally. Thanks to all the crap that's been pushing its way in between them.

[He disconnects the IV bag he pointed to previously.]

HOUSE: Actually, this stuff isn't important at all.

ENID: [worried] Your doctors said he needs immunosuppressants.

HOUSE: [waving it off] They're idiots. It's not amyloidosis. It's iron. He's got hemochromatosis.

[While House speaks, the camera moves off Nate's sour face and zooms towards his chest.]

HOUSE: The body absorbs iron from food, but can't process it.

[CGI: Through the blood vessels. Large quantities of iron deposit along the walls as red blood cells flow overhead.]

HOUSE: Can't get rid of it. And idle iron is the devil's playground. It builds up in the organs and joints, whacking them in the process.

[Camera focuses on House.]

HOUSE: Caused all of the symptoms. Including something that wasn't a symptom.

[He limps to the surgical cabinet.]

HOUSE: Those body aches, they were not from the fighting.

ENID: [hopeful] His personality issues?

HOUSE: [taking a scalpel] Sorry. The iron's innocent on that count. Your kid's a jerk.

[Enid tries to say something, but House continues.]

HOUSE: And, yeah, it's probably your fault. Although, if you'd stayed off the meat like your mom said, you'd have half as much iron, and be twice less... almost d*ad.

[House takes Nate's right wrist and pokes it with the scalpel, drawing blood. Nate grunts. Enid reacts in shock, but doesn't say anything.]

HOUSE: Oh, nurse!

[House drops the scalpel on a nearby cart. He pushes a button on the wall. An urgent beeping sound is heard. Nurses come running in.]

HOUSE: [innocently] This patient is bleeding for some reason.

[House points Nate's bleeding wrist down, letting the blood drain.]

ENID: Is he going to be okay?

HOUSE: He'll need dialysis. And he'll have to get his blood drained every few months for the rest of his life. My condolences. It's going to be a long and annoying life.

[Despite that piece of "bad news", Enid smiles through her tears.]

HOUSE: [leaning close to Nate] I wouldn't have taken your bishop. I'd have moved my queen to D6, defusing the thr*at. Then rook to E8, attacking the king's pawn. I'd have lost the exchange, but won the game.

[He starts to limp away, when...]

NATE: I know.

[House turns, surprised.]

NATE: I was bluffing. And that's why... [sniggering] you lost.

[House is speechless. He turns and walks.]

HOUSE: [grumbling] Jerk.

[He leaves.]

[PPTH, Lab. House walks outside and sees Foreman in the lab, unaware that House has "solved the case", performing the House-ordered tests. House enters the lab, while Foreman looks into a microscope. He stands, leaning against a glass wall.]

FOREMAN: [not turning back] You just here to watch, or you got something to say?

HOUSE: [b*at] Still running the new biopsy for amyloidosis?

FOREMAN: Yeah. Still nothing.

[House seems to have something to say, but doesn't say it. Foreman waits.]

HOUSE: Run the test again. Recheck your results.

[Foreman hardly looks pleased.]

HOUSE: Looks like you're in for an all-nighter.

[Foreman raises his eyebrows. House leaves. Foreman sighs and gets back to work.]
{"type": "series", "show": "House", "episode": "03x23 - The Jerk"}