Work Text:
Wilson showed up early at Baker Street. Six am. He used the spare key House gave him years ago. A sign of trust. He briefly debated whether he was breaking said trust by sneaking in while his boyfriend sleeps. He added beers and healthier options to the fridge, some books on the shelves, another pillow to the couch, and – ever so quietly – hung some of his pressed shirts and ties in the closet.
He woke House up not with the muffled noises but by the unmistakable smell of bacon and eggs. But House must not have found it weird. In fact, all he did was stumble down the hallway with his cane, only wearing his boxers. Identifying his boyfriend as the cook, he didn’t question why he was in his apartment. He didn’t smile like a besotted love interest either, so Wilson knows he hasn’t been replaced.
“Pig’s belly or turkey thigh?”
It took Wilson off-guard when the gravelly voice asked a question, but he easily figured out what his lover was asking.
“Pig.”
“Off the health kick then. Good.”
That was it. House walked back to his bedroom to shower and get dressed. When he walked back out, he was wearing his normal clothes without his regular work jacket – not the white one that remains in his office – and sat at the kitchen table, waiting to be fed.
Once House got some home-cooked breakfast and coffee in his system, he had been slightly more affectionate. He held Wilson’s hand across the table, kissed him when he stood, and again when they left for work. He hasn’t talked much, and Wilson wonders if this will be how the relationship with his best friend will be. So different from his work personality. Much more subdued.
When they arrive at the hospital, House silently reaches for Wilson’s hand and pulls him into a kiss. Soft and warm, stubble scratching Wilson’s cheek, reminding him that this is real. He had been quiet during the whole ride. He hadn’t been hostile in his silence, but the reassurance is surprising yet welcome.
When they step into the hospital, House is wearing his obnoxious I’m-better-than-you mask, and Cuddy confronts him. She has a new proposition for her diagnostician who’s falling behind by years. He can either take on twenty clinic patients for every case patient he has, or he can take on two case patients at a time and only see five clinic patients within that time. House is given an hour to make his decision, and he skips the conference room to go over the options in Wilson’s office.
“Two cases mean twice the mystery,” Wilson points out.
“Can the ducklings keep track of two patients at a time?”
“You could ask Cuddy for a trial run.”
The words trial run spark the competitiveness running through House’s veins. He kisses his boyfriend for the suggestion then heads to Cuddy’s office quick as he can.
“… you’re going to handle two cases at a time?” She asks after hearing his idea.
“The ducklings will help.”
“Of course, they will. Trial basis, huh? Alright. You have my blessing.”
When he leaves Cuddy’s office, Wilson is waiting for him with a case file in hand. According to the oncologist, a nineteen-year-old collapsed during sex, and his combination of symptoms doesn’t fit any one diagnosis.
“Why this guy?”
“Blood pressure’s not responding to IV fluids.”
“No, no I didn’t ask how you plan to con me into treating him,” House smirks, “I asked you why YOU want me to treat him.”
“Because this one’s is in our emergency room.”
“Ah, so it’s a proximity issue.” House leans over Wilson to grab a second file. “If somebody was sick in the third-floor stairwell, that’s who we would be talking about.”
“Yes, I checked the stairwell. It’s clear.”
House nearly laughs as he reads over a third file, the second one being boring. This one is a schizophrenic mother whose symptoms just got worse.
“Ok then. Schizo mom and emergency room guy it is.”
They enter the elevator together, walking into House’s conference room. The Ducklings don’t have much to do. Chase has a crossword puzzle in front of him, and Foreman is on his phone. Cameron is in House’s office, scrolling through his computer. House hands one of his markers to Wilson, who dutifully goes to the board. He draws a line down the middle, labeling the sides as ‘Schizo Mom’ and ‘ER Guy’. House smiles approvingly, but Chase let out a huffy noise.
“Why does he get to touch your marker?”
“Because I’m screwing him.” He deadpans.
Wilson, using years of being House’s friend, simply rolls his eyes. After another second, the Ducklings don’t believe him either and join Wilson at the table once the latter hands over the marker. House drops the files in front of them.
“Thoughts?”
Foreman flips through one file while the other two take their time. He scoffs.
“What’s the point here? A DVT’s a DVT. Put her on IV heparin to prevent future clots. What’s the big mystery?”
House adds 38yo under ‘Schizo Mom’ and taps the board.
“She’s 38 years old! She’s twenty years too young to get a deep vein thrombosis!”
“Thirty-eight?” Cameron frowns. “I thought we were treating a nineteen-year-old.”
“We’re treating both!” House announces. “Consider it a test. Now, can we get back to Schizo Mom?”
Foreman rolls his eyes. “I treated a twelve-year-old girl once, soccer player, she got kicked in the leg…”
“There was no trauma, none of the risk factors.” Wilson shakes his head.
“Well, since she’s schizophrenic…” Foreman starts.
“Abnormal dopaminergic pathways in the brain do not cause blood clots.” House cuts him off, “Schizophrenia is not the cause of DVT.”
He sighs loudly and tosses a carefully coded leather-bound notebook on the table. He says that the mom’s kid has been taking notes.
“Look over that until you come up with ideas. While you wait, let’s go over ER Guy.”
“Absidia infection?” Chase suggests.
“No, you wouldn’t get the rash or cough.” Foreman dismisses him quickly.
Cameron raises an eyebrow. “What about arthritis? Accompanying vasculitis causes nerve damage”
“No, it wouldn’t cause the blood pressure problems.” Foreman counters.
House looks over to Wilson, expecting an epiphany moment.
“Brandon’s got abdominal pain. Maybe carcinoid?”
Foreman is again quick to disagree, “Nah, but then you wouldn’t get the”
House cuts him off by slamming a giant book in front of him.
“Foreman, if you’re going to list all the things it’s not, it might be quicker to do it alphabetically. Let’s see. Absidia? Excellent. Doesn’t account for any of the symptoms.”
“No condition accounts for all these symptoms.” Cameron frowns.
House grows sardonic. “Well, good! Because I thought maybe he was sick, but apparently, he’s not. Who wants to do up the discharge papers?” He pauses, staring back. “Okay, unless we control the blood pressure, he’s going to start circling the drain before we can figure out what’s wrong with him. Cameron and Chase, treat him for sepsis and broad-spectrum antibiotics. Foreman, read the book and brainstorm for the schizo. Wilson, let’s get a cort-stim test and an echocardiogram.”
Foreman reluctantly grabs the book while the others depart.
“When you say let’s, you mean me, right?” Wilson asks as they walk down the hall.
“You know me so well, Sweetheart,” House winks, disappearing into the elevator.
Rather than work on his own patient, House signs into the clinic at 08:50. In Exam Room 1, a patient named Jodi brings in a mucous sample. She shows him a paint color sample card (pale goldenrod), stating last week her mucous was that color.
“Should I be worried?”
Very. Paramedics took a week to respond. He wants to be sarcastic, but he’ll settle for brutal honesty. “You’re only here because you’re going to get fired, so you’re getting the most of your health insurance while you still can. That’s why you got the new glasses, and that is why your teeth are sparkly white.”
Jodi looks at her shoes dangling from the patient’s chair. “I might be quitting…”
“If you were quitting you would have known that last week when your snot was still pale goldenrod; you’re getting fired.” He pauses when she looks more pitiful then adds, “I’ll get you in for a full body scan later this week.”
His second patient, in Exam Room 3, has a cut-and-dry sore throat. But House decides to milk the time and play the next level of Metroid Prime Hunters on his Gameboy.
“What are you doing?” His patient asks after a few minutes.
“Trying to beat level four.”
“… no, I mean-”
“I know what you meant,” House responds without looking up from the screen. “See the tongue depressors by the sink over there? The drawer in front of them has some Halls. Take five of whichever flavor you’re not allergic to.”
“Cough drops? It’s not that serious then?”
“No.”
“Then why am I-?”
“You’re in here until I beat level four.”
Once he does and his patient flees the scene, House is handed the results for a patient waiting in Exam Room 7. He scans over the file and frowns, feeling a strange sensation in the back of his mind.
“Well, good news, the lab says it’s not strep, so we’re done. Your kid literally has none of the symptoms of strep, I just figured it was quicker running the test than arguing with you. My point is… go!”
The mother of the third patient, Terri, insists she only wanted his opinion. And then she starts in on how her daughter is having a birthday party next week.
“… and she’s upset that I’m getting a sugarless cake.”
“The other kids hate it!” House’s patient, Wendy, huffs at her.
This is why they’re here. So pathetic. What the fuck is wrong with parents keeping kids away from the rich cakes? Sugarless ones, rice cakes… ice cream to ice baths…
House is brought out of his thoughts when Terri demands that Wendy get her weight under control. The kid is only eight going on nine, and she’s barely chubby. House moves closer, taking a seat on the rolling stool.
“You know, I feel sorry for those other kids, Wendy, who don’t have a mom like yours – a mom who knows that sugar causes heart disease, appendicitis, and athlete’s foot.” When Terri tries to object, House barrels through. “Oh, yes, it is. No, I get it. You want her to slim down a little, so she can wear pretty clothes like yours. Love the bracelets. Hey! What about matching outfits? You could be twins! She can’t be your daughter, it’s impossible, you look way too young!” As he leaves the room, he tells Wendy happy birthday and then glares at Terri. “Get the kid a damned ice cream cake.”
House is back on his Gameboy when he goes to exam room 5 for patient number four. Metroid Prime Hunters is back onscreen when he realizes it’s nothing major – her leg hurts after running six miles. For twenty minutes, they pass the Gameboy back and forth, trying to beat level 5. Once the patient does, she’s free to go. House takes one last folder (patient five) and goes to exam room 2. There’s a teen boy who’s barely started puberty standing alone in the room.
“How you doing?”
“Okay.” The kid shrugs.
“Great. I’m doing good, too. Had sex and made it through two levels of my video game.”
“… should I go?”
“You think it’s going to come out on its own? Are we talking bigger than a breadbasket? ‘Cause actually, it will come out on its own, which for small stuff is no problem. Gets wrapped up in a nice soft package and plop! Big stuff, you’re going to rip something, which speaking medically, is when the fun stops.”
The boy’s eyes widen, “How did you-?”
“You’ve been here half an hour and haven’t sat down, that tells me its location. You haven’t told me what it is, that tells me it’s humiliating. You have a little birdie carved on your arm, that tells me you have a high tolerance for humiliation, so I figure it’s not hemorrhoids.” He pauses a moment. “I’ve been a doctor for twenty years; you’re not going to surprise me.”
The teen finally shrugs. “It’s an MP3 player.”
House takes a moment to digest this but shakes himself out of it. “Is it… is it because of the size, or the shape, or the pounding bass line?”
“What are we going to do?”
“I…” House tells him while grabbing the rolling stool and pulling out his Gameboy once more, “am gonna wait.”
At a quarter till eleven, House meets Wilson as he enters Cuyler Wing, instantly talking about schizophrenia rather than the echocardiogram. He admits not knowing much about the illness, other than Galen – the Marcus Welby of ancient Greece. They pass by the nurse’s station, and Wilson stops short when House keeps going.
“Where are you going?”
“Going to see the patient. That all-important human connection. Thought I’d give it a whirl.”
“You won’t talk to patients because they lie, but give you a patient with no concept of reality…” He mutters as he catches up.
House explains the Socratic method as being the best way of teaching everything, apart from juggling chainsaws. Without Isaac Newton, we’d be floating on the ceiling.
“Dodging chainsaws, no doubt.”
They arrive at Lucy’s room, and her son jumps up to make introductions. House shows that he’s got the kid’s case notes and then gives him a ten-dollar bill.
“Get yourself whatever you want as long as there’s enough left over for a Reuben sandwich, dry, no fries, hold the pickles. Should run you about $5.80 with tax. Dr. Wilson here will take you, and I’ll page you when we’re done.”
Luke takes the money and leaves with Wilson. House doesn’t notice his ducklings gathering across the hall, his attention fully on Lucy. He stays in there for an hour and then pages Wilson to bring Luke back.
“Brandon’s BP is falling fast,” Foreman reports outside Lucy’s room. “There’s fluid filling his lungs. His creatinine’s rising. His kidneys are shutting down. Our treatment isn’t making him better, it’s killing him.”
“We already checked for abdominal infections,” Chase points out.
“What if the low blood pressure is causing the abdominal pain?” Cameron asks. “Viral heart infection. The intestines aren’t getting enough blood, and the result is belly pain.”
“Explains everything but the cough and rash,” House nods. “Wilson, mini board.”
The doctors turn around and see that Wilson has appeared alongside a teenager. The kid hands Wilson a cold Reuben and then returns inside to his mom’s side. Wilson dutifully grabs a miniature whiteboard from the nurse’s station and hands him a green marker from his white coat. House holds his gaze for a moment longer than strictly necessary as their fingers brush together.
Cardiac infection he writes on the board. He trades Wilson for a blue marker.
Allergy he trades Wilson for a red marker.
Carcinoid he trades Wilson for a purple marker.
Hypothyroidism he trades Wilson for an orange marker.
Sinus infection he caps the final marker.
“No condition explains all these, but purple and orange can cover everything. Two conditions contracted simultaneously. Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is always the best.”
Wilson stares at him in awe, but Cameron counteracts that there must be something simpler. House frowns.
“Baby shows up. Chase tells you that two people exchanged fluids to create this being. I tell you that one stork dropped the little tyke off in a diaper. You going to go with the two or the one?”
“I think your argument is specious.”
“I think your tie is ugly. Why is one simpler than two? It’s lower, lonelier… is it simpler? Each one of these conditions is about a thousand to one shot. That means that any two of them happening at the same time is a million to one shot. Chase says that cardiac infection is a ten million to one shot, which makes my idea ten times better than yours. Get a calculator, and run the numbers. Chase, Sinus. Cameron, Hypothyroidism.”
They break, and Foreman takes Luke’s book to study up on Lucy. House takes his sandwich from Wilson, and they walk to the latter’s office.
“Learn anything from the human connection?” Wilson speaks up, referring to the schizophrenic mom.
“Yeah. The Mets suck. Also, for the last two months, she hasn’t shaved her legs. Because of the tremors… she cuts herself. I’m thinking the amount of blood when she cut herself changed, so I’ll have Foreman start some bloodwork.”
“Good luck,” he nods.
Wilson separates before House can reach his boyfriend’s office, and the latter calls after him.
“Where are you going?”
“Papers to file, new patients to shift. You can eat in my office so Cuddy won’t find you.”
House shakes his head but is unable to retort before Wilson has disappeared. The office is unlocked, and House somewhat reluctantly walks inside. While House relaxes in Wilson’s chair with his ankles crossed on his desk, Wilson checks out of the hospital. He drives to his apartment first, picking up the two Office Depot boxes he’d packed the night before. Loaded in his backseat, he drives to House’s apartment and uses his spare key.
He adds his favorite fleece blanket to the arm of the couch. He also unpacks his casual wear, ties, and a pair of tennis shoes, situating them in House’s bedroom closet. One box down, he takes the second with him into the bathroom. He sets his hair dryer under the sink; his two favorite body washes are added to the tub’s rim, and he adds his red toothbrush inside the medicine cabinet.
Bringing the box back into the kitchen, Wilson adds a kitschy plate and cup set in the cabinet above the toaster, a frying pan in the cabinet next to the oven, and a few fun magnets to the fridge. He empties the remnants of the box: two candles. Coconut is set behind the television, and sweet almond is set on the mantle near the door. Partially moved into his boyfriend’s apartment, Wilson feels accomplished.
“You finished with your nonexistent patients?” House asks, holding up Wilson’s agenda when the man returns.
“Something new came up last night,” he assures him, reaching for the book. “I never stopped in to write it down.”
House moves the book away, and Wilson comes around the desk. He reaches the book, but instead of letting go, he uses the book as leverage to pull Wilson toward him. Wilson huffs in an exasperated yet fond way but allows House to basically pull him onto his lap, avoiding the bad leg.
“I think I can forgive you, but how do you plan on apologizing?”
Wilson smiles decisively and leans in to meet House’s lips. It feels so good to be able to kiss him and not worry about what other people think. Greg’s arms reach around James, lightly bending back James’ head across his arm. Greg’s lips press hard, deep against James’ with a fervent urgency. James helplessly kisses back with a rapid degree of intensity, his lips shaking, and Greg slips his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth. He eagerly plots every aspect of the wet, hot cavern.
The desire mixed with the experience makes James dizzy in a pleasurable, swaying world. Wild tremors shoot along Greg’s nerves when James catches his tongue in the hollow of his cheek and sucks. Greg’s fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer. Greg’s stubble scratches James’ skin, and the latter inhales his shaving cream, his shampoo, him. They’re impossibly close, feeling all of each other pressed against each other. It doesn’t matter that there’s no space left, but James wants Greg closer.
Greg understands the feeling, knotting his fists in his shirt, pulling him ridiculously harder against him, leaving bruising, scathing bruises, and biting his swollen lips. James groans softly, though much of it is muffled by Greg’s skin. James can’t hear anything but the heartbeat pounding in his chest, echoing in his head. Greg, on the other hand, feels as though his heart has exploded. Again and again. Each time his veins throb. He reluctantly pulls away, and James’ eyes are closed; his lip is bleeding.
James nudges his nose against Greg’s, partially opening his eyes. He stares blankly from Greg’s eyes to his hairline, and Greg gently swipes a thumb across the small blood trail. James sits back, exhausted, but he understands his partner’s nonverbal needs. With some difficulty, James balances on shaky legs. Greg offers his cane, and his boyfriend easily accepts the aide to walk the short distance to the couch.
Two or three minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Wilson is too fatigued to even speak, so House grabs the pillow and blanket from his bottom drawer and hurls them at his lover. Wilson frowns but understands and creates a makeshift bed. Another knock and this time House answers quietly. Foreman walks in, flagged by Chase and Cameron.
“What’s wrong with him?” Cameron asks not insensitively.
“He’s feeling under the weather. What do you have?”
“Brandon’s kidney failure is acute interstitial nephritis,” Cameron tells him. “The antibiotics didn’t cause it.”
House nods. “Order the tests.”
She and Chase leave; Foreman stays behind.
“When I took her blood, she spasmed, and I gave her Haldol,” he notices House’s face growing agitated but continues. “Her kid was reading to her when she started showing signs of hematemesis.”
“Foreman,” he speaks with soft, strained politeness, “hand me my cane.”
The duckling looks around and collects the cane from the couch. Foreman is wary when House escorts him out of the office. He doesn’t speak the entire length of the hallway. But when they near the elevator, he explodes.
“Do you even fucking listen to me!? When I said, “no psych meds,” I’m just curious – which word didn’t you understand?”
“The Haldol had nothing to do with the bleed. You know that. I used it purely as a chemical restraint.”
“Oh, great, well, that’s good to hear. She won’t experience any of those pesky little side effects that you get when your motives aren’t pure.”
Foreman argues that those side effects are so rare, but House only growls at him.
“Passing out, increased confusion, depression, that’s not gonna happen. That’s not gonna screw up our diagnosis, ‘cause you just used it to restrain her. I’m so relieved!”
“She spat in my face!” Foreman snaps.
“It must have been so frightening for you.”
“What was I supposed to do? Tie her down?”
“Yeah!” House exclaims. “Anything but give her drugs. That was my whole damn point!”
Cameron hesitantly walks over, and House turns his bad attitude on her.
“I ran a TSH, T3, and T4. Patient’s negative for hypothyroidism. He’s getting better.”
No sooner than she says this, their pagers go wild, and Chase catches them up to speed while nurses gather in Brandon’s room.
“White cell count is down, way down, and dropping. Brandon’s immune system is shot. We need to get him into a clean room.”
House and the ducklings – minus Foreman, who stays behind with their younger patient – go to the conference room with the big whiteboard to go over their other patient. Vitamin K would explain the bleed but not the clot. Without vitamin K, protein C doesn’t work. Without protein C, she clots. Clotting and thinning, all at the same time.
“Two months ago,” Cameron looks through her notes, “she complained of a sore throat. And her son got her ampicillin.”
“It’s more likely malnourishment,” Chase claims. “Alcohol causes immobility, which explains the DVT. It also causes cirrhosis which explains the bleed and the prolonged PT time. Let’s ultrasound the liver.”
House nods. “Check out her place for ampicillin and diet, then ultrasound her liver. Let’s find out who’s right before she bleeds to death.”
To: Jimmy
From: GH
15:46
You there?
To: 🏚
From: JW
15:50
No
To: Jimmy
From: GH
15:52
U did the kid’s history
800 symptoms
Which hit 1st?
To: 🏚
From: JW
15:55
Don’t make me think while my brains r on the floor
15:59
The cough
To: Jimmy
From: Greg
15:59
💗
Cameron and Chase find an empty fridge and a freezer full of frozen burger dinners. They take pictures and bring one back. House microwaves it in the fishbowl and brings it to the cafeteria table where Luke is sitting, poking through a wilted salad.
“That’s the only thing she’ll eat.”
“Ah. Problem is, you can’t actually live on this stuff.”
“I checked it out,” he shakes his head. “I looked on the box, all the nutritional values were solid. There’s plenty of protein and calories…”
“Yeah, vitamin A and C, but no K. That’s why your mom got sick.”
House explains that they plan to load her up with Vitamin K, but the news only upsets the kid. He blames himself, and House notices the pain in the teen’s wrist when he lifts his backpack. He brings him upstairs for an x-ray.
“See this right here?” House points out a section of his wrist as shown on the x-ray on the lightbox back in his office. “It’s the epiphyseal plate, otherwise known as the growth plate. Amazing thing, this bone. If you know how to read it, it can tell you how old someone really is, exactly how old.”
Luke gulps, and House shakes his head.
“Not even fifteen. Almost, though. Two weeks away, maybe a month.”
“I’ll be fifteen next week.”
House walks to his desk and sits. “Happy birthday to both of us. If you’re gonna lie though, go big, go 21. That way you won’t need your crazy mom to help you buy vodka.”
“Great. Thanks for the tip.” He takes out his notebook. “Now, when I bring my mom home, is there anything I need to know about taking care of her?”
“I suppose your biggest worry isn’t the booze. You’re 15, basically no mom. Child Welfare let kids get away with that. Well, they wouldn’t need those nice foster homes, and that would make them sad.”
“They’d put her someplace too. My life is working.”
“Not the word I’d use. Most fifteen-year-old kids are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, you know, they’re huffing glue, catching crabs…”
Luke scowls, “If you turn me in, I’ll sue you. That’s privileged information.”
House brushes off the threat. “Oh, relax. It’s not even your x-ray.”
Luke returns to his mom, and House joins the ducklings in the fishbowl.
“Gout.”
“Um, are we talking about Brandon?” Chase asks.
“Gout?” Foreman repeats incredulously. “Uric acid crystals in the joints? The symptoms are pain, swelling, redness, stiffness… not one of which I see on that board.”
“Because he doesn’t have gout. Every day, cells die. We survive because the remaining cells divide and replace the losses. Colchicine, a gout medicine, blocks mitosis and stops cell division, which will result in abdominal pain, rash, nausea, fever, kidney failure, low blood pressure, and will also mess with the bone marrow.” He crosses these all off the board.
“But he doesn’t have gout.” Cameron frowns. “Why would he have gout medication?”
“Because you guys were right. He didn’t have two conditions at the exact same time. First, he got a cough. Now, because he’s an idiot, he went to a doctor. In order to feel justified in charging $200, the doctor felt he should actually do something. Oops. He wrote a prescription. 7000 people die each year from pharmacy screw-ups. Not nearly as many as die from doctor screw-ups, but still, not something they use in their promotional material. The pharmacist gave him gout medicine instead of cough medicine. And the only thing it wouldn’t do: relieve his cough. Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is almost always somebody screwed up.”
“But once he checked into this hospital he was completely in our control,” Cameron protests. “Our food, our pills, our everything. So even if you’re right, no gout medication. He’d either continue to deteriorate or he would have gotten better. But he got better, and then he got worse. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay. Two people screwed up,” House shrugs. “Not as simple as one, but…”
They return to the clean room, and House demands to know who gave Brandon cough medicine. It was his mom; she gave the last to him before he switched rooms.
“It was just cough medicine!” She insists, almost crying.
“No, it wasn’t. Where’s the bottle?”
Chase is sent to the pharmacy with Brandon’s mom and girlfriend… but they’re one and the same. An hour later, House and Wilson sit in the former’s office.
“It was so perfect. It was beautiful.”
“Beauty often seduces us on the road to truth.”
“And triteness kicks us in the nads.”
“So true.”
They share a look across the desk, and they break into genuine smiles despite the situation. Before anything can come of it, however, two nurses rush in with information on the two patients. Brandon crashed during surgery prep and is experiencing pain in his fingers. Lucy has cancer.
House heads for the clean room, bypassing the prep robes and air stimulation. The parents and ducklings warn him away, but he doesn’t mind them.
“Yeah, I read the sign. But cells of different organs reproduce at different rates.” He touches Brandon’s leg, and Brandon flinches and makes noises of protest. “So, a new kidney every three years, a new stomach lining every week…. This is why colchicine poisoning causes all of these symptoms but not all at once.”
“But we went to the pharmacy. We saw the pills!” Mrs. Merrell protests.
“Colchicine does its damage in a very specific order. First of all, there’s a pain in the abdomen, the rash, the fever… isn’t that what you got first? Then, the kidneys go, which is exactly what happened to Brandon. Then it screws up your bone marrow, and then neuropathy. Painful tingling in the fingers and toes. And what do you suppose happens after that?” He easily rips out some of Brandon’s hair, and Mrs. Merrell looks horrified. “Hair loss. The bad news is: your special boy is doing drugs.”
Mrs. Merrell again protests his accusations, but Brandon admits to taking ecstasy twice with his friends. Apparently, they cut it with colchicine. He orders his ducklings to start Brandon on fab fragments and give him some Tylenol for the hair he pulled out.
“And get some air in here!” He shouts as he leaves.
Wilson delivers the bad news to Lucy, and Luke becomes overwhelmed, setting down his notebook. If they do nothing, she’ll die from liver failure within sixty days. She needs a transplant, but she’s a thirty-eight-year-old schizophrenic mother, with no money, on the public dole, in fact, who knocks back vodka every time a breeze blows her way.
So, House and Wilson lie. They use 95% ethanol to temporarily dehydrate the tumor cells, literally sucking them dry. Bergen continues the surgery as the tumor begins to grow, but he makes sure House knows he’s damn lucky he didn’t just close her up. It’s fraud. She now needs chemotherapy. While Chase explains the situation with Luke (and his mom sleeps), Trina Wyeth of Child Services enters the room to take him away.
Luke passes by House at the elevators and calls him a bastard for sending Children’s Services after him. Something House didn’t actually do, but he takes credit for it anyway. With Chase left to pick up the pieces, Foreman neutralizes the colchicine that interfered with Brandon’s heart, and Cameron steps away from these two cases to return to a past case. Rebecca Adler is being released tonight.
“If anyone asks, you have eleven daughters and five sons.”
The kindergarteners run in, gathering around her bed. House and Wilson check out (20:00) for the day, but House makes a beeline for the pharmacy. For the next hour and a half, House checks through every set of pills, coming across two sets of identical pills: cough medicine with a letter on them, and colchicine without.
At 22:00, Greg plays a classical piece on his piano. He and James have eaten Chinese and watched General Hospital. Finishing the piece, Greg taps out happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you before stepping away from the musical device and grabbing his scotch. James cheers him without saying a word about the special holiday. They simply turn on The L Word on mute and quietly cuddle together on the couch.