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"Thirty-five-year-old male," Cuddy slapped the folder down on the conference table. "Passed out at a bondage photography exhibition."
"Maybe he just got too excited," House said.
Cameron pulled the file over and flipped it open. "BP is normal. Tox screen negative."
"His friends said his fingernails turned blue," Cuddy said.
"Just his fingernails?" Foreman asked. "Not his fingers?"
"Just the fingernails," Cuddy said, "and now they're back to normal."
"That could be anything," Foreman said.
"That's why I'm bringing it to you," Cuddy said sweetly. "House, you owe me. Take this one."
House made a mocking face at her but pulled the cap off a whiteboard marker and wrote the symptoms on the board. "Any other symptoms?"
"Not yet," Cuddy said, "but he looks like he might throw up any minute."
"You," House pointed at Cameron, "patient history. You," Chase, "find out what's going on with his blood ox and check out his lungs. You," Foreman, "watch him for vomiting and if he does, test it." As they walked out to follow his orders, House called after them, "If he grabbed a souvenir postcard from the exhibit, bring me one."
There were tests, and tests, and tests. They added vomiting to the list of symptoms, and the patient passed out when he tried to stand up but was fine when seated or lying down.
"He's gay," Chase said. "Could be some sort of sexually transmitted disease."
"STD panel came back clean," Foreman said.
"And he said he always uses condoms, and doesn't, uh," Cameron fumbled over it, "isn't on the receiving end of anal sex."
"He could be lying," Foreman said.
"I don't think he is," Cameron said.
"Could be environmental," Chase suggested. "He's a painter. We could check his place."
"Lost of fumes with paint," Wilson said. "Some toxic chemicals, could cause cancer."
Cameron shook her head. "He says he's always careful when he paints. Plenty of ventilation, cleans up carefully."
"Could be lying," Foreman said again.
House pulled the file over and looked down at the name for a long moment. "He's not lying. At least, not about the sex or the ventilation." He capped the whiteboard marker and dropped it and the file on the table.
"How can you possibly know that?" Chase asked.
House unhooked his cane from the top of the whiteboard and started out of the office.
"Where are you going?" Cameron asked.
"To see the patient."
"You're going to see a patient?" Wilson asked.
"Isn't that what we're supposed to do?" House used his cane to push the button for the elevator.
"Yes," Wilson said, "but you rarely do what you're supposed to do."
"Don't get used to it." House led his pack of fellows and Wilson to the patient's room, and paused outside it to observe for a moment.
The patient, a pale, black-haired man, was sitting up in his hospital bed. There were two other people, a woman with long red hair and a very tan man, sitting in chairs on one side of him. All three of them were bent over a sketchbook, and all three of them looked up when House slid the door open.
"Greg," the patient said.
The woman looked from House to the patient. "Greg? Greg Greg?"
"Noah," House said. "I'm here to find out what you're lying about."
"I'm not," Noah said. "I never lie to doctors."
"Everybody lies."
"I'm not lying," Noah said. "If I'm not telling you something, it's because I don't know it's relevant or because you haven't asked me about it yet." He spread his arms out. "Ask me anything you want, and I'll tell you."
"Okay," House pretended to think for a moment. "Last time you had sex?"
"Friday afternoon," Noah said promptly. "Two-thirty-ish. His place. I bent him over the arm of the couch. Used a condom."
"Two-thirty in the afternoon?" House said. "Is he retired? I know you like them older."
"He isn't any older than you," Noah shot back. "What happened to your leg?"
"Infarction," House said. "Cut off blood flow to the muscle. When I was unconscious, my girlfriend went against my wishes and had them cut out the dead muscle."
Noah's jaw tightened. "Ex-girlfriend now?"
"Yes," House said.
"Good," the tan man said. Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. "Consent is important."
House ignored it and asked Noah, "Are you drinking your turpentine? Lose track and think it's your water glass?"
Noah shook his head. "I'm careful when I paint. You've seen me paint."
"Not recently."
"We have," the redhead put in. "He's careful."
House stared Noah down. "I guess you'd have to be, to be so successful. I bought one of your paintings last year. Two thousand dollars just for some canvas and paint."
"I would have recognized your name on a buyer list."
"Fake name," House said, "paid in cash."
"I would have given you a painting," Noah said.
"Not the point."
"Of course it's not." Noah looked past him. "I haven't met you yet."
"Hi, Noah. I'm Dr. Wilson."
Noah's eyes went wide, and he looked back at House. "Wilson Wilson? I thought he'd be prettier."
"You should have seen him fifteen years ago."
Noah put on an exaggerated pout. "Was he prettier than me?"
"No one was prettier than you fifteen years ago. We need to check out your house, your studio, anywhere else you spend time."
"Yeah," Noah said, "sure. Keys are here somewhere."
"I've got them." The redhead pulled a key ring out of her purse. "House, studio, car. He helped hang my show at the gallery. Should be open; we don't have a key to that."
House turned his attention to her while Foreman took the keys from her. "You're the bondage photographer?"
"Yes," she said coolly, "but I'm not the one in our household who likes older men."
"The club," the tanned one said.
The redhead turned to look at him. "He never goes to our club."
"He helped me bring over the," he glanced at the rest of the room, "uh."
"St. Andrew's cross," Noah said. "Scott makes bondage furniture."
House's eyes went deliberately wide as he turned to look at his fellows. "That seems like it would have been relevant." He turned back to the other three. "Do you tan your own leather?"
"No," Scott said.
"Maybe slightly less relevant. Chase, you check out the club and the gallery. Cameron and Foreman, you're on the house and the studio."
"Greg," Noah said as House turned away.
House turned back to him.
"I'm scared."
"I know," House said. "I'll figure it out."
"You know the patient," Wilson said as they headed down to the cafeteria for lunch.
House waited a moment, then said, "Was there a question in there?"
"It was implied," Wilson said. "And what painting did he do that you bought?"
"The one that cost two thousand dollars," House said.
"How do you know the patient?" Foreman asked as the five of them - House, his fellows, and Wilson - made their way down the hall toward Noah's room.
"How does anyone know anyone?" House shot back.
"He just doesn't seem like someone you would know," Cameron said. "We're curious."
"You know what they say," House said. "Curiosity killed the cat." He pushed the room's door open. This time, only the redhead was sitting with Noah. "Where was the last place you went on vacation?"
Noah, who'd gotten paler and sleepier as they failed to find a diagnosis, blinked, rallied, and said, "The Bahamas."
House's eyebrows went up; behind him, Foreman, Cameron, and Chase exchanged looks.
"A friend," the redhead said, "took us."
"A friend?" Cameron asked.
"Yes," the redhead said evenly. "I'm sure you've heard of having friends."
"That's not what I meant," Cameron started.
The redhead interrupted her. "He likes it when I tie him up, and he has a private jet."
House was starting to like her.
"Speaking of friends," Chase said, and stopped when House shot him a glare.
House sighed, and said, "Fine. Since we're not getting anywhere, he's my ex."
There was a shocked silence that was broken by the door opening and the tan one coming in. He slipped around House's silent fellows and Wilson to take the chair next to the redhead.
"What do you mean your ex?" Wilson asked.
"I mean," House said, "we used to go on dates and have sex."
"The best way to make him happy," Noah said, "is to bend him over something and fuck him." He tilted his head. "How does that work now with your leg?"
"Don't know," House said. "Haven't tried it."
"No wonder you're so grumpy." Noah's eyes slid closed.
"Suspension bondage," the redhead suggested.
"Takes too long," the tan one said. "Something with a step? One-sided kneeler?"
House didn't look at his fellows or Wilson. "Can we get back on topic? When were you in the Bahamas?"
House pushed open the door to Noah's room. He had his fellows and Wilson with him again.
The tan one frowned deeply. "He keeps falling asleep at the drop of a hat."
"That's the medication we had him on," House said. He stepped forward, went to the side of the bed, and put his hand on Noah's shoulder. "The wrong medication." The movement his hand made on Noah was somewhere between a caress and a jolt.
Noah took a deep breath and blinked his eyes open, looking around before focusing on House. "Greg."
"The good news," House said, "is that we figured out what's wrong with you. The bad news is that it's cancer. The good news is that it's treatable. That makes you Wilson's patient." He looked between Noah and Wilson. "I don't know if that part's good news or bad news."
"You're sure?" the redhead asked.
"Yes." Wilson stepped forward.
"Greg," Noah said. He reached up and squeezed House's hand. "Thank you."
House looked down at him, and then he gave in and squeezed back. "You're welcome."
House had his bad leg stretched out on the couch - it put him at the right angle to look at the newest addition to his apartment - when there was a knock at the door.
The knock came again, and again. "House," Wilson called.
"No one's home," House called back.
Silence, and then Wilson unlocked the door and came in. "Liar," he said. He hung up his coat and walked into the apartment. "I talked to Noah today." He paused when he reached the living room and saw what House was looking at. "What's that?"
House silently held up the note that had come with it.
Wilson read it out loud. "I would have given you a painting, but I thought an adjustable spanking bench would be more useful."
Wilson handed the note back and joined House in looking at the bench. "That is useful. Take off your pants and bend over it."
That was surprising enough to make House look up at him. "What?"
"Like I said," Wilson said, "I talked to Noah. I couldn't figure out the timeline. He knew about me, but I never knew about him."
"I don't tell you everything," House said.
"You tell me about your sex life," Wilson said. "Noah said you went to a conference, met me, and came home and broke up with him. Take off your pants and bend over the bench." Wilson turned and went into House's bedroom.
"What are you doing?" House called after him.
"Checking to see if I need to go to the pharmacy," Wilson called back. There was a drawer opening and shutting, and rummaging in the bathroom. Wilson came back with condoms, lube, gloves, and a small trash can. "I thought I would take Noah's advice about how to make you happy."
"There is no end to how much you'll give someone you think needs it."
Wilson unbuttoned one of his cuffs and started rolling up his sleeve with definitive movements. "House," he said firmly enough to make House look up at him, "did it ever occur to you that you weren't the only one who fell in love at that conference?"
House looked at Wilson's face, and then lower. They were both hard.
"Now take off your damn pants," Wilson said, undoing the other cuff, "and bend over the bench."
House took off his damn pants and bent over the bench.