Work Text:
INT. UNDERGROUND DISCO - NIGHT
[Strobe lights slice through the fog in time with the bass. There is a young man , just another guy in scrubs tucked into a leather jacket, leaning against a pillar. Soda in hand. It’s an odd combo, you may think. He was supposed to be off duty, but his buddies dragged him out there.
That incredibly handsome young man is me, not a narcissist just the truth. Yeah, I’m Oliver Harris. 32. Registered nurse. Or at least I was a nurse tonight.
I raise an eyebrow at the reflection of the mirrorball dancing on my scrubs. The music’s too loud, but it’s all a blur now. Between Britney Spears’ Toxic and Beyoncé’s Irreplaceable, my head is going to explode.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Damn, I’m really out of my element here. But you know, hospital work is its own weird form of rhythm. I just didn’t think I’d be dancing to this one.
[I take a sip of my soda. I should’ve gone for a drink, but hey, last time I went too far with tequila, I ended up drawing blood samples from myself.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Smart, right?
[I glance around. A guy near the dance floor stumbles, clutching his chest. First instinct? Patient in distress. My training kicks in. I squint. There’s something off about his posture.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Uh-oh. That’s not a drunk guy tripping over his own shoes. That’s a heart attack waiting to happen.
[I start making my way through the crowd. Everyone’s too busy living their best life to notice. But me? I’ve seen this kind of thing before. I push past some awkward dancers, sliding into the space next to him. He’s panting. Eyes rolling back. I kneel beside him.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Oh, great. Just great. This is my night, huh? Of course I can’t have one single night off. Not when there’s a goddamn MI on the dance floor. [I put my fingers on his carotid, last pulse to disappear.] His pulse is weak. Damn it. His skin’s cold. He’s sweating.
OLIVER: Call an ambulance! [I bark at my friend, Jess, who’s standing frozen behind me. Her face is wide-eyed.]
JESS: Right on it, Ollie! [She fumbles with her phone, and I glance back at the guy.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Chest pain, shortness of breath, sweating like he’s on fire. STEMI? Yeah, this guy’s probably having an MI.
OLIVER: [I mutter the symptoms to myself.] Inferior MI. Hypotension. We’re probably looking at an ST-elevation. [His lips twitch.] Damn. He’s fighting for air, but I can’t waste time. I need the medics here now . Stay with me. [I murmur, pressing a hand to his shoulder. His eyes flicker. He’s still with me.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: I’m doing the best I can, but who needs an ER when there’s a disco ball and a bunch of drunken idiots? Maybe I should’ve stayed home, had a quiet night. But I guess that’s never my style.
OLIVER: Breathe slow [I add, speaking to him like I would a patient on the ward. I don’t know if it comforts him, but it helps me focus.]
[Just then, the sound of SIRENS cuts through the music. Perfect timing. Two paramedics burst through the doors. I step back to let them take over.]
PARAMEDIC 1: [One of them asks.] What happened?
OLIVER [V.O.]: Yeah, they’d better be asking. I’m not just your average guy in scrubs tonight.
OLIVER: Inferior MI. JVD could show. Possible Osborn waves. Hypotension. If he dips below forty, consider pacing.
[The paramedics exchange a glance.]
PARAMEDIC 2: Nice work.
OLIVER [V.O.]: Nice work, they say. It’s just another night for me. Should’ve been at home reading a book. But no, I’m here saving lives and proving my worth in a nightclub.
[The patient is loaded onto the stretcher. I’m not needed here anymore, but I can’t help watching them wheel him out.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Well, that’s done. At least I still have my night. Who knows? Maybe I’ll actually enjoy this now. Except… something feels weird.
[That’s when it hits me. The right side of my face tingles. I blink, and the sensation doesn’t go away.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: What the hell?
[I try to raise my arm. It’s slow. My fingers feel… off. Like they’re not responding right.
I frown, touch my cheek. It’s slack. Half my face doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Oh, great. Am I having a damn stroke now? Of all the times… I get to have a stroke at a disco.
[I reach for my phone, but I’m too dizzy. My hand shakes. I can’t feel my fingers properly anymore.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Am I imagining this? Shit, this is the worst possible place for something like this. I’m not even in a damn ER.
OLIVER: [Whispering.] Jess…
[Before I can process it, everything goes black.]
[CUT TO BLACK.]
INT. PRINCETON-PLAINSBORO ROOM - LATE MORNING
[Sunlight spills through a frosted window as I ’m wheeled in on a stretcher. I am dizzy, half-wired with leads and IVs. I grip the side rail, trying to settle my ringing head.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Note to self, hospital beds make terrible office chairs.
[The door swings open. In strides Dr. Remy Hadley known as “Thirteen” in here , clipboard in hand, expression neutral but curious.]
THIRTEEN : Oliver Harris? RN from St. Mary’s?
OLIVER [V.O. ]: She’s the one from the neurology conference in Chicago, presented on post-stroke synaptic recovery. I stole her lunch two days in a row at the buffet.
[I force a grin, shakily sit up straighter.]
OLIVER : Dr. Hadley. Fancy seeing you here, though I’d rather be anywhere else right now.
[She offers a small half-smile.]
THIRTEEN : You looked familiar. Didn’t expect to see you on the patient side.
[I pat the bedrail.]
OLIVER : Not how I planned to network.
THIRTEEN: Are you able to move? Could you try raising both hands, please?
[I try. There’s some numbness in my left hand, but it’s not too bad.]
OLIVER: Seems I’m brand new again. I’ve been really stressed with work. Just a bit more sleep and I’ll be good to go.
THIRTEEN: Well, I didn’t expect you to be such a bad patient. First, we run the tests and check your results. If everything is fine then you’re good to go.
[She glances down the hallway, lowers her voice.]
THIRTEEN : Your companion had a panic attack outside. She’s stable now, she looked really upset.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Jess… my childhood friend who called the ambulance. Of course she’s here, I didn’t think she’d stick around once I collapsed.
[Before I can answer, the door opens again. Jess steps in, cheeks still flushed, but breathing steady. She gives me a shaky wave.]
JESS : Hey… sorry about the drama.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Drama’s my middle name. Welp, not really.
[I reach out, Jess takes my hand.]
OLIVER : You okay?
[Jess nods, managing a small smile.]
JESS : [Shaky] Yeah. Just… got spooked. But I’m okay.
[Thirteen watches us, then clears her throat.]
THIRTEEN : I’ll give you two a minute. Then we’ll go over your test schedule.
[She taps her clipboard and slips out.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: That was efficient. No small talk, just business. I respect that.
[Jess pulls up a chair, sits close.]
JESS : They say I overreacted. I just… saw you flat on the floor. [I squeeze her hand.]
OLIVER : You did exactly what I would’ve done, for you or anyone else.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: And there it is again. That look she gives me, like I’m the only person in the room who matters.
[Jess takes a breath, glancing at the leads on my arm.]
JESS : Tests? Do you know what they’re looking for?
OLIVER : Clotting disorders, small-vessel damage… maybe they’ll find a mystery syndrome and make me famous. [Jess chuckles, tension easing.]
JESS : Don’t scare me like that dumbass.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Scare her? I’m trying to sound casual. But inside, I’m a mess. I have the right to feel scare.
JESS : [She reaches up to brush my hair from my forehead.]Just rest, okay? I’ll be right here.
[I nod, chest tightening for reasons beyond my stroke.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Right here. Funny how “right here” can mean so damn much.
[Jess settles back as I lie down, eyes on the ceiling. Thirteen’s voice calls us from the door.]
THIRTEEN [O.S.] : Time’s up, folks. Brain waves await.
[Jess gives my hand one last squeeze and slips out. Thirteen enters, expression unreadable.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : Tests first. Feelings later. But they’re already starting to bleed together.
[CUT TO: I’m being prepped for EEG. Jess is watching from the doorway, uncertainty and care in her eyes.]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER
[I’m escorted down the hallway by Thirteen, who’s steering my wheelchair with military precision. I’m propped up at a slight angle, enough to see everything, too little to be comfortable.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Why do hospital corridors feel like gauntlets? It’s fluorescent torture leading to a sea of beeping machines.
[We turn a corner and nearly collide with Dr. Gregory House , flanked by Dr. Lisa Cuddy , looking impossibly flawless in her power suit. They’re leaned so close they could be sharing secrets.]
HOUSE: You’re late. I could’ve fixed the MRI schedule myself. But I suppose those pretty balloons were worthy of wait.
CUDDY : [Rolling her eyes.] Right. Because knocking people unconscious to get room time is so House.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Oh, snap! Did House just threaten to knock out who? And Cuddy’s actually snapping back?
[House brushes a hand through his hair, so near Cuddy that I swear she flinches only to lean in even closer.]
HOUSE : [Notebook in hand.] I need that EEG slot. The patient’s exhibiting weird neural spikes.
CUDDY : Fine. But next time you ask me for favours, at least buy me lunch first.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Lunch? Favours? Are they flirting or negotiating a hostage release? Either way, it’s spicy.
[Thirteen glares at me when I let out a low whistle. I clear my throat, pretending to cough.]
THIRTEEN : [Under her breath.] Patient. Moving. EEG. Now.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Right. Because nothing says “medical emergency” like an unnecessary dramatic pause.
[House glances at me, one eyebrow lifting.]
HOUSE : Well, well, if it isn’t St. Mary’s hero.
[He wags his cane. Cuddy gives me a polite nod, just the corner of her mouth lifting.]
CUDDY : Good morning, Mr. Harris.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: “Mr. Harris”? That’s new. Sounds fancy. Like she’s about to ask me to the gala or something.
[House steps closer to Cuddy, voice dropping so only she, and maybe me, if I squint, can hear.]
HOUSE : She’s been upset all morning. You know how this is, it’s that time of the month.
CUDDY : [Cuddy’s eyes glare at House. Then sighs in defeat. She brushes a hand along his arm so gently it’s almost a ghost.] House, stop.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Stop? Stop what? The one-inch-from-touch law? I’m not sure. But they look cosy enough to start their own sitcom.
[Thirteen tugs my wheelchair forward. I wave at them like a goof.]
OLIVER : Catch you two lovebirds later! [House smirks, Cuddy looks amused but uneasy.]
HOUSE : Try not to fry your brain before the EEG, Francis.
[I overhear Dr. Cuddy correcting him quietly.]
CUDDY [O.S.]: His name’s Harris , House.
[We roll past them, and I let out a whoop.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Lovebirds. That’s it. Official diagnosis: Gregory House is dating Lisa Cuddy. Cupcakes all around.
THIRTEEN : [Eyes forward.] Would you please stop moping? We have a brain to map.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Brain mapping, my favourite part. Because the real drama’s behind the skull, not in the hallway.
[CUT TO: My wheelchair is entering the EEG lab as Thirteen prepares the electrodes.]
INT. EEG LAB - MOMENTS LATER
[Bright overheads hum as I recline on the EEG table. Dr. Hadley or Thirteen applies electrodes to my scalp with methodical precision.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Nothing like a half-dozen sticky sensors glued to your head to make you feel like a sci-fi extra.
[I wince as she tightens the last lead.]
THIRTEEN : All set. Just lie still and relax. We’ll record for about twenty minutes.
OLIVER : Twenty minutes of my brain’s best reality show? Can’t wait. Did you bring popcorn? [Thirteen smirks.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Reality show: “Mr. Pretty Boy” Coming soon to a TV nowhere near you. How boring could this get.
[Thirteen slides out silently, clipboard in hand. She’s gone before I can ask a question. The door opens again. Dr. Eric Foreman enters, holding the wheelchair.]
FOREMAN : Mr. Harris? Ready to head back?
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Dr. Eric Foreman. Stoic face, no-nonsense attitude. I once heard he’s nicknamed “Grim Reaper” by med students.
[I sit up carefully, the electrodes tug.]
OLIVER : Looks like it. Just Harris, I’m not that old. Thanks, Dr.… Eric Foreman, right?
FOREMAN : [He helps me into the wheelchair, buckling a strap.] Just Foreman. Let’s get you back before House decides you’re missing.
[He wheels me down the hallway toward my room. The door to Cuddy’s office is ajar. I catch a glimpse of House’s silhouette inside.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: And there he is again, sneaking around like a cat in a lab coat.
OLIVER: [ I clear my throat, leaning forward.] So… you saw them earlier? House and Cuddy, I mean. They looked pretty… intimate.
[Foreman glances at me, eyebrow raised.]
FOREMAN : Intimate? They were having a professional disagreement.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Right. Professional. Like a married couple arguing over whose turn it is to do the laundry.
OLIVER : [I try for a half-smile.] Yeah, professional. Still, they were really “close”. You think they’re… dating?
[Foreman slows the wheelchair, coming to a stop. He looks me square in the eye.]
FOREMAN : Look, Harris. Dr. House is about the least selfless person I’ve ever met. If he could date anyone, he’d marry himself.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Ouch. Harsh, but… believable.
[I absorb this as he starts wheeling me again.]
OLIVER : So… no House-Cuddy romance?
FOREMAN : Cuddy’s great, but House doesn’t date. He picks fights. He insults people. He uses them for information or entertainment. Romance doesn’t fit his model.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Use people for entertainment? That might actually explain some of my worst dates.
[Foreman reaches my room and pauses.]
FOREMAN : You’ll be under observation for twenty-four hours. Rest. Eat. And don’t read anything into House’s behaviour. [He nods curtly and heads off without waiting for a reply.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Don’t read into House’s behaviour. Got it. But mister “marry himself” just added one more mystery to my list.
[Foreman disappears around the corner. I lie back, eyes on the ceiling grid.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : So far I had a stroke, mystery diagnostics, and an “official” denial of House’s love life. Meanwhile, I’m stuck trying to figure out why Jess smiles comforts me so much.
[CUT TO: The Diagnostic room, I’m using the wheelchair to sneak into it.]
INT. DIAGNOSTIC CONFERENCE ROOM - MIDDAY
[I grip the wheels of my chair and ease into the half-dark room where Thirteen , Foreman , Taub and Kutner are huddled around the whiteboard. A single fluorescent bulb flickers overhead.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: This is it, House’s war room. Except House skipped for leg day, the rest of the team does his dirty talking for him.
[They look up as I roll in, clearing my throat.]
THIRTEEN : [Shock] Oliver? What are you doing here?
OLIVER : I… thought I’d observe. Learn how the maestro works.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: “Observe.” Like a birdwatcher stalking a cardinal. Except I’m a the patient.
FOREMAN : [He pinches the bridge of his nose.] Harris, you should be resting.
OLIVER : I am resting. This is… restful.
[The other two doctors in the room introduce themselves while I slide my chair closer to the board. On it: “Differential for neurologic deficits + post-stroke complications.” The team throws out possibilities: autoimmune vasculitis, paraneoplastic syndrome, traumatic intracranial bleed…]
TAUB : Clotting disorder makes sense given his history. But what about an antiphospholipid antibody?
KUTNER : I’m still not sold on a vascular aetiology. What if it’s transient spike activity, like a focal seizure slowing down half his face?
OLIVER [V.O. ]: “Focal seizure.” I liked “stroke” better. Sounds more dramatic.
[I clear my throat again. They shoot me skeptical looks.]
OLIVER : Could be a demyelinating process, like a variant of Guillain-Barré. Sometimes it starts cranially before moving down.
THIRTEEN : [Raising an eyebrow] You’re a nurse, not a neurologist.
OLIVER : True, but I’ve seen a lot of it in ICU. Facial weakness can mimic stroke.
TAUB: [ Snorts.] Nice crossover from ICU to grand theorist.
KUTNER : Actually… he’s not wrong. I’ll add it.
[He writes “Consider demyelination” under the list. The room goes quiet.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Score one for the bedside geek.
HOUSE: Who the hell do you think you are to write in my board, the president?
[Suddenly the door swings open, House strides in, cane tapping. He surveys the board, then the team, then me.]
HOUSE : Well, well. The prodigal nurse returns.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Prodigal nurse. That I can live with.
[House’s gaze flicks to the new line, demyelination. Then proceeds to erase it and write it himself. He nods once, then turns to the team.]
HOUSE : Not bad. But you’re missing the obvious, post-stroke inflammatory cascade. Autoimmune flair-up triggered by the clots. Test his CSF, not just antibodies.
[He circles “inflammatory cascade,” underlines it. The team scribbles notes.]
HOUSE : [Looking at me] Florence Nosingale , congratulations. You get honorary member status… until you learn not to wheel into my meetings uninvited.
[He limps toward the door, then pauses and looks back at me.]
HOUSE : [Smirking.] You might just save a life yet.
[He exits. The team exhales. Foreman rubs his temples.]
KUTNER : [Quietly.] He’s rough, but fair.
TAUB: Correction, he is nuts.
THIRTEEN : [To me.] You can rest now. We’ll handle the next steps.
[I give them a triumphant grin, sliding back toward the door.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: I came for drama, got a mini-lecture in neuro-pathology, and my head’s still wired. Best. Day. Ever.
[As I wheel out, I catch a glimpse of Kutner from across the room. He gives me a thumbs-up and a small, knowing smile. His eyes look tired… must be from work.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: This job with House must be either a blast or a guaranteed migraine, maybe both. But for now, I’m just basking in the chaos.
[CUT TO: Hospital hallway, I am in front of the vending machine.]
INT. HOSPITAL HALLWAY - VENDING MACHINE - AFTERNOON
OLIVER [V.O.] : I know what you’re thinking, he should be in bed. But the vending machine makes better company than my morphine drip, and the Jell-O cartel has a stranglehold on the fourth floor.
[I roll up to the vending machine, studying the offerings like I’m selecting a retirement plan.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Let’s see… mystery chips, off-brand gummies, and…oh yes! Peanut butter crackers. Pure, flaky gold.
[I punch the numbers. The machine whirrs. Nothing drops. I punch it again. Still nothing.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Betrayed. By both my nerves and modern technology.
[Before I can stage a sit-in, I hear it, low voices around the corner. Not arguing, exactly. More like scolding with emotional undertones.]
MAN [O.S.] : You can’t just blow off the oncology board, House. It makes me look like the idiot who vouched for you.
HOUSE [O.S.] : Correction, you are the idiot who vouched for me. The board just brings that into sharper focus.
[A nurse walks past me, humming, completely unbothered. So does another.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : Ok… nobody's panicking. So either this is a normal Tuesday or this place is run by chaos goblins. [I wheel closer, peeking around the corner.]
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, House is talking with a man that I don’t know]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
[House leans against the wall, expression smug. Opposite him is a man in a white coat, clean and polished , with the face of someone who hasn’t slept but still makes it look fashionable.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: And there he is, House’s enemy... I suppose? Tan trench coat. Hero hair. Definitely not from around the sarcasm mines.
WILSON: You’re going to burn through everyone eventually… even me, your only friend. You know that? Colleagues, patients, Cuddy—
OLIVER [V.O.]: Friend? That was... unexpected.
HOUSE : Please, I’m flame-retardant. Besides, Cuddy likes a little heat.
[Dr. Wilson, I later get to know who he was, sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. House watches with the grin of a man enjoying exactly how much trouble he causes.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: So that’s the guy who keeps House on a leash. I was picturing someone with more battle scars, less… cardigan energy.
WILSON : You’re exhausting.
HOUSE : [While sucking on a lollipop.] Welp, you’re still here. And you’re definitely worse, what are you my mom?
OLIVER [V.O.]: Definitely! And you are the annoying child.
[Dr. Wilson walks off, muttering something I don’t catch. House stays behind, twirling his cane with dramatic flair.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: They fight like a married couple. Which is weird, because I was pretty sure House was only like that with Dr. Cuddy. Unless… is this like a hospital throuple? Actually House is more like a troublemaker five year old child and that man was his dad. [Smirking.]
[I back up, letting my peanut butter crackers finally fall with a thunk .]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Drama levels are delicious. Diagnostics is just Grey’s Anatomy with worse lighting.
[Back in my chair, I coast away down the hall. House catches my eye and gives me a two-finger salute.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Okay, mysterious cardigan man, I'll add you to the list of things to Google when I get out. Right after “facial paralysis in peanut butter addicts.”
[CUT TO: Jess entering my room, she is looking conflicted as she grips a half-folded photo in her hand.]
INT. OLIVER’S HOSPITAL ROOM – EARLY EVENING
[Jess slips in, gentle like a breeze. She’s holding something, a folded photo , but tucks it into her jacket pocket the second she sees me looking.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Jess. Childhood bestie. Now a teacher. And apparently a ninja when it comes to hiding emotionally loaded paper rectangles.
[She doesn’t say anything about the photo, and I don’t ask. That’s our deal, unspoken avoidance and snacks at every life crisis.]
JESS : [Smiling.] You look better. More… alive!
OLIVER: [Grinning.] Yeah, I bribed the vending machine. I think the crackers gave me superpowers.
[She laughs, an actual laugh, not hospital laugh, and sinks into the chair next to me.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: For a second, it’s like we’re back in her mum’s kitchen, arguing over who broke the toaster.
It was me. It’s always me.
JESS : So. You met Dr. House, Dr. Hadley told me.
OLIVER: Met is one word. Witnessed an unholy mixture of brilliance, chaos, and raw sexual tension with the hospital director is another.
JESS : [Chokes on a laugh.] Oh no. You think he and Dr. Cuddy are a thing?
OLIVER: Aren’t they? I mean, he called her “hotter than a defibrillator in July.” That’s love language if I’ve ever heard it!
[Jess wipes a tear from her eye, still laughing.]
JESS : I’ve heard all about his “lady-killer” ways, we have the same friends. I’m sure he says stuff like that to everyone, it’s House. It seems the man flirts with thermometers.
OLIVER: Okay, but then there’s the guy, the emotionally constipated cardigan with the cheekbones. He’s like... House’s therapist, buddy, and mum rolled into one.
JESS : Dr. Wilson from oncology?
OLIVER: You know him?
JESS: Yes! He is a sweetheart, he was my aunt’s doctor.
OLIVER: [Smirking.] So he was the angel your aunt wouldn’t stop talking about. Makes sense, the man radiates put-upon disappointment. I love him already.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: [She looks away when I say his name.] Interesting. But hey, maybe she just remembered to pay her taxes.
JESS: Yep, I heard that House would interrupt their sessions, sneak in just to say something childish or stupid to Wilson, make a sarcastic point, then leave like nothing happened… like everything was just an illusion.
OLIVER : [Smirking.] Seems like House has a thing for authority figures. You know, Cuddy with the clipboard, Wilson with the voice of a disappointed GPS…
[Jess stares at me for a second. Then she just shakes her head and leans back in the chair.]
JESS : [Giggling.] You really haven’t changed.
OLIVER: Still the same emotionally stunted disaster you grew up with. But now with a mystery illness and front-row seats to Princeton-Plainsboro: The Soap Opera. [We laugh again. It’s real. It’s old and soft and kind.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: But under it, there’s a new thread. Tension. The kind you don’t want to tug on in case everything unravels.
[She glances at the door like she might run.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: And I let her. For now. Because we’re both pretending we’re not hiding things.
[CUT TO: I am back in my bed, the lights low, as I hear House's voice echo faintly from the hallway, laughing with someone. Jess lingers outside the door for a beat.]
INT. OLIVER’S ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT
[Jess has one foot out the door.]
OLIVER: You’re leaving me with unresolved medical drama and emotional ambiguity?
JESS : I’m going to investigate. Do you think you’re the only one who appreciates a slow-burn workplace romance?
OLIVER [V.O.]: She says that with the solemnity of a surgeon. Or a gremlin. It’s hard to tell with Jess.
OLIVER: I bet Dr. Cuddy and him have a teenage love affair. That or House is totally in denial and Dr. Cuddy’s afraid of feelings and a real relationship. Classic pining mutuals.
JESS : [Grinning.] You’re on. If I crack it first, you owe me dinner. If you win, you still owe me dinner.
[She vanishes before I can protest. And then—
SLAM.
The door swings open.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : Like a gust of sarcasm and Vicodin.
[House enters.]
HOUSE : You know what I hate? Nurses who talk.
OLIVER: [Rolling my eyes.] You know what I hate? Doctors who dramatically burst into rooms like it’s a Broadway revival of ER.
[House tosses a folder onto my lap. I open it. Charts. Spiky, intimidating words. One says something about abnormal neural response.]
HOUSE : Initial tests suggest it’s not a stroke. Lucky you. You might live to lose your mobility another way.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Comforting. In the way a flaming sofa is technically warm.
OLIVER : So, what is it? Do you get the fun guessing game like your team does?
HOUSE : No. I just get to ask invasive personal questions until your body gives me better ones.
[He drops into the visitor chair, backwards, and stares at me like he’s waiting for me to leak secrets.]
OLIVER: You know, you’re not very subtle with Dr. Cuddy. The whole “I’ll flirt through insults” thing, it’s textbook repression. [House raises an eyebrow.]
HOUSE : You're projecting. That’s cute. I bet you watch people kiss in movies and say: “Wow, they should unpack that trauma!”
OLIVER : No, I say: “Wow, that’s just you and Dr. Cuddy!”
HOUSE: You’re in a hospital. Might want to get your eyes checked while you’re at it, pretty sure you lost the plot the moment her voluptuous personality walked by. [He raises his eyebrows twice.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: He deflects like a ninja with a scalpel. But there’s a flicker. A half-smile, like he likes the chaos. I’ve got him. Jess is going to lose!
HOUSE : Any more strange symptoms Bedpan Sherlock?
OLIVER: Aside from you showing up like an angry Muppet? No. Just the usual, numbness, tingling, and an overwhelming urge to dissect everyone’s unresolved tension. You may go now, my dear Limp-son.
[House smirks, scribbles something.]
HOUSE : Good. Means your brain still works. Too bad you waste it on shipping real people.
[He stands, folder under his arm.]
OLIVER: [Smirking.] Don’t pretend you don’t live for it.
HOUSE : [Over his shoulder .] I live for pain, puzzles, analyzing Cuddy’s otherworldly ass, screwing with my best friend’s lunch break, and mocking idiots. And by idiots, I mean everyone. Everything else is collateral damage.
OLIVER [V.O. ]: And just like that, he’s gone. But I swear I heard him laugh, quiet, just once, as the door shut.
What a weirdo.
[CUT TO: Me using the wheelchair to reach the Diagnostic room.]
INT. DIAGNOSTIC ROOM - LATE NIGHT
OLIVER [V.O.]: The thing about being a nurse? You learn how to get places you shouldn’t. Also, my chair squeaks. Which is less than ideal for sneaking.
[I roll up outside a room made entirely of glass and secrets. Inside, House is mid-sarcastic monologue with two doctors, Taub and Kutner.
Then—]
WILSON [O.S. ]: You're supposed to be resting.
[House rolls his eyes, and I see the man stepping into the room, lab coat, coffee in hand, exasperation in every breath.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Of course, the angel in a lab coat came to save me from the devil, aka House, and his claws.
[He looks like he hasn’t slept, but judges you if you haven’t either. Here is the free terapist. The friend. The “nagging mom.” I swallow hard, just remembering my mother’s lectures.]
WILSON : You paged me. In the middle of the night. After insisting for two days you didn’t need help.
HOUSE : He’s a nurse. 32. Neurological symptoms. If it’s cancer, that’s your department. [He gestures toward me like I’m a test result with a beard.]
WILSON : [Blinking] That’s...the patient?
OLIVER : He also calls me “The nurse with opinions”, but yes. Hi, I’m Oliver. Still alive. For now.
[Wilson stares at me. Then at House. Then sighs like this is exactly how every Tuesday starts.]
WILSON : And why is he in diagnostics?
[Dr. Wilson approaches me. He looks genuinely upset. He touches me gently.]
WILSON: [With a disarmingly sweet tone.] Are you alright, Mr. Harris? Is everything okay? Are you tired? Do you want help getting back to your room?
[His voice and smile are so sweet it’s almost disgusting. He looks at me with reassuring eyes, far too concerned for someone I just met.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: He’s definitely got a savior complex. It’s weird how much he seems to care about everyone, and how he just takes House’s constant bullshit like it’s part of the job. He’s probably a masochist too.
HOUSE : [Shrugging his shoulders.] He rolled in. Couldn’t stop him. You try reasoning with a stubborn quadriplegic in a wheelchair with a talent for gossip.
OLIVER : Technically not quadriplegic. One arm’s just a bit numb, and I can still raise about 73% of my sarcasm. The wheelchair is mostly for dramatic effect.
WILSON : You should be resting. You look pale.
OLIVER [V.O.]: Is this what it feels like to be scolded by someone else’s dad friend ? Because I kinda get why House keeps him around.
HOUSE : I told you. He's exactly your type. [Wilson gives him a look that could sterilise a scalpel.]
WILSON : Your symptoms could be caused by a tumor pressing on the facial nerve or brainstem, which would explain the paralysis. I know you’ve already had a head MRI, but sometimes tumors are tiny enough to go unnoticed. Just to be sure, we should run more tests, or repeat the MRI.
[He turns to me gently.]
WILSON : We’ll schedule another MRI. Best-case scenario, it’s something treatable. Worst case—
HOUSE : —you die dramatically, leave behind a cryptic voicemail, and someone sells your story to Hollywood.
OLIVER : Can I request an artsy montage if it’s that one? Flashbacks, black-and-white shots, maybe a Keane soundtrack?
OLIVER [V.O.]: Wilson gives me a pity smile. House looks unreasonably pleased. These people are insane.
I might be home.
[CUT TO: The entire team is present, including Wilson. I listen as they discuss a probable diagnosis .]
INT. DIAGNOSTIC ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
[House, Wilson, Thirteen, Foreman, Taub and Kutner are gathered around the whiteboard. I wheel in quietly at the back.]
HOUSE : Standard head MRI’s clean, no infarct, no mass. So either it’s microscopic or we’re looking in the wrong place.
WILSON : Before we declare it cryptogenic, let’s get a contrast-enhanced, high-resolution MRI focused on the cranial nerves. Gadolinium and fat-sat sequences on a 3T magnet. That’ll pick up tiny schwannomas or meningiomas along the nerve sheath.
THIRTEEN : That’ll add thirty minutes, tops. Worth it before we unleash the big guns.
FOREMAN : If that’s negative, I say we go full body, FDG-PET/CT . Metabolic imaging catches hyperactive cells anywhere.
HOUSE : Or we skip to the PET now and save time. Let’s see which lymph node has been sneaking micro-masses around.
WILSON : Stepwise diagnostics, Gregory. High-res MRI first. Least radiation, most specific. If that’s clean, then PET/CT for systemic search.
HOUSE : [Shrugs.] Fine. But when that’s negative too, I’m naming the mystery tumor “House’s Last Laugh.”
[They nod in agreement and turn back to the board to update the workup. Their complicit glance hung in the air, saying more than words could]
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, I am with Jess.]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY
[A brightly lit hallway outside the nurses’ station. I, Oliver (early 30s, sarcastic, slightly too curious), am currently being dragged beside a rolling cart by Jess (late-20s, chaotic neutral, sharp-eyed). She’s hauling my IV pole like a reluctant dance partner, peeking around the corner like she’s on a spy mission.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: I know I should’ve been in my room, resting, or, you know, not breaking hospital rules. But Jess had that look, the one that says: “I’m about to do something morally questionable and you’re coming with me.” And well, I can’t say no to morally questionable if it’s wrapped in curiosity and good lighting.
[We see Dr. Cuddy hurriedly approaching House, she looks mad mad. We overhear a bit of banter, House jokingly complimenting (cough cough) Cuddy’s pretty body, and her finally giving in and touching his arm.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: His ARM. That’s a win, right there!
OLIVER: [Excited] She touched his arm. Physical touching is classic I’m-into-you behavior. Bet won.
[Jess is steering me poorly as we continue our recon. The IV pole wobbles beside us.]
JESS: She was handing him a file, Oliver.
OLIVER: With lingering fingers!
JESS: You are desperate to win this.
OLIVER: Because I deserve to. Years of nursing experience and one too many rom-coms have trained me for this moment.
[We arrive outside the MRI suite. Jess does a dramatic sneaker spin.]
JESS: You’re too focused on the arm-touching. Real feelings are subtle. It’s about how they look when the other one isn’t watching.
OLIVER: Okay, Friedrich Nietzsche. So what’s your theory then?
JESS: They've danced around it, but House is scared of something real. That’s why he flirts with Cuddy like it’s a game. If he actually wanted her, he’d have done something about it. It’s all a performance. What he wants people to think, because he's afraid they'll discover his true self. He's afraid of vulnerability.
[I blink. That one hit home.]
OLIVER: [Smirking.] Or maybe it’s just sexual tension wrapped in sarcasm.
JESS: I’ll bet you this granola bar that House is more into that oncologist than he is into Dr. Cuddy.
OLIVER: What, the one who scolds him like he’s five?
JESS: [Grinning.] Exactly. There’s history there. Deep, co-dependent, repressed history.
OLIVER: Wow. I feel like I should call a therapist just for hearing that.
JESS: [Giggling.] Too late. You’re already in the vortex.
[The MRI tech waves us in.]
[CUT TO: Inside the MRI room.]
INT. MRI ROOM - LATER
[I lie inside the machine, strapped down like a burrito of mild concern. Jess scrolls on her phone, arms crossed, too calm. The machine hums. Suddenly, the door swings open. House enters, cane, folder, total disregard for protocol.]
HOUSE: Well, well, Oliver Harris. [Peering.] How’s life inside a giant magnet?
OLIVER: I’d give it four stars. Vaguely claustrophobic but warm.
HOUSE: Weirdly upbeat for someone who might have a tumor.
OLIVER: Yeah, well, I’m holding out for something dramatic. Like alien bacteria. Or demonic possession. Something with flair.
HOUSE: [Raising an eyebrow] I like you. You’re almost delusional enough to work here.
[The MRI clunks louder. House waves his folder like a conductor.]
HOUSE: So, why aren’t you boring like the other patients?
OLIVER: Crippling fear of being average.
[Jess snorts. House glances over at her.]
HOUSE: She is still here?
JESS: I was upset.
HOUSE: Oh, good. Wouldn’t want him to develop another spontaneous personality trait without you logging it.
[I watch them with amusement.]
JESS: I will leave now.
[I watch her go, but I’m 100% sure she’s eavesdropping.]
HOUSE: [To me.] Any headaches? Dizziness?
OLIVER: Just the usual millennial angst.
HOUSE: Family history of mystery diseases?
OLIVER: Only emotional repression. Does that count?
[House grins like he’s just found a kindred smartass.]
HOUSE: Wilson thinks it’s something boring. Like meningioma .
OLIVER: More like your parent. You are quiet the troublemaker.
HOUSE: My conscience with a medical degree.
OLIVER: That’s what you call your boyfriend?
[I swear I hear Jess choke on a laugh from the other side of the door. House squints, half smiling.]
HOUSE: He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my moral leash, comes with a guilt collar and everything.
OLIVER: Uh-huh. Kinky. And Dr. Cuddy’s just your emotionally distant boss you flirt with during budget meetings… casually, of course.
HOUSE: Exactly. See? You are getting it.
OLIVER [V.O.]: I can’t tell if he’s joking, deflecting or both. Probably both. The MRI powers down with a hum.
[The tech walks in to unstrap me. House turns toward the door, pauses.]
HOUSE: If it is alien bacteria, I’m naming it after Wilson. Seems only fair he infects people for once.
[He limps out. The door clicks shut.]
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, I am with Jess]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY
[Jess is at the helm, navigating my wheelchair like she’s training for the NASCAR. I’m pretty sure she just narrowly avoided flattening a patient.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: It’s not that I don’t trust Jess behind the wheel. It’s that I value my kneecaps.
[She hums, suspiciously cheerful.]
OLIVER : You’re in a good mood. Should I be worried?
JESS : I might’ve overheard your little convo with House.
OLIVER : [Groans. ] Please don’t tell me you’re shipping it.
JESS: [Mock innocence.] Shipping what?
OLIVER : House and Wilson. You’re about to say they’re soulmates or some fanfic shit like that. [She grins wickedly, pushing me a little faster.]
JESS : You said it, not me. But come on, did you heard the way he deflected? Classic “don’t look at my feelings” behavior. Very textbook.
OLIVER : They bicker like divorced parents. That doesn’t mean they’re—
[I pause, reconsidering]
Okay. That does sound like they’re married.
JESS : Thank you. Finally. I’ve been saying this ever since I saw him steal Wilson’s sandwich and call it a “strategic move.”
[We round a corner. A nurse gives Jess a look that reads slow down before you create a new patient, and she just smiles sweetly.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: Jess always loved the drama. Me? I’m just trying to survive the episode I’ve wandered into… Nah, who am I kidding? I love it too. That’s why we get along.
OLIVER : So what’s the verdict on your bet? Still think House and Dr. Cuddy aren’t a thing?
JESS : Oh, they’re something . But not the kind you’re thinking. Flirtation? Sure. Banter? Constant. But when Wilson walks into the room? House shuts up. Like he’s about to confess something... then aborts the mission entirely.
OLIVER : Maybe he’s just scared of Dr. Wilson. I would be. The guy’s got Big Disappointed Dad Energy.
JESS : Exactly. And House listens to him. Kind of. Sometimes. Which is more than he does with anyone else for what I know and I saw.
OLIVER : So... you’re switching teams?
JESS : I’m just saying, Dr. Cuddy’s the decoy. Dr. Wilson? He’s the real emotional landmine. And House? Has no idea he's standing on it. [She smirks as she wheels me around the corner.]
And Dr. Wilson? [Pause.] I don’t know, he looks like he knows something. But maybe he’s just permanently stressed.
[She pulls up to my room and dramatically parks me like it’s a tight parallel spot.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: It should sound ridiculous. Overanalyzed. Fanfiction-level absurd… But now I’m not so sure she’s wrong.
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, I’m alone, heading to the lab]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - LATE AFTERNOON
[I’m in my wheelchair again, this time heading down the main corridor for another round of labs. Jess’s words are still buzzing in my head: “Dr. Cuddy’s the decoy. Dr. Wilson’s the real emotional landmine.”]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: I know it’s bonkers. But Jess’s spy instincts are usually spot on. Time to see if this “landmine” theory holds water.
[Around the corner, I spot House leaning against the glass wall of his office suite, cane propped between his legs. He’s gazing in, arms folded, voice low and clipped.
On the other side of the two-pane window is Dr. Wilson , standing by a computer terminal, scrolling through a patient chart. Wilson glances up, catches House’s eye and for a beat, the hallway fades away.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: There it is. That glance. It’s not flirty. Not hostile. It’s… loaded .
[Wilson steps closer to the glass, lips moving. House tilts his head, listening, but his expression sours as if Wilson just told him the sky is green. Then House backs off, turning away abruptly, rubbing his jaw, as though Wilson’s words stung.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : House, you doofus, you liked that sting. You need that sting.
[House shoves off the wall and limps toward the nurses’ station. Wilson watches him go, shoulders hunched, then glances down at the chart again, like he’s second, guessing himself.
I roll closer, careful not to draw attention, until I’m almost beneath the window. House’s cane clacks on the tile. Wilson tucks the chart under his arm and turns to follow, but catches me staring.
He offers a polite nod, the one he gives strangers who aren’t disturbing him, but he lingers a fraction too long.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: That nod… not the “Hi, Mr. Harris” nod. The “I know you’ve been watching” nod.
[I swallow. My pulse picks up. I wheeled right into my own trap.]
OLIVER [V.O.]: So… Jess might be onto something. Damn, she better not be expecting a fancy lunch.
[House reaches the corner, pauses, then shoots a look back at Dr. Wilson, who’s already gone. House cracks a half smile, like he’s daring Dr. Wilson to reappear.
I turn and wheel away, head spinning, but this time not from my stroke.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: If this is denial, it’s a pretty intense game of chicken. And I’m not sure who’s going to win.
[CUT TO: My room, Jess is with me]
INT. OLIVER’S ROOM - EVENING
[Jess is curled up sideways in the visitor chair, casually flipping through a gossip magazine. A highlighter dangles from her fingers like she’s grading celebrity choices.]
OLIVER : [Still catching my breath.] You’re not gonna believe what I saw before.
JESS : [Doesn’t look up.] House sneak a donut past the diabetic ward again?
OLIVER : No. I saw him and Wilson. Through the glass. Mid… tension stare.
[Jess drops the magazine in her lap. She sits up like a cat hearing the food can open.]
JESS : [Bright eyed.] Describe the tension. Give me specifics!
OLIVER : House was leaning on the glass like it was his confessional booth. Wilson said something. House looked… genuinely bothered.
JESS : Bothered bothered or sexy bothered?
OLIVER : Jess.
JESS : Fine. Interpret “bothered” then.
OLIVER : Like… Wilson told him something true. Something he didn’t want to hear but couldn’t unhear either.
[Jess’s smirk softens. She leans her elbows on her knees.]
JESS : You know, I overheard once, from my aunt, that House called Wilson the only person he trusts not to lie to him. That’s rare for someone like him.
OLIVER : That’s… actually kind of sad.
JESS : It is. But also… telling, right?
OLIVER [V.O. ]: She’s got a point. House doesn’t just tolerate Wilson, he listens. He adjusts. Not like he does with Dr. Cuddy. That’s more… sparring.
OLIVER : I think I’m starting to see it now. You might be right. I mean, he doesn’t look at Dr. Cuddy like that. Not even close.
JESS : [Satisfied] The House-Wilson Cold War continues.
[She tosses the magazine onto the side table.]
JESS: Honestly? Watching House around Wilson feels like watching a character glitch in a video game. He’s still House, but the rules shift.
OLIVER : [Sit back.] I thought this place would just be blood tests and sarcasm. Instead I’m trapped inside a slow burn medical drama.
JESS : Correction: gay slow burn medical drama.
OLIVER [V.O.]: And I’m not sure who’s the patient anymore.
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, I am with Jess]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY
[The hallway is bustling with staff and patients, but there's an odd stillness in the air as I am wheeled through by Jess, his usual teasing grin plastered on his face.]
JESS : [Grinning, as she pushes me .] You know, for a guy who gets all the attention in the room, you really are a terrible flirt.
OLIVER : [Mocking, but there’s an edge to it.] I don’t need attention. I just need a good audience.
[I shoot her a playful glance. Jess rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection.]
JESS : Oh, so I’m just a willing spectator, huh?
OLIVER : I prefer to think of you as my loyal sidekick. Keeps things interesting.
[We both laugh, the tension from earlier, my new diagnosis, the hospital, and the undercurrents of their flirtation, seems to dissolve. Jess parks me in front of my room.]
JESS : You’re insufferable. You know that, right?
OLIVER : [With a wink.] It’s part of my charm.
[There’s a long pause as Jess looks at me, her smile a bit softer. It’s clear she’s enjoying this banter more than she’d admit. But there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. I catch it, my grin faltering for just a second. We both realize it.]
OLIVER : [More serious, though I keep my tone light. ] You know... we’re kinda the same, huh?
JESS : [Shrugs, but there’s a slight tension in her voice.] You’re much better at hiding it.
[I raise an eyebrow, sensing the shift.]
OLIVER : Hiding what?
JESS : [Looking away, hiding her true thoughts.] That thing where you act like you’re fine, when you're really not. Or maybe you just... don't want to be seen.
[My expression softens, but I’m quick to deflect with a casual chuckle.]
OLIVER : Oh, please. I’m fine. I just don’t like to broadcast my issues. You know, unlike certain people who think they can diagnose everything by eavesdropping.
[Jess smirks, leaning in to poke my shoulder.]
JESS : I’m not wrong about you. I am a pretty skillful spy.
[I give her a playful glare, but inside, there’s a subtle acknowledgment. Jess is right. I am a master at hiding things, just like House. But for now, I will keep my cards close to my chest.
Jess smirks, sensing the shift, but she doesn’t push. She never does.]
[CUT TO: I am in my room with Jess and House enters]
INT. OLIVER’S ROOM - NEXT MORNING
[I am propped up on pillows, a tray of unpronounceable flavor jello at arm’s reach. Jess hovers nearby in scrubs, arms folded.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : Jello, proof that hope can be molded into a flavorless lump.
[The door swings open. House strides in, cane first, chart in the other hand. He stops at the foot of the bed and folds his arms.]
HOUSE : Congratulations. You didn’t have a stroke, ADEM or meningioma. You had a cryptogenic TIA , courtesy of a patent foramen ovale, PFO.
OLIVER [V.O.] : P-for-what? Sounds like a secret club for broken hearts and something from a Superman movie.
OLIVER : So… what does that mean?
[House flips to the echo report.]
HOUSE : Tiny clots were bypassing your lungs, popping through that hole in your heart, then hitting your brain’s left side, hence the arm numbness and facial tingling. I expected you to know little nurse.
[Jess exhales, relief washing over her.]
JESS : Is it treatable?
HOUSE : Yes. We’ll start you on anticoagulants, monitor for any new events, and discuss a closure procedure later. You’ll recover fully, just don’t go test driving Ferraris overnight.
[He tucks the chart under his arm and leans in.]
HOUSE: It’s boring, predictable, almost cliché.
[Pause.]
Just Cryptogenic TIA through a PFO. Not the dramatic twist I was hoping for.
OLIVER [V.O.] : Obvious. Boring. Cliché. Funny how that sounds like love, too. Not the fireworks or the crash, just something so quietly there, it takes you way too long to notice. Funny how something so evident can blind you until you actually look. I guess Kierkegaard would call it a “leap of faith.” Or maybe just a slow, confusing stumble into the inevitable.
OLIVER : Thanks, Dr. House.
[House gives a curt nod.]
HOUSE : Try not to die before lunch.
[He pivots to leave, then pauses.]
HOUSE : Oh, and Jess?
[Jess looks up.]
HOUSE : You’re overdue for coffee. I’d send Wilson, but he’s probably too busy trying to save the day.
[House smirks and exits.]
OLIVER : [To Jess.] Code “Wilson’s too busy” again, huh?
[Jess rolls her eyes but smiles.]
OLIVER [V.O.] : House will deny it, but he trusts Wilson’s judgment, in medicine and in… everything else.
[Jess sets the jello aside and takes my hand.]
JESS : Well… Dr. House says I owe us coffee.
OLIVER : Only if it’s strong enough to wake the dead.
[Jess laughs. For a moment, the hospital walls feel like home, two people facing uncertainty, hiding fear behind sarcasm, and maybe, just maybe, ready to admit what we mean to each other.]
[CUT TO: Hospital corridor, I’m leaving with Jess]
INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - EARLY MORNING
[The sky’s barely light as I’m wheeled out on my final check, up before discharge. Jess is beside me, hand on mine, her warmth a quiet anchor in my stormy head.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: I spent my life patching other people up, fixing broken limbs, shattered hearts, charred egos. But never let myself feel the fracture inside. Never let myself admit how much I needed someone to hold the pieces.
[Jess catches my eye, her half smile brighter than the waking sun.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: She’s been here through my worst, cheering on my worst jokes, sneaking into my chaos, making me feel seen… even when I refused to look at myself.
My heart hammers, not from the PFO, but from realizing I’m terrified to let her go, because…
I love her.
I love her laugh, her stubborn streak, the way she teases me about House feelings for Wilson. I love her more than I ever loved the idea of being untouchable.
[A nurse wheels me toward the exit. I pause, take a breath, and squeeze Jess’s hand.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: Funny, House is the kind of person that will never say: “I love you.” He’d rather dissect the mechanism, lay it bare on a table, than speak its name. He hides behind sarcasm like armor, as if feeling makes him fragile. God, I hope he’s not as blind as I was. I only saw the truth when it was already slipping through my fingers.
[I watch the glass doors slide open. Beyond them, the world waits, bright, uncertain, ours for the taking.]
OLIVER [V.O. ]: So here’s my parting gift to him. Good luck, House. Because admitting what you feel… that’s the toughest diagnosis of all. I just hope you realize it before is too late.
JESS: I looked up a new restaurant for lunch.
OLIVER: Are you seriously making the crippled guy pay?
JESS: Please. You’ve got plenty of energy when it suits you. Now suddenly you’re a poor, helpless patient? Whatever. You always offer , but I’m the one who ends up paying, brat.
OLIVER [V.O.]: Yep. In the end, not much has changed.
[FADE OUT]
—END—