Written by: Lawrence Kaplow
Directed by: Katie Jacobs
Transcribed: Rahul (rahulkudva)
DISCLAIMER: We don't own "HOUSE." It's owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. This transcript is unofficial, and should UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES be copied or distributed, especially for commercial use.
3X15 - HALF-WIT
Transcribed by Rahul Kudva (firstname.lastname@example.org)
[Theatre, Backstage. In a dimly-lit dressing room, Patrick Obyedkov, musical savant, struggles to button up his shirt. His father stands in front of him. They're both dressed in tuxedos.]
PATRICK: I can't do this... button.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [encouraging] Well, you've almost got it. [goes to help him]
PATRICK: [repeating quietly] Almost got it.
[Dr. Obyedkov buttons up his shirt fully. Patrick listens to the sound of the audience and smiles.]
PATRICK: [excited] The sound... of the people talking.
DR. OBYEDKOV: Hmm?
[Patrick quietly hums a tune.]
PATRICK: That's A-flat, isn't it?
DR. OBYEDKOV: Wow, look how smart you are, hmm?
[Patrick stands up, all set.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Here we go.
PATRICK: [repeating] Here we go.
[Dr. Obyedkov pats his son on his shoulders.]
[Theatre, Stage. The whole place is darkened, spotlights casting the only light around. A grand piano is on the stage. The audience start to applaud as the Obyedkovs walk onstage, spotlights on them. As they approach a microphone, the spectators start to rise, giving them a standing ovation. Patrick looks at his dad in excitement. The applause dies down.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [addressing the audience ] Thank you. I am proud to introduce my son to you. Patrick Obyedkov.
[Applause starts again.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Twenty-five years ago, Patrick was in the fourth grade. A good student, played little league. And then there was the accident. [takes a moment] And here we are. Raising money for people with similar neurological disabilities. I hope you enjoy the concert.
[Dr. Obyedkov leads Patrick to the grand piano. Patrick sits in front of it.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [leaning slowly on Patrick's shoulders, whispering] All set?
PATRICK: [whispering] All set.
[The audience waits for Patrick to start. The piece is Beethoven's "Waldstein Sonata" (No. 21 in C major, Op. 53, Allegro con brio). He starts off perfectly. About fifteen seconds into his performance, he starts to feel a bit agitated, but plays correctly nonetheless. However, by the thirtieth second, he misses a couple of notes. His father frowns in surprise.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [to the man standing next to him] He's never missed a note.
[Patrick's really uncomfortable now. He appears to be in pain, yet he continues to play.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Something's wrong.
[The recital now starts to get hurried and frantic as Patrick fingers almost seem to be out-of-control. Dr. Obyedkov runs onto the stage to check up on his son. Patrick finally slams the keys in frustration and sits back. His father approaches.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [concerned, whispering] Patrick, what is it?
PATRICK: [in pain] My hand. Hurts.
DR. OBYEDKOV: Let me see it.
[Dr. Obyedkov lifts Patrick's left hand to see that the fingers have all started to bend backwards.]
PATRICK: [crying in pain] Oh, papa!
[He starts to yell out in agony into his father's shoulder.]
[PPTH, Diagnostics office. Late night/early morning. The room is dark. Cameron is the first to enter. There's a paper bag sitting on the glass table. The bag has a Post-It on it, saying:
YO YO MAMA
Cameron sits at the table and yanks off the Post-It to read it. Looks like she's recently washed her hair and bunned it up. Foreman enters.]
FOREMAN: [hardly enthused] What's the emergency?
CAMERON: Thirty-five-year-old savant, dystonia in his left hand.
FOREMAN: [annoyed] He page us at five in the morning for that? [scoffs] I'm going back to bed. [starts to walk out.] Dystonia's not life-threatening. Clonazepam will take care of tha...
CAMERON: He's already on Clonazepam. Or seizures he has from a bus accident when he was ten.
FOREMAN: [re-entering] Then we treat with Benztropine.
[Chase enters. Looks like he's had a bath as well.]
CHASE: [drowsy] What's up?
CAMERON: Thirty-five-year-old savant, dystonia.
CHASE: [blows raspberry in disinterest] I'm going back to bed.
[He turns to leave and almost crashes into House and his coffee at the doorway.]
HOUSE: Where you going?
CHASE: [caught, sheepishly turns around] Bathroom. It can wait.
[House enters, while Chase goes to sit down next to Cameron.]
FOREMAN: There is no case, House. Even if dystonia was some big medical mystery, it's not this time.
HOUSE: You're not intrigued as to how a perfectly healthy ten-year-old boy, with no prior musical training, gets into an accident on his way to school...
[Using his cane, he yanks away the bagged breakfast, just before Chase can get his hands on it.]
HOUSE: ...and suddenly starts playing piano?
CHASE: Do we have to start a twenty-five-year-old case before breakfast?
[House looks at Cameron and Chase.]
HOUSE: You two shower together?
CHASE: [simultaneously] [busted, yet denying it] No.
CAMERON: [simultaneously] [acting disgusted] No.
HOUSE: [to Foreman] Double negative. It's a yes.
FOREMAN: Savantism is just one of those things. It's... inexplicable.
HOUSE: [taking a donut out of the bag] Just because it's "inexplicted", doesn't mean it's inexplicable. I want new labs. CBC with platelets, chem panel, thyroid and adrenal function tests. [bites donut]
CAMERON: For what?
HOUSE: [mouth full, shrugs] I don't know.
[Patrick's room. Patrick sits on the bed, swinging his legs. Foreman is examining him, while his father watches.]
FOREMAN: Raise your left hand.
[Patrick cheerfully raises his right arm.]
FOREMAN: [correcting] That's your right hand.
[Patrick raises his left arm. Foreman examines it.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: What're you looking for?
FOREMAN: Just wanna make sure whatever happened doesn't happen again. [to Patrick] Push up.
PATRICK: [repeating as he does so] Push up.
DR. OBYEDKOV: He repeats what people say. It's a compensation mechanism. He knows he's supposed to say something, so he repeats what he just heard.
FOREMAN: That's good. Shows he's engaged.
[Dr. Obyedkov smiles at Patrick.]
FOREMAN: [letting go of Patrick's arm] Spine's okay. Alright, stick out your tongue like this. Copy me. [sticks out his tongue, curling it at the sides.]
PATRICK: [smiling] You have a big tongue. [laughs]
FOREMAN: [chuckles] I know it's funny, but copy me.
[He sticks out his tongue again. Patrick sticks out his tongue, but curls it downwards. Foreman, with a grunt, motions for him to keep it straight and curl it at the sides, like he's doing. Patrick straightens it, but points the tip upwards and lets out a quiet grunt.]
[Clinic, Exam Room. House is examining a female patient. She sits on the table, bare-footed, while House sits away pulling out a needle (with a rubber tube) and a piece of tape from a drawer.]
PATIENT: There was construction on Radcliffe, so I had to get out of the car and-and walk in high-heels for over a mile.
HOUSE: Radcliffe? What was the cross street?
PATIENT: Does it matter?
HOUSE: I don't know. You're the one who brought it up. [holds out his left arm and puts a strap over it] Tie this off.
[The patient looks confused.]
HOUSE: Nice and tight.
[She bends forward and ties the strap tightly around his arm, while he rolls up the sleeve.]
PATIENT: Does this have anything to do with my foot?
[House pushes the needle up his forearm and sticks it in place with the tape. He pumps his hand a couple of times, allowing the blood to flow into a test tube at the other end of the rubber tube.]
HOUSE: You have a blister. You don't waste a doctor's time with a blister. Waste a doctor's time with more important things like the sewer that's beng vented out of your mouth.
PATIENT: [putting her hand to her mouth] My breath?
HOUSE: [moving away as she speaks] If you could stop doing that, we'd all be grateful.
PATIENT: [giggles] I can't stop breathing.
HOUSE: Nope! But you can stop puking. [removes the strap from his arm and takes out the needle.]
PATIENT: [outraged] I don't...!
HOUSE: Your lips say no, your gnarly fingers say -- [makes a vomiting noise, like "Uwaah!"]
[The patient looks away in embarrassment. There's a knock on the door. Foreman enters. House pulls down his left sleeve.]
FOREMAN: He's good to go.
HOUSE: [to the patient] It's a shame. You look cute that thin.
[She glares at him as he leaves.]
[Clinic/Nurse's Station. House and Foreman emerge from the Examining Room and start walking towards the Nurse's Station.]
FOREMAN: Motor cortex looks good. Everything checks out.
HOUSE: What tests did you run?
FOREMAN: [annoyed at being questioned like this] Full battery of neurological...
HOUSE: [to nurse at Nurse's Station] I need this blood checked for cholesterol and glucose levels.
[He puts the test-tube of his blood into a plastic bag. Foreman looks confused.]
FOREMAN: Patient had a foot problem.
HOUSE: Different patient.
FOREMAN: There's no one else in here.
HOUSE: [quickly changing the subject] You're using the wrong equipment.
[He limps off.]
[PPTH Hallway/Patrick's room. House and Foreman push the hospital's piano into Patrick's room. Patrick looks happy at the sight of the piano.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Dr. Foreman, I thought we were being discharged.
HOUSE: I'm Dr. House. On the off-chance that Dr. Foreman didn't mention it, I have something of a gift too. [to Patrick, beckoning] C'mon.
[They sit on the edge of the bed, in front of the piano. House plays a the opening bars of "I Don't Like Mondays" (by The Boomtown Rats), with Patrick watching his every note carefully. Then he stops and looks at Patrick.]
HOUSE: Your turn.
PATRICK: [repeating] My turn.
[Patrick plays the exact number, note for note. Foreman smiles. House even gives some accompanying claps.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Does this have anything to do with his hand?
HOUSE: [nods] It might. [to Patrick] Okay, Patrick. Close your eyes.
[Patrick does so.]
HOUSE: What's this? [hits a few keys at once.]
PATRICK: [eyes closed, concentrating] D, G-flat, A-flat, B...
HOUSE: [interrupting] Yeah, all right, all right.
FOREMAN: He's good. Can we let him go?
HOUSE: [looking at Patrick] He's great. He's staying.
[He starts to play a melancholy number, with Patrick joining in after a short while. House slowly moves his fingers away and watches as Patrick continues to play. Finally, Patrick stops.]
HOUSE: [to Foreman] Call radiology. I need a Functional MRI of his brain.
FOREMAN: FMRI's not gonna show trauma.
HOUSE: I'm not looking for trauma. I wanna see the music.
PATRICK: [repeating] The music.
[MRI Room. Classical music plays on the stereo as Patrick undergoes a fMRI, while House and Foreman look on from the adjoining room. House sucks on a lollypop. They're looking at a 3D simulation of Patrick's brain.]
HOUSE: Well, that's dull.
FOREMAN: Think fMRI's gonna show a big arrow pointing to a flashing sign saying "Savantism"?
HOUSE: Would be hugely helpful. Somehow he got rewired as a music specialist. I wanna know how that happens.
FOREMAN: He had access to parts of his brain that you don't.
HOUSE: His brains doing nothing. Looks like any jerk listening.
FOREMAN: He's not savant at listening. He's a savant at playing. Both listening and playing are different neurological processes.
[House looks at Patrick, lying on the MRI table, docile.]
HOUSE: Turn off the music.
[Foreman puts off the music, while House leans into the microphone.]
HOUSE: [over radio] Patrick, I want you to pretend that your leg is a piano.
PATRICK: [over radio] But it's not a piano.
HOUSE: [gimme strength] I know. That's why I said "pretend". [shuts off the microphone, to Foreman] Kid's a moron. [turns microphone back on] Keep your head still, use your fingers.
[Patrick slowly starts to move his fingers as if he were playing a piano. Everytime his finger comes down, background music (not the stereo this time) plays the corresponding note of the imaginary piano. Soon he's using both his hands.]
[In the adjoining room, a beep is heard. They look at the 3D brain. Many areas of the brain are lit up.]
FOREMAN: [disbelieving] Wha...?!
HOUSE: [calm] Cool, huh? His heart rate rose.
FOREMAN: Emotional response?
HOUSE: Then why is there no activity in the limbic system? Unless there's a problem in his heart. Do an echo to confirm. And scrub up. He's gonna need surgery.
[They get up quickly.]
[Outside Operation Room. Foreman is prepping for surgery and speaking to Cameron, who seems to have her mind on something else.]
FOREMAN: [wiping his hands] Wasn't dystonia. He's got a heart condition that caused the arteries in his arm to constrict.
CAMERON: Do you have any idea why House would wanna go to Boston?
FOREMAN: [shrugs and pouts] The chowder?
CAMERON: Plane tickets, this Friday. I opened his mail. I heard there's an opening at Harvard for division chief, Infectious Disease.
FOREMAN: [putting on gloves] Ambition's not one of his more prominent traits.
[Cameron puts a vest on him.]
FOREMAN: He was testing blood in the clinic. Don't think it was the patient's blood.
CAMERON: Why? It was green?
FOREMAN: No, he was checking for routine stuff.
[Cameron puts a collar around his neck.]
FOREMAN: Makes sense if he's checking for basic medical clearance for employment.
[They look at each other.]
[Outside someone's apartment. And it's time for our weekly break-in, although this one isn't House-approved, considering Cameron and Chase are attempting to break into his place. Cameron checks under the doormat. Chase, baseball cap on his head, leans against the door frame.]
CHASE: I'm going home.
CAMERON: [standing up] No, you're not.
CHASE: He could show up any minute.
[Cameron manages to find House's apartment key on the top of the door frame.]
CAMERON: [victoriously displaying the key] Not with a savant to obsess about.
[House's apartment. They enter the dark apartment, putting on the light. Chase slams the door shut quickly.]
CAMERON: I'll take in here. Bedroom's down the hall.
CHASE: You've been here?
CAMERON: [uhhh] Where else would the bedroom be?
CHASE: [as he passes by her] Come with?
CAMERON: [amused] You're scared of him catching us breaking into his home, but you're not scared of him catching us doing it in his bed?
CHASE: [making his way to his boss' bedroom] I'm gonna get fired anyway.
[PPTH, Operating Room. Foreman is threading a catheter through Patrick’s femoral artery toward the heart.]
FOREMAN: Almost at the heart. [looking at monitor] ____. Aaand... done.
[He pushes the catheter fully inside. Suddenly, Patrick starts to convulse. The monitors begin beeping.]
NURSE: Heart rate's one-sixty! It's accelerating. He's at two-ten!
FOREMAN: [urgently] Supraventricular tachycardia. Paddles!
[He motions for the paddles. The nurse preps them and hands them over.]
[Foreman quickly puts the paddles on Patrick's chest.]
[ZAP! Patrick jerks forward.]
[House's apartment. Our intrepid "House"-breakers are hard at work.]
CHASE: [going through a magazine, calling out] We're wasting our time!
CAMERON: [holding a big book] His high-school yearbook.
CHASE: Unless you think he's going to Boston to attend a high-school reunion, put it back and let's get out of here before he comes home.
CAMERON: [looking at the yearbook] He's not smiling.
[The picture shows a much-younger fully-shaven (or yet-to-grow-a-stubble) House, scowling.]
CHASE: I wonder if he has teeth.
[Cameron closes the book.]
CHASE: [looking at a phone bill] What's the area code for Boston?
CAMERON: Six-one-seven. Why?
[Chase doesn't answer. He dials a number on the cordless telephone. They get a ringing tone.]
VOICE: [over phone] Massachusetts General. May I help you?
[Chase and Cameron exchange looks.]
[Cuddy's office. Obviously tipped off by Cameron and Chase, Cuddy angrily paces in her office, while speaking to her counterpart in Mass General, on the speakerphone.]
CUDDY: Did you think you could steal Dr. House without a fight?
DR. MEDICK: [over phone] Steal him for what?
CUDDY: Quit jerking me around. I know he's coming out there.
DR. MEDICK: [over phone] We're not looking to hire him.
CUDDY: He's called you six times in the last month!
DR. MEDICK: [over phone] We're not looking to hire him.
CUDDY: You think if you keep repeating it, I'll start believing you?
DR. MEDICK: [over phone] Dr. Cuddy, there's nothing else I can say. I'm sorry.
[Cuddy nervously plays with a rubber band as she speaks.]
CUDDY: If he's not coming there for a job interview, he's either coming to your hospital for a social visit or because he's a patient.
[She stops playing with the rubber band as she remembers that House is not really the social type. She looks at the phone anxiously.]
CUDDY: [hoping against hope] Is it a social visit, Dr. Medick?
DR. MEDICK: [over phone, beat] I can't stand House. Neither can Dr. Kupersmith.
[Cuddy looks afraid.]
[Wilson's office. Wilson's at his desk. Cuddy enters and walks over to his balcony window, ensuring that House is nowhere in sight.]
WILSON: What's up?
CUDDY: D'you know Dr. Kupersmithin Boston?
WILSON: Yeah, he's an oncologist. What's up?
CUDDY: What's his sub-specialty?
WILSON: Brain cancer. [beat] What's going on?
[Cuddy looks at him, fear written all over her face.]
[Diagnostics office. House and the Ducklings are going over Patrick's case. At least the Ducklings are. House stands in front of the glass table, twirling his cane, tossing it in the air and catching it like any baton-twirler with a medical licence.]
CUDDY: [voice over] He doesn't look sick. He should have symptoms. Blurred vision, headaches, confusion, clumsiness...
[Wilson's office. Cuddy is seated, while Wilson sombrely leans against his desk.]
WILSON: Depends on how far along the cancer is. What kind, how agressive? [shrugs slightly]
CUDDY: He didn't tell you?
[Wilson gives here a "what do you think?" look.]
CUDDY: House is House.
WILSON: He's no different than anyone else with cancer. Once you tell, then every conversation is about that.
[Diagnostics office. House reads a file away from the glass table, around which the Ducklings are huddled over Patrick's case.]
FOREMAN: Cardiac arrest means we were wrong.
CHASE: It was a heart problem.
FOREMAN: But no vasoconstriction. The heart problem couldn't have caused the hand problem.
HOUSE: [looking up from the file] Unless the bleed happened suddenly. Less blood to the brain explains dystonia. Less blood to the heart explains the heart attack. Scope him both above and below. If that doesn't work, [tosses file on the table] gut him.
[Endoscopy Room. Chase is performing the endoscopy. Dr. Obyedkov hovers around, at his wit's end.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Can't sedate him?
CHASE: There's a risk his throat could collapse.
PATRICK: You look mad, papa.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [gently] Nooo. No, I'm not mad, I promise you. It's just that uh, the doctor has to do something to you and it's gonna hurt.
PATRICK: Hurt me? Why hurt me?
DR. OBYEDKOV: Make you better.
PATRICK: What's wrong with me?
DR. OBYEDKOV: What, they don't know.
[Patrick looks from his father to Chase and the other doctor, who has the scary-looking scope in his hand.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Patrick, don't you worry. Everything is gonna be great.
CHASE: [coming over Patrick] All right, here we go, Patrick. [brings an instrument near Patrick's face.]
PATRICK: [squirming nervously] You won't hurt me?
CHASE: Okay, open. Like this. [opens his mouth to show Patrick.]
[Instead, Patrick clamps his hands over his mouth. Chase tries to remove them.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: You just look at me. Everything is gonna be okay.
[With the help of the other doctor, Chase manages to get Patrick's mouth uncovered and starts inserting a scope. Patrick is frightened and squirming, while his father tries to comfort him.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: Look at me. It's okay. It's okay.
[Patrick gags as the scope enters his throat.]
[PPTH Parking Lot. Wilson morosely walks to his car. Cameron emerges behind him.]
CAMERON: Dr. Wilson.
[He ignores her and keeps walking.]
CAMERON: Wilson! [runs upto Wilson] Just spoke to Cuddy. She can't confirm whether House is applying for a job at Boston.
WILSON: Yeah. I-I'm late for a...
CAMERON: If I have to look for work, I have a right to know.
[Wilson stops walking and sighs, closing his eyes.]
[Patrick's room. Patrick's undergoing the endoscopy, so he's not here. House sits in front of the piano, playing the same tune he had played and Patrick had continued. Wilson enters.]
WILSON: [re: the song] Pretty.
HOUSE: I wrote this when I was in junior high school. Could never figure out what came next. And Dimwit came up with this. [plays Patrick's rendition]
WILSON: [impatient] It's good.
HOUSE: It's perfect.
WILSON: I could set up a tower on the roof during a lightning storm. Help you switch brains with your patient. Then you would be the brilliant pianist and he would be the doctor hiding brain cancer from his friend.
[House stops playing.]
HOUSE: It's nothing. [takes his cane from above the piano.]
WILSON: You need to talk about it.
HOUSE: You need to talk about it.
WILSON: At least, let me look at your medical file.
HOUSE: You're making a big deal out of nothing. Who else knows?
WILSON: [quickly] No one. And cancer isn't nothing.
HOUSE: Sorry, didn't mean to offend your specialty.
WILSON: [unhappily] Why didn't you come to me?
HOUSE: Stein's good.
WILSON: Stein's in Africa for the next six months.
HOUSE: He's given me at least six months. Go to Boston, get the treatment. [sighs] Everything will be fine. No need to talk about it.
[Chase enters, holding a printout.]
CHASE: [controlled voice] You're right. Surgeon found a bleed behind the kidney and the retroperitoneal cavity, but no reason for it. [sighs] No cancer, no ruptured arteries.
[House looks up suspiciously at Chase.]
CHASE: [walking up to House] So bleeding explains the symptoms, but we've got no explanation for the bleeding.
[House narrows his eyes, watching Chase's expressions.]
CHASE: And while they were closing him up, Patrick had a grand mal seizure... which makes no sense, since he's on an anti-convulsive medication.
[House looks from Chase to Wilson.]
HOUSE: [accusingly] You told him.
WILSON: No, I didn't.
[Chase drops his shoulders and the "stay-professional" act. House looks again at Wilson.]
WILSON: [giving in] I... only told Cameron.
[House throws his head up in exasperation. He grabs the printout from Chase's hand and walks out.]
[House's office. Foreman and Cameron are talking. House busts in, followed by Chase.]
HOUSE: [pissed] Hey! Okay. You guys have cleverly deduced that I have cancer. You have no right to know. You have no business knowing.
FOREMAN: We'd like to run some blood tests...
HOUSE: As soon as you work up our patient, who is not me.
CAMERON: Just wanna make sure you weren't misdiagnosed.
HOUSE: I wasn't. Let's move on.
CHASE: We're just asking for a couple of vials.
HOUSE: [loud] No!
CAMERON: Why not?
HOUSE: Okay, we're going to proceed as if I'm perfectly healthy.
CHASE: How can we do that if we know you're not?
HOUSE: You don't know anything! Except, hopefully, our patient on anti-convulsive medication has a seizure.
FOREMAN: [giving up] Anti-seizure meds don't prevent seizures, they just make them manageable.
HOUSE: [perusing the printout] According to the surgeon's report, this one wasn't even close to manageable.
CAMERON: Means the question isn't why is he having seizures, it's why are his seizures getting worse?
HOUSE: What's changed?
FOREMAN: His brain, it's gotten worse.
HOUSE: Why don't we make it even worser?
[The Ducklings look confused.]
HOUSE: [explaining] We take him off anti-convulsive medication.
CAMERON: He'll seize even more. Multiple seizures can seriously damage a brain.
HOUSE: Dude can't button a shirt. How much more damage are we really talking about?
CHASE: Strongest seizures will light up different parts of the brain, which will indicate response to damage.
HOUSE: Once he gets worse, do a PET scan.
[House's office. He's at his desk, wearing prescription glasses, carefully taking apart some mechanical contraption (videocamera?). The door opens and he looks up.]
HOUSE: [removing the glasses] PET scan done?
[It's Cameron, holding a paper.]
HOUSE: You come for my feelings?
[Cameron is about to say something.]
HOUSE: 'Cause I left them in my other pants.
CAMERON: [opening up the paper] This is a letter of recommendation. I'm applying for a job at Penn.
[She drops it on his table. He looks at her, then briefly glances at it.]
HOUSE: Thank you for writing your own. Sure my thoughts are beautifully phrased. [signs it]
CAMERON: Thank you for signing it. Saves me from having to fake your signature.
[He hands it back to her and leans back in his chair. She puts it in an envelope.]
HOUSE: Stay away from Weiss. He cries with his patients. Holds their hands as they die. He won't like you.
[Cameron gives a look, asking why.]
HOUSE: Your new-found nonchalance in the face of cancer.
CAMERON: I thought you'd find it appealing.
HOUSE: Twenty seconds. Pretty good.
CAMERON: For what?
HOUSE: Time it took you to go from hard-ass to human being.
[He gets up from his chair and limps over slowly to face her.]
HOUSE: You really wanna leave?
CAMERON: If you're not here, there's not much point of staying.
HOUSE: I'm not dead yet.
[She looks at him and slowly advances.]
HOUSE: What're you doing?
[She moves closer to him, not a lot of air separating them.]
HOUSE: I know this must be a turn-on for you.
[She tenderly puts her hands on his cheeks, slowly moving upwards to reach his lips. He almost looks resigned. And that's it!! Fans, take note - House and Cameron are actually kissing! His eyes stay open for a while, but then they close and he starts to kiss back in earnest. Her left hand slowly moves from his side into her labcoat pocket. House feels the movement and jerks open his eye. He grabs her hand, just as it emerges from the pocket. He breaks the kiss simultaneously. He brings up her hand to see what she's holding. It's a syringe.]
HOUSE: A little whorish to kiss and stab.
CAMERON: [caught] You kissed back.
HOUSE: I didn't want you to die without knowing the feeling. [yanks the syringe from her hand] Actually, no woman should die without knowing the feeling.
CAMERON: All I need is a few drops of your blood.
HOUSE: Foreman and Chase's lips are not gonna get to close, [holding up the syringe] now that I know your plan.
CAMERON: [appealing] There's a nurse downstairs about to risk his job to steal the blood you drew from yourself yesterday.
HOUSE: [has had enough] I'm Patient Number Oh-Two-Oh-Four-Oh-Six, in the Record Room, under the name Luke N. Laura! There's a whole file of blood there, along with CT scans, MRIs, CSF, everything you need.
[Cameron starts to hurry out.]
HOUSE: [calling after her] You need a sperm sample, come back without the needle.
[She gives him a half-smile and leaves.]
[Light room. Foreman sticks a CAT scan to the lightboard. As mentioned, the patient on the scan is "Luke N. Laura".]
FOREMAN: Six-centimetre mass in his dorsal midbrain, extending into the temporal lobe. [he turns around resigned] That's inoperable.
CAMERON: What kind of time does he have?
FOREMAN: He's got a year.
HARD CUT TO:
[Aerial view of PPTH. Day.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [voice over] Nurse!
[Patrick's room. He's seizing heavily. His father tries to hold him down, while yelling out for the nurse. The nurse enters and checks on Patrick.]
[Light room. House's scans cover most of the lightboards, while the tired Ducklings try to find ways of curing him. Cameron seems to have dozed off.]
FOREMAN: [opening a file] Here's a consent from Boston, for the cancer drug trial.
CAMERON: [waking up] Any description of the process for previous trials?
CHASE: Any chance it'll work?
FOREMAN: No. It's not even designed to work.
CAMERON: Why? What're you...?
FOREMAN: It's designed to treat depression in terminal cancer patients.
CHASE: He doesn't seem depressed.
[The door flies open. House limps in, carrying a scan.]
HOUSE: Hah! Okay, let's assume that I am dying. Which I specifically told you not to assume -- [brushes it off]. Can we at least assume that I'm not dying tomorrow? [puts the scan on the table] Whereas this kid...
[Foreman wearily sits, grimacing.]
HOUSE: PET reveals several more hotspots. But they're non-specific...
FOREMAN: [loud] How can you focus on him?
HOUSE: [mock crying] 'S the only way I can cope. [normal voice] PET also showed the left brain is working hard...
FOREMAN: Harder than the right?
HOUSE: Wouldn't be worth mentioning otherwise.
CAMERON: Bleeding in the brain. Blood would irritate the lining, might cause the seizures to get worse.
HOUSE: Yes! He needs an angiogram to look at the vasculature inside his brain.
CHASE: We'll get right on it as soon as we're finished here.
[House sees they're resolute, rolls his eyes and takes Patrick's scan off the table.]
HOUSE: Don't get up. I got it. You're busy. Continue.
[He limps off in a huff.]
[Patrick's room. House is performing the angiogram on Patrick.]
HOUSE: You know what my team is doing right now?
HOUSE: Trying to figure what's wrong with me.
PATRICK: What's wrong with you?
HOUSE: Thanks for asking. They found out that I'm dying.
PATRICK: That's sad.
HOUSE: [moves a scanner above Patrick's head] Everyone's dying.
PATRICK: That's sad.
HOUSE: Meteor lands on my head tomorrow, it's all academic. I told them to leave me alone. But did they?
PATRICK: [genuinely curious] Did they?
HOUSE: No, that one was rhetorical.
HOUSE: No, they did not.
[Patrick looks away. House watches him for a beat.]
HOUSE: Who the hell were you before you hit your head?
PATRICK: [amused] "Hell" is a bad word.
HOUSE: So is "ass", "bitch".
[Patrick quietly laughs.]
HOUSE: I can probably rattle off fifty much more complicated disgusting ones, but then your dad would get pissed at me.
[Patrick is really enjoying this conversation.]
HOUSE: Like your life?
PATRICK: What life?
HOUSE: Your life. Like the piano? Going on tours. Scoring girls left and right.
PATRICK: [shyly] I don't like girls.
HOUSE: [oh, okay then] Boys. [shrugs] Whatever gets you off.
PATRICK: I like the piano.
[House looks at the monitor and sees small dots on some blod vessels.]
PATRICK: What's wrong?
[House looks at Patrick.]
[PPTH Pathology Lab. Foreman is on the phone, while Cameron and Chase condust tests.]
FOREMAN: Dr. Peter Hayes, this is Eric Foreman at Princeton-Plainsborough. You were doing the signal transduction-inhibitor clinical trial. What kind of results did you...?
HOUSE: [entering from behind] Transduction-inhibitors are a decade away.
[He grabs the receiver from Foreman and puts it to his ear.]
HOUSE: [into phone] Hi, Pete! [hangs up]
[There's a pregnant silence, until Chase stands up.]
CHASE: Got another trial going on at Duke. Fifteen percent extend their lives beyond five years. If you're positive for Protein PHF...
HOUSE: [interrupting] Stop... trying to save me. I'm fine. MRA confirms smalls collections of blood throughout the white matter of Patrick's right hemisphere. Mind if we chat about that for a few moments?
CHASE: Either trauma, an aneurysm, cancer or autoimmune disease.
HOUSE: We need a biopsy to figure out which it is.
FOREMAN: EEG was non-specific. Where you gonna biopsy?
FOREMAN: Sssure. Just put on a blindfold and play "Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Brain".
HOUSE: He's bleeding into his brain. He's dying.
CHASE: You can't just randomly stab the temporal lobe and hope to hit the right spot.
HOUSE: [mock-whining] I'm only gonna take little tiny pieces.
CAMERON: 'Til what?
HOUSE: 'Til I find the problem.
CAMERON: Or you kill him.
HOUSE: No, I'll keep going even if I kill him. [looks at them, sighs] Then he's screwed. Thanks for the chat.
[He walks out.]
[Aerial view of PPTH. Night.]
[House's office. House sits on the couch, bouncing his cane on the floor, when Foreman enters.]
FOREMAN: What if... we do the EEG from inside his brain?
HOUSE: I'm actually little insulted. You were supposed to spend the last hour worried about me.
FOREMAN: [carrying on] It's risky and invasive.
HOUSE: But that's why God invented the long consent form. Can you get to why this is a brilliant idea?
FOREMAN: External EEG could get confused if there are multiple structural abnormalities. If we perform the EEG inside the skull, it could show us where to biopsy.
HOUSE: [shrugs] Brilliant. Go. Do.
FOREMAN: [hangs around] I'd also like to talk to you about...
HOUSE: [getting up from the couch] This is gonna get personal, isn't it?
[House takes a look at him and beats a hasty retreat. Foreman looks frustrated.]
[CUE MUSIC. "Rainy Day Lament" by Joe Purdy.]
[PPTH Hallway. Dr. Obyedkov sits despondently in front of the Wall Fountain. Foreman holds a consent form in front of him. He looks up.]
FOREMAN: We'll use a small drill to get inside his skull...
[EEG Room. Patrick's fully shaven head is moved towards the EEG. A hole is drilled into Patrick's head, while a nurse wipes off the blood pouring out of the hole.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [voice over] He's... bleeding inside...
FOREMAN: Yes. Once we have twelve holes, we'll surgically implant electrodes under the mengenies against the brain.
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: The soft dialogue was difficult to hear over the loud singing.]
[PPTH Hallway. Dr. Obyedkov hands back the signed consent form to Foreman, who leaves. He looks down, anxiously.]
[EEG Room. The doctor starts drilling the next hole in a marked spot on Patrick's head. He's awake and seems a bit uneasy while the doctor adjusts the head clamp. ]
FOREMAN: [voice over] And it's either cancer or autoimmune disease.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [voice over, softly] 'S either?
FOREMAN: [voice over] Yeah.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [voice over] Which one is better?
FOREMAN: [voice over] Neither.
[PPTH Hallway. Dr. Obyedkov has a concerned look on his face.]
[EEG Room. Foreman speaks to Patrick as the holes are being drilled into his head.]
END MONTAGE. END MUSIC
[Patrick's room. House stands at the piano, hitting a few keys. Foreman enters, closing the door behind him. He has a file in his hand.]
HOUSE: [eagerly] Where do we cut?
[House reaches for the file, but Foreman moves it out of his reach.]
FOREMAN: We don't. I need to say something.
HOUSE: [here we go again] Something personal?
HOUSE: And I can't leave because you got something interesting in that file.
FOREMAN: [smug] Sorry.
[House sighs in surrender and sits on the piano stool, pretending to eagerly await Foreman's "personal" speech.]
FOREMAN: You're an arrogant ass..., who makes it impossible for anyone to like him, by punching people who don't deserve...
HOUSE: [impatient] Can we get to the "but" part of this speech?
FOREMAN: [softly] But I like you.
HOUSE: [looks at him for a beat] No, you don't. You're just reacting to the perception of my death. You need to put things in order. Fear of guilt...
FOREMAN: [irritated] Will you shut up?
HOUSE: See? I annoy you. Now are you gonna give me the results or are we gonna... [makes a hug-and-cry gesture.]
FOREMAN: [sighs in frustration] Inter-cranial EEG showed no electrical abnormalities.
HOUSE: [finally getting his hands on the file] Which means it's autoimmune.
FOREMAN: No. Also showed his entire right hemisphere is brain-dead.
[House takes in this new info.]
[Diagnostics office. House is chiding the Ducklings.]
HOUSE: So, while you guys were worried about me, half of this kid's brain died. The only solace you should take from this is the fact that... it didn't. Garden-variety EEG sucks compared to the in-brain variety, which is not gonna miss brain death.
FOREMAN: He's gotten worse.
HOUSE: Not that much worse.
FOREMAN: Respiration is depressed. Seizures are increasing, one every five minutes.
HOUSE: Not that much worse. He can still talk. He's left-handed, which means his speech is in the right side.
CHASE: You don't know how Patrick's brain reorganized itself twenty-five years ago?
HOUSE: [looking at a model of a brain] What if the right side... is just a little dead. Maybe he has random neurons firing.
CAMERON: You're just looking for a puzzle to distract you from your own situation.
HOUSE: You're right. He's dead. Let's go home.
[He limps off.]
[Patrick's room. Patrick is awake. His father is standing beside his bed. House and Foreman enter. House is carrying an electronic Flexi-Piano.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [hopefully] What'd you find out? Is he gonna be okay?
FOREMAN: I'm so sor...
HOUSE: [emphatically] Yes!
[He shoots down Foreman with a look and opens up the Flexi-Piano onto Patrick's bed-table. Foreman takes out a small paddle and cover's Patrick's right eye.]
FOREMAN: What's this?
PATRICK: [hoarse] A piano.
FOREMAN: [covers Patrick's left eye] What's this?
[Patrick doesn't answer.]
FOREMAN: [to House] He's obviously lost the use of his...
HOUSE: [quietly] Shut up.
[House plays the opening bars of Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer". Foreman, as usual, seems to think of it as an exercise in futility. House stops playing and turns the Flexi-Piano to face Patrick. He moves the bed-table closer to Patrick. Patrick slowly moves his right hand to the piano and plays the remaining bars slowly, yet correctly.]
HOUSE: [almost beaming] Music is a global process. Can't play the piano with half a brain.
[PPTH Hallway. House and Foreman walk along the corridor.]
FOREMAN: What's it mean?
HOUSE: Means the right side of his brain has always sucked. Means it's not relevant what's going on now.
FOREMAN: [smirks] Wow, then it's autoimmune.
HOUSE: Yeah! Question is, what do we do about it?
FOREMAN: 'S likely ones we can fix. Polyarteritis nodosa, Takayasu or sarcoid. I'll start treatment.
[House has stopped walking.]
HOUSE: Not what I was talking about. But yeah, you do that.
[He limps off, leaving Foreman confused.]
[House's office. He's facing the window and reading an article about Patrick. Chase enters.]
HOUSE: [without turning around] Your turn?
CHASE: Do you have to do that?
HOUSE: [turning around] You mean, cheapen everyone's attempt at a human moment by identifying the real calculations that go into it?
HOUSE: Yeah! I do. [goes back to reading the magazine]
CHASE: I'm sorry you're dying. I'm gonna hug you.
[House looks at him, dubiously.]
CHASE: [getting emotional] Anything to say?
HOUSE: Well, if you're considering grabbing my ass, don't start anything...
[Chase ignores him and embraces him. House is expectedly surprised.]
HOUSE: ... you can't finish.
[Chase's face is almost buried in House's shoulder, but it's obvious he's crying. House drops his shoulders.]
HOUSE: As long as we're just standing here, you mind if we work? How's the kid's treatment going?
[Chase says nothing and continues to hold House emotionally.]
HOUSE: Are you crying?
CHASE: [finally letting go] No. [moves away, keeping his back to House] Respiration rate's up. Seizures are coming down. 'S all good.
HOUSE: Not for what I'm gonna do next.
CHASE: But there is no next. He's gonna be fine.
HOUSE: Only if he wants to remain a four-year-old who wets his bed.
[House starts to limp off.]
CHASE: There's nothing else for him.
HOUSE: There's better. Thanks for the hug. [leaves]
[Chase looks perplexed.]
[Cuddy's home. Dark. The doorbell is ringing incessantly. She's wearing a nightgown. Sleepily, she staggers towards the door, putting on nearby lights as she passes. She slaps her hand on the door, peering through the peep-hole.]
[POV: Peep-hole. It's House, who moves his face closer to the peep-hole, making his face look hilariously expanded.]
[Cuddy drops her shoulders and opens the door.]
CUDDY: It's the middle of the night. You know I'd be asleep.
HOUSE: Phone would have woken you up just as much. I can see what you're wearing on the phone.
[Wearily, she walks inside. House follows.]
HOUSE: [closing the door] My patient with the fifty-five IQ has Takayasu syndrome. Very uncommon. Happens mostly in Asian women.
[He enters her living room. She puts on a wrap.]
CUDDY: Takayasu is manageable with steroids, which you already know. So, I assume you're here for something else.
HOUSE: My patient also has a significant seizure problem.
CUDDY: Also manageable with anticonvulsive medication.
HOUSE: Yes. He kept taking his anticonvulsive medication, he could go back on tour and play the piano.
[Cuddy seems puzzled.]
HOUSE: But... a hemispherectomy would completely stop the right-brain seizure activity and he would no longer need to take his anticonvulsive medication.
CUDDY: [in disbelief] You want to remove half his brain?
HOUSE: [confirming] The right half. It'd be irresponsible to remove the left.
CUDDY: [arguing] You don't remove half a brain and gain function.
HOUSE: Not my brain. But his, who knows? What? Lets say I'm the left side of Patrick's brain, I'm quick- witted, I'm charming, I'm great looking.
[Cuddy smiles, amused at his analogy.]
HOUSE: You're the right side of his brain. You're useless, old, damaged.
[Cuddy smile wrily, but humours him nonetheless.]
HOUSE: We go to a bar for a drink. Now, I have the mad skills to be scoring all the hot babes, but instead, I'm spending my time wiping drool off your chin and making sure you don't eat the tablecloth.
CUDDY: [beat] What's the father wanna do?
HOUSE: I don't know.
CUDDY: [standing up] So go wake him up.
[She starts to walk back to bed, putting off the living room lights. She stops in the foyer, as House comes up behind.]
CUDDY: House, I'm so sorry.
HOUSE: Forgot I was dying, huh?
CUDDY: I'm here, if you need me.
HOUSE: [all right!] I need you.
[He advances. She smiles and hugs him, standing on her toes. Slowly, he moves his hands and places them firmly on her butt. She closes her eyes and smiles.]
HOUSE: One small feel for man. One giant ass for mankind.
[She pats him on his back and breaks the hug.]
CUDDY: [softly] Thanks. Good luck in Boston.
[She starts to go back to her bedroom. House starts to follow.]
CUDDY: [without turning or stopping] Call the "Make-A-Wish" Foundation.
[Smiling in defeat, House turns and makes for the door.]
[Aerial shot of PPTH. Night.]
[Outside Patrick's room. Patrick is asleep in his room. Dr. Obyedkov comes outside to speak to House.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [much more relaxed] Dr. Foreman was just here. Seizures have almost completely gone away. Says we might be able to go home in the next day or two. Thank you... so much.
HOUSE: [like asking for change] I think we should we should remove the right side of your son's brain.
DR. OBYEDKOV: I thought you fixed him.
HOUSE: Does he look fixed? Right side of his brain is keeping him walking straight. Other than that, it's been dead-weight ever since the accident. 'F we remove it, seizures would stop completely.
DR. OBYEDKOV: The seizures are hardly noticeable. They don't bother Patrick.
HOUSE: But without the seizures, the left side would have a chance to actually function. He'll learn to do new things. Only bummer, he'll never play the piano again.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [shaking his head] No. The piano's everything.
HOUSE: I'm not saying he'd ever work for NASA, but flipping burgers isn't out of the question.
DR. OBYEDKOV: I don't mind taking care of him, so he can play the piano.
HOUSE: No, you're actually lucky. You don't have to watch your kid grow up, you don't have to let go.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [mad] You trying to make this about me? I love my son! Just the way he is!
HOUSE: He's a monkey-grinder at the circus.
DR. OBYEDKOV: He's worked hard to get where he is!
HOUSE: So has the monkey. [beat] The piano is a neurological accident.
DR. OBYEDKOV: It's a gift.
HOUSE: And I'm offering him a life.
[Dr. Obyedkov looks at House a beat and begins to consider it.]
HOUSE: It's up to you.
[House leaves. Dr. Obyedkov looks at Patrick asleep in his room.]
[PPTH Pathology lab. The tired yet persevering Ducklings continue to run tests on House's samples.]
CHASE: [running a test] I've isolated the cancer proteins in House's CSF.
FOREMAN: [impatient] About time. Can't let him go to Boston if he qualifies for the Duke trial.
CHASE: [sleepy yet annoyed] You wanna do it?
[Foreman doesn't say anything. Chase hands Cameron a sample, which she carefully places in a machine. She checks the computer monitor for results. The monitor shows a bar graph with the words "Protein Type PHF".]
CAMERON: Damn. He's negative for Protein PHF. He doesn't qualify.
[Foreman drops his head in frustration. Chase comes over to the computer and types a couple of leys, bringing up a magnified view of the sample.]
CHASE: [sees something] What's that?
[He zooms into it and points. Cameron and Foreman lean to look.]
CHASE: That shouldn't be there.
[They all take a closer look.]
[Patrick's room. Patrick is asleep in his bed, holding a pillow. His father stands over him, deep in thought. He sits and lightly taps Patrick on his shoulder.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [gently] Patrick.
[Patrick awakens slowly.]
PATRICK: [softly] Oh, papa.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [smiles lovingly] Patrick, I have a question for you.
DR. OBYEDKOV: [fighting back tears] Are you happy?
[Patrick takes a while to say anything. Finally...]
PATRICK: [repeating softly] Are you happy?
[The repeated words are all the answer Dr. Obyedkov needs. He lets out a sob. He shifts around on his seat in grief, then stands and gives Patrick a short yet fatherly kiss on his forehead. He moves away to the door.]
[Operating Room. Patrick's hemispherectomy is underway. A hole has been made in his head and the doctors are removing the right brain. The camera moves from the OR to the Prep room to the next room, where Dr. Obyedkov leans nervously against the door.]
[Aerial view of PPTH. Night.]
[House's apartment. It's now his time to be rudely awoken. He limps through the darkened apartment, as excited knocks are heard.]
FOREMAN: [voice over] House! Open up! [knock! knock! knock! knock!] Open up! It's important!
[Foreman keeps knocking, 'til House finally opens up, a bit irritated.]
HOUSE: I got a flight in three hours.
[On the other side of the door, stand three very excited Ducklings.]
FOREMAN: [ecstatic] You don't have cancer. There was an abnormal presence of IgC and IgM indicating...
[As he speaks, he advances inside. House blocks his way with his cane.]
HOUSE: I don't have neurosyphilis. My MRI showed nothing...
CAMERON: [really wide-eyed with joy] It's a gumma in your brain. It's very rare not to be in the liver and I'm really glad we never slept together, but...
HOUSE: We would have used a condom and I don't have syphilis. My VDRL was negative...
CHASE: We did an FDA antibody test. The VDRL was a false negative. [thrilled to bits] You're not going to die! All you need is IV antibiotics!
[The Ducklings almost expect House to be jubilant. All House does is stare blankly at them.]
HOUSE: [quietly, seriously] Did you send these results to Mass General?
CHASE: [gestures happily] Of course.
HOUSE: [pissed] You... idiots.
[He walks away from the door in exasperation.]
FOREMAN: [reasoning] We just told you you're not gonna die. You should be making out with Cameron!
[Chase looks annoyed at Foreman for that suggestion.]
CAMERON: [unsure] You knew it wasn't cancer?
HOUSE: I was sure it was cancer.
CHASE: Then why aren't you celebrating?
HOUSE: [turning around, loudly] Because... it wasn't my damn file!
CAMERON: [non-plussed] You faked cancer?
HOUSE: The real patient is in the Witherspoon Wing. Feel free to tell his wife he's not gonna die, but he is cheating on her.
CHASE: Why would you want us to think you...?
HOUSE: [exasperated] I didn't!! I wanted the guys at Boston to think that I had cancer. I wanted the guys, who were gonna implant a cool drug right into pleasure centre of my brain, to think that I had cancer!
CAMERON: [in disbelief] You faked cancer to get high?
[House sighs. The Ducklings look at House in a mixture of astonishment and displeasure.]
HOUSE: I'm going to bed.
[He starts to move towards his bedroom. Cameron is still in shock. Foreman shakes his head.]
FOREMAN: You're right! I don't like you! [leaves]
HOUSE: Sure. Now that I'm not dying.
[Chase leaves. Cameron, pissed, follows, closing the door behind her.]
[House's office. House is at his desk, reading something and playing with his pen. Wilson enters, looking a bit miffed. House impatiently waits for him to start ranting.]
WILSON: Heard Patrick's hemispherectomy went well.
HOUSE: He survived the surgery. He's unconscious, but...
WILSON: How depressed are you?!
HOUSE: I'm not depressed.
WILSON: You faked... cancer.
HOUSE: It was an outpatient procedure. I was curious.
WILSON: Are you curious about heroin?
HOUSE: Not since last year's Christmas party. Whoof! [beat] I know this goes against your nature, but can we not make too much of this?
WILSON: You made people think that you were going to die!
HOUSE: [protesting] I didn't make them! I tried to hide it! You idiots needed to get into my business.
[Wilson is about to say something, but just starts laughing.]
HOUSE: I'm sure I'll regret asking, but why are you laughing?
WILSON: It's ironic.
HOUSE: I'm sure I'll regret asking, but why...?
WILSON: Depression in cancer patients. 'S not as common as you think. It's not the dying that gets to people. It's the dying alone. The patients with family, with friends... they tend to do okay. You don't have cancer. You do have people who give a damn. So what do you do? [laughs again] You fake the cancer, then push the people who care away.
HOUSE: Because... they're boring. [looks at Wilson] Go home to your hotel room and laugh at that irony.
WILSON: [smiles wrily] Start small, House. Take a chance. Maybe something that doesn't involve sticking stuff in your brain. Pizza with a friend. [points to himself with a bow] A movie. Something.
[He leaves. House contemplates Wilson's words.]
[Aerial view of PPTH. Day.]
[Patrick's room. House shines a light in Patrick's eyes. Patrick's head is bandaged up.]
HOUSE: [switching off the penlight] Follow my finger.
[He passes his index finger in front of Patrick's face. Patrick follows it correctly.]
HOUSE: You know your name?
[Patrick doesn't respond.]
HOUSE: Speech centre was on the right side. It'll be a while before he's talking.
DR. OBYEDKOV: He hasn't really done anything except that... stare off into the distance.
HOUSE: [nods] It'll take some time to...
[House stops, watching Patrick. Patrick is buttoning up his pajama shirt.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [going to help him] Oh, uh...
[House stops him with his cane. Patrick manages to get one button in correctly. He quickly does the others and straightens out the shirt. He looks at them.]
DR. OBYEDKOV: [overjoyed] You buttoned your shirt?
[Patrick smiles unsurely.]
HOUSE: Looks happy.
[Camera holds on Patrick.]
[CUE MUSIC: "See The World" by Gomez]
[Outside. Night. House sullenly walks home. He stops by a restaurant window and sees the Ducklings at a table, talking. A waiter comes up to take their orders. House stops walking, presumably thinking about Wilson's advice. A couple happily walks out of the restaurant, past him. House looks inside and seems to have made a decision. He puts his hand on the doorknob and...]