The sun shone through the back windows, and House wrote on the dry-erase board. He was dressed in his normal jacket and blue jeans with an untucked undershirt.
Foreman leaned forward and tapped the table.
"Bet you're missing Chase and Cameron about now," House said without turning around.
Foreman looked up. "You think I can't handle you without them?" He threw an incredulous look at House's back.
"I felt that."
"Felt what?" Foreman put his feet up.
"You just gave me your 'I'm going to jump you in the parking lot' look." House turned around and smirked. "But I've got a weapon." He rapped his cane on the table. "Besides, three more days and our conference attendees will be back. Then you guys can out and play in the sandbox. Until then, let's do the doctor thing. Shall we?"
Foreman shook his head.
"Ornery." House nodded toward the board. "What do we know?"
"Thirty-nine year old male." Foreman lifted a piece of paper. "Professional trainer. Likes to skydive."
"What do we know besides that?"
"Presents with high fever, intermittent memory loss, twitching of the hands and feet, and grinding of the teeth."
"Bruxism." House pursed his lips. "Has he always pretended to chew steak in his sleep, or is this some new cool kind of exercise regimen?"
"Says it started a week ago." Foreman stood up and walked to the end of the table.
House clucked his tongue. "So, I'm going with exercise regimen. Now we need to find out why Mr. Freefall can't stop moving his hands and feet."
"Carpopedal spasms can be linked to several different things," Foreman said matter-of-factly.
House looked at him. "Yes, but what links that thing to bruxism?"
Foreman shrugged.
"Ok, how about his baking forehead and inability to remember last week's episode of Ren and Stimpy?"
Foreman laughed slightly. "I don't know."
"Oh, come on. You're the head guy. All this stuff's in his head."
"What about the hands and feet?"
"Let's assume for a second that the hands and feet are somehow connected to the head."
"Are you trying to be funny, House? Now I really do miss Cameron and Chase."
"No, I'm being serious." House sat down and looked at the board. "He had any cuts in the past month?"
"You're thinking tetanus. It would explain progressive locking of the jaw."
House nodded. "Doesn't even have to be a cut. See if he's had any injuries that he bandaged, covered up, deprived of oxygen in some way. Tetani don't like to come out and play when things get aerobic."
Foreman started to walk out.
"Wait." House picked up the papers from the table and tossed them to Foreman. "Give him a cranial CT. Check for Huntington's."
Foreman shook his head. "There's no history."
House laughed. "There never is."
Foreman furrowed his brow. "You feeling alright?"
"Just go do the tests. I'll call Chase and Cameron and arrange you guys a playdate."
-
House stepped into Cuddy's office.
She stood behind her desk and dropped her head. "You bit a patient."
"I nibbled on her."
"You bit her."
"What? Is she suing?"
"No." Cuddy pointed toward the lobby. "But her grandson out there wants to have a word with you." A fit, stocky, dark-haired man in a t-shirt and khakis stood looking around aimlessly.
"Just tell him I was doing some geriatric taste-testing."
"This isn't funny." Cuddy rubbed the back of her neck. "She was--"
"She was eighty-years old. Oh wait, she is eighty-years old. I wasn't hitting on her. She had a legitimate complaint."
"Well, I'm not the one you should be telling this to. Now go explain to him why you bit his grandmother."
-
"Are you Dr. House?" the stocky man asked. He pushed his finger directly into House's chest.
House looked up at him and moved the man's finger. "Why yes. I couldn't possibly imagine who you'd be."
"You scared my grandmother."
"I imagine I did. She has a very serious illness. Usually you can't break that kind of news without scaring somebody."
"You bit her arm."
"I nibbled her arm."
The man huffed.
House bit his lip. "Your grandmother's eighty, right?"
The man nodded. His face grew redder.
"Ok, so we can rule out that I was hitting on her. I was, however, worried that your Alzheimer's-plagued grandmother was doing something far worse to herself than letting a strange man nibble on her."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll assume she forgot to tell you. Your grandmother's a painter right?"
"Yeah," the man nodded. "She's painted all her life."
"And have you watched dear granny paint much lately?"
The man nodded again. "She goes into her studio for a few hours every day. She doesn't let people in much."
House stretched and danced his eyes. "You a betting man?"
The man smiled a little.
"Sure you're a betting man." House whipped out a twenty. "I'll bet you this much that if you check that studio, you won't find a single painted canvas. At least not one done in the last month."
"You mean she's been doing something else in there?"
House faked surprise. "You mean besides painting?"
The man did not look amused.
"Just go home and check it out. And don't let granny stay in there alone anymore."