A/N: Whew! I never thought I would finish this next part. Thanks to my beta Vixen for the confidence and pushing me to keep working on it. Please continue to review and as always any criticism is greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: House and all respective characters do not belong to me. I am only borrowing them for personal enjoyment.
Also I am not a doctor so I have decided to borrow cases used earlier in the show for medical accuracy. My creativity comes in with building and developing character relationships as well as introducing original characters. Reviews are most welcome. Hope you enjoy.
A picture of a woman in a bikini lying on a lounge chair is being held by Tony. He and Glenn are standing in front of a concrete wall. Tony has a roll of duct tape in his other hand.
"I have been fantasizing about this for months," Tony says.
"Forget it," Glenn responds. "We're not here to fool around."
"I'm not fooling around. I need this," Tony replied.
"You're an idiot," Glenn says back. "You know that?"
They are standing in front of a round, concrete structure in the middle of nowhere. It's about eight or nine feet high. Tony tosses the picture on top and turns to Glenn.
"Just shut up and give me a boost," says Tony.
Glenn sighs and cups his hands. With Glenn's help, Tony climbs up to the top of the blockhouse. He looks around. It's very overcast, there's a storm coming.
"Hurry your ass up," Glenn shouts.
There's the sound of a piece of duct tape being torn off the role. Glenn waits impatiently on the ground. Tony rubs a trapezoidal thing on top of the building. He jumps down. He and Glenn run to their car. The engine starts. The car backs up and they haul ass out of there.
"Hey, sometimes a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do," Tony says. He picks up a two-way radio and speaks into it. "Jaguar one to control. Uh, sorry for the delay, Glenn had to take a leak. It was unavoidable." He grins. "Target area is clear. Repeat, target area confirmed clear."
The trapezoidal thing, whatever it is, now has the picture of the woman in the bikini taped to it.
Meanwhile in a computer center, the same woman, Dr. Lee, is wearing a business suit. Cesar approaches her.
"Dr. Lee, target area is cleared," Cesar says. "Launch vehicle's in range. All systems go."
"Thank you Cesar," Lee says. "Whenever you're ready." She turns to a couple of military men flanking her. "The CT-10's light enough to launch from a UAV, but can penetrate eight feet of 6,000-psi concrete before detonation."
Cesar is kibitzing on one of the manned computer terminals. "Bomb's away," he says.
"Precision guidance system's not affected by darkness or weather and can hit a two-foot-wide target from sixty-nine thousand feet," Lee says.
"What about sound," asks the General.
The target appears on a computer screen. It's the blockhouse Tony and Glenn were at.
"None inbound at all," Lee said. "We've developed a new fan and a baffling design that…"
"Ordnance on target in three, two, one," Cesar interrupts.
The computer guy clicks a button and the blockhouse becomes a huge cloud of black smoke. Lee smiles slightly.
Meanwhile Tony and Glenn are parked in the car in a field.
"I feel better already," Tony says.
"You need to see a shrink. Seriously," Glenn says.
Tony grins.
Back in the computer center, the General addresses Cesar.
"Well done," the General says.
Cesar looks at him then runs past him.
"Wendy," Cesar yells. Dr. Lee is on the floor, convulsing. "Call 911!"
Meanwhile House is sitting on his kitchen table in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He's doing leg lifts against the resistance of some red rubber tubing. The tubing is attached to a table leg while the other is attached to a black Velcro strap around House's right ankle. The scar on his leg is still massive but after all these years it is no longer red. House does one more lift, grunting from the effort despite the fact that he doesn't get his leg very far up. He slides off the table, landing on his left foot. He holds onto his right thigh and breathes through the pain.
Later that morning in the diagnostics office.
"Karma's a bitch," Thirteen says.
"You think her seizures are the result of bad karma," Foreman asks.
"I think if you spend your days designing more effective ways to blow people up, stuff's bound to come back to you," Thirteen responds.
Everyone turns to look at House who is downing an entire bottle of water in one breath. He finishes and belches.
"Thirsty," House states. "Side effect of a new antihistamine I'm on."
"You don't seem congested," Chase says slightly puzzled.
"Hmm, intriguing," House says.
"You have any thoughts about our patient," Taub asks.
"Got some questions about whether Thirteen really believes in karma or just wants to," House responds. "As for the patient, it's not gonna be easy to break into her office. Might want to start with her home."
"We could ask to look through her office and we could do an MRI first," Adam says.
"Sure, go ahead," House says.
"If you're not interested in the case, why'd you take it," Taub asks irritated.
"I am definitely interested," House responds. "Could be a tumor. Could be a CNS bleed. What do you do when you got two interesting puzzles?"
"Two," Taub asks.
The door opens and Wilson slides in, making a 'gimme' gesture with both hands. "Fifty bucks," he shouts loudly and triumphantly. "Pay up." Wilson does a full end-zone dance with humming, arm gestures and some nice hip action as he turns full circle, ending facing House again. "Let's go. Let's go," he says wiggling his fingers for the money.
"Bet's off," House says. "Fight was fixed." Wilson opens his arms wide in 'what are you talking about' fashion. "That punch barely touched him," House says.
"You bet on Foley to beat Zachary," Foreman asks House.
"Speed beats power… unless speed has been paid to speedily take a dive," House responds irritated.
"He touched him enough to put him on the canvas and the official counted him out, which means you officially owe me… fifty bucks," Wilson says. As soon as he says the amount, the dance starts again.
"We bet on a sporting event," House says. "That was not sporting. Less than thirty seconds. That was barely even event-y."
"Okay, here's what I saw," Wilson starts. "You lost and I won."
"Yeah, well, you can take that to your grave," House says growing more serious. "You're not taking my fifty bucks."
"Prove it," Wilson says. "Prove it or pay up. You got one day. And don't make me send my boys out looking for you." He turns toward the door, stops, and puts up a warning finger, which he points at various members of the team. "What? All right." He leaves.
"So, two puzzles," House says. "Tie goes to the one that costs me money." He grabs his cane and heads for the door. "Keep each other posted."
Chase, Foreman, Taub, Adam and Thirteen grin widely. "Here you go. For you and you and you," Adam said standing up and handing out tickets to each of the team members.
"Tickets," Thirteen said questioning.
"Avenged Sevenfold, who are these guys mate," Chase asked after reading the ticket.
"Rock band," Adam responded sitting in his chair. "You'll have a good time trust me, these guys know how to put on a really good show."
"These are backstage passes," Taub says. "How did you get these."
"Gift from a friend," Adam responded. "So are you all going?"
"Don't see why not," Chase said.
"Sounds like it'll be fun," Taub says smiling.
"I'm in," Foreman says shrugging.
"Sorry can't," Thirteen says handing Adam back her ticket.
"That's enough of that," Adam says not accepting the ticket back. "You need to get out and have some fun. I thought that was what your disease had taught you. And come on, you never come out with us. Once won't kill you will it?"
"I'm sorry I just…" Thirteen started.
"You're washing your hair," Foreman asked.
"No," Thirteen responded.
"Not interested," Chase asks.
"Got a date," Taub questions.
"No, and no," Thirteen says looking at Chase and Taub respectively.
"Then no more excuses," Adam says. "You're going. Chase is driving."
They all smiled a little excited to be going to a concert.
Later Thirteen, Chase and Adam wheel Lee in for her MRI.
"I've always been healthy," Lee says. "I never even get colds."
"I guess your luck finally ran out," Thirteen sneers.
Lee turns to Chase. "I take it she doesn't like people who makes bombs."
"I'm sorry," Thirteen apologizes. "I didn't mean to…"
Lee is getting onto the MRI. "It's all right. Half of my family feels the same way. Of course they all work on Wall Street, so… Ever since the first 4th of July I can remember, I've always loved explosions. When I got to college and I had to pick a major, figured I might as well pick something I'm passionate about."
"Destroying things," Thirteen asks slightly confused. "You weren't passionate about anything else?"
Chase clicks the headpiece into place, leaving her to talk through the window framing her face.
"Bombs are tools, just like anything else," Lee says. "You can use it to make things better or you can use it to make things worse. I also like romantic poetry and picnics. Is there anything else you want to know before we do this MRI?"
"Nope," Adam says ending the conversation.
"Try to stay as still as possible. This shouldn't take long," Chase says.
Cut to a diner. House sits down in a booth, across from a black man wearing a hoodie. He has his head down.
"Hey, how's it going," House asks.
"You mind," Foley asks. "I mean, there are plenty of other seats."
"I'm not here to judge," House says. "You did what was best for you and I got no problem with that."
"I'm not gonna ask you nice again," Foley says. "Just go away."
"Or what," House asks. "You're suddenly gonna fall down? Listen. I got a problem. A guy who knows absolutely nothing about boxing, because of you now thinks he does. You can imagine the potential ramifications. I need you to get on the phone with him and tell him you took a dive."
"I didn't take a dive," Foley says angry.
"Take a picture of you to prove that it was really you and we're done," House says holding up his cell phone. "Just enough to convince him. Not enough to get you in any trouble."
Foley slowly enunciates clearly. "I didn't take a dive."
"Yeah, that story's getting boring," House says. "Look, I'm not from the commission. I'm not some bookie. I'm a doctor. This is my I.D."
"Look, if you were a bookie, you'd know no one pays a guy to throw a fight he has no chance to win," Foley says. "I was a 12-to-1 underdog. Lost my last five fights."
"But you were the better fighter," House says. "That last punch barely touched you."
"You ever been barely touched by a guy who weighs 230 pounds," Foley asks. "Look at me. Look where I am, what I'm wearing. Now, do I look like a guy who just got a payday? I didn't throw the fight. I just suck."
House stares at his face, studying it.
Later the door flies open to Wilson's office and House enters. "Ha!" House says slamming the door. "Proof." He shoves his open cell phone at Wilson. There's an extreme close-up of Foley's face on it. Wilson takes the phone, looks at the picture and scoffs.
"Just because he wasn't hit in the face…" Wilson starts.
"Look at his pupils," House interrupts. "He has anisocoria, which, given his age, the adrenaline surge of the fight, the fact that he's still alive means he was tachycardic. He has Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome."
"The bet was on who would win, not who would live the longest," Wilson says.
"If he's physically unable to continue because of a preexisting illness, then it's technically a no contest, which means all bets are off," House says.
"You know that just because I was right about this one fighter doesn't make you any less of a man," Wilson asks.
"Actually, it would, if you were right," House says.
"Then as I said earlier, prove it," Wilson states. "And one possibly Photoshopped cell phone pic does not a diagnosis make."
House leaves Wilson's office and slams the door shut behind him. House walks out into the hall and heads for the elevator where Cesar catches up with him.
"Oh, excuse me, Dr. House," Cesar calls out.
"Désolé, je ne parle pas anglais," House responds. "Sorry, I don't speak English."
"I'm a co-worker of Wendy Lee's," Cesar says. "I'm also her boyfriend."
"Great," House replies. "I'm a guy who doesn't care."
"She's your patient," Cesar says confused.
"Oh, you thought I didn't know who Wendy Lee was," House says. "Yeah, makes sense. I'm not good at names. Did Dr. Fortune tell you that?"
"Her last boyfriend was a real nut," Cesar says. "He's basically stalking her."
"See, this is what I don't care about," House says. The elevator arrives. House gets in and pushes a button. "I don't care who cares about her. Used to care about her. Either one you falls down dead, you can drop me a note."
Cesar reaches out and stops the elevator door from closing. "I think I know what's wrong with her."
"You screwed up in the lab and accidentally spilled some bomb on her," House asked.
"No, he really is crazy," Cesar said.
A short while later the team is walking down the hall with House.
"Poisoned," Thirteen says not believing the suggestion.
"Apparently our mad scientist is also a slutty scientist whose milkshakes got all the nerds in the yard fighting over her," House says.
"She's a slut because she's dated two different guys at work," Thirteen asks.
"Oh, I'm sorry," House says. "I thought we were still judging her."
"She's not a slut and it's not poison," Foreman says. "When we tested her blood and cerebral spinal fluid for toxic exposure, it was negative for every poison we could think of."
"Well, that just leaves every poison we didn't think of," Adam says. "She works in a bomb factory."
"So do a lot of other not-sick people," Foreman says.
"The guy had any actual evidence she was poisoned, he would have gone to the police, not to us," Thirteen says suspiciously.
"And if we had any evidence of what was wrong with her, you'd be showing us MRI results," Taub says. "I assume they were negative."
"Couldn't hurt to start activated charcoal, see what happens," Chase says.
"You know what else wouldn't hurt," House asks. "This case is getting interesting. Let's add a little danger."
That night, Chase, Adam, and Thirteen break into Tony's house through the unlocked patio sliding door. Chase enters first shining a flashlight around followed by Thirteen with her own flashlight and finally Adam. "Hmmm," Thirteen says her light coming to rest on a photograph of Tony crouched over a deer he has killed. There's a stuffed eagle on the wall next to the photo. She turns away and gasps. There's a huge bear mounted on the wall, posed as if it's about to attack.
"Well he sure knows how to kill things," Adam says looking around at the trophies.
"Just because he has guns doesn't make him a murderer," Chase says.
"Tell that to the bear," Thirteen responds.
"Look in the desk," Chase says. "See if he's got a diary or a journal."
"Something tells me he's not exactly a diary kind of guy," Thirteen says. "Maybe a manifesto."
"Just look," Chase says. "I'm gonna check out the rest of the place, see if he's got a computer."
Thirteen's cell phone rings. She looks at the caller ID. "It's Foreman." She answers the phone. "Yep?"
"You break in yet," Foreman asks from the other end.
"Yeah, we're in the abattoir now," Thirteen responds. "Why?"
"You can leave," Foreman says. "I think Taub and I found what we're looking for."
