Aloha, Tanneritos! Well, I am back with 1.10 – Histories. I am so excited that people are reading this. I'm also excited that I was able to do it. I've been wanting to write some sort of rewrite for some shows of mine. Every time I do, though, they never seem to turn out right. This is the farthest I've ever come, and hopefully my procrastination and schoolwork won't get in the way.

Notice from before stands to claim.

It's seven in the morning on Friday, February 1st. Wilson and Foreman are walking down the hospital hall to a room they've been paged to come.

Wilson holds the folder. "Homeless. Admitted 24 hours ago with a suspected drug overdose. Her tox screen's clean, but she's still delusional."

"Homeless, usually means crazy; no money. Cuddy's not going to like this –"

Wilson interrupts. "We're a teaching hospital. No ID. Doesn't even seem to know her name. I got called in because of some lesions on her arm."

"Homeless always means no roof, at least, there's too much sun."

"The lesions were non-cancerous, but I noticed a twitch. Her wrist."

The woman, temporarily called Jane (for Jane Doe) is lying in a hospital bed, with her wrist twitching. Foreman walks in and immediately pokes her finger on the opposite hand. Wilson stands in the background. Jane grunts.

"You feel that?"

"Sure. I'm human."

"Make a fist around my fingers, tight as you can. Squeeze."

Jane grasps weakly. "I am."

"Right." Foreman nods. "All right. Raise your arms above your head for me."

She raises her arms halfway before letting out a startled gasp. Her arms drop, and she starts seizing. Wilson instantly rushes forward, while Foreman just stands off to the side.

"She's seizing. Get me some Ativan."

Foreman shakes his head. "She doesn't want to be discharged. She's manipulating me."

Wilson holds up Jane's arm, but it snaps back and hits her face. "It's real. Check her finger sticks."

Foreman's eyes widen. "Blood sugar's 38."

A nurse rushes in with the Ativan. Wilson pulls her attention.

"I need D15. IV push stat."

Twenty minutes later, Jane is sedated. Foreman and Wilson walking down the hall toward the nurses' station.

"Fake low blood sugar. Now that's acting."

Foreman rolls his eyes. "The blood sugar was real. But she's probably diabetic. OD'd on her own insulin." He pauses the conversation to talk to a nurse at the desk. "I need 2032. Do you have her effects out here?"

While waiting for said effects, he turns back to Wilson. "Look, a seizure buys her a place to sleep while the nice doctors run their tests, maybe a few free meals."

The nurse places Jane's bag on the counter, and Foreman look at it. "$20 says there's insulin in here." Wilson doesn't take the bet as Foreman opens the bag. He instead makes a disgusted face and turns away because of the stench. "Oh… put this back, please."

"What about the twitch?" Wilson asks, unaffected.

"Her arm moved."

"Why fake a twitch? In case the seizure was too subtle? A twitch could indicate a tumor, which could indicate–"

Foreman interrupts. "A need to see a neurologist, which is why you called me. Keep an eye on her until 2:00 PM, watch her blood sugar, give her a nice hot lunch, and discharge her."

Wilson just sighs and nods. Around ten, Wilson catches House in the hallway toward their offices. He's already texted House several times about Jane Doe and what Foreman said.

"Hey, House."

"Wilson."

"So, uh, you get your messages?"

"About Big Love discharging Crazy Jane?"

"He's wrong."

"Foreman is wrong?" House mock gasps. "The neurologist is wrong, about a neurological problem?"

"He took one look at her and figured it was a scam."

"So, you figure he's not being objective"

Wilson is exasperated. "House, the woman had a twitch. She had a seizure."

"Both of which Foreman saw?"

"He just wanted her out the door!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up there, big fella. Foreman's the guy you want to take a swing at."

Wilson sighs irritated. "I - just - want her to get some medical attention."

House starts to look interested. "That's not even close to being true. Something else. Something personal." He pauses and holds out his hand. "Give me the file. Looks like this will be fun."

House heads for the conference room and pages Chase and Cameron. Wilson is already inside, sitting at the table and drinking a coffee. The two don't pay him much mind. Instead, they sit at the table and pull their focus to the white board.

"The twitch could be a mini-seizure, unrelated to the diabetes." Cameron offers.

"Brain tumor?" Chase suggests as Foreman enters the room.

House smirks. "Glad you could join us, Eric. What's the differential for a twitch in the wrist?"

Foreman glares at Wilson as he moves to the coffee machine. "The patient's a thirty-ish Jane Doe. I just thought I'd discharge her."

Wilson glares back, much to House's amusement. "Well, she's my patient. No harm in a second opinion."

Chase doesn't notice. "A blow to the head? A subdural hematoma?"

"Read the file, no evidence of cranial trauma."

Cameron ignores his hostility. "A twitch could indicate a brain tumor"

Foreman groans. "Or about a dozen other things. Come on, there's two things homeless people are good at – getting sick, and running scams. If you're so worried about it being a brain tumor, get her an MRI, when she's clear on that, then you can bounce her out of here. "

Wilson sighs bitterly. "Well, you've got her all figured out."

Foreman sits down with his coffee and flips open a magazine. "I've known a lot more homeless people than you have."

"Yes, you've got that going for you. How could I have doubted your medical opinion?"

House interrupts their argument by dropping Jane's smelly bag on the table. "The big question, you're missing it, all of you."

Foreman gags. "Oh, geez."

"Who is she?"

Foreman throws his hands up, watching as Chase, Cameron and Wilson edge away from the table. "Okay. Why are we on this case – just because Wilson asked?"

Wilson opens mouth in protest, but House beats him to it.

Yeah, that's pretty much it. There's something personal between him and this case. Obviously I wanna know what's up. "Do I need a better reason?"

"Most people wouldn't, you do."

House answers by unceremoniously dumping the contents of the smelly bag onto the table. He backs off, tossing the bag to the floor. Everyone else also turns away in disgust, standing around the table.

"The only thing we know for sure about Jane Doe is that her name isn't Jane Doe. Which means no medical history. Allergies, medication, previous diagnoses, treatment – we have no baseline, no context for medical treatment."

Foreman tentatively holds up a needle, glaring again at Wilson. "Wow. Looks just like insulin."

House holds up a sweater with an degrading stain over it. "Vomit. Still moist." He sniffs it and then thrusts it into Chase's face. "What do you think - a couple of days old?"

Chase moves away immediately, almost crashing into Wilson. "Uhhh… trying to make me hurl?"

House drops the sweater back onto the table. "Yeah. And here's the big finish…"

He licks his fingers. Chase and Foreman move away. Cameron makes a disturbed muffled noise, as if she's about to be sick.

"Salty. Chemical imbalance."

Wilson isn't the least disturbed, knowing House for so long. "Low magnesium could cause a twitch."

House shrugs. "Or high calcium. Or it's a coincidence. The point is, we don't know anything."

Foreman is exasperated now. "So do the MRI. Find out –"

"The MRI can wait. Hang a banana bag, give her 24 hours to correct the electrolyte imbalance, we'll take it from there."

"Great. Thanks." Wilson nods and leaves.

House and Foreman exchange glances, and Chase and Cameron leave.

There is something seriously up here. "Okay. Even if she's not faking, what's so fascinating about this case?"

Wilson makes me want to take it. "At the moment, how much you don't want me to take it. That's pretty fascinating."

In Jane's hospital room, she's sketching a picture of Foreman and herself, with a bubble over his head that reads 'Where's James'. Chase is attaching the banana bag, while Foreman adjusts the monitor readings in the background.

"Nice likeness of Dr. Foreman." Chase compliments. "In fact, he's never looked better."

Jane glances at Foreman. "He doesn't like me. I can tell."

Chase smiles. "That's okay. He doesn't like me either. Who's James?"

Jane suddenly reaches for face. "Ow! Oh!"

Chase is alert. "Pain in your head?"

Jane thrashes about, knocking away lunch tray. "Get away from me."

Foreman races forward. "All right, let's get it out. One milligram of Ativan, push."

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" Jane bites Foreman's arm as he reaches across the bed.

Foreman pulls back in alarm. "She bit me!"

Chase scoffs, watching Foreman clutch his arm and back away. "Good news is, she's negative for HIV and hep-C."

"Yeah? Well, I'm getting a tetanus shot, she's getting an MRI."

"There's a two day wait for non-emergency MRIs."

"She's getting an MRI." Foreman snaps. "And then she's out of here."

He leaves the room. He rushes to the nurses' station, where a well-off patient is waiting in a wheelchair. She is demanding assistance.

"Now Dr. Terharg specifically said I'd have the MRI at 10:00, it's almost 11:00, and I haven't even had the pretest yet."

"Sorry, we're a little backed up." Nurse Abigail doesn't sound sorry at all.

The patient sighs in anger as Foreman walks up, looking at slip of paper. "Excuse me, you're Dr. Terharg's 10:00?"

"I'm Angela Whitney. I'm meeting my decorator at 11:30, she's coming all the way from New York. Dr. Terharg promised I'd be home in time."

"Of course." He responds with false sincerity, wheeling Angela away. As he does so, he trades a slip of paper with one Chase is holding as he walks past in the opposite direction, wheeling Jane. Jane has been settled into the MRI as Foreman and the technician watch on. Cuddy walks up behind them.

"She's just about prepped for her MRI? Mrs. Whitney?"

The MRI shuts off abruptly. Thirty minutes later, Jane is back in her room with Chase keeping guard. House and Foreman are waiting in front of Cuddy's desk in her office. Foreman is fidgeting while House examines her letter opener.

"You tried to steal someone else's test?" She is angry.

Foreman tries to explain himself. "Dr. Terharg is a plastic surgeon. The woman was getting a six-month checkup on a chin implant."

Cuddy grabs letter opener from House. "I can't believe you authorized this."

Yeah, I know. Must be because I didn't. "Really? Sounds exactly like something I'd do."

Cuddy shakes her head. "She can't have an MRI. The CT scan shows she has a surgical pin in her arm, the MRI magnet would have ripped it out of her body. You like the Alien movies? You had no medical history, what were you thinking?"

"We'll surgically remove the pin, and then do the MRI, does that sound good?"

"She has an electrolyte imbalance." Cuddy frowns.

"Dr. Foreman, a neurologist, believes this woman has a brain tumor."

"Actually, I –"

House glares at Foreman, cutting him off. "Hey, don't ever apologize for a medical opinion." He looks over to Cuddy. "If he's right, we don't do this test, the patient dies. Now I realize that you have a specialty of your own, but does yours have anything to do with the brain? His does."

"Fine. But nothing more until you find out who she is."

"How are we supposed to –"

"Hey! He knows more homeless people than any of us." Cuddy and Foreman grimace. "Go check out the 'hood, dawg."

It's noon and Foreman is showing Jane's sketches to a homeless man, as well as her actual picture profile. He is at a storefront that Jane drew.

"I don't know. I've seen a lot of faces around here but I don't think I know her."

"Great."

"Hey, I ah, like that jacket. Yeah, it's all coming to me now. I know where she keeps her stuff."

The homeless man puts on Foreman's jacket, and gestures to where Jane stays. Foreman starts to lift the tarp covering the box where Jane has been living. Bats screech and fly out at him. He backs away quickly. The homeless man chuckles.

"Just bats." Foreman looks at him incredulously. The homeless man looks down at his new jacket. "I thought the lining would be thicker."

Foreman spends the rest of his time searching through Jane's things. By 12:45, Foreman walks into House's office with Chase and Cameron waiting.

Cameron frowns. "No tumor, nothing. Her brain is clear."

Chase sighs as well. "Which means, that girl had surgery just so you wouldn't get reamed out by Cuddy."

Wilson enters, hearing the last bit. "Not necessarily, there could still be something neurological going on."

Foreman groans. "Sure, she's not conning us; the MRI is."

House enters, staring at Foreman. "Not wearing a coat in this weather. That is so wrong."

"She drew these." Foreman lays down several hand-drawn comic books out on table. "They might give us a clue."

House picks one up. "She sign them? Her name would be a start."

"All the mythology, the locations, they're all dependant on life experience."

House holds up a comic book and looks at it. "Philadelphia. Look at that skyline! It's very evocative. The Chrysler Building."

The ducklings move in to see that House is looking at a picture of a slightly surreal looking desert landscape.

Foreman points to something. "That's a cloud."

Cameron frowns. "And the Chrysler Building's in New York."

House shakes his head. "Mmm… I'm getting Philly. And that cactus, well, that's a smashed car – car accident."

Cameron doesn't sound convinced. "A cactus in Philadelphia?"

"Water – well, water's October, right?"

Wilson goes along with whatever House is saying. "Obviously."

"On the page number 22, so that's October 2nd, 2002. Ergo, the patient was in a car accident two years ago last October."

Quite calmly, Wilson gasps. "My goodness! Was she okay?"

House squints. "Broke her arm, I think. They fixed it – with this." He ends his rant by holding up a metal pin.

The ducklings look relieved to have an explanation.

"Surgical pin. Better than a wallet. Serial numbers in case of recall, tied to a patient's name."

Foreman sighs. "That's why you insisted on the MRI. So you could remove the surgical pin from her arm."

House snorts. "You didn't think I was going to do it to save your sorry ass, did you?" The ducklings hear sounds of a fax coming through. "You might want to take a look at that. Her name is Victoria Matson, at least that's the one she used then. Any hospital with the record of treating her should be sending that information."

Foreman looks at the fax. "Oh, crap!"

The ducklings are suddenly racing down hall.

"Her blood work came back an hour ago; magnesium was normal."

"Did you change her banana bag?"

"Stopped the magnesium, started iron dextrin for severe anemia. She's allergic to iron dextrin!"

They rush into Jane-now-known-as-Victoria's room. All sorts of things are beeping; Victoria is gasping for breath.

Chase is at her side, turning to Cameron as he checks Victoria's pulse. "Grab some Epi off the code cart. Respiratory arrest, call the code!"

Foreman is on the other side, trying to get Victoria to speak. "You have an allergic reaction, can you speak?"

Victoria continues to gasp, and Chase shakes his head. "She's not getting any air. Got the Epi."

Cameron hands it over, and Chase gives Victoria the shot in her arm.

Cameron's voice is panicked. "Stats down in the 80s and dropping."

Chase attaches an oxygen mask. "We have about another minute."

Back in the conference room an hour later, Foreman slumps in a seat.

"Well, we got her sedated and stabilized."

House, leaning against a vanity table, raises an eyebrow. "And we still think there's nothing wrong with her?"

"Well, nothing's changed."

"We almost killed her – that's different. And we know who she is."

Cameron is sitting beside Foreman. "So far we've heard from three hospitals with records of Victoria Matson. Seven visits, going back two years."

Wilson is sitting at the front of the table, closer to House. "Any home addresses?"

Cameron sighs. "The pin in her arm went in during an ER visit. She wasn't conscious, so they didn't get an address. The other visits she gave fake addresses."

"Any treatment for neurological problems, anything that might explain the twitch?"

"Last winter, Jefferson Hospital in Philly, got treated for frostbite."

Foreman mutters to himself. "Baby, it's cold outside."

Cameron ignores him. "And depression. They put her on Prozac."

Wilson hits the table. "Well, I'd be bummed out too. Zero degrees, living in a box."

"Put her back on it. She cheers up; she might stop biting people."

Chase is sitting between Cameron and Wilson. "There's a billing record from Hartman Hospital last year. Two appointments, ultrasounds; doesn't say what for."

Foreman sips his now-cold coffee. "Pregnant?"

"Only if she was expecting an elephant. The appointments were ten months apart. Kept the first, blew off the second."

Wilson nods. "Abdominal pain."

"The chart doesn't say –"

Wilson interrupts. "Wait a minute. She goes in the first time, they look, and they can't find anything. Ten months later, why should she subject herself to that again?"

Foreman nods now. "Why make a second appointment?"

"She didn't. The nurse made the appointment. They were looking – they were looking for ovarian cancer."

Chase snorts. Foreman shakes his head as well. "You got all of that from one cancelled appointment? That's almost as bad as a car wreck from a comic book desert storm."

Wilson ignores the last bit. "With Jerry Lousing, yeah. He's an oncologist."

Chase grabs a page from the file. "Hang on, her current blood work doesn't show cancer. CA125 is normal."

Foreman nods. "And the cancer wouldn't account for the alleged twitch, or any other of her alleged symptoms."

House stands up. "Actually, it would. Neoplastic Syndrome associated with the cancer could cause her to twitch like a bunny on crystal meth. Ultrasound her ovaries."

Two hours later, Cuddy and House are walking down hall toward the clinic.

"Did you find a brain tumor on her MRI?"

"No. Foreman was wrong. I'm starting to wonder about that guy's medical chops."

"Right." She rolls her eyes, stopping at the clinic waiting room. She looks down at the name on the check-in sheet. "Shelley Diamond?"

A lady holding one child and surrounded by others looks up. "Yes?"

"Dr. House is ready to see you now." She hands House the file.

"The little ones are licking each other again, and Harry's got a seeping wart on his extra toe. What room should we go to?"

Holy shit. No way in hell is Cuddy leaving me with these sticky beasts. House issues a fake sneeze. "You know, I think I might be coming down with something. Hate to give it to you guys. Sorry."

He starts walking toward exit as Cuddy calls out, "Oh yeah. Just walk out, like I'm not going to do anything."

"Bye-bye." He waves over his shoulder as he leaves the clinic. He heads directly for his office, propping his feet on the desk. He's flipping through the pages from Victoria's portfolio, which have been put together to form a comic book. Foreman enters.

"Working hard?"

House doesn't look up. "This stuff's pretty good. Calendrica, works for the counseled genius. Bad guy's Mr. Fury, fairly generic, no special skills, but apparently very well organized. Think you work hard, try ruling the universe."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You trying to teach me something here?"

"We've got the flowing dress, the ring. Think the patient was married? Maybe it was a bad break up, maybe he dumped her cause she was on drugs."

"You care about her personal history?"

"Nope. Question is, why don't you?" Foreman looks away. "I hate to cite a cliché, but – Dad on the streets?"

Foreman laughs sullenly. "Dad's with Mom."

"They're both living on the streets?"

"No! On a pension."

"So who pissed you off?"

"Pfft. Right now, you."

House sets aside the comic, watching as Foreman joins the other ducklings in the conference room. An hour later, at 5:30, House and Wilson are strolling down the hall.

"Your turn, you gonna tell me why this case?"

"She's my new girlfriend, I'm having a tattoo designed, and I was hoping you could find out her name."

Hmm… should I read into him talking about a new girlfriend? Did Julie cheat on him? "So she's just another sick person the kindly Dr. Wilson has made sure doesn't get lost in the big ugly system."

"Yes, I forgot, I need a reason to give a crap."

"You're giving two craps."

Wilson shakes his head. "The metric system always confuses me."

Cuddy walks up with two girls, who graduated with them, wearing lab coats. "Dr. House."

"Time for Girl Scout cookies already?"

Wilson smirks, as he turns to leave. "Get me some Thin Mints."

Cuddy pays no mind to that remark. "Since you're too sick to work in the clinic –"

House makes show out of stifling pretend sneeze. "Okay?"

"– I thought you –"

House sneezes loudly, causing one girl to back away slightly.

"- I thought you could do some teaching. Patient histories."

"My specialty."

"When you teach, you learn so much, don't you think?"

"It's all about the giving back." Cuddy walks off, and House turns to girls. "Good old Cuddy. Always thinking. She assign you a patient to interview?"

He reaches for pills and the girls nod.

"Then why are you still here?"

The girls share looks of dawning realization, and they turn to go. House pops a Vicodin. Meanwhile, Cameron and Chase are in Victoria's room. Cameron is smearing jelly on an unconscious Victoria for an ultrasound.

"Why are we on this case?" Chase asks.

"Because Wilson asked House to do him a favor."

"I think House just wants to prove she's sick so Foreman will be wrong."

Cameron sighs. "Oh, you boys."

"Hey, I'm just doing my job." He looks at the ultrasound. "Whoa. Foreman's going to be so embarrassed when he finds out she's got cancer."

At six, House is sitting in the clinic, looking at files. Wilson walks up.

"Oh. I thought you were too sick to be down here."

"Had to get away from those girl so I faked a page. You know Cuddy sicced Miranda and Cassie on me?" He asks as he flips through file. "Foreman's parents, happily married, 40 years."

"Mazel Tov. They want to be doctors?"

"Keinahora. It's college credit. So, why does he hate homeless people? If it's an uncle or a grandparent you'd think he'd use it in his college application essay. Family struggles beats a 4.0 GPA any day."

"Makes more sense than those girls actually wanting to be doctors. I think Foreman has a 4.0."

"Maybe he's just a snob."

"You really don't need to know everything about everybody."

"I don't need to watch the OC, but it makes me feel good."

"Yeah, delirious. What's the other file?"

"Wilson, James. Boy wonder oncologist. You know him?"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "You know, in some cultures, it's considered almost rude for one friend to spy on another. Of course, in Swedish, the word friend can also be translated as 'limping twerp'."

House's pager starts to beep. He looks it over and stands.

"Did your pager really just go off, or are you ditching the conversation?"

"Why can't both be true? Come on."

Cameron has been called home, and the rest of the team is checking out Victoria's sonogram.

"Solid non-cystic mass on the left ovary." Wilson gapes. "Five by three centimeters, central necrosis. The only question is whether she dies in two months or three."

Foreman is not pleased. "Oh, God."

"You were right. There's nothing we can do for her here. Might as well put her back on the street."

House makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Unless it's not cancer."

Chase gawks at him. "Oh, you're joking."

House rolls his eyes. "Well, hard not to – nothing funnier than cancer. But what if it's a tuberculoma. She's living out on the streets, breathing all kinds of crap 24/7. The odds are she's got TB, why can't she have a nice benign growth to go with it?"

Wilson shakes his head. "A solid mass on her ovary. Ovarian cancer's way more likely."

"You're right. It's not even close. Start her on INH, Rifampicin and Streptomycin."

Chase squints his eyes. "But that's the treatment for a tuberculoma."

"And what is the treatment for advanced ovarian cancer?" No one answers, so House answers for them. "Pine box."

It is 6:45 in Victoria's hospital room. She's sketching Foreman, who is standing nearby.

"What are you giving me?"

"A second dose of some antibiotics. If you've got a tuberculoma, it should help."

"I don't have a tuberculoma, do I?"

Foreman sighs. "Probably not. Listen – I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Victoria looks back down at her sketch. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I took too much insulin on purpose; I really wanted a place to sleep."

Foreman nods and looks down at sketch. "Were you ever – married, Victoria?" Victoria shakes her head. 'But in the comic –"

"No, it's a comic, comics are just made up."

"So who's James? Is he real, or did you make him up?"

"He's real."

"Can I help you find him?"

Victoria looks up at Foreman, but then her attention turns to the window. "The – the light's bright – it's getting brighter –" She holds up arms to protect face. "– ow, ow!"

"Take it easy, take it easy, everything's fine."

"Mr. Fury wants to hurt me, please, help me!"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on…" He grabs a thermometer and puts it in Victoria's ear.

"– turn it off – please turn off the –"

Foreman looks at thermometer, which reads 105. "All right, hold on Victoria." He rushes over to close the blinds and turn off the light. "Take it easy, everything's fine. Take it easy, everything's fine, Victoria."

"I'm burning! It's burning!"

Foreman gets a glass of water. "Hold on. Take a sip, take a sip."

Victoria instead knocks the water away. "It's poison, you gave me poison!"

Foreman grabs a needle. "Hold on. Take it easy."

Nurse Brenda rushes in and flips on light switch. Victoria screams in response.

Foreman snaps at her. "Hey, turn off that damn light!"

"Help me, help me, please!"

Foreman injects her. "Take it easy, take it easy. The bad guys can't get you here, I've got you covered."

Victoria wails. "Mr. Fury's not the bad guy, I'm the bad guy, it's me, I'm the bad guy…"

Fifteen minutes later, at 7:15, Foreman walks into House's office. House is sitting at his desk.

"It's not a tuberculoma. Can't be."

"I didn't know the biopsy was back." House remarks sarcastically.

"Her temperature's 105. Treatment's not working, it's cancer. She's dying."

House leans back in his chair. "105…"

Chase runs in suddenly. "Good news! It's a tuberculoma."

"How do you figure that? Her temp's through the roof."

Chase holds up a piece of paper. "It's the lab results from the biopsy, it's definitely a tuberculoma."

House takes the paper and looks at the test results. "So – we're right about the diagnosis, and the treatment for that diagnosis is killing her. Perfect."

He calls Wilson to join them in the conference room. While waiting for him, Chase is persistent that it's a tuberculoma. Foreman doesn't believe it.

"The lab checked the biopsy again, twice."

"Well, a tuberculoma doesn't give you a temperature of 105."

"Then it's a tuberculoma and something else."

Wilson enters the room, hearing Chase. "The something else is gonna to melt her brain."

"Poach." House shrugs. "Better metaphor."

"A fever that high has to be bacterial." Wilson returns to the topic at hand.

"Maybe the bowel got nicked in the biopsy."

"I did the biopsy – no nick! She could have picked up an infection on the streets."

"Well, she didn't have a fever when I admitted her!"

"The Prozac we've given her could have triggered Serotonin Syndrome, which would explain the fever."

Wilson disagrees wholeheartedly. "No! Jefferson put her on Prozac, and it wasn't a problem."

"She probably never took it! Most likely they saw her one time and dumped her out of the ER with a script."

Wilson glowers at him. "Oh, just like you were going to do!"

House faces everyone, hands on the table. "Okay you two, grab some scalpels and settle this like doctors. Send blood and urine cultures and get a chest x-ray. And fine, take her off Prozac and put her on Bromocryptin for the Serotonin syndrome."

"Might want to get her in an ice bath as well, assuming we want her to live long enough to see those test results." Chase remarks dryly.

Half an hour later, the nurses are pouring buckets of ice into a metal tub. Victoria lies nearby on a stretcher. She's whimpering at Foreman, who's standing by.

"I said I was sorry."

"Your fever's 105. If we don't bring it down fast –"

"Foreman, why are you doing this to me?" She cries.

"We're saving your life. Hey, come on – you can do this."

The nurses pick Victoria up and put her in the ice bath. She screams and wails as though the ice is killing her. Foreman stands beside the tub, feeling sick to his stomach as Victoria cries out for him to help her. At eight o'clock, House is reading Victoria's comic book. Miranda and Cassie have met up in front of his desk.

"Seventeen-year-old female presents with abrasions and apparent trauma injury to her wrist – Dr. House?" Miranda pauses.

"Continue." He flicks his wrist, not looking up.

"You're reading a comic book."

"And you're calling attention to your breasts by wearing a low-cut top." He looks up this time. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were having a state-the-obvious contest. Thought you knew. I'm competitive by nature."

Cassie frowns. "I thought you were supposed to be listening to our patient histories."

"Nope. I'm supposed to be teaching you. If I can do that without listening, more power to me."

Cassie starts reading. "Seventeen-year-old female –"

House interrupts, pointing at a character in the comic. "This guy's supposed to have universal power over all of gravity; how come his hair won't stay down? That's just stupid."

Cassie continues. "– she fell off her horse while riding in the county fair."

Miranda disagrees. "No, she didn't, she fell off the steps of her beach house, you must have gone to the wrong room."

"Hard to believe that one patient could slip past Cuddy and get herself admitted with a sprained wrist. Two seems almost impossible - what room?"

The girls speak simultaneously. "Room 2106." They look at each other in confusion.

"Patients lie. But usually only one lie at a time; how much does she weigh?"

Miranda speaks first. "It's her wrist not her –"

"Poundage, ladies, and by the by, what color is her nose?"

"She's thin –"

"Flesh toned." Cassie remarks about the nose color.

Miranda huffs. "What does this have to do with her wrist?"

House's pager goes off. "Almost nothing. She's either under 90 pounds, or she has a red nose. I gotta go."

Miranda presses. "What's wrong with her?"

"That would be telling." He eyes the girls with an evil smirk. "Oh, I am just too nice. It starts with 'C'." He drops a heavy medical dictionary on desk as he leaves.

At 8:30, the team (aside from Cameron) is assembled in the diagnostics lounge.

"Urine cultures are negative." Chase announces.

Foreman sighs. "So's the chest x-ray."

"I assume there's a positive coming."

Chase waves. "Lumbar punctures revealed elevated proteins and white counts."

Wilson raises an eyebrow. "CSF cultures?"

Foreman groans. "Still growing. Nothing on Gram Stain. It looks like meningitis."

Chase blinks. "We know it's definitely an infection. And we know where it is."

"Well, meningitis is nice and simple. Get her in isolation and start her on Ceftriaxone. Either she gets better or she dies." The ducklings get up and walk toward door. "Let me know which one happens!"

Wilson and the ducklings enter Victoria's room, but they stop as soon as they enter. Victoria is missing. The sheets are rumpled as if she made a hasty exit.

"Oh my God. She was sedated." Wilson stands still.

Chase grumbles, "It must have worn off."

Foreman denies this. "I – I did it myself, a half hour ago."

Chase gawks. "I'll check the nurse's station."

He runs out to do so. Foreman and Wilson walk over to the wall, where Victoria has drawn several comic panels. One of the comics is a character wandering down a city street crying 'James' in a bubble.

"She's gonna die out there."

At nine o'clock, the team is crowded in Cuddy's office. She had been planning to leave for the night, but the team is giving her second thoughts. Wilson and Foreman are in front of her desk, arguing over Victoria.

"You don't walk out of a room with ten milligrams of Haldol in your system. In fact, you don't walk at all."

"It was ten milligrams, I gave it to her –"

Cuddy interrupts. "It doesn't matter! Bacterial meningitis, highly contagious; if she is out of the hospital, we are so liable."

"Not to worry." Wilson mumbles under his breath. "She'll be dead before she can kill anybody."

Chase is standing at an end of her desk. "Security tape confirms it, she stole some clothes and she's gone."

Foreman grabs a coat and heads toward the door.

House is at the other end of Cuddy's desk. He calls after the fifteen-year-old. "Wrong coat. The cape's in the closet, I had it cleaned."

"Funny." He rolls his eyes.

"You gonna save her?" House asks in a more serious tone.

"In her comics, Mr. Fury lives in Sloan Harbor. The night she came in, she was at a rave at 1408 Sloan Street."

"You've been reading. My, how you've changed."

Cuddy doesn't believe this. "You are a doctor; do what doctors do. Pick up the phone, dial 911 and a cop on the other end does what cops do and finds the missing person!" House raises eyebrows, and Foreman takes off the coat. "I assume the rest of you have doctor things to do," She pauses, eyes resting on House. "I know you do."

Twenty minutes later, House is walking down the hall. Miranda and Cassie are trailing behind him, listing off possibilities.

"Cacchi-Ricci disease."

"Do you even know what that is, or are you just guessing everything that starts with 'C'?"

"The kidney problems could result in weight loss." Cassie justifies her response.

"Cacchi – C-A-C- she's going alphabetically."

Miranda eyes something different about House's apparel. "Doctor, why are you wearing that bird pin?"

"It sets off my eyes." He smiles at their confused looks, and he enters room with the patient. The girls also walk in. "Hi, Jodi, I'm Dr. House. What brings you to the hospital?"

"My wrist."

"How did that happen?"

She glances from Miranda's clipboard to House's pin. "I was riding the Ferris wheel and this huge seagull flew right at me."

House mocks a gasp. "How horrifying."

"I swung my arm at the bird, but I hit the Ferris wheel."

House turns to face the girls with a matter-of-fact grin. Cassie's jaw drops.

"She's making it all up?"

"No, her wrist really does hurt."

"I'm not lying." Jodi protests.

House rolls his eyes. "Of course you are. You have no idea what happened. You have no memory." House exits the room with the girls. "Korsakoff's syndrome. Excessive drinking or insufficient diet damages her brain; pretty obviously the latter. She has no new memories, no new ideas, can't even process that idea. So her brain fills the gaps as best it can using visual clues. The horse on your shirt led her to the riding accident and the surf scene on your clipboard led her to the beach."

Cassie huffs. "Korsakoff doesn't start with a 'C'."

"I didn't say 'C'. Or did I? Lesson to be learned – treat everybody as if they have Korsakoff's, we all lie anyway. Give her Thiamine right away, she'll bounce back pretty quickly. And then get her to eat some cake and ice cream."

Miranda opens her mouth but quickly closes it. House notices as waves for her to continue.

"Did you need to be so cruel? I think she's crying."

House rolls his eyes but goes back into patient's room. Cassie quirks an eyebrow to Miranda, watching it unfold.

"Hi! Jodi, I'm Dr. House. What happened to your wrist?"

"There was this weird older guy, he had a cane –"

"See?" House cuts her off, grinning to the other girls. "It's like it never happened. Perfect forgiveness."

It's 9:45, as the Emergency Room doors slam open. EMTs are wheeling Victoria in on a stretcher. Her pulse is rapid. Foreman is racing in step.

"You got a temp?"

An EMT looks up. "Don't know. She's warm, but –"

"That's something to look into; she has meningitis."

"Sorry, I was more worried about her heart blowing up. Pulse is one-fifty."

"Rhythm regular?"

"Yeah."

They move Victoria from the stretcher to a gurney. Foreman leaves her side to talk with the policeman who'd brought her in.

"Where'd you find her?"

"Battlefield State Park."

"Narrow Complex? She wasn't at Sloan?"

"She was just passed out on the grass."

Victoria mutters, her voice getting louder. "Foreman… I need Foreman."

"All right. Super ventricular tachycardias. Get me Adenosine, one milligram, push. Thank you." He gives her the injection. "Hang in there."

He looks back and forth between the monitor and Victoria while she stabilizes. It's ten o'clock once they've got her settled in her old room. Foreman enters the conference room where the rest are already gathered.

"Her arrhythmia stabilized."

Chase yawns. "It doesn't make sense. What would push her heart rate over one-fifty? Dehydration? Fever?"

Wilson shakes his head, also tired. "Unlikely. By themselves, neither one would do it."

Foreman purses his lips. "We must be wrong about the meningitis. Maybe it's structural heart disease."

House stifles a yawn. "Her heart rate dropped when you administered the Adenosine."

"Two seconds."

"It's still meningitis."

"If it is, with the delay in treatment, she's got almost no chance."

"Start the treatment."

Ten minutes later, House and the policeman – Detective Jordan – are standing outside the nurses' station. Det. Jordan is flipping through a notepad.

"Read the report. I found her lying on the grass."

"You should read my reports. I make up stuff all the time. What really happened?"

"Oh, since it's you… I found her lying on the grass."

House pouts. "Wow. That is a great looking gun."

Jordan rolls his eyes. "It's not a gun. It's a tazer."

"It's so cool looking. What does it do? Fire about 60,000 volts? At least, that's what it would take to jack someone's heart up to one-fifties."

"Okay. Okay. Let's just say I tell you what happened. This stays between you and me, right? I found her. Lying. On the. Grass."

"Fine." He growls, reaching into his jacket. "Don't tell me. Tell my friend, Ben Franklin."

He then holds up $100 bill, and sets it on the counter. Jordan just stares at it. After a moment or two of silence, Jordan discreetly takes the bribe. He doesn't meet House's accusatory gaze, but he taps the tazer on his belt and nods. In her room, Victoria is lying in bed, unconscious. Foreman is checking her heartbeat. House walks in.

"The good news is, the heart rate thing's not connected to her condition."

"Well then, she's dying. The meningitis treatment isn't helping her, she's getting worse."

"Well, that brings us to the bad news. The cop tasered her."

Foreman snorts in anger. "Jerk. Probably couldn't get to his real gun fast enough."

"The first time he hit her in the thigh, and she just kept going, like it was nothing. Right about here." House pokes her with a needle. "She didn't feel the taser." He pulls down sheets and pokes her toe with the same needle. She unconsciously jumps.

"Localized numbness?"

"Yeah, in that one spot." House discards the needle and grabs a cotton swab.

"The diabetes?"

"I don't think so." He takes swab of Victoria's mouth.

"No alcohol. Not entrapment syndrome. Can't be a vitamin deficiency. We can't chase down every sensory neuropathy."

House grabs another syringe and nods to the bandage on Foreman's forearm. "Is that where she bit you?"

"Yeah."

Foreman looks back at Victoria, and House jabs him with the needle, through the bandage. Foreman doesn't feel it, but he turns back to see a needle sticking out of his arm.

"What the hell?!"

"Can't get angry if you don't feel anything."

10:30 at night, and the team in the lab. House is putting the swab in to test. The team is anxious.

"First there's localized numbness, then sensitivity to light, disorientation, paranoia, ineffectiveness of sedatives, and then hydrophobia. Fear of water."

Foreman stares. "Rabies."

Chase yawns again. "There've only been, what, twenty cases in the last ten years?"

"Yeah. That's because non-homeless people, when they get bitten, they get shots."

"There were bats."

Wilson closes eyes when the machine beeps. He sharply intakes his breath as he opens them and reads the test results. "She's dying."

Everyone is silent for the next minute, and Chase breaks it solemnly.

"There's no treatment."

Quietly, Foreman asks. "How much time does she have?"

"A day, maybe two. And if you don't get your shot in, say, the next three hours, I'm going to have to make another affirmative action hire."

Wilson nudges Foreman. "Come on."

A few minutes later, Foreman is lying on table. Wilson gets ready to give him rabies vaccine. Foreman grimaces.

"Do it."

Wilson sticks the needle into Foreman's stomach. "You want me to talk to her?"

Foreman shakes his head. "And say what? There's some experimental treatment, but it's not gonna work. Don't worry, we can make you comfortable? Doesn't matter how. She's gonna die."

"Yeah. That's what you say to her. Keep that there and rest for a minute."

Foreman immediately gets up, ignoring Wilson's adamant protests.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"Tell House I need to go out for about an hour."

"She may not have that long."

"I don't want her to die alone."

Wilson puts it together. "You're going to find James."

"I'm gonna try."

Wilson nods and follows him. They carry Victoria's drawing of the interior of a house with sunny yellow walls and a sweeping staircase. They make it to the present house – ray and abandoned. A police siren echoes in the background. Foreman and Wilson walk through the rooms, calling out. Foreman comes to the door identical to the drawing. He nudges Wilson, and they force open the door. The room in question is full of cobwebs.

Wilson shakes his head. "Man, no one's been in here for a long time."

Foreman holds up the drawing for Wilson to see. The second panel shows a box on a shelf. They look up to see it before them. Minutes later, Foreman and Wilson are leafing through pictures of a happy looking Victoria and a smiling man.

"This has got to be James. Maybe there's another address."

Wilson opens an envelope and reads the contents. "It's not James." He hands over marriage certificate. "Paul. Paul Furia."

"Mr. Fury."

"Her husband."

"Then who's James?"

Wilson looks up slowly, and hands Foreman some papers from the envelope. "Her kid."

Foreman looks down at a picture of a baby. There's another one of Victoria, her husband, and their tiny blonde son. Foreman looks down at the time the photo was taken. Victoria and her family stand in the sunny yellow foyer of their home. She's kissing the baby's hand, and her husband has his arm around both of them.

"Foreman. Foreman."

Foreman looks up, and Wilson sadly hands over a newspaper clipping. "They're dead. That car crash two years ago – she broke her arm… and they were killed."

Foreman sighs, knowingly. "She was driving."

It's nearly midnight and Victoria is on her side in a hospital bed. Foreman sits down behind her and grasps her hand. Her eyes open slightly, but she doesn't face him.

"James." She whispers.

"No. It's Paul."

"You've come to take me." Her voice trembles.

"No. I've come to forgive you." Victoria's breath catches and her eyes start to tear up. "It wasn't your fault."

Victoria sobs. "I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry."

"I know. It's okay Victoria. It's okay."

Meanwhile, Wilson is sitting on a street corner with rolled down grates over windows and a burnt-out street lamp. He lets out a sigh as House appears.

"Oh." He looks up, sounding nervous. "You followed me?"

"No. You were wearing rain boots today, but you were parked in the underground garage, so the only reason you'd need boots was if you were hitting the streets" Ah, screw this. It's time to be serious.… "I followed you."

Why did he follow me? "Didn't we have a conversation about friendship?"

"Yeah. I had some follow up questions. I've met your parents, and your brother –"

Wilson cuts him off. "I have two brothers."

"Why wouldn't you tell me –"

Because it scares me what you already know. "It was irrelevant."

That's not an answer. "Why not?"

"Because he's not in my life any more."

Damn, he's got a missing brother. "Well, that's relevant."

Wilson draws a sharp breath. "This was the last place I saw him, nine years ago. I don't even know if he's alive."

House slumps down beside him, using the lamppost for assistance. A homeless man wanders by as House silently leans a shoulder against Wilson's. While not one for comforting, House slides his hand into Wilson's as an act of assurance. They stare off into the distance in comfortable silence.

Well, I had to extend that last scene a little. Wilson knows how House is, so he should be the one to see House's other side. The warmer side that he hides so well.