Hey, I'm back with 1.11 – Detox. Listening to 'Teenage Dirtbag' by Wheatus on loop. If you haven't heard that song, SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO IT! I love it! Right, well… back to the task at hand…

Notice from before stands to claim.

House and Wilson haven't talked about that day on the street corner. They don't need to. Wilson knows House cares, and House knows he's done what he could do. It's been three days. House is now impatiently waiting at the pharmacy counter. Not all the shipments have arrived and House is getting antsy. Marco, the pharmacist, is on the phone.

"What lie are they telling you?"

Marco holds up his hand, gesturing for him to wait. "Okay, yes."

"Come on." House starts drumming on the counter.

"All right, thank you." Marco hangs up the phone and turns to House. "Okay, pharmaceuticals were delivered this morning, but shipping accidentally sent the box with Vicodin to research."

"Hmmm. That's a tough one. If only we had some way to communicate with another part of the building." He picks up the phone for the pharmacist, and Cameron walks up with a case file.

"Thirteen-year-old MVA victim. He's been in and out of the hospital for three weeks with internal bleeding, no one can find the cause."

House grows sardonic. "Internal bleeding after a car accident, wow, that's shocking!" His attention turns to Marco. "Let me talk to shipping, I speak their language."

Cameron complains. "It's been three weeks –"

Cuddy walks up to the clinic desk. House shoots a glare at her. "Your hospital doesn't have my pain medication."

"Shipping says it's going to be an hour." Marco holds the phone out for her.

She takes it. "This is Dr. Cuddy, what's going on?"

Cameron keeps pressing the case. "The crash didn't cause the bleed."

"Right, the bleed caused the crash. Blood got on the road, it got all slippery." Feeling anxious and cynical, House shouts out to the room. "Anyone here got drugs?"

Everyone stops and looks at him. One clinic patient in a wheelchair raises his hand.

Cameron ignores the outburst. "She saw his blood, she got distracted, and she crashed his dad's Porsche."

"Dad loved that."

"He was –"

"Don't talk."

Cuddy hangs up. "It's gonna be an hour."

House hisses, "Well, thank God you took control."

"If you can't wait one hour to get your–"

"Kid's got hemolytic anemia."

House and Cuddy turn to look at her. Cuddy speaks first, taking the chart from the younger teen. "Kid? How old?"

"He must have inherited it. He's gonna die. My condolences."

Cameron shakes her head. "It wasn't inherited. The problem's outside the red blood cells."

Cuddy flips through the file. "This is impossible. A thirteen-year-old doesn't get hemolytic anemia –"

House groans at Cuddy. "Give her back the file; you have bigger problems to tend to, like my meds."

"Elevated indirect bilirubin, low serum haptoglobin…"

"He's got meningitis."

Cuddy looks at the chart. "Uh… no."

"Artificial heart valve."

"No."

House snatches the chart from her hands and looks at it himself. Alright. Interesting case. It'll take my mind off it.

His eyes snap up. "Get everyone in my office."

Not long after, all the ducklings are in their usual spots in his office.

"Kid's gonna be dead in a matter of days if we don't figure out why his red blood cells are disintegrating, so differential diagnosis, people."

Foreman shrugs. "Well, it's not environmental. Dad hired a company to clean the house, maid washed all the clothes, and bought hypoallergenic sheets and pillows."

Chase quirks an eyebrow. "You want us to recheck?"

"No. If it's environmental he'll get better just from staying here." He glances to his watch and shuffles some papers.

"It could be an infection."

Cameron says, "No fever, no white count."

"Well, he's 99.2."

"Barely above normal."

"But above. His body's reacting to something."

"We could account for the lack of fever and white count if it's lupus."

"Drugs'll fit just as much as lupus. Meth'll cause hemolytic anemia." Chase tries to ignore House, who is resting his head on the clear white board.

Cameron does too. "A lot of meth."

Foreman twitches his mouth. "He also doesn't seem the type."

"Because his dad drives a Porsche? Rich kids do drugs just like poor kids."

"Didn't mean to offend you."

"Okay, so it's infection, lupus, drugs, or cancer." House remarks irritably.

Cameron gapes. "Cancer?"

"Why not? Great meeting." He stands to leave.

"Shouldn't we narrow it down before we finish?"

"My leg gave us 'till 11:15. I'll talk to Wilson about lymphoma; Cameron, run an ANA for lupus; Chase, radio immunoassay for drugs; Foreman… you test for whatever you thought it was. I've got a date with a pharmacist."

House heads directly for the pharmacy and impatiently picks up his Vicodin. "Come on, come on, come on, come on… "

As soon as House gets the bottle, he dry-swallows a couple pills. Oh, thank the higher algorithm. Cuddy catches up to him on his way out the clinic doors. Oh, damn.

"You know, there are other ways to manage pain."

"Like what, laughter? Meditation? Got a guy who can fix my third chakra?" They start walking.

"You're addicted."

"If the pills ran my life I'd agree with you, but it's my leg busy calendaring what I can't do."

"You're in denial."

"Right, I never had an infarction in my leg, no dead muscle, no nerve damage. Doesn't even hurt." He presses the button for the elevator. "Actually, it kind of tickles. The chicks dig this." He remarks as he raises cane. "Better than a puppy."

"It's not just your leg. You wanna get high! You're doing what, eighty mg a day?"

I wanna get high? God, Cuddy. Pull your head out of your ass. You think if wanted to get high, I'd choose Vicodin of all things? "Oh, that's way too much! Moderation is the key. Unless there's pain."

"It's double what you were taking when you got hired."

"'Cause you're twice as annoying."

"I can't always be here to protect you. Patients talk. Doctors talk." The elevator doors open.

"About how big your ass has gotten lately? Not me, I defend it. You got back."

They walk into the full elevator. House and Cuddy stay quiet until they get off at his floor.

"You can't go a week without your drugs."

"Correction: I don't want to go a week without the drugs; it'll hurt."

"No, you can't. If you're just getting off pain medication, it will hurt, you won't be having a great time, but you'll make it. If you're detoxing you'll have chills, nausea… your pain will magnify five, ten times. You won't make it."

"Well, I guess we'll never know."

"I'll give you a week off clinic duty if you can go a week off narcotics."

"No way! I love the clinic."

"You love the pills. Two weeks."

Damn, stop pressuring me. "Pills don't make me high. They make me neutral."

"A month."

Damn it, I've grown up competitive. Stay in the tub two more hours and you get dinner. Damn it, damn it, damn it… I'm gonna kill myself from this bet. Literally. House reaches into his pocket and pulls out his Vicodin. He throws the pills to Cuddy, who looks positively giddy. Yeah, yeah… enjoy it while it lasts, Witch. "You're on, Mister."

In Keith, the thirteen-year-old's, room, Cameron is taking a family history from Keith's dad.

"Drugs could cause this?"

"Cocaine and meth are very hard on the blood system. Has he had any erratic behavior?"

"No, but…" He looks over to where his son's fifteen-year-old girlfriend Pam is sitting by herself. "She was in rehab in the eighth grade. She's supposedly clean now, but –"

"She obviously cares for him."

"Yeah, what she cared about was the car. Anniversary present from my wife. We drove it up north to watch the leaves change. She was dead a year later. Cancer."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Foster, we're going to test Keith for drugs.

A little before noon, Chase is with Keith.

"I don't do drugs."

"It's not that we don't trust you, but…" He pulls out one of Keith's hairs with tweezers.

He tests it in the lab, but it comes back negative. Due to this, Keith needs to get scanned, and Cameron returns to talk with Keith's dad.

"Have you been sick?"

"No, nothing."

"Have you been out of the country?"

"We went to China, but we got all of our shots before we left."

"It could be an infection. We're going to give him a gallium scan just to be safe. We inject a radioactive isotope into his bloodstream, and we check to see if there's inflammation anywhere in the body. Has he ever complained of any joint pain? Sensitivity to light, rashes…"

"No, no, nothing."

"Any relatives ever been diagnosed with lupus?"

"I don't even know that that is."

"In simple terms, the body becomes allergic to itself. The immune system attacks healthy cells in the circulatory system and destroys them."

"Would it be treatable?"

"It can be manageable. We can test for the antibodies. 95% of patients with lupus test positive for ANA. What about bruising? He ever complain about tenderness under his arms or his groin?"

"I'm not sure he'd tell me if he did. I guess I really don't know what's going on in his life."

"He's a teenager." She pauses. "What type of cancer did your wife have?"

"Pancreatic."

"It's his lymph nodes we're concerned about. We're going to do a biopsy to check for lymphoma."

In Keith's room, Wilson is poking him under his arm.

"Okay, you feel this?"

"No."

"Good."

Wilson begins to cut into his arm when Keith speaks up again. "I have cancer, don't I?"

"We're just testing."

"That's what they told my mom."

The tests results take until four-thirty. Everyone convenes in the hall just outside Keith's room.

"Nothing?"

Cameron looks at the floor. "Nothing."

Chase prattles, "Negative for drugs. ANA was negative, gallium scan was clear…"

"Yeah, I got that from the "nothing". Where's his hematocrit?"

Foreman sighs. "Thirteen."

Wilson shakes his head. "Drops any lower he's not going to have any red blood cells to bring oxygen to his body." House suddenly grimaces as Wilson speaks, and he puts his hand against the wall to steady himself. "He'll suffocate with his lungs working perfectly."

Foreman's the first to ask anything. "You okay?"

House nods slightly, wishing for something to take his attention away. Keith saves him by calling out.

"Excuse me, someone? Help, please?"

As the ducklings enter the room, House pushes himself off the wall. "Polite for a dying kid." He starts to limp off, barely noticing that Wilson is coming with.

"How long has it been?"

Damn that concern… "I'm fine."

Wilson drops it, rather easily in House's opinion. In Keith's room, the youngest teen is worried.

"There's something in my eye, up top."

Chase moves closer. "Which eye?"

Keith points to the left. "This one. What's happening?"

"It's all right. Just, look down for me?" Chase looks into his eye with a penlight. "It's clear. There's nothing in it."

"It's getting worse!"

Cameron tries to gage it. "Is it fuzzy, or –"

Keith gets louder. "No! It's dark! I can't see!"

An hour later, Foreman is closely examining Keith's eye, and sees a clot in it. He and the other ducklings walk into the office.

"It's a retinal clot in the left eye."

Cameron frowns. "Coumadin would dissolve the clot, fix his eyesight."

Chase shakes his head. "You can't use bloodthinners, he's got internal bleeding. Fix the eye, you kill everything else."

Foreman nods. "Surgery's out for the same reason."

"We have two hours to figure this out. Either we restore the blood flow or he loses the eye."

House walks in then. He does not look well. Chase looks openly curious, Foreman looks disgusted, and Cameron looks as though she's about to start crying with pity. House totally ignores them.

"Forget the eye. Tell him to use the other one to look on the bright side. The clot tells us something. It could help us figure out what he has, which could mean he gets to live. Differential diagnosis, people. How does internal bleeding suddenly start clotting?"

Chase recovers quickly. "It makes no sense, they're opposing processes."

Wilson walks in as Cameron speaks. "It can happen in lupus. Increased platelet count can cause blood clots."

"ANA was negative. It's not lupus."

What the hell? He almost looks guilty. "This is true. But why are you the one saying it? What are you doing here? I thought we ruled out cancer."

Right, right. "I was lonely."

Well I don't need you here. Go be guilty somewhere else. "Well, go see Cuddy. She needs a friend."

Right, I can use that. "That's funny, she said you might need one."

Wait. He's guilty because he knows about the bet? There's gotta be something else going on here. "That's why you're here? She wants you to keep an eye on me, make sure I don't cheat."

No, I'm worried about you. "No, I want to make sure you don't start firing shots from the clock tower."

Oh, shut up. "I'm fine."

Cameron interrupts the two. "What's going on?"

Wilson pulls out a crossword book. "He hasn't had Vicodin in five and a half hours."

Foreman looks shocked. "Does your leg hurt?"

House bites back, "You ever been shot?"

Foreman only nods. "There's gonna be side effects. Insomnia, depression, tachycardia –"

"Withdrawal symptoms. Not applicable. The only side-effects I'm going to have are some pain and thirty days of freedom." He pauses, taking in Cameron's disgusted look. "Am I the only one who's concerned about a dying kid? If it's not lupus, what else?"

Chase returns to the case. "Most likely candidate for throwing a clot is infection or cancer."

Wilson looks up from his crossword. "Checked the biopsy twice, it's not cancer."

Foreman shakes his head. "It's not an infection. Gallium scan didn't reveal anything."

"Okay, what hides from a gallium scan?" He turns toward his office and sees a beautiful woman stretching. What the hell? Am I already hallucinating from withdrawal? Does anyone else see her? " Ooookay."

Chase carries on. "Cardiac."

Cameron nods. "Right. Clot slips off, travels through the artery, and gets backed up in the eye."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What happened?"

Foreman tilts his head. "It's an infection. In his heart? "

"Great. Echocardiogram for the heart and IV antibiotics for the infection, stat."

Chase, Cameron and Foreman leave, but Wilson walks over. He stares as well. Oh, great. He sees her too. I'm not going insane. Yet.

"She's a personal masseuse."

"No."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Look, if it were me"

"I'm not lonely," He cuts off his friend. "My leg hurts."

"She's a real masseuse."

"She's five hundred dollars an hour, minimum."

"She's hot, so she's a hooker? What kind of pathetic logic is that?"

"The envious, jealous, I-never-got-any-in-high-school kind of logic, hello!"

"She's a legitimate masseuse, come on." Wilson looks at her. "God, she's beautiful."

House snorts. "Because she's beautiful I should do it? What kind of pathetic logic is that?"

"The envious, jealous, I'm-engaged-and-I-can't-do-anything logic!" The woman comes over. "Hello."

"Hi. Listen, I'm, I'm sure you're really good at whatever it is you do –"

The woman startles him, not speaking English. "Dame su mano."

My hand? I'm not giving her my hand. Why did Wilson bring me a Spanish - ah, ahh! She grabs his hand when he doesn't respond. No, let go. How do I say 'let go'?

Wilson smirks beside him. "She doesn't speak English."

The woman kneads his hand in hers.

"Ow! Ow… ah… ah…. oh, my God."

Oh. My. God. He's in ecstasy. House might actually pull this off with Shania as his masseuse. Oh, uh… maybe I should go back to my office… but I don't want to…

Shania looks happy, and Wilson can't help but watch. House seemingly has an orgasm from the simple hand massage. "Bueno."

Abruptly, she stops. She points to House's chair. "Vamos. Take off your clothes."

"Sostener." House holds up his recently massaged hand. "Jimmy dijo que eras un masajista verdadera."

"Si?"

"Bien. Solo revisando."

Wilson watches the scene unfold, wishing he'd taken a Spanish class in high school – rather than Latin. He can't tear his eyes away, even as his best friend starts unbuttoning his shirt. He walks to the chair, and Shania turns toward Wilson.

"Que pasa con su acosador?" She asks with an attitude.

House sends Wilson a mischevious leer, taking advantage of the fact that Wilson remains clueless. "Cerrar las persianas puede entra o quedarse encerrando."

She frowns as she turns to face Wilson, with a hand on the door. "Tu ves?"

Wilson realizes she's asked a question, but all he does is sputter and shake his head. House smirks in the background. Shania, on the other hand, pulls the blinds closed and she turns away.

"Le conviene." She slams the door shut, and closes the rest of the blinds.

Wilson's face is red and he rubs the back of his neck as he weakly walks back to his office. Up in Keith's room, Chase is doing the echocardiogram. While doing so, he takes a look at the untouched food.

"Not a fan of the stroganoff?"

"I'm not hungry."

"The antibiotics can cause nausea."

"So can the food." The thirteen-year-old retorts. "Shouldn't you be looking at my eye?"

"The blood clot isn't life-threatening. We're focusing on figuring out the cause of your problems."

"So the blindness will be permanent, won't it?"

Chase nods. An hour later, at 7:15, the masseuse is leaving House's office as Chase walks up.

"Gracias." House's voice is a little hoarse, and he's fastening his pants.

"Adios." Shania smiles.

House rolls his eyes at Chase's look. "I had a massage."

"Looks like you had a masseuse. Help the pain?"

"I'm fine."

"I know. Kid's echo was normal, no sign of any vegetations on heart valves."

"Never met a diagnostic study I couldn't refute."

"And the antibiotics aren't doing anything."

"So, double the dosage. 70mg."

Chase stares at him incredulously. "That'll box his kidneys for sure!"

"Oh, you're right. Save the kidney. The guy we transplant it into will be grateful."

Chase sighs, letting it go. "Also, I have an idea for his eye."

"Nothing we can do about his eye."

"He's got a clot in his retinal –"

"Read the memo."

"If we remove some of the liquid from the eye itself, the Vitreous humor, it might make some extra room around the retinal artery."

"If the artery expands, the clot might move out on its own. That's very creative." House smiles a little. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

Chase shrugs with a small smile. "Well, I didn't think of it before."

Chase walks away and House returns to his office. Cameron leaves the hospital at nine o'clock, and surgery begins for Keith at 10:45. Chase performs it by sticking a needle through the thirteen-year-old's eye.

"This isn't going to hurt, right?"

Chase shakes his head. "Your eye's numb. You'll only feel pressure."

After the surgery is complete, at 11:30, the clot dissolves. Keith can see again. Chase gives him an eyepatch for his left eye and he's sent back to his room. At midnight, Pam catches word. She's there, at his side, kissing his hand.

"I can see you." He grins.

"I heard! Congratulations." She leans in to kiss him.

He turns away. "Don't. I haven't brushed my teeth in two days."

She smiles and kisses him anyway. "Ah, I'm so scared they're not gonna find out what's wrong with you."

"No biggie. I'm fine."

"I feel so bad about this. It's all my fault."

"No. No, it's not."

"But your father. He hates me."

Keith disagrees. "He's just pissed about his car."

She leans in to kiss him again, but he pushes her back just in time to vomit all over her shirt. She screams for help as Keith's dad and a nurse rush in. His doctors are paged and he's being wheeled to intensive care in under ten minutes. House meets up with them in the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"AST is 859, we're getting him to the ICU." Foreman explains.

Chase nods. "ALT and GDT were in the tank. Our antibiotics –"

"Would not have caused this."

The dad points to the girlfriend. "She must have given him drugs."

Pam sounds enraged. "I wouldn't do that!"

House talks over them. "It's not drugs! His liver is shutting down."

The dad swivels his head to face House. "What? What does that mean?"

Damn it! That's a stupid question. "It means he's all better. He's ready to go home."

"What?"

"What do you think it means? You can't live without a liver, he's dying!"

"What is your problem?"

My body is fucking killing me because I haven't had my pills in over twelve hours! "Bum leg, what's yours?"

Chase breaks them apart. "Hey, we don't have time for this, let's go."

Foreman twists his face to glare at House. "His son's dying and you're mocking him?"

I'm gonna die if I don't get my damn pills. "It was a dumb question."

"No, it wasn't."

"You're right, it wasn't."

"Is proving Cuddy wrong worth all this?"

He leaves, running toward ICU. House has to lean against the wall again. Keith remains in ICU under constant supervision for the next fifty-eight hours. Chase and Foreman leave to go home around one on the first night. The ducklings spend their time working in the clinic and the ER, plus with their tutors, while they can't do anything about their case. House spends the night in his office, not getting more than five minutes of rest at a time. Wilson almost leaves nine times, but ends up sleeping on his couch, worried about House and the stupid bet. At 10am on the fourth day, the ducklings have gathered in the office.

Foreman speaks first. "You know, House shouldn't even be here."

Chase looks up from the crossword Wilson started yesterday. "Because he said something inappropriate? If we sent him home every time he did that, we wouldn't need this office."

Cameron frowns. "He's in pain."

Foreman throws his hands up. "What does the man have to do to piss you off?"

"He's been without pain relief for forty-six hours –"

"Exactly!" Foreman shouts. "He's detoxing, can't you see he's out of his mind?"

House hobbles in, hearing that last remark. He's sweating. "That's what they said about Manson. Do you want to continue talking about me or should we discuss what the liver damage tells us? With no answer, he begins to tell his life story. "I was born in a log cabin in Illinois –"

Cameron breaks in. "Hemolytic anemia doesn't cause liver damage. Add the fact he's coughing blood, you've got three of the indicators of organ-threatening lupus."

"It's moving too fast. Could be hepatitis-E."

Foreman shakes his head. "There's only been one case of hep-E originating in the US since –"

"Its history. Since he's been in and out of the country four times in the last year…"

Cameron tilts her head. "You really think he's got hep-E?"

"No. I think the lupus is way more likely."

"All right. Then let's start him on IV Cytoxan and plasmapheresis."

"No, we should rule out hep-E."

Foreman raises an eyebrow. "You just said it wasn't hep-E."

"I said lupus was way more likely, but if we treat for lupus and it is hep-E."

Chase grimaces. "He's toast."

"Exactly."

Cameron whines, "But there isn't a treatment for hepatitis-E. Either he'll get better on his own or he'll continue to deteriorate."

"Yeah, I went to medical school, too. Start him on solumedrol."

"If he's got hep-E that's only going to make him worse!"

"Not as much. Goldilocks, people. It won't hurt him so much that it'll kill him, and it won't hurt him so little that we can't tell. It'll hurt him just right. And if it does nothing…"

Chase catches on. "We'll know it's not hep-E and start treating him for lupus."

"Now watch me do it while drinking a glass of water."

Foreman bites the inside of his cheek. "What do we tell the dad? "We think your kid has lupus, so we're gonna treat him for hepatitis-E? And oh yeah, if it really is hep-E, we're not actually giving him hep-E medication, so it's gonna make him worse, not better?""

"You think he'll go for that?"

Cameron stares back. "So you want us to lie?"

"No. I want you to lie."

"Why me?"

"Because he trusts you."

At two o'clock, Keith is moved to another room in the ICU. One not dominated by supervision. The ducklings assemble in the hall by the elevator.

"This is a mistake."

Foreman agrees with her. "This is a lawsuit."

Chase defends House. "Hep-E is possible. House always pulls these stunts and he's right more often –"

Foreman shakes his head. "He's delaying treatment because of a one-in-a-million chance that even he doesn't think is the problem."

"I don't want to lie to him."

"Then don't."

"And get fired?"

Chase scoffs. "Like he's going to fire you, he loves you."

The elevator dings. Cameron goes into the elevator, but holds the 'door open' button.

"I've got to do something; the kid needs treatment."

Foreman nods. "Treat him for lupus."

Chase twitches. "That will get you fired."

"You really think House is losing it?"

Foreman nods as he walks away. "Yeah."

Chase shakes it off. "He's fine. He knows what he's doing."

Chase leaves. Cameron stops holding the button and the doors close. Meanwhile, House is in his office. He's sweating; breathing heavily and looks a real mess. He picks up a pestle from the back table and slams it on the table. After banging it on the table a few more times, he slams it down on the fingers of his left hand. With his hand possibly broken and some blood drizzling from his knuckles, he smiles. Cameron meets up with Keith's dad in the hall just outside of Keith's room.

"We're recommending a drug called solumedrol."

"For hepatitis? Did that show up on his blood tests?"

Cameron winces slightly. "The tests are never 100% accurate."

"Well, then all the other tests could be wrong, too. This could still be an infection or cancer."

"Um, they don't fit any of the most recent symptoms."

"Well, what, just hepatitis does? I know, I know, I know, you can never be sure. When Linda was in the hospital, the doctor told us there was this aggressive experimental treatment that might extend her life by two or three years. We figured if there were any hope at all that we could have her with us a little while longer, it would be worth it. Three weeks later, she was gone."

Okay… no point about it now. He got to me. I can't do it. "I don't think it's hepatitis. I think your son has lupus."

At 4:30 in a clinic exam room, Wilson is looking at x-rays of House's hand. "I think it's broken. What did you do?"

House is sitting on the bed, not meeting Wilson's eyes. "Accidentally closed the car door on it."

"No. Door would have broken the skin. This looks like something hard and smooth smashed it."

"I want my lawyer."

Wilson scowls. "The brain has a gating mechanism for pain. Registers the most severe injury and blocks out the others. Did it work?"

"Well, my hand hurts like hell. Yeah, I feel much better."

Shit. I can't believe he'd actually stoop this low. He must need the medicine more than I thought. Ever thought. "Huh." Wilson moves over with some handiwork.

House inches away. "Don't splint it. I want to be able to bang it against the wall if I need to administer another dose. Just… tape it up."

Cuddy barges in. "Why did you tell Cameron to lie to Mr. Foster?"

House ignores Cuddy, still speaking to Wilson. "Make it tight will ya?"

"Answer me."

"Nothing I could say is going to change how you feel, and nothing could come out of your reaction that is going to change what I plan to do, so I prefer to say nothing." While House and Cuddy begin their 'conversation', Wilson manages to tune them out, as he tends to tape up House's hand.

Cuddy blinks. "So, that was you just saying nothing."

"Uh-huh."

"The guy is furious."

"And scared."

"So, what are you going to do? The father's insisting on the lupus treatment."

"Yeah, Cameron told me and I told her to tell him no."

"Well, you can't just sit back and let the kid die."

"Neither can the father."

Cuddy scoffs. "So that's your plan? You're gonna play chicken with the kid's life?"

"Well, he's the dad. I should win easily."

Cuddy groans. 'Take the week off."

"What, 'cause I lied to a patient? I take risks; sometimes patients die. But not taking risks causes more patients to die, so I guess my biggest problem is I've been cursed with the ability to do the math."

Cameron walks in then, trying not to pay attention to House's broken hand – or Wilson taping him up. "I told him that you wouldn't treat him for the lupus until –"

"What did he say?"

"He said he wanted to transfer Keith to another hospital."

Cuddy is alarmed. "He's not stable enough. He'd never make it through the door!"

"That's what I told him."

House nods. "And that's when he caved."

"Yeah. He agreed to do it your way."

"Two plus two equals four."

An hour and a half later, Keith is moved bak to his room. Chase and Cameron join him and the dad to talk things over.

"If it is hepatitis-E we should begin to see a marked decline in liver function tests within the hour." Chase clarifies.

"Why bother explaining it to me? It's not like I have any choice in the matter."

Cameron purses her lips. "If there's no hep-E we'll start treatment for lupus immediately."

Keith looks down suddenly. "Ouch!"

"Keith? What's wrong?"

"What's happening?"

"Get off!" He starts screaming, rambling about something on him.

"Keith? It's Dr. Chase, where does it hurt?"

"Jules, no!" He doesn't hear Chase and starts to mimic pushing something off of his chest.

Cameron runs to his other side. "He's hallucinating." She and Chase try to keep his arms down.

His dad worries from the side. "Is this from the medicine?"

"We haven't started the medicine."

"Keith, we're in the hospital. Keith, there's nothing on you."

"Keith, Keith, Keith!" His dad shakes him slightly, and then strokes his hair. "You okay, buddy?"

In an out-of-breath voice, Keith whimpers. "I think I wet the bed."

Chase sighs in hitched relief. "Don't worry about it, it's fine. Let's get you up."

They turn him over to find a massive amount of blood on the bed.

"Oh, God!" His dad covers his face with his hands.

Cameron's face flushes. "He's had a major bleed. Bright red blood per rectum."

Keith continues to sob. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry."

"He's going into hypervolemic shock." Chase calls. "Pressure's 60, heart rate's 140."

"We need an angiography, stat!"

Twenty-two hours later, at 4:15pm on the fifth day, Keith is receiving a transfusion in his room. House is sitting on his floor, against his desk. He's been shaking on-and-off. Wilson has been by to check on him every four hours on the dot. His hand looks as though it's bled some more. Chase and Cameron are now squatting to reach his eye level. Foreman just stands behind them.

"Angiography revealed major upper and lower GI bleeding, severe hemodynamic compromise, and liver failure."

Chase adds in quietly, "He's also hallucinating. Thinks he's being talked to by someone named "Jules"."

Cameron is just as quiet. "Hallucinations are a symptom of psychosis, which is the fourth diagnostic criterion. It's official. This is lupus."

House cranes his neck painfully. "Who's Jules? Any mention of her in the medical history?"

Cameron's voice rises a little, but she keeps it at a whisper. "It doesn't matter what he's hallucinating about; it matters why! It's lupus!"

"There's no need to get snippy. This kind of lupus takes years to get to this point; it's been less than a week."

"Yeah, and a thirteen-year-old kid shouldn't have hemolytic anemia, or be bleeding out of every orifice, but he is. We had an opportunity to treat this, instead we diddled around with hepatitis-E and now it's too late. He needs a new liver. We screwed up."

"You're saying I screwed up."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you just say that?" House rolls his eyes before closing them again.

Foreman snorts, not attempting to be quiet. "You gonna just blame this on her?"

"Did you agree with my recommendation to treat for hep-E?" He asks Cameron.

"No, I didn't."

Chase scoffs. "And she made herself quite clear."

"And then she went and lied to the father. That's why you're angry."

"Yeah, I trusted you."

"You always trust me. Big mistake. Lupus is a bad diagnosis."

Chase teeters. "It's the best diagnosis we've got."

"That doesn't make it good."

Foreman groans. "No, it just makes it this kid's only chance to live."

"Put him on the transplant list. And make sure Cuddy knows, see if she can do anything to get him close to the top."

He stands slowly and walks behind his desk. Chase and Cameron leave. Foreman waits, and follows House. House, meanwhile, throws up in a trashcan. He looks up and sees Foreman. "Stay away from the cafeteria."

Foreman crosses his arms. "Right. What happened to your hand?"

"Got stuck in a drawer." He responds hoarsely.

"Yeah, right. You're going through withdrawal."

"No, I am going through pain. Pain causes nausea."

"I took this job to work with you, not cover your ass." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a little orange bottle, which he puts on the desk. "Your Vicodin."

House glares at it. "And your solution is to give me drugs. It's interesting."

"No. Now I'm covering my ass. Take your pills before you kill this kid."

Foreman leaves the room. House feebly grabs the bottle and opens it with one hand. He spills the pills on the desk and picks up one pill. Instead of taking it, throws it down and clears his desk with a fell swoop. In anger and exhaustion, he slumps onto his office chair. Meanwhile, Chase and Cameron are in Keith's room, talking to the dad.

"Lupus is normally treated with medication, but in Keith's case the disease is too advanced."

"Because you lied. Because House wanted to play games with my son's life."

Chase defends her. "There's no way to really tell what progression the disease may take –"

Cameron still cuts him off. "You're right, and I'm sorry."

"So what do we do?" The dad sighs.

"He needs a new liver."

Foreman goes to Cuddy's office once Cameron has gotten approval.

"There are over fifteen thousand patients on the transplant list." Cuddy explains that he may not make it.

"But how many are about to bleed to death unless they get a new liver?"

"In Jersey? I'd say, uh, twenty. Two thousand patients die each year because a donor liver can't be found, that's almost five a day."

"So he's screwed."

Cuddy sighs. "I'll see what I can do."

Outside of Keith's room, the dad talks with the doctors. It is almost five o'clock now.

"Could I donate part of my liver?"

Chase shakes his head. "Sorry, you're a different blood type."

"So we just wait?"

Cameron looks at the floor. "I'm afraid so."

"And hope for someone to die."

House hobbles up to them, still weak and pissed.

"Who's Jules?"

Cameron snaps her head up. "Dr. House, you should get back to your office –"

House ignores her. "Jules. There's no Jules in the history."

Chase stares at him. "It was a hallucination."

"Of what?"

"Our cat. Does this matter?"

Foreman shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. We'll continue the transfusions and the treatment for the anemia and liver failure while we're waiting for a donor."

"How long can he wait?"

Chase huffs. "Not long."

"I don't think this is lupus." House breaks in again.

Cameron grabs his arm. "I don't think this is lupus. Come on, let's just go –"

He shrugs her away. "Your fourth diagnostic criterion of lupus is psychosis; this is just a kid missing his cat."

Chase glares at him. "He was being attacked by an animal that wasn't in the room. That's psychosis."

House steps up. "There's a difference between psychosis and hallucination."

Foreman steps between House and Keith's dad. "So, if he was imagining a fake cat it'd be lupus, but since it was a real cat it's not? Take your damn pills."

"Psychosis requires –"

"There's no cat! Jules is dead."

"You have a dead family pet, and you never mentioned it?" House glares at Cameron. "Nice family history."

"Family history is asking about family members, meaning people related to the patient. Let's go."

"How did the cat die?"

The dad is getting very upset. "Can you get him out of here?"

"Dr. House, come on, let's go –"

"What happened to the damn cat?"

Pam walks over from the waiting area. "Old age. She was fifteen years old."

"When?"

"About a month ago?"

The dad looks between the two. "Does this have anything to do with –"

"Where'd she sleep?"

"With Keith."

Cameron pipes up. "This is not a cat allergy."

"It's not lupus. Where is Jules?"

At eleven o'clock, in a grassy backyard, at night, Chase is digging. Foreman is standing off to the side, acting very dogmatic.

"I go through all hell of public school, and then I get sent off to reform school. I go through all the fucking community service and start up on med school training, and where do I end up?"

Chase glowers at him. "Talking instead of digging. Come on, the ground's frozen solid."

Foreman jumps into the spot and starts to help dig. After only two or three minutes, they hit something hard. The boys find a pet-sized casket and bring it to the car. It takes them forty-five minutes back to the hospital, where they meet up with House in the morgue. They leave him be, but Cameron secretly watches through the glass walls. House doesn't notice her as he struggles to prep and perform the autopsy on the dead cat. His hands continue violently shaking from the withdrawal. Around one a.m. on day six, House is still working in the morgue. Upstairs, a cooler with a biohazard sticker is being brought in through the hospital main doors. Cuddy is directing the transporters with the liver to OR four.

At one-thirty, House has found a mysterious lump in the cat. After carefully examining the lump, he sprints as fast as he can, to the operating room. Keith has been gassed and Dr. Hourani is handed a scalpel as House barges in.

"Stop the gases!" He wheezes.

"What the hell are you doing, House?"

"Saving a thirteen-year-old kid from a lifetime of immunosuppressant drugs and a very nasty scar. This kid doesn't have lupoid hepatitis. He has acute naphthalene toxicity."

"Naphthalene. You're talking about mothballs."

"Nope." House holds up the tweezers. "Termites. They create naphthalene to protect their nests, which I'm assuming is rather large and is inside all four walls of his bedroom at home." House aggressively coughs and tosses the tweezers on the surgical equipment.

"And your assumption is based on what?"

"The autopsy I just conducted on his pet cat."

"Call Cuddy. And security."

"You are not removing that kid's liver."

Hourani screams to one of the nurses. "NOW!"

A nurse goes to call. House starts feeling dizzy, but he manages to cough up some phlegm, and he purposely spits it on the surgeon.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"No, but I have been feeling a little sick lately. Achoo!" House's fake sneezing brings about some actual sneezing, and he tries to spread it around the room.

The anesthesiologist throws up his arms. "There's no way we can do this surgery now."

Hourani rips off his gloves. "You think?!"

It's two a.m., and House is with Foreman, Chase and Wilson in a hallway. Cameron has been requested to come home. Foreman is losing his cool.

"You've already cost him his liver. Don't kill him too!"

House is leaning against the wall. "Why are you so eager to cut into a healthy kid?"

Chase chokes out a bitter laugh. "Healthy? He's in the toilet!"

"He just needs some chicken soup."

"I'm telling Hourani to re-scrub. We're doing this transplant."

"No, you're not." Even detoxing, the severity in House's voice can easily be detected.

"You said it!" Chase doesn't mean to yell. "If Keith's symptoms had an environmental cause, they would have disappeared as soon as he got here."

Wilson looks at his feet. "They've only gotten worse."

"If the food here wasn't one step below Riker's Island he would've gotten better. He's lost fourteen pounds."

Foreman inhales. "Yeah, sure. This is nothing but a dietary thing."

"Naphthalene is a gas, a fat soluble gas. The kid breathes it in, it gets stored in his fat cells. Outside the hospital his body burned protein and carbs for energy, and the naphthalene stayed in fat. But once the car accident put him in the hospital, and he started losing weight, his body had to get its energy somewhere else. It started to burn fat. The floodgates opened, the poison poured into his system." At the end of his monologue, House thrusts his head against the wall, running out of breath.

"So, getting away from the poison is what poisoned him?"

House coughs again. "Getting him away from his dad's meatloaf is what's killing him. "

Keith's dad walks up to House, very quickly, with Cuddy following close behind. She speaks first. "You wanna explain to me why you stopped the surgery?"

The dad is beyond words. He marches past the other doctors and punches House in the jaw, who then falls to the ground. House's head slams against the wall and his nose starts to bleed. He's shaking again, his breathing heavy. Foreman and Chase run to restrain the dad. Wilson and Cuddy kneel to look at House.

The dad screams, "I want him locked up!"

Chase stands in front of him, arms still pressed to his chest. "Hey! Take it easy."

House touches his lip, which is now bleeding. He regains his voice, though hoarse. "Your cat did not die of old age. He died of massive internal bleeding and acute liver failure caused by naphthalene poisoning, the exact same thing your son has."

The man growls at House. "You lie to me, you mess up my son's surgery, and now you expect me to trust you?"

"Give us twenty-four hours, we'll pump your son full of calories –"

Cuddy frowns, standing up. "That liver is going to somebody right now."

The dad shakes a fist. "We're doing that surgery."

House gets up slowly, pressed against the wall. He accepts his cane from Wilson, and swallows the urge to vomit. "If you do the surgery, you'll be killing a mother of four."

"Father of three." Cuddy corrects.

"I was guessing."

"Like you are now?"

"Naphthalene poisoning is the best explanation we have for what's wrong with your son. It explains the internal bleeding, the hemolytic anemia, the liver failure… it also predicts what'll happen next. If you do the surgery he's gonna lay on that table for fourteen hours while his body continues to burn fat and release poison into his system. Either way, I did you a favor. He's awake now, you've got a chance to say goodbye."

Wilson exhales slowly. "I think you should trust Dr. House."

Dad waves a hand. "Give the liver to the other guy."

At four a.m., Chase and Foreman are at Keith's house. They walk into his room, with Foreman wielding a sledgehammer. He starts to break a hole in one of the walls, which reveals a lot of termites. At eleven p.m., Cameron is back at the hospital. She's in Keith's room.

"INR is down, and his blood count is climbing. It means you made the right call. His liver is healing. He's gonna be just fine."

The dad hugs his son, and Pam grabs Keith's hand. The dad grabs Pam's arm, too, and everyone looks happier. House and Wilson stand outside House's office, watching the clock tick away to midnight. Wilson sighs, looking over to his hurting friend.

"You made it a week."

House nods dizzily. "And won my prize."

"Congratulations."

"Cuddy's a sucker. I would have done it for two weeks off."

"Yeah, it was a piece of cake. You learn anything?"

House exhales slowly, walking into his office. "Yeah, I'm an addict." Wilson follows.

Wilson is shocked. "Uh, okay."

House narrows his eyes. "I'm not stopping."

"There are programs. Cuddy would give you the time. You could get on a different pain management regimen –"

House grabs a pill from the floor, where he swiped the desk earlier. He dry swallows it and allows it to take effect as he rests his arms on the desk. "I don't need to stop."

Wilson blinks. "You just said…"

"I said I was an addict. I can admit I have a problem. But I pay my bills, okay? I make my meals. I function." He moves to the chair and basically collapses.

Wilson crosses his arms. "Is that all you want? You have no relationships."

The last time I had a relationship, it caused my pain. It cost me my fucking leg. House glares at him. "I don't want any relationships."

Wilson hesitates. "You alienate people."

House closes his eyes. "I've been alienating people since I was three."

Wilson throws his hands on House's desk. "Oh, come on! Drop it! You don't think you've changed in the last few years?"

House's voice takes on a cynical and somewhat serious tone. "Well, of, of course I have. I've, I've gotten older. My hair's gotten thinner. Sometimes I'm bored, and sometimes I'm lonely. I get depressed, and sometimes I wonder what it all means." He still looks guilty. Could he really be behind this scam? This stupid, fucking cold turkey withdrawal?

Wilson watches as House stands up, meeting his gaze. Wilson starts up again, anger showing. "No, I was there! You are not just a regular guy who's getting older, you've changed! You're miserable, and you're afraid to face yourself –"

House slams his cane down on the desk, narrowly missing Wilson's hands. "Of course I've changed, damn it!"

Wilson notices. His voice grows calmer. "And everything's the leg? Nothing's the pills? They haven't done a thing to you?"

Damn. That look in his eyes. He knows. He did it. He started this whole fucking thing. And now he's beating himself up over it. That's why he's pissed. It was his idea. House also visibly calms. "They let me do my job, and they take away my pain."

Wilson walks off, looking defeated. The ducklings have already left for home. House slumps back in his chair, while Wilson heads to the front desk in the downstairs lobby. He signs out and Cuddy walks over.

"How'd it go?"

"He admitted he's addicted to the narcotics –"

"Well, admitting you have a problem is the first –"

"- and he says it's a problem. But he says it doesn't matter because he can function. Maybe it doesn't. What do I know?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." He glares at her without really meaning to. "I've done enough damage."

"Better hope he never finds out that that was your idea."

Wilson winces. "He'd never believe it."

Alright, so this chapter started up a lot of the thoughts in their minds. We don't get to hear their thoughts on the show, so it needs to be done here. House is intelligent. Even while heavily detoxing, he knows Wilson well enough to know when he's lying or keeping something from him. By the way, this chapter lasted from February 4th through the 10th.

Oh, yeah. Here's a bit of help on the Spanish portion of the fanfiction (you know, with Shania?)… sorry if I didn't translate something completely right…

Dame su mano = Give me your hand.

Vamos. = Come on.

Sostener. = Hold up.

Jimmy dijo que eras un masajista verdadera. = Jimmy said you were a real masseuse.

Si? = Yes?

Bien. Solo revisando. = Alright. Just checking.

Que pasa con su acosador? = What about him?

Cerrar las persianas. Puede entra o quedarse encerrando. = Shut the blinds. He can come in or get locked out.

Tu ves? = You watch?

Le conviene. = Suit yourself.

Okay! I look forward to your reviews!