It isn't easy for me to move faster than, oh, I want to, but as I limped down the hallway next to Cuddy, who was all out running, you'd never know I was in agony. Well, you know, except for the fact that I kept screaming out in pain occasionally.

"Ah, shit!" I groaned as we turned the corner into the ER. Breaking away from me, Cuddy hurried up to Cameron, who was covered in blood, presumably not hers.

"What happened?" she asked, placing her hands on Cameron's arms. Finally catching up, I was able to see Foreman on the gurney over her shoulder.

"We were at O'Hagan's getting a drink and he just vomited all of a sudden," she said shakily.

"Yeah, that's how it happens. Why are you covered in blood?" I asked as I popped another Vicodin.

"He vomited blood."

"Oh, well, now see, that changes everything. You need to get better at both taking and giving histories Cameron."

"House," Cuddy warned, narrowing her eyebrows maliciously.

"Oh, fine. Let's go, Cameron," I said, turning around and heading back upstairs.

"Wait, where?" she asked, before following me. I stopped and turned to stare, realizing for the first time just how filthy she was.

"Well, you're going to change: blood really only looks good on Sissy Spacek in 'Carrie'. Then you're coming upstairs. We have a patient."

"Wha... who?"

"Eric Foreman, M.D. 34 year old male, vomited blood," I said over my shoulder.

"We can't differentially diagnose Foreman!" Cameron called out down the hallway. Stopping and sighing, I turned to face her yet again.

"You'd better hope for his sake that we can."

"Bowel perforation."

"Unlikely. He would have a fever.

"Ulcer."

"Would have been in pain for weeks."

"Ruptured hernia."

"No, no, no, you're all wrong!" I groaned, running a hand over my face as Chase, Cameron, and Wilson exchanged glances.

"Tumor," Wilson offered with a shrug.

"The MRI was clean."

"He wasn't actually suggesting that, it's just his job. Gyan-Schett's syndrome," I said, writing it on the board. "Symptoms include infection without fever, vomiting blood, low white cell count and paralysis."

"So he meets one of the criteria. Fantastic, we're set," Cameron spat, crossing her arms over her chest. Ooh, her chest. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, we're going on a field trip," I stated, walking out of the office and heading towards the ICU, where Foreman lay, asleep. The others caught up quickly as I stepped up to his bed and pulled his toe. A cracking sound alluded to the pop of the air bubble between joints. Foreman never stirred. Squeezing his leg all the way up to his knee without response, I turned, triumphant.

"He's paralyzed?" Chase asked, confused.

"Either that or he's a really heavy sleeper," Wilson responded. Pulling out a pen light from his pocket, he pried Foreman's lids back and shined the light into his eyes. "Pupil's fixed and unresponsive. He's in a comatose state, but still aware."

"Wow, really? Let's mold him into funny figures! Hope you don't mind, Foreman."

"Okay, so he's vomiting blood and he's paralyzed. Labs didn't indicate a low white cell count and there's no sign of infection," Cameron said. "What now?" I shrugged.

"We go home."

"You really should be nicer to people every now and then, you know?" Wilson said as he handed me a tumbler of scotch.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You can have fun in other places besides work."

"Oh I don't know. I'd say out little rendezvous in the lab was pretty fun," I said, winking. Wilson blushed. "So, I saw Beth on Wednesday. Coughing, Wilson set his drink down.

"Really? Why would she, um, why?"

"She's pregnant."

"Oh Christ..."

"Surprise! I'm going to be a daddy!"

"You're not even funny."

"Really? The girls in college used to love me."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"She has cancer."

Silence.

"What type?"

"Breast cancer, end stage. She came to ask if delivering baby naturally will kill her."

"Of course it will," he said, slouching down into an armchair. "Her white cell count will be too low to support her body with even minimal blood loss associated with childbirth."

"Yeah, I know, I went to med school too."

"What did you tell her?"

"That she was screwed."

"You always had the best bedside manner House. I'm sure that all of her fears were completely assuaged," he scoffed. For a long moment we sat in relative silence. "How does she look?"

"She's gigantic."

"Other than that..."

"She looks the same. Her hair's longer and I think she got braces, but she looks like Beth. What ever happened with you guys?"

"I had an affair with my best friend."

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

"How is that possible? You were there."