"Don't look so surprised."

Wilson blinked. "Right. I'm sorry. I should have expected to have a ghost drop in for a visit."

Jillian stared at him. Her eyes were bright, regarding his panicked expression blankly. Wilson, on the other hand, stared right through her. He could see the wall, window, and trees behind her.

"You—" Wilson swallowed. "You're not really dead, are you?"

She sighed. "That would just kill the mood, wouldn't it? No, I'm not dead. Think of this as an out-of-body experience."

"More like an out-of-my-mind experience."

"That too. But you're the one who took the pills. You welcomed the side-effects."

"Somehow, I don't think that's exactly what I had in mind."

"If you want to be happy, you have to confront the fear that's keeping you from being happy," Jillian said simply. She walked—well, floated really—towards him. Wilson cringed back slightly.

"So—what? Are we…are we going to go visit my past now?"

Jillian burst out laughing as if the suggestion was uproarious. "What do I look like? A tour guide?"

"But you said you're the Ghost of Hanukah Past."

"Exactly. I didn't say Christmas, did I?"

"But—but—" Wilson sputtered.

"Look. If you wanted to visit your past, maybe you should start putting up a tree for December 25. You chose the Menorah, remember?"

Wilson's mouth was getting dry from all the gaping he was doing. "Um—then why—?"

"Why am I here?" She smiled, as charmingly as she could for being an unsettling apparition. "I'm here to request a favor."

"A favor." Wilson mulled it over for a second. "That's how this works?"

"What? You can't tell me you've never read Hamlet." She crossed her robed arms, frowning. "Get the SparkNotes off the Internet when you have the time."

"Did Hamlet's ex-wife drop by?"

Jillian sighed patronizingly. "No, but his dead father did."

"So I should compare my living ex-wife to someone's dead father."

"See, it's not that much of a stretch, is it?" She went to pat him on the arm, but her hand passed right through. Wilson jumped back.

"Fine. I'll do a favor—and then you'll go away?"

"Three years of marriage and I would have thought I'd receive a bit warmer welcome. Oh well." She shrugged. Wilson still looked terrified. "I'm here to tell you about the Past."

"I figured that."

"Not your past, but everyone else's. Over the last ten minutes."

"Ooookay…"

"You have to know that they all have fear complexes of some sort. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out once the pills start working."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wilson interrupted. "Cameron is giving them Happy Pills too?"

"Chase is already on his fourth and doesn't even know it. That's what he gets for being vain about his breath. And Foreman was slipped some in his egg sandwich. And House… Well, Cameron just offered to get him something from the cafeteria, so…"

Wilson rubbed at his head. "She can't do that! If I'm seeing ghosts, there's no telling what will happen to the others!"

"I know. They're even more insane than you are."

"I take it that was supposed to be a compliment."

"As you like it."

"Can we stop with the Shakespeare? This is all a bit stressing at the moment." Wilson raised his eyes to her. "Um… How long do you plan on staying?"

"You're the one taking the pills. I'm technically just a figment of your overactive, drug-induced, guilty imagination."

"That's reassuring."

"I figured it would be." Jillian tried to pick up the remote, but her hand kept passing through it. She muttered a complaint under her breath, then looked back at the coma patient. "Wow. He looks like he's had a rough day."

"Coming from a ghost, that means something."

-------------------------

"Here's your sandwich, House."

The older man took the Reuben from Cameron skeptically. He peeled off the wrapping and took a sniff.

"I smell onions."

"You asked for them."

"And mustard."

"You asked for that, too."

"What didn't I ask for that's in here?"

Cameron froze for a split second. "I—"

Frowning, House meticulously picked something from between the meat and the bread. "Cameron, I'm ashamed."

"House, wait, let me explain—"

"Pickles?" House twisted his mouth into a grotesque grimace. "Ugh. Whoever wanted something green and wet in their food was severely disturbed." He tossed the condiments into the nearest Petrie dish, which had been marked for mucus testing. Well, at least the color would be similar.

House took a self-absorbed bite out of his sandwich, which he decided he'd just as well eat in the center of the Clinic. A few patients in the waiting room peered at him.

"Oh, don't look so mopey. Go get something from the soda machine. Just don't breathe on my food. I don't need it contaminated. Unless, of course, you're not sick, which I'm assuming the majority of you are not. So you can either sit here and ruin your health by sucking in all the sick people's diseases, or you can get up and leave. Your choice. I'm just examining you."

Five people rose to their feet and literally fled the room. One woman grabbed her son and ran like they were refugees escaping for the border. House smiled contently and went back to his sandwich.

Cameron was just relieved House hadn't noticed the pills. Already knowing she wasn't going to get a thank you for the food delivery, she picked up her medical files and continued on to the exam room of her latest clinic patient.

Foreman suspiciously watched her as she went to attend a five-year-old with a scratch on his knee.

"What do you think she did?"

House was busy eating, but Chase looked up. He had been staring pointlessly into space, contemplating how good-looking his Australian features were. "Uh… What?"

"She has to tell us. We'll be stuck here all day. It'll be great conversation."

Chase opened his tic-tacs and swallowed a few more. "Or House will just drag it out of her," he added.

Foreman set down his clipboard, frowning. "Why do you always side with House?"

"I do not," Chase retorted curtly.

"Yes, you do," House cut in, his mouth full. "You don't have to be worried about your job, anymore. Vogler's gone if you haven't noticed."

"So I should only be afraid of my boss's boss?"

"So you're afraid of your boss?" Foreman prompted.

"Well, Foreman, I'm at a disadvantage," Chase said with a hint of sarcasm. "I don't go out and buy the same gym shoes."

"Where does everyone get this idea that I'm purposely trying to be like House?"

"Because you are," Chase shot back.

"Oh, Eric, I'm flattered," House said.

"Am not!" Foreman gave a short laugh. "At least I don't run from every confrontation like a scared little rich boy!"

"For the last time, I'm not rich!"

"But you do run," House noted. "I'll put up a Wombat Crossing sign so no one hits you."

Chase glared pointedly at Foreman. "Well, I don't get on my soapbox and preach about how hard it was growing up with my background."

"Right. You'd hide under the soapbox," Foreman retorted.

"I would not! Take that back!"

"Wow, you guys sound just like my patient. You certainly have the immaturity part down pat," Cameron commented as she stepped out of the exam room. She nodded back to the toddler who was inside, now with a band-aid on his knee. Oh, the advancements of science.

Foreman glared at Chase, who tried to look angry but only managed to appear petulant. Cameron sighed, wondering if she should request some baby-sitting income next time their pay was brought up.

"Kids, if you don't settle down, you're all going to bed without dinner," House chastised. A few more patients' heads turned.

Chase pretended he was somewhere else, like on a beach maybe. Not the cold, trash-littered ones in Jersey… An Australian beach would be nice. Or maybe a little trek through the desert of the Outback—

"Chase." House's voice snapped him to attention. "You with us?"

"Only when it helps him," Foreman said in a singsong voice under his breath.

"Fine. You Figjams can yabber all you want. I have a patient to see."

House, Foreman, and Cameron watched, dull-faced, as Chase strode into the exam room at the end of the hall.

"Figjam. Is that a term of endearment?" House quipped.

"Yabber?" questioned Cameron.

"He's annoyed. I don't know. Maybe it brings out his Aussie side," said Foreman.

"Don't berate him too much, then. I don't want him tracking down Dingoes in his spare time." House checked his watch. "Well, time for a break."

"You just had a break," Foreman said, gesturing to his empty sandwich wrapper.

"That was lunch. That doesn't count. Besides, this break is more like a consult—"

House cut himself off. The flash of pink was back. And it was rapidly, angrily approaching.

"If Cuddy asks, I went to use the little boy's room," House said, already limping in the other direction.

Cameron sighed. "House, what did you do now?"

"If you did nothing, I did nothing." He watched her, raising an eyebrow. "But I'm sure that paper you wrote is immensely interesting."

Cameron didn't have time to be surprised. Cuddy's shout pierced the air. "House!"

"All right, on the count of three, everyone run. I'll fend her off with my cane."

"What would possess you to move the coma patient?"

House waited until she had stalked right in front of her. Then he raised a finger in consideration.

"Actually, I was just going to check on him now."

"He has spent the last nine years in that room, and you suddenly decide to put him into the Clinic?"

"It has a better view."

"He's unconscious and he needs the medical care of his room."

"He has medical care. Dr. Wilson is tending to him."

"Dr. Wilson has meetings with patients today in Oncology. He actually does his job."

"Not today. Today, he's helping me with mine."

"What job is that? Spreading chaos? Scaring off patients?"

"Luckily, the guy's in a coma. He won't notice a thing."

-----------------------------

"I don't understand. What's this favor you want me to do?"

Jillian had floated up to examine the TV hooked on the top corner of the room. She frowned when she, too, realized it wasn't plugged in.

"The favor," she said, returning back to Wilson's level, "is simply this: That you fix everything when it starts falling apart."

"Falling apart?" Wilson regarded her apprehensively. "When what starts falling apart?"

"The hospital. Specifically, the Clinic. That's where it'll start."

"Why? How?"

"I don't know. I'm just the Ghost of Hanukah Past. You'll have to wait for Present and Future to find out more details."

Wilson reached for a chair to steady himself. This was definitely one of those days where he should have "accidentally" overslept. "There are two more coming?"

"Actually, it's just me." House strolled ceremoniously into the room, tapping the doorframe with his cane as he passed through. "I figured you wouldn't have left yet."

Wilson tensed. He looked rapidly from House, to the Ghost of Hanukah Past, and back to House.

House watched him glance in a panic to a blank space in the corner of the room. He stopped, confused.

"What are you doing?"

"You can't—?" Wilson knitted his brows together. "You mean, you can't see her?"

"Her? If you're referring to Carmen Electra, I have to say, she hasn't made any appearances as of late. I should schedule another appointment soon, though. You know, random check-ups."

"No. House." Wilson stared at him, imploringly. "You really can't see her?"

"What are you talking about?"

Jillian sighed as if she were explaining something for the millionth time. "James, why would he be able to see me? I'm your fear side-effect."

"But he took the pills!"
"Vicodin isn't new, if you haven't noticed." House squinted at the space where Wilson appeared to be directing random snippets of dialogue. "Now, care to explain what you're doing?"

"I—you don't—but she's—"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll learn how to format a sentence eventually," House said evenly. "Here's a hint: Noun, verb, direct object." He limped over to an open seat. Jillian stood in his way.

"House, wait! Don't—"

"What?" House spun around, but not before he passed right through the Ghost of Hanukah Past without even flinching. The apparition fizzled, rippling like fog momentarily before he stepped back out of her.

Wilson fumbled inarticulately for words. Jillian smiled at his confusion.

"Fine. Keep babbling." House walked through her once more, then promptly sprawled out in the chair. He shook his head at Wilson's frazzled face. "Is this how you entertained the coma patient?"

"James." Jillian floated over the coma patient's bed and back beside Wilson. It was unnerving—she was right in front of House, but the older man only kept looking at the oncologist. "Calm down. He can't see me. It's just you."

"You're going to have to give me some time. It's just a little strange."

"Strange?" House stared at the coma patient. "We've probably spent more time in the hospital with this guy than we have the rest of our patients combined! There's nothing strange about being around him."

"I'm not talking to you."

"You're talking to the coma patient?"

"No." Wilson sighed, frustrated, wiping a hand across his creasing face. "I'm—I'm talking to the Ghost of Hanukah Past."

House stared at him, deadpanned, for an instant. "In that case, I'd prefer you talk to the coma patient."

"I'm serious." Wilson glanced to the side, meeting Jillian's ghostly eyes. "I'm looking right at her now."

House tapped his cane a few times, listening to the sound reverberate in the otherwise quiet room. The coma patient's monitor beeped steadily, faintly, in the background.

"What is this," House finally said, breaking the silence, "Charles Dickens' a Christmas Carol?" "I'd like to think of it as a Hamlet metaphor," Jillian replied.

Wilson relented. "She'd like to think of it as a Hamlet metaphor."

"Well, we already have our Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," House said wryly, thinking back to Foreman and Chase. "I don't know. If we're talking about the Past, I still say Dickens.

"Wouldn't you play the role of Scrooge, though?" Wilson bantered.

"Scrooge is the one who sees the ghosts. At least know how the story goes."

"He didn't know Hamlet, either," Jillian offered.

Confusion crossed Wilson's face. "I thought he couldn't hear you."

House raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Excuse me for wanting to feel included," Jillian snapped. "Besides if this was A Christmas Carol, you'd be the the selfish, money-grubbing misanthrope."

"All right. Maybe it wasn't the best metaphor," Wilson admitted.

"Whatever," House continued. "I didn't think Cratchit was that great of a guy, either. And Tiny Tim was just annoying."

"I suppose you're annoyed by limping people who are actually nice."

"You're the one talking to Wife #1. You got two more to go. Good luck with that."

Jillian turned to Wilson. "See? Obnoxious, rude, but at least well-read."

"Are you done yet?"

"I haven't even started!" House protested.

"I'm not talking to you! I'm talking to…" He could feel Jillian smiling beside him.

House just stared at him. "You're serious."

"Look. It's not me. It's those pills Cameron gave me."

"You told me she just asked you to read an article; not test the drug."

"That's his problem," Jillian put in. "He's a helpful guinea pig."

"I am not a guinea pig!" Wilson shouted.

"Uh—I never said you were—" House bit back a smile, unsuccessfully. "It seems to me, Dr. Wilson, that you might have some unresolved issues that needing attending…"

"House. Listen to me."

"I wouldn't. He's apparently delusional," Jillian interrupted. Wilson closed his eyes in attempt not to respond. If House couldn't see her, there was no point in looking even more idiotic than he did up to this point.

"Cameron invented a Happy Pill. But the side-effects can cause delusions."

House disregarded the latter half of the statement, too amused with the first part. "Happy Pills?"

"Yes."

"You're not making this up."

"Why would I make this up?"

"It does sound like something Cameron would do," House mused. He ran a skeptical eye over Wilson. "Unless you're trying to explain your insanity."

"I'm not insane!"

"Look. I know it's been a stressful couple of weeks, but—"

"House." Wilson leaned forward in his seat, ignoring the fact that Jillian had decided to float in a sitting position right beside him. "I'm. Not. Crazy."

"You know that's the most popular saying among people currently bouncing around within padded walls."

Wilson shook his head, almost laughing at the futile absurdity of everything. "Listen to me. Cameron did create a Happy Pill."

"Does it work?"

"She said it did. And obviously, the side-effects are real, so—"

"Because if the pill works, think about it. There'd be no pain, no hate, no anger, no war. Gandhi would be able to eat. Martin Luther King Jr. wouldn't need a dream. Hitler could have given up world domination and settled for throwing the best Friday night parties Germany had ever seen. He might have even invited you!"

"House, this is ridiculous."

"Is that what your ex-wife thinks?"

"She's not my ex-wife."

Jillian gasped. She went to slap him on the shoulder but her hand wisped right through. Wilson flinched anyway. "James, I'm insulted!"

"Okay, she's a kind of representation of my ex-wife."

"…That has taken form because of your fear complex. Don't forget to add that." Jillian crossed her arms. "This isn't all my fault."

"We established that a while ago."

"Established what?" House asked.

"Not you; her."

"I have a name, you know."

"I'm sorry: Jillian."

"Sorry for what?"

"Not you, House."

"There's no one else here!"

Jillian rolled her eyes. "Oh, great, so he doesn't even consider the coma patient human anymore?" "Does he really look like he's going to start talking?" Wilson asked tiredly.

"He's been in a coma for nine years!" House cut in.

"I know, the question was rhetorical. And I was talking to Jillian."

"Oh, I see. You'd rather have a conversation with an invisible entity than with someone who's sitting right in front of you."

"Is he always this sarcastic?" Jillian asked needlessly.

"Always."

House baulked. "So you would rather ignore me—"

"No, not 'always' to you, I meant…" Wilson sighed, closing his eyes. "Okay. House. I know this probably looks insane…"

"How perceptive of you."

"…But it's not my fault. It's those pills."

"Oh, now I see. Blame Cameron's medical discovery for your lapsing sanity."

"House, I'm not going crazy."

A smirk was spreading across House's face as he slowly realized Wilson wasn't putting on an act. "This is good. I would love to take a CAT scan of your head right now."

"House, this isn't funny! I'm not one of your patients!"

"If we turned you into one of our diagnostic cases, I'd bet Cuddy would let me out of Clinic duty. What do you say? The whiteboard's calling your name!"

"House, I'm not joking!"

"Wiiiilson… Wiiiilson…" House taunted.

"Okay, you know what?" Wilson rose from his seat, holding up his hands in defeat. "I'm just going to keep taking these pills and hope the side-effects eventually subside. Cameron said the rats were fine within a few hours, so…"

House burst out laughing. "Rats? You took something she'd only tested on rats?"

"All right, that's not exactly—"

"Nice one. Really, really nice."

"You don't even think it's the pills anyway, so I don't see why you find that so amusing."

"True. I highly doubt it's the pills."

"You just think I've finally lost it, then?"

"Funny. I always thought I'd beat you to insanity first."

Jillian frowned. "He has. Don't worry."

"I'm not worrying," Wilson replied to her.

House arched an eyebrow. "I would be. You're talking to nothing again."

Wilson was about to protest, when suddenly a bang ricocheted through the hall outside. The oncologist and House moved for the door, Jillian floating right behind. House yanked it open, then wished immediately to shut it.

Chase was prancing around from one chair to another, as if the ground was made of quicksand and he couldn't let his feet touch it. He'd forgone his lab coat and tie for some khaki, hiking gear that he'd found who-knows-where. On his head was something that could only be described as catastrophic.

"Is that a…safari hat?" Wilson asked.

House went to answer, but Chase had already started speaking to the patients in the waiting room, who were huddling together for dear life.

"G'day, mates!" he announced in a thick accent. "They call me Chase the Crocodile Hunter. And I need everyone to remain calm. The situation is entirely under my control. I'm jess gonna trap our ol' girl before she chomps off any one of yer legs, and it'll all be apples!"

"That's the funny thing about slang," House muttered. "No one understood half of what he said, but he appears insane enough to make them worry. Look at those faces. I hope the security cameras are getting all this."

"Is this the 'falling apart' you mentioned?" Wilson asked, turning to face Jillian. But she was already dissipating before his eyes.