Thanks so much for all the reviews, everyone! Here's the next installment. Let chaos ensue… : )

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

House shuffled back out into the waiting room in the midst of Chase's little escapade. A rather concerned Wilson followed; Cameron and Foreman were a bit too stunned to do much of anything.

"The croc's gone walkabout, but s'all right, I'm trackin' her down! I'll drag her back to her nesting place faster than you can say—"

"Everything's okay here," House broke in. He grabbed a fistful of Chase's khaki sleeve and yanked him down from the chair. He turned to the patients, who looked as if they were all suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. Patting Chase on the back, he ushered him into the nearest room. "We're just going to take you back for your examination, all right?"

"I thought he was a doctor!" one of the patients twittered nervously.

"He thinks he's a doctor. It's a very confusing mental case," House assured her. "Cameron, Foreman: your expertise would be appreciated."

House turned back to Wilson, but the oncologist was suddenly staring, pale-faced, in the direction of what was apparently nothing.

"Oh, great." House gazed up at the ceiling, sighing.

Chase leaped back in front of the diagnostician, likewise searching the air. "What is it, mate? D'you see the croc?"

"Come on, Chase. In here," Cameron said gently, taking him by the arm. Foreman followed, not bothering to suppress a snicker.

"Hey!" House called to Wilson. "Will you be joining us or do I have to extend a special invitation for the ghost, too?"

"Uh…" Wilson hesitated. "Justine wants me to stay in the coma patient's room."

House shook his head. "Jillian. Justine. Julie. Here's your problem, Wilson: You have a fetish for J's." He paused. "But it does prove that your date with Lisa Cuddy was hopeless from the start."

"Thanks, House. That's really encouraging."

House watched Wilson resignedly return to the coma patient's room, apparently with Ghost in tow. Meanwhile, Chase was carrying on like a banshee with an incredibly piercing accent.

"Crickey! Have you seen her? Ain't she a beaut?"

"Chase." The door slammed dramatically behind House as the older man entered. "Remind me why I hired you."

The blond bounded toward House, hands held horizontally, palms down, in a protective stance. "Get down, mate! And shut yet trap! Right ere's a croc trail leadin' the way to her!"

"Those would be the floor tiles," Foreman said.

"But I bet," House said slowly, "if we use wombat bait, we could lure her right out."

"Ace, mate!" Chase slapped him on the back. "Now, jess where are we goin' to find a wombat?"

House leaned in conspiratorially. "Well, he'll have to be incredibly dumb. And preferably blond."

"Too right!"

"A medical degree would be perfect, too."

"How's that?"

"I don't know. Just thought it would be appropriate."

"House," Cameron said tiredly, "you're not helping." She turned to the Australian. "Chase. Where did you get those clothes?"

"This ere's my croc tracking gear!"

"From where?"

Chase paused. "Patient in room two is officially naked."

"Somebody check and make sure that's not Crocodile Dundee next door. As I recall, he had a rather frightening knife or something," House muttered. When no one moved, he raised a prompting eyebrow. "Well?"

"Simmer, son, I'll check it out," Foreman finally said.

Cameron stared as he sauntered out of the room with a bit too much swagger. "What was that?"

"Strangest dialect I've ever heard," Chase murmured. He tilted his head in fascination. "Are all you Seppos that odd?"

Troubled, Cameron looked over to House. "What's wrong with him?"

"Other than the wardrobe, I'd say this is Cuddy's fault. By forcing us into the Clinic, she's stressed us all out of our minds."

"All?" Cameron repeated. "But I'm fine. And you are. And Dr. Wilson—"

"Yes, he's currently chatting up the spirits of his guilty conscious. But other than that, oh, he's incredibly stable mentally."

Cameron was at a loss for words. Wilson was finding himself in exactly the same state.

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

"Do you know why people feel guilty?"

Hesitant, Wilson looked across the coma patient's room and to his newest visitor, the Ghost of Hanukah Present. While she too was nearly invisible, Justine—unlike the traditionally-garbed Jillian—was currently applying makeup to match her sleeveless V-neck, her suede suit jacket, and form-fitting jeans. She pursed her lips and made a popping sound, checking to make sure the likewise ghostly lipstick didn't smear.

"Um…why?"

"It's like making a U-turn in front of incoming traffic, or ordering kung pao for a group because it's your favorite, even though you know everyone else likes the sweet and sour chicken."

Wilson blinked. Yeah. House had done that a few times when they'd called out for Chinese. Somehow, he didn't exactly think his friend was lugging around regret as a result.

"Uh…"

"They feel guilty," she continued, pocketing her makeup back into her sleek black purse, "because they knew what was right but they did the wrong thing anyway."

"All right. I know. Guilt is my fear complex. Jillian already told me the favor I owe. If you'll let me out of the coma patient's room, I can try and settle everything down in the Clinic. I'll do my favor—"

Justine put a hand on her hip. She'd always been dramatically forward about everything. "No, that's Jillian's favor. I have a favor to request, too."

"But that's—that's not how it works," Wilson tried. "Jillian said that in Hamlet, his father requested one favor."

She preened self-righteously. "That's because he only had one father. Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying three times."

"Yeah. I'll keep that in mind." He sighed. "All right. What's this second favor?"

Justine strutted—she didn't float—over to his side of the room. She pointed decidedly at the coma patient.

"Wake him up."

"I can't," Wilson shook his head. "He's been in a coma—"

"—for nine years, yes, I know. That's all you've been saying. I don't care. That's my favor: Wake him up." She checked her watch. "Look. Nice seeing you again, Jimmy, but I have a modeling interview for eleven. I can't exactly be hanging around his hospital much longer. Whatever disinfectants you spray in here make my hair frizz." She frowned. "I guess that explains your hair, at any rate."

Wilson touched his light-brown bangs. "What's wrong with my hair?"

Justine smiled seamlessly. "See, if I wasn't being honest, I'd feel guilty. That's the trick. Know the shoulds and shouldn'ts, then decide what's right anyway, and no harm done. Look at House. Works for him."

"Wait!" Wilson moved toward her as she started fading out, just as Jillian had done. "How can I do this favor? I can't wake him up! He's medically a vegetable—"

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Justine shrugged indifferently. "Of course, if you don't, I guess I'll just come back. We can review that guilt thing again."

Wilson's arms fell resignedly to his sides. The coma patient didn't budge. "Great."

"Oh, and don't forget the Happy Pills," Justine reminded just before she vanished. "They're essential…"

And then she was gone.

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

"No sign of the guy in room two," Foreman informed Cameron and House as he returned to Chase's examination. "He must'a bounced before I got there."

Cameron stared. Foreman had not only disposed of tie, but he had untucked his shirt so it hung baggily down to his mid-thighs. Which was a good thing, considering his pants now were pushed down to about his knee level. His swagger had turned into a definitively gangster waddle.

"Waz up, girl?"

"Uh—I—"

House leaned on his cane, studying the intern's newfound style. "Looks like Foreman's finally down wit his homies."

"Yeah, son, fo' sho'. I'm just chillin', doin' my thang—"

Chase blinked from beneath his safari hat, befuddled. "Is he lairing it up?"

"And I thought sports metaphors were bad," Cameron muttered.

"Here's a thought," House broke in. "Why don't we all try speaking English so we can figure this out?"

Foreman would have answered, but Chase's hat was slightly distracting. He poked at the brim, admiringly. "That's tight, bro. That's tight."

"Ehm, it fits fine," Chase replied uncomfortably.

House took one more look at his interns, then limped to the exam room door. Clinic Duty had just dropped to record-breaking levels of unimportance. Insanity was spreading like the new plague, and it was the perfect case for a diagnostician to work on. First Wilson and his delusions, not to mention his painfully contrived excuse that some imaginary pills were to blame; then Chase proclaiming his croc hunting skills; and now Foreman, who was acting as if he should be cruising around LA with the drop-top down and blasting Lil Jon.

"Whiteboard," he called to Cameron. "Now."

"I don't think so."

House froze as Cuddy met him in the doorway. Quickly, he slipped outside the room to talk with her, subsequently keeping the interns inside and out of view.

It was amazing how Cuddy could be annoyed before House had even said anything. "House. I told you, a full day of Clinic Duty. Whatever new case you have can wait until tomorrow."

"I don't think that's a very informed decision."

"What's there to be informed about?" Cuddy demanded. "So far this morning, you've treated one patient, paged Wilson, and ate a sandwich. What could have possibly happened to make you suddenly run for the whiteboard?"

House paused. He could just hear Chase climbing a table within the exam room, and Foreman free-styling, insisting that Cameron provide the beatbox.

"Trust me," House said as seriously as he could without breaking into a grin. "This case… This case is off the heazy."

Cuddy closed her eyes and reminded herself why she kept House employed. "I don't know what you're up to, House, but right now you have a patient who's been waiting a half-hour for her appointment. She was already in my office complaining—"

"Say, you didn't happen to see Crocodile Dundee streaking around the hospital, have you?"

Cuddy just stared.

"No? All right, well, let me know if he makes a cameo anywhere."

"House, what are you talking—?"

Suddenly, the exam room door was thrown open. Chase came flying out, diving across the floor on his stomach. He skidded to a halt right in the middle of the waiting room. Some patients leapt to their feet. Others decided that now would be the perfect time to leave.

"No worries, mate! I got some good oil on our ol' girl's whereabouts. I'll catch her in no time!"

Cuddy looked appalled, and that was putting it lightly. "Doctor—Doctor Chase?"

"And he's the normal one, compared to Foreman," House put in. Cuddy caught one aghast look at the ghetto'd intern before reaching behind House and slamming the exam room door safely shut again.

"None of you are leaving this Clinic," she hissed.

"Are you blind? Chase should have his own show on Animal Planet and you want him to stay here?"

"Yes. I don't want him trekking around this hospital. You're going to keep them here—"

"Ah, I see: Contain the disease, stop it from spreading."

For once, Cuddy agreed with House's analogy. "Yes," she said in a quiet, tense voice. "I'll start having the patients moved temporarily until you straighten all this out."

"Man, this is shady!" Foreman was griping from inside the room. He pounded on the door. House could feel it rattling against his back. "Come on, bust a brotha out!"

"You heard the man," House said dramatically. He surveyed the clinic waiting room suddenly, pausing. "Now where did our Wombat scurry off to?"

Cuddy gave him a stiff, warning look. "Find him. Before someone else does."

"Oh, and don't forget to take some more Happy Pills. They're essential…"

Wilson replayed the Ghost of Hanukah Present's words. Standing over the coma patient, he observed the wrinkles in the pale face, the waxy, closed eyelids, the wispy hair. Maybe Justine hadn't just been referring to himself; maybe she'd meant the Happy Pills were essential for the coma patient, too.

Well, it was worth a shot, anyway. Nothing else the hospital had done for nearly the past decade had disturbed his slumber.

Wilson swallowed a Happy Pill, then carefully took out two more. Grinding them up into powder in his hand, he mixed them in water, put it in a tube, and injected the solution into the bag of his IV fluid.

Time would tell. Wilson checked his watch and mentally marked when fifteen minutes would be up.

Just then, there was another raucous bang against his door. Then another. Something hard slammed against the wall, followed by a crash of pottery and a thumping of something big and…leafy?

Wilson ran to the door, but when he tried to open it, he found it was stuck fast. Something was blocking his exit. He hit the door once with his open palm.

"Hey! What's going on?"

"Quiet! Croc's hearing is a fine art, mate; she'll hear you for miles!"

Wilson thought it sounded like a bad, stereotypical impersonation of Chase, but that would just be too weird. He rested his forehead against the door.

"I'm stuck in here. The door won't open!"

"Bloody oath! Ain't that the point, cobber?"

"What?"

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

From outside, House had a much better view of what was going on.

Chase had decided to create a fort out of two incredibly confused secretary's desks, some potted plants, and three waiting room chairs. It was all jammed up against the door to the coma patient's room, which was conveniently located right by an intersection of four hallways. It gave Chase the perfect lookout spot.

"Chase." House limped over him, calmly, as if he were talking to a bus stop acquaintance about the weather. "Come on. We have to work on the differential."

The Australian peered out from behind a potted plant. He'd stuck some random leaves in his hat for some badly attempted camouflage. "Mate, there's a croc loose in the hospital! I can't be lolly-gagging over some whiteboard in a crucial time as this!"

"You have a point," House said evenly, "but what if I told you I have some valuable information on that crocodile you're so set on catching?"

Chase paused, an eyebrow raised. "You reckon?"

"I reckon."

As Chase limberly climbed down from his makeshift fort, House took the opportunity to tap on the blocked room's door.

"Hey! You still in there?"

There was some muffled noises coming from within the room. House squinted, trying to make out the conversation.

"…It's the pills. I'll explain in a second…"

"Are you talking to the Ghost of Hanukah again?" House asked teasingly.

"Uh…" Wilson's voice trailed momentarily. "Actually, I'm talking to the coma patient."

House sighed. This was going to be one interesting differential. "In that case, I'd prefer you talk to the ghosts."