A lot had happened in the months after Vogler crashed his controlling, money-wielding presence into Princeton-Plainsboro, then was overruled by a board who decided even $100 million was not worth losing House, Wilson, and the bravado to not run a hospital "like a business."
A lot. Like, it had actually been relatively pleasant at the hospital. Lab coats were shunned for the heck of it. Chase decided siding with House was a better idea. No one even moved into Vogler's office after he left. Most claimed it stank of self-importance. Others assumed House might inflict some kind of hex on it.
Vogler, in the meantime, had been busy flouting the expectation that the hospital's rejection of his money should keep him down. In fact, it had done just the opposite. Apparently, his touching little story about Alzheimer's didn't go very far—or maybe he suffered from it himself—because he suddenly lacked the motivation to do anything constructive with his money. Over the past year, he'd bought a private jet (Cuddy had been right about him being able to afford one); three absurdly large houses in three different states; a couple cars that would make even the mechanics on Pimp My Ride weak-kneed; and—in attempts not be outdone by House—a flurry of Harley-Davidsons.
One of which, of course, he was currently goading upon.
Vogler waited for a reaction from House. He'd anticipated the doctor to snap back with typical sarcasm, but only indifferent silence was returned. In fact, the limping doctor seemed a bit preoccupied with something that was happening in a Clinic exam room.
Vogler cleared his throat again. He was not going to jipped of his big entrance. "I said, I'm back to destroy you!"
Suddenly, an ear-splitting, monotone beep shattered the air. Anyone who wasn't deaf or didn't have a defective hearing aid cringed at the alarm. The halls dimmed, a white and red siren-light flashing momentarily to grab everyone's attention as if the hospital warning system didn't have it already.
LOCK DOWN. LOCK DOWN. PLEASE REMAIN CALM. FOR YOUR SAFETY, THE HOSPITAL IS GOING INTO LOCK DOWN.
House craned his neck upward to the PA system's automatic voice system. This was new. He'd known that in drastic situations, Cuddy could declare a Level Three, Code Red warning, causing the hospital basically to shut itself down. Every doctor was briefed on the details: No patient or employee would be able to leave the building, nor enter. The corridors adjoining different departments would be separated by metal doors that dropped from select doorways. Where you were, you stayed, until whatever problem had been solved.
And the problem had to be dire. Most times, it consisted of either a deadly disease rampantly spreading within the hospital, an unlikely but media-declared-potential terrorist attack, or an unforeseen emergency.
House wondered if Cuddy viewed the interns' insanity the emergency or Vogler's reappearance. Personally, the latter was more troubling. Particularly because he was dressed in leather.
"As you can see," House said calmly, over the alarm and flashing lights, "we've already done a pretty good job at destroying things without your help. But thanks for the offer. I might take you up on that later."
The metal doors started their descent. Vogler's face was crest-fallen and growing more frightened by the second.
"What the heck is going on?" he demanded.
"What wild game is this, mate?" Chase suddenly came bounding out of the exam room, despite Cameron's attempt to hold him back by the shirtsleeve. He took one frazzled look around, ducking intermittently at the lights, before the system leveled out again as it completed the lock down. Chase stared in horror at the immovable metal doors that now caged them in.
Foreman looked even more terrified. "Yo, my rights, son. I got my rights. I ain't gonna be held wit'out trial of my peers—"
"This isn't prison," House cut him off. "Cuddy likes our company so much she just wants to keep us here a bit longer."
Vogler was so set on spurring on House's downfall that he didn't even acknowledge how odd the two interns were acting.
"Dr. Cuddy?" Vogler raised a surprised brow, but his expression rapidly turned into a resentful sneer. "Oh, right, the genius who turned down my $100 million."
"I see you put it to good use, too," House retorted. He tilted his head at the bike, considering. "Well, that's a nice twenty-grand there; and judging by how that leather jacket fits, I think it's safe to say you used the rest to buy Twinkies."
Vogler was about to say something, but then Foreman noticed their new visitor.
"Yo, brotha from the Hood, waz up? Give a dawg some love—"
The multi-millionaire cringed back from Vogler's extended hand. "Get away from me."
"Yo, don't be hatin'."
"Dr. Chase…" Vogler's smile was sickeningly sarcastic. "And how have you been?"
"Jess apples, mate, 'til the croc showed up. And now we're trapped with her right 'ere in the same vicinity. You picked a bloody bad time to drop in!"
Vogler baulked at his accent.
"Couldn't agree more," House said, grinning. He twirled his cane in his hand, watching as Vogler's eyes followed it briefly before settling back onto his face. He narrowed his eyes. "Now. Just how were you planning on 'destroying' me again?"
-----------------------------------
The lights and alarms in the coma patient's room were likewise in upheaval. Wilson, who had been warned by the now departed Ghost of Hanukah Future, was still less than ready for the chaos.
Secret Private Coma Guy, however, seemed as if he'd marked this date on the calendar and was more than prepared.
"This is my secret mission!"
The last time Wilson was reduced to a facepalm was during House's speech for Vogler. It looked like it was time again for another.
"Pull it together, sonny!" Secret Private Coma Guy was dragging himself to his feet. Jell-O had more consistency than his legs did. Grasping onto the wall for support, he gradually shuffled toward the door, yelling at Wilson to get out of his chair and go help his country.
"We're trapped inside the room," Wilson called feebly. "And we can't leave anyway—the hospital's in lock down."
"Your generation, always complaining," muttered Secret Private Coma Guy. "Thank God you yellow-hearted sissies weren't in Nam."
"Sir, you weren't in Vietnam, either."
Secret Private Coma Guy conveniently wasn't listening anymore. "Do you hear that siren? Listen to it. It's our call to duty!"
"It's the hospital going into—"
"We have a responsibility to our friends, family, and country, boy! Now, are you with me or not?"
"Sir," Wilson protested, "what are you talking about? There's nothing to do, no enemy to fight. It's just a lock down for safety precautions."
"No enemy to fight!" The patient looked horrified. "What about that Vogler character you were rambling on about?"
Wilson shrugged weakly. "So he's coming back. He's a businessman with an axe to grind apparently."
"And you're just going to let him grind it into our country?"
"Uh, sir, this is a hospital—"
"No, siree! Generations have fought to keep this land free, and now it's our turn to take up the flag!"
Well, Wilson had to admit, it was a relative metaphor. Vogler was the enemy; he was the invading force. He understood the concept of defending their territory… But at the moment, they were still sealed in by a Wombat fort.
He watched as Secret Private Coma Patient knocked once on their door, ear tilted toward it, then effortlessly threw it open. He might as well have been opening a jar of pickles.
"That's the difference between 'can't' and 'will,'" Secret Private Coma Patient said self-righteously.
Wilson was slack-jawed. He moved quickly over to the door, staring in disbelief. The whole fort had disappeared.
That couldn't have been a hallucination in itself, right? Chase really had built a fort there. House had really talked with him through the door. The hospital was really in chaos…
Wasn't it?
"How did—but there was—"
"Stop babbling, Soldier, and pick up the pace." Secret Private Coma Patient wasn't really a great example of picking up much of anything. Wilson was willing to bet a week's worth of cooking for House that a snail with a limp could lap the elderly man.
Taking a quick scan of the corridor, Wilson determined that they were isolated within the Clinic by a series of metal doors. The hallways were mostly deserted because of the lock down, too.
Except for one man, with a cast of his leg, who was struggling to maneuver himself into a wheelchair. A nurse held it, waiting with some obvious distress on her face. The lock down had nearly frightened five years off of every employee's life.
"Sir!" Secret Private Coma Guy just barely made his creaky way over to the other patient. "Sir, do you love your country?"
The man with the cast blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Thank you!" I'll make sure to tell the General what you've done!" With that, the coma patient grabbed the wheelchair from the nurse and hopped in, flying off down the hall. The man with the broken leg stared. Wilson gave an empathetic shrug of apology, then dashed down the hall after the now-swift Secret Private.
-------------------------------
From a distance down the hall, Cuddy could see House across from some oddly familiar figure who was on an oddly unfamiliar motorcycle. The interns were gathered around behind House. The bike was still smoking. Great. All she needed was for it to blow tile pipe in the middle of her hospital.
She stalked over to the group, hoping her heels sounded as furious as she felt.
"What the heck is going on? House, I put this hospital in lock down for Chase and Foreman, and then—" She spun around toward Vogler. "There are no motor vehicles allowed in this hospital!"
"And no vengeful party-poopers, either," House added. "Oops. I guess you really shouldn't be here, then, huh?"
"Dr. Cuddy." Vogler's expression was disgustingly glib. "How nice to see you—"
"I'd tell you to get out, but unfortunately, you're going to be stuck in," Cuddy cut him off. She glared. "In the meantime, you can park your bike and find yourself a seat in the waiting room. Don't touch anything, don't manipulate anyone, just sit down or I will call police and have them arrest you the second we're out of lock down."
"And just when will be out of lock down?" Vogler retorted.
Cuddy glanced over to House. "Whenever this situation gets resolved."
Vogler looked genuinely confused. He didn't often look genuinely anything. "What situation…?"
With perfect timing, Foreman stepped forward, rocking his head back and forth as he kept rhythm to an inaudible pulse.
"Yeah, son, I finally got my rap down. Ya'll listen. It's off the heazy, fo sho."
"Foreman…" Cuddy said warningly.
The intern wasn't listening. "Yo, someone gimme a beat!"
Vogler saw the obvious discomfort on everyone's face—though House did seem rather amused—so he figured he'd encourage their embarrassment. The businessman attempted his first and hopefully only attempt at beatboxing.
"A'ight, yeah," Foreman nodded, getting his time down, then started:
-- -- --
"One, two, now drop it like it's hot
We can stop your ache with a morphine shot
And give you pills when it's pain you got
F-to-the-Oreman hits the spot
-- -- --
I'm so good, you'll sack the rest
My rhymes put you in cardiac arrest
Poppin' collars on the lab coat—still best-dressed
The illest come to us, we'll run the test
-- -- --
Yo, we keep it real on the Jersey side
Won't let your heartbeat fall below thirty-five
Sign a DNR? Why? We can revive
Take an IV and enjoy the ride
No need to freak if ya'll weak with the flu
Or ain't no other doctors who could cure you
Cuz we gangstas, son, we do what we do
We diagnose disease wit our bad-ass crew
-- -- --
Chillin' out in the club, House wit his cane
Can't lie, don't try cuz he knows pain
Ya'll bob your head, song's like a tumor in your brain
I'll run a CAT scan, and drive you insane
Hat on crooked, shook me off
He's a croc-hunting-Aussie with a lookout loft
Took Cameron by surprise but that boo's soft
Now let me hear ya'll before the rap turns off
-- -- --
F to the Oreman! Bring that back, I say
F to the –"
-- -- --
"Foreman!" Cuddy shrieked. "Stop! That's enough!"
"Yo, why you messin', girl? That was tight."
Chase still looked confused; he'd taken to hiding under some now empty waiting room chairs. House looked around for a security camera, desperately hoping that was all safely recorded. Cameron had curled up in a self-protective ball against the exam room door.
Vogler looked like he might consider offering Foreman a record deal. He didn't have a label, but he figured he could always buy one if there was money left over from the Twinkies.
Cuddy had a hand to her face, shaking her head. "Foreman, what is wrong with you?"
"He's upset. We're apparently 'all up in his face, yo,'" House replied.
"Foreman." Cuddy took a step closer, realizing just how badly the situation has escaladaed. He and Chase weren't merely delusional; they were suffering from complete personality changes. "You're not ghetto-fabulous, okay? You went to medical school at Columbia. You are an intern at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital."
"I'm still Foreman from the Block, yo," he insisted. To prove his point, he pulled up his right-hand sleeve, exposing an inked sign on his hand. "This here's a gang tattoo, son."
"You told us that was a Native American symbol."
"Everyone lies!" Chase called.
House was about to claim back his catchphrase but never got the words out.
"And so we meet, Dark Agent of Doom!"
Everyone turned to see a shriveled, elderly man wheeling himself into the picture. He glared determinately at Vogler.
The businessman baulked. "What? Me?"
"Dark Agent of Doom," mused House. "I actually like that one better than 'Ed.'"
Cuddy's face had just paled from white to translucent. "Is—is that the coma patient?"
"Wilson made a new friend," House said.
The scene was ridiculous. On one side sat Vogler on his bike; on the other, the coma patient on his wheelchair.
"I am Secret Private CP reporting for my mission handed down from the US Army. I have tracked you down, Dark Agent of Doom, and now—"
"Don't say it," Vogler snapped.
"—I will destroy you."
A euphoric laugh suddenly interrupted the whole thing. Even the coma patient wheeled around to see who was stumbling up behind them.
It was Wilson. A suddenly very happy, giddy Wilson.
House stared. "What happened to you?"
"I just—just realized," Wilson said between gasps of laughter, "that I love…everybody!"
"Cameron," House turned to the intern crumpled on the floor. "Is this finally the effect of the Happy Pills? Insane giddiness?"
"Happy Pills?" Cuddy asked. "Would somebody please explain to me what is going on?"
"Run for yer lives mate!" Chase suddenly screamed. He gestured wildly to the opposite side of the hall. "It's the Croc!"
Everyone spun around. Wilson collapsed into unmitigated hysterics.