A/N: A million thanks to the fabulous imsanehonest for persuading me to implement diluvian's fixes to this section! (And showing me how!)

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Huh. When Cuddy'd said, "The patient's boyfriend has made a ten million dollar donation to the hospital," the picture House's mind had conjured up had looked a lot more like a sorority girl, rather than a big good-looking scruffy guy wearing BCG's. House double-checked the room number and the name on the file folder. Okay, that must be a K rather than an A.

"Clark Kent," House said.

"Present," Glasses Guy quipped weakly. He straightened his big ugly glasses and tried to sit up. The bald guy in the sharp suit –- House mentally dubbed him Ten Million Dollar Boyfriend –- propped pillows behind him and got a pale smile in return.

Greg stumped into the room, trying to remember what they always said about bedside manners. "I'm Dr. House. What seems to be the trouble?"

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Allison's pager went off. She smiled apologetically at her clinic patient and his mom, and checked it. House. Cuddy must have found him and forced him to take that case.

"Just make sure he keeps this dry, and take him to your regular doctor when you get back home," she told the anxious mother. "And no more jumping off of things!" she added, turning to the boy. He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Thank you so much! I didn't know what to do when--"

Cameron cut her off, as gently as she could. "I'm so sorry; I have to take this page. Good luck!" She hurried up to Diagnostics. House was already at the board.

"Thirty-eight year old male, nausea, vomiting, weakness. Fainting. Mood swings." The rapid-fire delivery slowed as he studied what he'd already written. Then he turned to face his fellows.

"The patient's boyfriend has donated ten million dollars to the hospital because I agreed to take the case."

Patient's boyfriend? "AIDS?" Cameron guessed. House ignored her and went on.

"He said he'd donate twenty million more for a diagnosis, and fifty million dollars if we cure him."

Allison's mouth dropped open with surprise, and she hoped nobody had noticed before she got it closed again. "That's crazy!" she exclaimed.

"It's eighty percent of what Vogler gave," Chase said, sounding confused.

"Who has that kind of money?" Foreman asked, sounding skeptical. "Who even thinks of that kind of money for gastroenteritis?"

"It's not gastroenteritis. Patient's boyfriend is Lex Luthor. He may be crazy, but he does have the money."

Allison's jaw dropped again. "Lex Luthor? Why is he here? Why not Metropolis General? He practically owns that place, and its reputation is--"

"Not as good as mine, apparently." House looked at his shoes for a moment. Allison knew he wasn't modest; what was bothering him? He raised his head and cleared his throat. He looked directly at Foreman. "He also said to send you on vacation."

Eric's eyebrows went up, and he looked astonished. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Foreman. Take your vacation. Now, please."

Cameron was amazed. House hated being told what to do! Now, for money, he was following the orders of Lex Luthor? The guy made Vogler look honest and public-spirited! She couldn't restrain herself. "House, what are you doing?" she asked.

He didn't say anything, and he didn't look at her. He kept looking at Eric. Eric kept looking at him.

Finally Foreman threw up his hands. "Fine," he said. "I'll see you guys in two weeks."

"Take four," House said flatly. "I'll make sure Cuddy pays you for it."

"Whatever," Foreman muttered, and he left.

"What if we need a neurologist?" Chase asked. Cameron could see he knew that was a dumb question as soon as he asked, and House didn't bother to answer him. Instead House took something out of his pocket and set it on the conference table. He unwrapped it to reveal three broken hypodermic needles.

"That happened when I tried to take a blood sample. Three times." House pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Scleroderma?" Chase guessed, leaning over to look at the broken needles.

"Wait," Cameron said. Lex Luthor? Metropolis? "Oh, my God. Clark Kent is Superman?"

"Bingo."