A/N: Again, not particularly thoroughly beta read. Please accept my apologies.

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House sat in the control room and watched through the glass as Chase brought the patient in and got him settled into the MRI machine. Cameron and Ten Million Dollar Boyfriend were nowhere to be seen.

They were chatting, which was good. Chase knew his methods; House hoped he was applying them –- separating a couple in order to get both of their stories was always a good practice. Everybody lies, and the only way to find out anything like the truth is to listen to all of the different lies.

It might have been better for House to hear Clarabel's lies in person, but he found himself strangely uneasy about getting close to him. House seemed to be the only one, though –- Chase was practically cooing over the guy. He gently held the patient's hair back for him and helped him with the basin as Kent vomited yet again.

House clicked on the intercom. "Preserve that for analysis," he commanded.

"Of course," Chase answered. He gently wiped Kent's face and helped him lie straight on the table again, and then stroked his hair reassuringly. "It'll be all right. Lie still as you can, and let us know immediately if there's any discomfort."

"Thanks, Robert," Kent sighed. He gave Chase a tired but still gorgeous smile, and closed his eyes. The big ugly glasses went into Chase's lab coat pocket, to be returned after the test.

"Get in here," House said.

Chase patted the patient one last time and moved. House turned off the intercom and started the scan.

"Good job getting him away from the boyfriend. You find anything out?"

"He's been losing his appetite for two or three months. He kept it from Luthor so he wouldn't worry."

"Anything else? Affairs? Drug use? Any other secrets?"

"What, other than being Superman? Didn't seem to be." Chase went on about drooling, prostration, and stomach pain, but House tuned it out. None of it was dramatic enough to trigger any major ideas.

Superman. An alien. That was probably what was making Greg feel strange around the guy. News reports about Superman suggested, and personal observation seemed to back up, the notion that humans might respond to the Kryptonian instinctively. The stories tended to suggest either instant trust OR instant enmity. Maybe Greg's instincts were for the second response, as Luthor's own seemed to have been in the past. Chase and Cameron's reactions of attachment and cuddliness might either be the trust response that the newspapers indicated, looking different in person than in print, or something new and different –- maybe even a symptom. Or maybe Cameron was just rubbing off on Chase, and wasn't that a pretty picture.

"Damn it!"

Chase's exclamation interrupted House's ruminations. He looked at the screen.

"How is that even theoretically possible?" Chase complained.

"Did you check the calibration?" House asked, leaning over to twiddle knobs. He knew it wasn't that, though. The image was completely featureless. Apparently, Superman was invulnerable to magnetic resonance.

"Have you broken the MRI again? Cuddy will be pleased." Neither House nor Chase had noticed Wilson come in. Crap. House hurriedly shut the damn thing off.

"It's that shoddy Jewish construction," he groused, wheeling his chair out and away from the console to draw Wilson's attention more away from the machine.

It wasn't a complete success. "You're not supposed to turn it off like that, you know. This is a very delicate piece of equipment," Wilson scolded him.

At least Chase's running-and-hiding instincts were reliable. He was already getting Kent out of the tube and back onto the gurney. House continued to draw Wilson away –- he'd never forgive himself if Lex Luthor had Wilson killed, especially if it were House's fault.

"Well, nothing works up an appetite like damaging a million-dollar piece of equipment." House dusted his hands together, grabbed his cane, and lurched to his feet. "C'mon, Jimmy. Buy me lunch."