Kutner and Foreman are power walking through a crowded corridor. Kutner is looking down, hands in his pockets, while Foreman has a cheesy grin plastered on his face.

"Thanks, Larry, I was in the market for a new shirt. House—"

House is reclining in his office, watching the same General Hospital episode he did yesterday. Or maybe he didn't. He isn't quite sure. The plot lines are all the same.

"Let me guess. MRI was clean. Kutner is short some money, and that's why Foreman looks so creepily pleased. Yeah, you might want to work on that before we have to evacuate the pediatric ward." Foreman quickly frowned. "And now you guys want me to tell you how come a girl with neurological symptoms has nothing wrong with her nervous system."

"How did you know all that?" asks Kutner.

"Duh. I'm God. How do you always forget these things, Mr. Naïve? Just in case you two couldn't come up with anything useful, I've already sent Taub and Thirteen to the patient's 'place of residence'."

"This is no way to live," murmurs Taub.

"If she had a better choice, she probably wouldn't be a prostitute," replies Thirteen matter-of-factly.

In the daylight, the deserted nightclub looks like nothing but a breeding site for mold, stains, and blood spatters. There could be millions of toxins in the place, but naturally, there are none to be found.

"A lot cleaner than it looks," he notes.

"HEY!"

The doctors spin around quickly, hearts pounding in their chests.

"We don't open till eleven. You're gonna have to…are you guys cops?"

He moves towards Taub, making motions like he's about to either give him a big hug, or snap his windpipe in half. Considering they've never met and this guy had to be 300 pounds, Taub felt it was safe to assume the latter.

"Hey man, we don't want any trouble—"

"We're doctors," explains Thirteen coolly. The man eyes her and studies her face. Having decided she wasn't lying, he roars, "So what do you want?"

"One of your girls is very sick. We need to know if anything in her environment is causing it, which includes her—home. She does live here, right?" Thirteen feels a little awkward.

He replies, "Yeah, they all do. I don't know their names though. She young?"

"Nineteen," says Taub, who just reencountered his lungs.

"She'd be in there," he points. "I hear anything funny going on, you two ain't gonna like it."

He walks away from them, and they open the door.

At least twenty girls are splayed out in a space the size of the conference room. Most of them are sleeping, but some are smoking and one is crying in a corner. It probably wasn't an uncommon sight.

"Excuse me, ladies," states Thirteen forcefully.

Some of the women scream, others try to hide, some stay still.

"Relax," reassures Taub. "We're not here to hurt you. We just want to know if anybody knows where Marissa sleeps."

"Marissa?" The familiar blonde girl stands. "She's next to me. Are you her doctors? Is she okay?" The girl is obviously nervous out of her wits.

Taub remains quiet. Thirteen, trying to be honest but gentle, replies, "We really don't know."

They walk over and examine the bed that the two girls share. Swabs and vials are passed over the sheets, the walls, the floors, and everything in sight.

Suddenly, Thirteen picks up a knapsack from under the bed. "This hers?" she asks. The blonde girl nods.

Thirteen rips it open and goes through it. There's one dollar, some lip gloss, a tissue, and—an empty bottle of Prozac.

Back in House's office. "Looks like our hooker is depressed," reports Taub.

"What, having random guys you've never met and most of who are complete losers come and ram you every night because you've got nothing better to do wouldn't be enough to depress you?" House replies sardonically.

Thirteen seizes the opportunity. "Does that make you a complete loser?"

House eyes her piercingly. "No, see, I never actually got to put the lime in the coconut. She did that whole getting sick thing first. Sick, however, doesn't mean incapable of being yet another useless human being and lying."

Foreman changes the subject, as per usual. "Anti-depressants that are taken in excess can have multiple side effects, including seizures."

House starts to walk out with a hearty, "Then get her off the happy pills." After a pause, he sticks his head back in. "Actually, get Cameron to do it."

"House, she's not your employee anymore. You can't just pull her out of the ER to talk to your patients," chides Foreman.

"But this is such a personal, moral matter. It's fixing a broken person. To Cameron, it's like a big piece of chocolate cake. I would've told Thirteen to do it, but the whole drug addiction thing has made her much less warm and fuzzy lately,' House reasons. "Besides, she's bored there anyway."

Cameron steps onto the elevator, with no idea why one of House's new pets insisted that SHE deliver the news to a teenager that she's not allowed to be happy anymore. Why does he always have to screw with her like this? And more importantly, why does she always feel so compelled to go along with it?

"Hi Marissa, I'm Dr. Cameron," she says in her special ER comforting voice.

"Another doctor? Geeze, how many does it take to screw in a light bulb?" she sighs.

"Probably not as many as it took to diagnose you," the doctor responds. "Marissa, did you provide the team with a completely honest medical history?"

"If you didn't know the answer, you wouldn't be here to tell me off."

At that moment, Marissa reaches her hand over into the drawer and pulls out a fresh bottle of pills, marked with a smiley face, and throws it to a waiting Cameron.

"I figured it didn't matter. Am I going to magically get better now?"

"Well, that's our hope, as long as you don't go back to this stuff. We're going to have to explore alternative therapy for you, " explains Cameron as she gives her another Gatorade cup to rehydrate her. "When's the last time you seized?"

"Five minutes before you came in."

Quick recovery time, she thinks to herself. Seems pretty healthy for someone so sick.

"You're not going to start tricking us into thinking we're right again by presenting with another strange symptom are you?" she jokes.

For the first time since she's been admitted, Marissa smiles weakly. "Of course not. I'm already feeling better, I think."

Cameron smiles back. "You're going to be all right. Next time though, you can do way better than House."

They laugh, and Cameron gets up to leave, when she notices the bag next to the bed is totally empty.

"You've had at least a half a gallon of Gatorade since you've been here, and you haven't urinated at all," says Cameron nervously.

Marissa looks up. "Is that bad?"

"Yeah, it's bad."