Chapter 2
Observations

"What do we know?" House asked tapping the whiteboard impatiently for a moment. Silence followed as his team exchanged blank glances. "Come on! What do we know?!"

Foreman shifted in his chair. "Well, seeing as how we haven't really been able to get close to him…"

"Fine! You haven't had a chance to do anything medically valuable. You want me to cut you a break, well too bad. You're better than this. What do we know?" he pressed.

Chase leaned back and answered, "He's 17."

House took the response and wrote it down. "Good. The zombies speak. What else?"

Cameron waved her hands a little and added, "He has telekinesis."

"And white/blonde hair and blue eyes, but none of this has anything to do with his health!" Foreman shouted.

"Telekinesis might," House responded, focused on the whiteboard.

"Yeah. It might, but it might not," Foreman said.

Cameron sighed quietly. "He's right. We can't base our diagnosis on a maybe symptom."

House rounded on them. "Why do you say that now? That's exactly the stuff we do all the time!"

"Just because we do it all the time doesn't mean we haven't said it every time," Chase answered.

Foreman leaned forward. "We can't base our diagnosis off a symptom that could or couldn't be-"

"Ever hear of quantum physics? That entire science is devoted to maybes," House interrupted.

A foreboding tension built in the room between Foreman and House. Chase glanced between the two, then stated, "Yeah, but this is not quantum physics. We're talking about a 17-year-old kid and his medical problems."

A scoff escaped from the man with the marker. "His maybe medical problems," he sneered quietly.

Foreman stared. "You're pressing us for ideas, accepting any and all of them without question, yet you don't think he's even sick?"

House dropped his head. "If I've said it one I've said it a hundred times…I think the kid's a nutcase. I want to know what you think."

"Like hell you do," Foreman replied. "You're doing it because Cuddy's making you."

"Or because you find him interesting," Wilson added, framed in the doorway. The team all turned, and a silence followed.

House reached carefully for the right words. "Since when do my interests matter?"

Wilson eyed him. "Your interest gives you motive. What's your motive for treating him?"

Shrugging, House responded, "He's interesting." Another silence.

"Well, since there's obviously more to this story that I intend to uncover---God knows why---I'll tell you what I came to say. The patient has been sedated and he's all yours," Wilson stated.

All eyes went to House. He tapped the marker against his mouth in concentration. "Run the basics," he ordered.

His team remained frozen for a moment, then Chase and Cameron shifted simultaneously. Foreman remained firmly seated. "Tests that we already have multiple results for?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. The other two doctors stood rooted for the reply.

"Yes, because we have multiple results we don't know which to trust. Let's get our own toys to play with; I don't like sharing," House finalized with a direct glance at Wilson.

Foreman accepted it and left with the others. Wilson waited until they were well out of earshot before asking, "You've come to the conclusion that he's sick then?"

"I never said that," House answered.

"Well, he interests you and you've involved yourself in the case…I guess I made the assumption that-"

"He's a nutcase," House interrupted.

Mouth agape, Wilson raised a hand to his head. "You're still running with the nutcase bit?"

"It's true."

"No! No, it's not," Wilson replied wagging a finger. "And even if it was, you haven't had nearly enough observation time to come to that conclusion?"

"I solve cases like this with little or no observation time all the time. The only difference between this time and any other time is this happens to be this time."

"Ok, now you're just trying to avoid the situation-"

"Yes I am," House cut in.

"-which means it's embarrassing to you," Wilson finished, a finger extended philosophically before him. As House's head dipped low, he snapped his fingers. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"It wasn't anything," House muttered.

"He scared you."

"He did not scare me."

"Well he sure as hell didn't tickle your funny bone!" Wilson paused a moment. "You didn't change your position on the state of his mind, so something that happened in that room spurred you to work this case."

"I already told you," House countered. "I'm interested."

Wilson shook his head. "No, if it was just interest the file would have sucked you in. This is something else; something bigger."

House faced him in full. "I wanted to demonstrate my care for him as a human being," he said with a successfully rendered earnest face.

"Yeah, I'll believe that one when pigs fly." Wilson sighed. "Fine. You don't want to tell me. I won't ask." He turned and left the room.

House limped over to his office and collapsed in his chair, snatching his tennis ball. He bounced it off the wall a few times then paused in consideration. He sighed and eyed the file on his desk. He moved for it then pushed it away, and continued tossing the ball.