One. Don't tense up now.
Go with him.
Two. That's it. Stay in rhythm.
Three. What are you doing, Lane?
You're tipping in.
Four. What's your problem?
Get your ass down. Get back in the middle.
Five. You're weak.
You got all kinds of daylight under you.
Six. Damn, Lane, you should be schooling this bull.
Seven. Get up, set your hips before the kick comes down.
Nice recovery.
Now just wait till he turns back away from your hand.
Whoo!
Hey. Hey.
What the hell just happened?
I was about to ask you the same thing.
Sync by honeybunny www.addic7ed.com
I'm fine.
Okay.
I assume Cuddy told you that she dumped me.
She did.
And that I'm back on Vicodin.
She told me you had taken a Vicodin.
And then I took a lot more.
Well, I'm not fine as in "fine,"
but I'm fine as in "you don't have to worry about me."
Because you cleared out your bank account,
checked into a hotel, and started back on Vicodin?
Because I'm going to be fine as in "fine" very soon.
Until that happens,
are you sure Vicodin is the...
My leg hurts.
You've been able to handle the pain.
It's gotten worse.
Not physically worse.
Worse is worse.
Pain doesn't discriminate.
Neither do the pills.
The Vicodin and the five-star pampering
that I'm gonna get over the next few days
should be enough to get me through it.
So you don't want to just avoid the issue.
You want to avoid avoiding the issue. Sorry.
Nothing is either as bad or as good
as we think it is at the time.
That's why T.O. mocks his opponents immediately
after scoring.
He doesn't wait
till his friend shows up the next day
to tell him to deal with it.
Two weeks from now,
maybe a little more, maybe a little less,
my life will be back to its usual level of crappiness.
Till then, the only real issue
is how much I'm gonna spend on hotel charges.
Good morning, sir.
I've got your deluxe breakfast for two.
Do I have to count the strawberries?
Don't worry.
You can trust me with anything.
Including your food.
After he and I have sex,
I'm gonna slit his throat
and then disembowel him in the bathtub.
Oh, no problem. I'll cancel the morning maid service.
Would you like me to have them clean up later
when they come to turn down your bed?
Why didn't I meet you six months ago?
Thank you very much.
And if there's anything else I can do
to make your stay here more enjoyable,
just ring the concierge and ask for Carnell.
Eat fast.
We're expecting company.
Okay.
This might not be such a bad idea.
What do you think he meant by "anything"?
Take some time for yourself. Relax.
I know it's a figure of speech,
but he really did seem to underline the "anything."
Maybe talk to someone?
Already scheduled.
Really?
I'm not an idiot.
I know I need help.
Okay.
That's... great.
I meant, like, a counselor.
I know.
But you meant a hooker.
Yeah.
Baby steps.
House screwed us.
Ten years of doctors
cobbling him back together.
Metal rods in every limb.
Pins stabilizing his spine.
Five screws
and a titanium plate in his skull.
Can't do MRIs.
X-rays are probably gonna be useless as well.
Every piece of metal is gonna obscure something.
And House isn't sick.
Why would you say that?
Cuddy dumped House.
He's out somewhere expecting us to indulge him
while he ignores his job and licks his wounds.
Cuddy dumped him?
Don't do that. Don't get sucked in.
He loves her. What?
You can't feel bad for him for five minutes?
I can feel bad for him while still expecting him
to act like an adult, show up for work,
and not go on a booze-,
Vicodin-, and hooker-filled bender.
Which is why for now we're gonna handle the case without him.
Oh, is that the reason?
I thought it was because you can't pass up
any chance to seize control.
I said "we." You want "pretty please" too?
Wait. I understand the booze
and the hookers, but why Vicodin?
Wow, you really don't have any friends in here, do you?
House is a Vicodin addict.
He's been clean for two years.
He's used here at work?
Yes, that is very troubling.
Almost as much as the fact
that our patient has a ruptured diaphragm,
cracked sternum, broken nose,
and partial hearing loss,
which can be explained by a bull jumping on him.
And a neurological disorder, low-grade fever,
nausea, and peripheral muscle weakness that can't.
What if the hearing loss wasn't caused by the bull?
That's just when he noticed it?
Inner-ear pathology can affect the equilibrium
and cause disorientation,
making it appear to be a neurological disorder.
So how do we confirm?
CT is just gonna show us the plate and screws
holding his skull together.
We can do calorics and an ENG.
If he has inner-ear damage,
it'll affect his balance.
Sounds good. Go ahead.
Go ahead? Really?
What if one of us disagrees?
I happen to agree with Foreman.
Go do it.
You knew he was an addict before you got involved.
Didn't end the relationship...
You knew he was an ass...
I didn't end it...
You told him you did not want him to change.
And I was wrong.
You don't know that.
You thought you were gonna die.
Do you really think that was the right time
to make this kind of decision?
No.
But I've thought about it.
A lot.
And I haven't changed my mind.
He thought you were gonna die.
Nobody knows the right way to react in that situation.
Just give him another chance.
He deserves it.
I know.
But this isn't about what he deserves.
When things go wrong,
I don't want to hope that I'm not alone.
I want to know it.
With House...
Every time I needed him to step up...
He's just never gonna be that.
It's not his fault. It's who he is.
I should have known it.
This is my fault.
Well, he's back on Vicodin.
So you might want to...
Keep an eye on his new patient.
ENG was normal.
Means his inner ear isn't...
Morons.
It wasn't...
Whoa. Wait a second.
The acoustics in here are beautiful.
Morons!
You say it.
Morons.
Who was that?
Something Carnell got me.
It wasn't that ridiculous of a theory.
Great theory.
It's a ridiculous test.
You can't give a standard balance test
to a champion bull rider.
If you're gonna test Superman's strength,
you need a bigger barbell.
Find one, make him lift it,
then call me and tell me how high it got.
And tell Cuddy that spying is for cowards.
Just keep me posted.
I will. I will.
You said my inner ear was fine.
Previous test was for regular people.
You were banged up pretty bad in the accident.
But given your athletic ability...
Wasn't no accident.
That bull had malice and forethought.
Uh, you mean aforethought.
Whatever. He was pissed.
Can you blame him?
Not at all.
If he don't do what he gets paid for,
I don't get to do what I get paid for.
You ever think of getting paid
for doing something else?
You're running out of bones to break.
You ever think of doing something you don't love?
It has its downside,
but everything does.
There ain't nothing like those eight seconds.
Traveling around, getting to meet the fans,
that ain't so bad either, if you know what I mean.
All right, now what?
We're gonna start rocking the platform
and changing your visual field
while you balance on just your right leg.
Here you go, Lane.
I'm gonna start slow.
If you start to experience
any nausea or disorientation,
just let us know and we'll stop the test.
You got it.
Ha.
That is amazing.
We can stop.
There's obviously nothing wrong
with his inner ear.
Now what?
And I direct that question not to my boss,
but to anyone who has an answer.
If it's not in his ear, it's got to be his brain.
But if we can't get any images,
then how do we...
Looks like you guys got some rusty pipes.
This water's brown.
That's not from the pipes.
It's from your mouth.
Can you pass me the, um...
What took you so long?
There's nothing wrong with his ears,
but he's got blood in his sputum.
Doesn't answer the question.
We weren't avoiding you.
It took us a little time
to think up a diagnostic test no one's ever thought up before.
Apology accepted.
It could be a tumor in a salivary gland.
We should get a parotid biopsy.
Oh, that's so cute.
You're fighting over who's in charge.
GI bleed's more likely
to explain the nausea and weakness.
Who's in charge?
House, as long as you're not here,
someone has to have the final... Let me rephrase.
Who's your daddy?
Let me rephrase.
You have to decide
if you're gonna buck up, get out of bed,
and do your job,
or if you're gonna wallow in self-pity.
Those my only two choices?
Or can I also point out the self-pity coming from you?
You're just annoyed because when your relationship ended,
no one gave a crap, including you.
That is not true in so many ways.
And, Chase, stop screwing with Foreman.
And, Foreman, no.
Till the telephone gets uninvented,
no one in that room needs more authority than I give them,
and right now
I give you the authority
to scope his GI tract and biopsy his parotid.
And you can pick up the phone.
Wait, House, should we be more worried about you?
Are you on Vicodin?
Because if you are,
you probably shouldn't be ordering procedures.
I am not on Vicodin.
Do the tests.
I have to see a man about a hurdy-gurdy.
You really think House isn't using Vicodin?
Does it actually worry you?
If he's self-prescribing meds,
that could affect his judgment.
And does that worry you?
Are you being sarcastic?
If his rule-breaking is affecting his judgment,
then you can step in and you can worry,
but if he's just coming up with ideas
that we haven't thought of but we should have,
then our job is to shut up and do it.
And what do you see in this guy?
Hmm? What? Who?
Oh. You think I'm attracted to our patient?
Right.
It's against the rules,
so you wouldn't do it.
He's a macho half-wit.
You have every reason to not be attracted to him,
which is why I ask the question.
Why are you attracted to him?
Stop it. I'm just...
No, no, no. Take out the scope. But I don't see...
Not the monitor. Look at his eyes.
Sclerae turned yellow. Did X-rays.
Looks like there's a mass in his liver,
but the conductive metal rod in his ribs
is blocking it.
Making it, as they say,
as tough to find as a hooker who can play the hurdy-gurdy.
If you have a point, can you please...
It's an expression.
Means it's tough,
but apparently it can be done.
If we don't have any equipment...
You have eyes.
Not that see through stuff.
Obviously.
You want us to cut him open?
Only if you want to see
what's wrong with him.
Do you know Free Bird?
Do you see what I see?
No.
Exactly.
More suction.
That's impossible.
I definitely saw a mass on the X-rays.
It's gone now.
It's a mass...
And then it's not.
You, uh, gonna introduce us?
Team, meet Duke.
Anke.
Anke? How'd I get Duke?
House, how many prostitutes have you had?
As in eaten?
Ever? This year?
Slept with. Since you've been here.
All but one.
She did my taxes.
On the other hand,
tapeworm that burrowed outside his intestinal...
We would have seen eggs
on a fecal smear
or systemic eosinophilia.
Detached cyst?
Couldn't migrate that far
in one hour.
We haven't been sitting on our hands
just waiting for your brilliance to kick in.
Okay, so how did you shoot down
intermittently swollen lymph node?
That would mean it's some kind of an infection,
which would mean we'd have to do a spinal tap.
But with his recent skull fractures,
it could be an increased ICP.
His brain could herniate.
What about a ventricular puncture?
Sounds good.
You think sticking a needle directly into his brain
would be less dangerous than sticking it in his spine?
It's probably a push.
I'm just trying to get you out of here,
because underneath this sheet,
stuff is going on.
Just pick a spot and stick a needle in it.
You want to drill through my skull
because of a mass that's not there?
It was there, which means something is wrong.
We need to find it.
Is there anybody you'd like us to call?
Someone that you'd like to be here with you?
Maybe a wife or girlfriend?
No, my family's all back in Oklahoma,
and the guys on the circuit
are in Calgary at the next rodeo.
Ah, that's too bad.
It's nice to have somebody nearby
you can talk to who cares.
You okay?
Hmm?
You just sang, "it's good to have somebody near by
to talk to who cares."
Okay, fine. I like him. So what?
No kidding. I just can't figure out why.
Yeah.
Neither can I.
Looks clear.
Nothing is suggesting inflammation.
Something's wrong.
O-2 stats are plummeting. We need to intubate.
Drop the table.
I can't get it in.
The airway's blocked. Get the trach kit.
O-2 are going back up.
What's that smell?
Did he defecate?
Doesn't look like it.
I think it's his feet.
Oh.
Oh, man.
Ugh.
It's definitely his feet.
Please don't.
That is a nice bow.
That was a nice door.
Put it on my tab.
Let's say we take it up a notch.
Yeah, right. Very funny.
You don't trust me?
No.
I'll do it.
And we have a gamer.
Oh, come on, man.
You can't be serious.
Why not?
Anything goes wrong, we just take her to the doctor.
And I'm only eight paces away.
House... I like you, Carnell.
Don't ruin it.
Stinky feet can point to diabetes,
athlete's foot, or gangrene... Pick one.
No!
Uh, none.
None of those cause bloody sputum
or disappearing masses.
No. No. No. No.
You're gonna kill her.
Don't do that, Carnell.
They might get the idea that I'm shooting at a hooker.
Fungal infection can cause ulceration between the toes
and bleeding could be from recurring abscesses
that appear to be recurring masses.
Symptoms in the head or feet
mean the infection would have to be
in the heart or the brain.
I say we start by looking in the heart,
because looking at his brain
with a metal plate is problematic.
So's MRI'ing his heart.
He's got a seven-centimeter conductive metal rod
holding his rib together. It'll rip him in two.
No, it'll just feel like it's ripping him in two,
which is much better.
We could minimize the damage
by injecting ice water into his abdominal cavity.
No. Please, no.
Oh, God!
Oops.
Got to go.
Call an ambulance!
Why?
What do you mean why?
She's hurt!
She doesn't look hurt.
No, you didn't.
Yes, we did.
You're an ass.
Okay. Go get me, uh, general Patton's colt 45.
The one with the two notches.
He's not getting you a gun.
Your friend knows how to have a good time.
The MRI magnets are gonna heat the metal.
Could get to over 300 degrees
in 15 seconds.
Which is why we're injecting ice water
into your abdominal cavity.
You'll feel colder than you've ever felt,
and then you'll be hotter...
Um, you'll feel hotter than you've ever felt.
We'll try to be as quick as possible.
Wow.
Shut up.
It's interesting.
No, it's not.
It's mundane and simple.
He's obviously a very blessed specimen,
so from an evolutionary point of view,
he'd produce healthy offspring,
so my prefrontal cortex is telling me
I should have sex with him.
Oh. Is that all? Yes.
My rational brain knows he's a hillbilly and an idiot.
And yet somehow your rational brain
is losing the argument, which is interesting.
You were bored.
You must have spent about two days
setting up a fake murder, and you were bored.
I'm fine.
You're not.
And I'm worried you might do something even stupider.
Why don't you move back in with me?
At least until you get back on track.
What an ego.
You think you're some sort of emotional paragon?
You're my rock?
I'm trying to be a friend.
At least I have the good sense
not to marry every woman I fall into bed with.
Maybe you should move in with me.
Either way. If you prefer...
I prefer you to stop talking about this.
House, we haven't even started talking about this
except to establish the fact that you are fine,
which clearly you aren't.
Leave me alone!
No.
We are gonna talk about this,
and we're gonna deal with this.
So I have no choice?
Fine.
Unless...
Unless... Yes, I do.
I do have legs.
I see you didn't factor those into your brilliant plan.
Lane, can you try to hold still?
I'm trying.
Real hard.
Guy is tough. I'll give him that.
My prefrontal cortex is a little aroused.
Just get the damn picture.
Rib temp is at 158.
I don't have a clear view of his aorta yet.
This isn't gonna work. We have to stop.
No. You're trying to protect him
instead of trying to save him.
He's smoking.
Literally, you ass.
Five more seconds.
No, getting a good image
isn't gonna mean anything
if he doesn't have a rib cage.
Got it.
Whew.
The images, they're normal.
Whew.
Ah. Whew.
You're gonna have to talk to him eventually.
He needs you.
I love him.
And I know he loves me.
But I just can't...
He needs you in his life.
Even if you're not sleeping with him, he needs you.
Without you...
You can't go backwards.
I can't fix his problem.
I am his problem.
If the infection's not in his heart,
then it's in his brain.
You're in my sun.
Do a CT. We can't.
He has a titanium plate
and a bunch of metal screws.
Get rid of them.
His skull has multiple hairline fractures.
Removing the metal plate
will be like removing
half an eggshell without cracking
the rest of the shell.
And not removing the plate
will be like leaving the egg out to rot.
We can't cut off the top of his head
based on a few symptoms that disappear
whenever we try to test for them.
What if the one symptom that hasn't disappeared
was never actually there?
Any delays when he answers questions?
He doesn't have partial hearing loss.
He's missing moments.
He reported having something
like a complex partial seizure during a bull ride.
Said it hasn't happened since, but what if he's wrong?
What if the infection in the brain
is causing it to happen all the time?
His E.E.G. didn't show any sign of seizure activity.
I didn't say it was a seizure.
I said it was something like a seizure.
And I'm guessing you're about to tell us
we need to find something like an E.E.G. to prove...
Nope, 'cause I already got one.
You want me to sing?
How's singing My Bonnie gonna help you see inside my brain?
It won't.
It's just gonna prove that we need
to cut into your skull,
which is gonna be kind of dangerous.
So you've got a real incentive to sing like an angel.
We think you're having mini blackouts,
but your brain compensates.
But it can't compensate if there's a preset rhythm.
One, two, three.
See? Told ya.
Lane, that wasn't even close.
That was brilliant.
Yeah.
It's understandable.
I hate when you do that.
You respond to what you think I'm thinking,
because you think that I think like you do.
It's insulting and annoying.
You're scared because nothing excites you.
Fun doesn't excite you.
Puzzles don't excite you.
What's left?
And I was saying you're right.
You're upset. You're depressed.
Everything's gonna taste a little worse right now,
but it'll pass.
It's understandable.
You're scared because you think I'm falling apart,
and you're trying to convince yourself
that you're overreacting.
Keeps ringing.
Yeah.
House, there's no infection in this guy's brain.
CT's clean.
Well, that sucks.
Now we have to blow up his heart.
We're not blowing up his heart,
because we've ruled out his heart.
MRI and transesophageal echo reveal no swelling,
no masses, no vegetation,
no sign of anything.
'Cause we're looking the wrong way.
There's an imperfection.
How do you find where?
I don't know. Get a magnifying glass and...
You suck.
Feel free to interpret that both ways.
Suck on the straw,
see where the drink leaks.
You're saying we put pressure on his aorta
until it rips open?
You do realize the downside of that?
If we don't rip it,
the damage from the infection will,
probably not when he's got his chest open in an O.R.
where it can be repaired inside the 60 seconds
it'll take him to bleed to death.
It's a ridiculous idea.
It won't work.
Now if you don't mind...
Get this guy's approval to rip his heart open.
Hey.
We think you have a Bartonella infection,
which caused a mycotic aneurysm in your aortic wall.
We need to find it,
which means we need to blow up your heart.
And, yes, I'm as serious as a heart attack.
We're going to increase your blood pressure
until the weak spot in your aortic wall explodes.
Hopefully we'll be able to fix it
before you bleed to death.
Any questions?
Nope.
Really?
You don't even want to know
if you'll be able to go back to bull riding?
I assume no?
I mean, you've already cracked open my skull,
and now you're gonna blow up my heart.
Thought you loved those eight seconds.
I do.
And now you're telling me that I got to give them up.
I can always find something else to love.
House.
We need to talk.
You didn't expect me to say yes
to rupturing his aorta, did you?
Since I didn't ask,
I wasn't expecting you to say anything at all.
You have no reason to believe this will save his life.
Really?
No reason? None at all?
I'm just planning on cracking open his chest,
blowing up his heart, what, to pad his bill?
Or you think that since you broke my heart
I want to break his.
I don't know.
I think maybe you're looking for something
that can excite you.
Fill a void.
And it's affecting your judgment.
You're right. I am.
My damaged, depressed, drug-addled judgment
is still better than yours
or any other doctor in this hospital,
and my team is gonna do this procedure and save his life.
So you can either have security arrest me and my team,
or you can get the hell out of my way.
And she caves.
Rib spreader in place.
Heart looks good.
The aorta's exposed.
I take it you ratted me out to Cuddy.
I think your judgment is compromised.
No, you don't.
Come on.
I got a squash game at 2:00.
Let's give this cowboy a ride.
If I inject more,
there won't be any room for the blood
to go through the rest of his body.
You're right.
Let's make damn sure we don't damage his toes
while we blow up his heart.
No bubbles, no bruising, no gaps.
It's not working.
Yes, it is.
I was wrong.
Not yet.
Let's switch him over to bypass for the debridement.
Come on. We don't have much time.
Slow the heart down so it doesn't...
Damn.
Clamp.
We can't clamp the aorta at this pressure.
Even if you can see through all the blood.
Do it anyway.
We need suction and more sponges.
Leak is too fast.
No, it's not. We can fix this.
It worked.
House, it worked.
I heard you.
Hey.
I'm awake, so I guess it worked.
As long as you don't get your heart rate too high.
You, uh, probably shouldn't have sex for a while.
I'll keep that in mind.
Want to hang out, see your ranch sometime?
Uh...
That would probably be inappropriate,
'cause I'm your doctor and everything.
Good luck with everything.
I...
Double scotch. Doubled.
Uh, blended? Single malt? Any preference?
No.
Yeah, sorry about the noise.
I guess, uh, their team won.
Although I got to tell you,
sometimes I wish I could still act like that, you know?
Just let loose.
Ah, I guess it's a little easier, though,
when you got no troubles.
Parents still paying your bills.
Got your whole life ahead of you.
No!
Cannonball!
What the hell are you doing?
What do you do when you win?
Party!
What do you do when you lose?
Party harder!
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