As House and his team work on the diagnosis of Vince, a man with a giant swollen tongue, disgruntled former patient Jack Moriarty (guest star Elias Koteas) …
(House)
He's got a temperature
of 103.

And why do we care?
Because we're
human beings.
It's what we do.
He said he was
at a luncheon meeting.
You took his history?
Guy looks like Harpo.
You should see him.
You asked him what book
he's currently reading.
(House)
It's hilarious
to watch him try and talk.

I asked him anything
I could think of.
Favorite color:
"Bwoo."
Favorite dessert topping?
Trust me, you never know
what fact may prove
the key to saving your life.
Whipped cweam.
(House)
I asked him if he was sure.

Where are you going?
You're an ass.
I know.
Where are you going?
This is either a toxin,
an infection,
or an allergic reaction.
I assume you gave him epi,
so that rules out allergies.

Put him on antibiotics
in case it's an infection.
And if it's a toxin,
we'll keep him here
overnight,

let the swelling go down,
send him home.

I'm going to the movies.
Which one of you is House?
The skinny brunette.
No, that's
Dr. Cameron.
I'm skinny.
How do you know her name?
I was a patient of yours.
Oh, well, if you want to leave
the chocolates downstairs–
[gunshot]
Stay!
Stay away from him.
Shocking, isn't it?
Who'd want to hurt you?
[gunshot]
[Massive Attack's Teardrop]
♪ ♪
You're pathetic.
Judging by the growth,
I'd say I've been
unconscious for two days.
Have you been sitting there
the whole time?
No.
Judging by the oily buildup
in your hair,
I'd say you're lying.
I was scared.
Pardon me for caring.
Did I lose any organs?
The bullet to your abdomen
pierced your stomach,
nicked the bowel,
lodged in the posterior rib.
Well, I always say,
if you're gonna get shot,
do it in a hospital.
The one in your neck–
I don't remember that one.
Went right through,
severed your jugular.
The shooter turns out
to be a guy–
Don't care.
You don't care why a guy
walked into a hospital
and shot a doctor?
Shot you?
I assume his reasoning
was faulty.
So what was it?
Infection?
The surgery went fine.
You've had no post-op–
Not me.
Patient.
Harpo.
You just got shot, House.
You should rest.
I got shot.
Diagnostically boring.
Big fat tongue,
on the other hand…
endlessly entertaining.
We biopsied his tongue.
(House)
And it was negative.

And the blood tests
were negative.
I didn't say
we did blood tests.
You don't biopsy a tongue
unless you have
to biopsy a tongue.
And you don't have to
biopsy a tongue

unless you've already
come up with nothing
on a routine battery of tests
which don't involve
torturing your patient.
Any new symptoms?
Other than the increased
intracranial pressure?
Any guesses on how
I figured that one out?
You knew the next step
would be a lumbar puncture.
A lumbar puncture
would almost certainly
give us a definitive answer.
Since we don't have
a definitive answer,
we must not have done an LP,
and the most common reason

to not do an LP is increased
intracranial pressure.

He was shot by security
trying to–
House, what are you–
House.
I'm talking to Cuddy.
Lie down.
You've got to be in pain.
Not today.
Today I'm on morphine.
You're going to
rip your stitches out.
Check Harpo's trash.
Forget about the patient.
Come on.
You're curious.
Trash?
You don't know
what I'm talking about,
but you know it's good.
You can't just be
walking around.
Well, then stop me.
You've lost blood–
Physically stop me.
You could damage–
You can't.
Because that would involve
physically touching me,
and then things would get
so sexually charged–
I'm twice your size.
Get your hands off me.
Everything that lives, eats.
Everything that eats, poops.
That's why every organ
has a sanitation department.
The lymph system.
Whatever's doing the damage
is dumping its waste
in there.
That's what you meant
by trash.
Biopsy the lymph node
under the jaw.
I'm sorry,
I know it's crazy,
but there's no other place.
It's the ICU.
It stands for intensive care.

He needs intensive care,
so do you.

He needs to be shot again.
He is handcuffed to his bed.
He is sedated.
He's not going to hurt you.
If your security was any good,
I wouldn't have been shot
in the first place.
He is where
he's supposed to be.
Where you're supposed to be–
Who did my surgery?
Gillick, why?
You going to send him
a fruit basket?
He screwed up.
It's annoying enough
dealing with
your Vicodin habit.
Quit upping your morphine.
I'm not.
I'm reducing it.
And you're not in pain?
I'm feeling better.
Gillick is very good.
Your recovery time–
My stomach kills me,
my neck is throbbing,
but my leg feels better.
That's amazing.
It's unbelievable.
Since getting shot
is not an FDA
approved treatment
for anything,
it means something
must have gone wrong
in the surgery.
Yes, terribly…
tragically wrong.
Enjoy the mistake.
He must have nicked something
in my peripheral
nervous system.

If it's alleviating pain,
who knows
what else it's doing?
Get back to the ICU
before you rip out
your stitches,

and I have to chain you
to your bed.
[morphine drip beeps]
[moaning]
Why did you try to kill me?
I didn't.
Then the gun thing
might have been a mistake.
If I'd have killed you,
it would have been over.
I needed you to live.
Because I want
to see you suffer.
[drip alarm beeping]
[pained moans]
Get the needle out of there.
He can't breathe.
House.
The test was negative.
Are you sure you want
to be doing this?
I'm fine.
I think.
Cameron,
you got my records?
They don't like to release
patient's operative notes.
And yet you're holding them.
And whispering.
He's sleeping.
Yeah.
Killer needs his rest.
Otherwise
he's grumpy all day.
Hey!
Wake up.
Watch me save a life.
Almost for sure it's
some sort of infection.
We've got him on
broad spectrum antibiotics,
but it's not even
slowing the thing down.
Unless we figure out
what type of infection,

we can't treat,
and we can't figure out

what type
because we can't do an LP.
Do an LP.
See what I did there?
Couldn't have done that
if you'd killed me.
We would have done an LP
two days ago if we could have.
But that much pressure,
something's bound to go–
We would have done an LP
two days ago
if the risks hadn't so obviously
outweighed the benefits.
We just cut a hole
in his throat.
The equation has changed.
Couldn't have
put it better myself.
(Foreman)
Pressure…

120 millimeters H2O,
with small visible excursions
related to
respiration and pulse.
Well within normal,
that's good.
No, that's weird.
You want to hear a story?
I have a rule.
People who shoot me
forfeit the right–
My wife was sick.
None of the doctors
could figure out why.
Oh, I know this story.
She died.
So you selected
one of her doctors to kill,
because that would
make everything
right again.
She lived.
You cured her.
I'm truly sorry
I did that.
In the course
of investigating her illness,
you convinced me
that everything was relevant.
You needed the truth.
I confessed to you
that I'd had an affair.
But it turns out
that it had nothing to do
with why she was sick.
Genetic predisposition
to brain aneurysms.

You told her that.
You also told her
about my affair.
And you caught crap,
she left you,
and now I've got to pay
because you couldn't
keep your little killer
in your pants.
She killed herself.
What sort of hospital
has glass walls?
That's my husband.
Really?
You thought I just liked
watching people
get needles poked
in the back?
Nope.
I figured a coworker
or a sister.
Not wife.
Why?
Don't worry.
It's not insulting.
At least not to you.
You're satisfied
by that answer?
You're Dr. House,
aren't you?
You're not going to
shoot me, are you?
You treated
a friend of mine.
She told me you only
talk to people
if you have to.
And then you insult them
while showing off
how insightful you are.
Sevens marry sevens.
Nines marry nines.
Fours marry fours.
Maybe there's some wiggle room
if there's enough money,
or somebody got pregnant.
But you've got at least
three points on your husband,
and your frock says
you didn't do it
for the money.

And your breasts say that
you haven't had any kids.
So you figure my marriage
is a mathematical error?
Numbers don't lie.
We're having trouble
finding out
what infection
your husband has.

The most likely culprit
is an STD.
You want to know
if I've had an affair
with someone
closer to my integer.
And I have to tell you
the truth,
or my husband will die.
Is your friend single?
No.
And I've always been faithful.
(Foreman)
Wow.
I would've bet money
something would go wrong.
Let's rotate him back.
(Foreman)
He's bleeding
into his ocular orbit.

LP wouldn't do this.
Lots of pressure behind.
Gotta relieve it.
What's going on?
What–what are they doing?
I should go.
I seem to have
torn my stitches.
You collapsed in the hall.
Tore your stitches.
I remember.
I was there.
How's your gut?
It's hurting?
You shoot the guy
who sold her the gun?
She locked herself
in the garage,

and she started the car.
You shoot the guy who sold her
the garage door opener?
You're an ass.
That is a bold position to take,
given that I shot you.
The shooting just
makes you an idiot.

You're an ass because you're
trying to wrap it in the flag,
like you did a good thing.
You're an ass
and a hypocrite.
You don't believe in rules.
You do whatever
you think is right.

That's all I did.
You were my role model.
Watch out.
You're getting crumbs
on the flag.
I didn't commit
to honor her.

I didn't commit
to never lie to her.
Well, if you'd
kept your mouth shut,
she'd be alive,
and you wouldn't be shot.
If you'd kept your pistols
in your pants–
It's my fault she's dead.
I know it.
But why can't you admit
that it's maybe just
a little bit yours too?
That maybe it's not just
medical mistakes
that screw things up.
Here's how life works.
You either get to ask
for an apology,
or you get to shoot people.
Not both.
(House)
Infections don't
make your eyes pop out.

(Chase)
We should get back.

You're supposed to be
chained to your bed.

(House)
I'm not done eating.

There's got to be some sort of
bleeding disorder.
This is really stupid.
Look, if my stitches
pop out again,
I got three doctors
to save me.
Could be some sort
of weakness
in the lining
of the ocular veins.
Okay, I'll be you guys.
[as Chase]
No way, mate.
Too much blood
to just be a vein.
[as Foreman]
No way, hizzie.
If it was an artery,
he'd still be bleeding.
[as Cameron]
Actually,
he'd be dead.
He could have had a granuloma
in his sinuses that bled,
which could have been
caused by Wegener's.
I think the surgeon would have
noticed a giant growth
while they were
sticking the eyeball back in.
Tongue and eyes are sick.
What about the nose?
It's right in between.
Why isn't it sick?
So it's not spreading.
It's got a common source.
Which can only be what?
The brain,
except the CT was clean.
Check the brain's trash,
see what it's hiding.
The brain doesn't have
a lymph system.
I know.
All its garbage
just blows off,
gets caught in the snow fence
by the side of the road.
You're referring
to the blood-brain barrier.
What else?
Biopsy the barrier.
Wouldn't it be safer
to make a few
educated guesses first?
Try some relatively
safe treatments?
Biopsy the barrier.
But first, start him
on mebendazole
in case it's a worm.
And levofloxacin in case
it's an infection
that slipped by
the first antibiotic.
And azithromycin
for STDs.
I really don't think the wife
is the kind to be
messing around.
If I was married to her,
I certainly wouldn't–
(Cameron)
House.

The patient isn't married.
He's a widower.
Really, it's more helpful
if you do the prescribed rehab
yourself.
My body is fine.
My mind, on the other hand…
Maybe she was a girlfriend.
Maybe she was just trying
to jerk you around.
I spoke to every one
of the nurses on that floor.
The patient had only had
six visitors.
Two females, no babes.
His mother and his aunt.
So they missed someone.
They're not security.
My posse never saw
her or me talking
on the other side
of the glass.
They were a little busy trying
to save the guy's life.
There's only
one possible conclusion.
It was a hallucination.
What does that
look like to you?
Point-six?
Anesthesia?
No.
It's got to be
six and a smudge.

Let's say you're right.
It wouldn't be that uncommon
after trauma.
After that much blood loss?
If my perceptions
are compromised,
then my judgment
is compromised.
What if his wife told me
that the patient
just got bit
by a rabid Vietnamese leper?
So pull yourself off the case.
And the next case?
You take two weeks.
You recover.
What if I don't?
What if it wasn't
the shooting?
The guy who sees connections
between everything
sees no connection
between being shot
and minor brain disruptions?
What if it was the surgery?
What if it was
the fact that

you tore out your stitches
and lost two pints of blood?
Why did Gillick give me ketamine
during my surgery?
Working.
We need to talk.
Get back to the ICU.
Who un-cuffed you?
Why would a surgeon
administer ketamine?
Who showed you
your surgical file?
How do you know it's mine?
Because your patient
hasn't had surgery,
and you don't care
about anybody else.
My anesthesia
was almost nonexistent,
and yet I wasn't awake.
For some reason,
somebody decided to put me
in a dissociative coma
instead of just
putting me out.
There are plenty
of reasons to use–
Fine.
I'll go beat the truth
out of my surgeon.
Gillick, right?
It worked.
There's a clinic in Germany.
They've been treating
chronic pain by inducing comas,
and letting the mind
basically reboot itself.
There's about a 50% chance
your pain will come back.

Which of course means there is
a 50% chance that it won't.
You had no right–
To heal you?
You messed with my brain.
Why are you so upset?
Are you experiencing
any neurological symptoms?
Dizziness, tremors,
hallucinations?
No.
It's a point of principle.
Test was negative.
No trash against the fence.
Is your leg really better?
Don't worry, I'm sure
something else is wrong.
We did find blood.
On which side?
The wrong side.
First thing that makes sense.
The wrong side's the wrong side.
It can't make sense.
It'd mess with his brain.
Wouldn't cause fever.
He's been sleeping
a lot lately.
You worried?
I marked a change of meds
on his chart.
Foreign object.
Body wants to get rid of it.
It causes the fever.
Blood's a foreign object?
(Foreman)
In the brain lining, it is.

Blood dyscrasia means cancer.
Find it.
All the tests–
Have been negative.
What do you do
if your trash cans are full?
You use your neighbors'
trash cans.
Except it's
still light outside.

Your neighbor will see you.
So you go out the back way,
into an alley,
and drop off your trash
by their garage.
We'll check the lymphatic system
in the chest.
You got that from trash cans
in the alley?
The saliva glands
from the tongue
are connected to the lymphatic
system in the lungs.
It's the next
lymphatic system over.
Yeah.
Go get lung lymph.
How did he know that?
I wouldn't have hired him
if he wasn't smart.
Right.
Because you have
nothing but respect for him.
Maybe he knew the answer
because the question
wasn't nearly as tricky
as you thought.
Maybe he's not
getting smarter.

You're getting dumber.
You pretend
to buck the system.
Pretend to be a rebel.
You claim to hate rules.
But all you do is
substitute your own rules
for society's.
And it's a nice,
simple rule.

Tell the blunt,
honest truth

in the starkest,
darkest way.

And what will be
will be.

What will be
should be.

And everyone else is a coward.
But you're wrong.
It's not cowardly
to not call someone an idiot.
People aren't
tactful or polite

just because it's nice.
They do it because they've got
an ounce of humility.
Because they know that
they will make mistakes,
and they know that
their actions

have consequences.
And they know that
those consequences
are their fault.
Why do you want so bad
not to be human, House?
Oh, he's awake.
House, we need
to talk to you.
How the hell did you know
I was awake?
Your nostrils flare
when you sleep.
No, they do not.
Fine, I'm lying.
Test was negative.
You knew?
Force of habit.
(Foreman)
Showed no cancer.

No reason why he's got
a fever of 103,
and no reason why his tongue
won't fit in his mouth.
He's post-op.
Chase is getting him
up and around.
It's important that you're up
ASAP after surgery.
You think you can urinate?
[pained moan]
It's getting bigger!
What, you're…
getting aroused?
No!
Not that part.
Oh, God, it hurts.
It's not stopping.
Aah!

Surgeons found no evidence
of a burst artery.
The blood had
to come from somewhere.
You took a shower in it.
Trauma?
You think someone snuck in here
just to kick him in the jewels?
And poke out his eye,
and swell up his tongue?
Keep riding.
I got a bet with my physio
that I can do 100 klicks
by Friday.

What about blood
from the kidneys?
Kidneys drain
into the bladder,
which drains into
the ureter.
There's no way it would mess
with the scrotum.
Yeah.
Basic human anatomy.
Therefore, I think
it's safe to assume

that the problem
lies elsewhere.
But given that this case
doesn't make any kind
of sense whatsoever,
maybe we should
even question the basics.
Maybe he's not human.
(House)
An anatomical defect
would seem more likely,

but let's not
rule that one out.
Even more likely,
he is human,
his anatomy is
where it's supposed to be,
but he has testicular cancer.
(Cameron)
We tested for cancer.

(Foreman)
We tested the lymph system
in his chest.

(Chase)
Surgeons found no growth.

(Foreman)
Surgeons were just trying

to put everything
back where it was.

They weren't
doing an inventory.

May have been lucky.
If you don't catch
testicular cancer early,
it kills.
Probably eroded some vessel.
Yeah, I know.
The question is why
I didn't think of it.
Eyes popping out
is a rather odd presentation.
Sack blowing up,
on the other hand…
If you could think
of everything yourself,
you wouldn't need
a team to annoy.
I screwed up
some basic anatomy.
And I missed connecting
a testicular explosion
with a testicular problem.
You think there's any way
I would have done that
before Cuddy
messed with my brain?
She was trying to help you,
and it worked.
Yeah, I can run
like the wind,
but I can't think.
And seeing as how
I'm too old
to become
a professional athlete,
it looks to me as if
she screwed me over big time.
You don't want
a healthy leg.
Oh, here we go.
If you've got a good life,
if you're healthy,
you've got no reason
to bitch.
No reason to hate life.
Here's the flaw
in your argument.
If I enjoy hating life,
I don't hate life.
I enjoy it.
I didn't say
it was rational.
HIV testing is 99% accurate,
which means there are
some people who test positive
who live
with their own impending doom
for months, or years,
before finding out
everything's okay.
Weirdly, most of them
don't react with happiness.
Or even anger.
They get depressed.
Not because
they wanted to die,
but because
they've defined themselves
by their disease.
Suddenly, what made them
them isn't real.
I don't define myself
by my leg.
No, you have taken it
one step further.
The only way you could come
to terms with your disability
was to somehow
make it mean nothing.
So you had to
redefine everything.
You have dismissed
anything physical.
Anything not coldly,
calculatingly intellectual.
Why are you protecting her?
Because she's done
nothing wrong.
You're completely comfortable
with what she did to me?
Yeah, I am.
Yeah.
You agonize
over moral choices.
You're not completely
comfortable with anything
until you've taken days
to get your head around
every possible side.
I've known what she did
for six hours.
How come you're acting
like you've known for days?
What do I have?
You're not sick.
What do I have?
You need to calm down.
I have my brain!
And that's it!
We were trying to help you.
Yeah, nobody tries
to screw up!
They just do.
You were out of control.
You were shooting morphine–
I can make people better!
And you two decide to trade that
for jogging shoes.
If you're suffering
from side effects,
then we can look at that–
You value the physical so much.
Let me put this in terms
you can understand.
You're unbelievable.
Even when you're
out of your mind

with anger and fear,
you still couch it
in logical terms.
Are you hallucinating?
Yeah, I'm hallucinating!
No, I mean right now.
[Moriarty's voice]
Are you hallucinating?
How did you know I was…
You were yelling at me.
You were calling me Wilson.
No.
You're losing it, House.
I never call Wilson
by his name.
Oh, yeah, right.
The hallucinator is going to
tell the hallucinatee
what happened.
You're not the hallucinatee.
Wilson was the hallucinatee.
You think maybe you're focusing
on the wrong thing here?
Cuddy's office
was the hallucinatee.

The bathroom
was the hallucinatee.
Bathroom.
It figures.
What figures?
You wet your bed.
Damn it.
Test was negative.
No.
AFP and Beta HCG
say no testicular cancer.
So, let's recap.
We've just
ruled out everything.

Which doesn't make sense.
So the answer
has to be something
that doesn't make sense.
Do a cystoscopy.
Make sure he's human.
Test was negative.
For him being human?
Everything was right where
it's supposed to be.
All the tubes go
where they're supposed to go.
Most likely scenario
is some kind of
bacterial prostatitis.
Hmm.
Find out
if his father hunched.
His father
have trouble peeing?
His father have sex
with his own mother?
If the answers
to any of these questions

is yes, assume you're right.
If the answers are no,
assume you're right,
but biopsy some prostate lymphs
just to be sure.
But…
Then we'd have to
cut through his stomach.

And since he's clearly
got a bleeding problem,
this kind of surgery might–
He doesn't clearly
have anything.
How did I get here?
What are you talking about?
I was in the ICU.
And then I was coming down
these stairs with you guys.
What happened in between?
I don't remember
how I got here.
I'm taking myself
off my case.
Your patient's
in critical care.
He's had a fever unabated
for two–
I'm losing my mind.
I'm having blackouts.
You said you weren't
having any–
I lied.
If you are doing this
to scare me,
you made your point.
Next time you get shot,
I promise to only treat
the bullet wounds.
I'm off the case.
Why did you jump up
when I came in?
I thought you were
going to attack me again.
Again?
Yeah, you were
in my face.
You were–
No, I wasn't.
You came in here
with Wilson and–
That was a hallucination.
No, you–
Which means this is
a hallucination.
How can I tell
what's real and what's not?
Everything looks the same.
Sounds the same.
Tastes the same.
Seems like I'd be
the last person
you'd want to ask.
Why not?
You're obviously not here.
I'm obviously not here.
Which means this is
a creation of my mind,
which means I'm really
just asking myself.
Well, if you're
talking to yourself,
that's a lot of
unnecessary explanation.
Hey, I'm trying
to work this out.
That requires give and take,
even in my own mind.
What was the question?
How can I tell what's real?
Does it matter?
That doesn't sound like
something I'd ask.
All right.
Your concern is that if you
act in the real world
based on information
that's not real,
the results
are impossible to foresee.
With you so far.
But information
is incapable of harm
in and of itself.
Ideas are neither
good nor bad,
but merely as useful
as what we do with them.
Only actions can cause harm.
That sounds like me.
So you do nothing.
You refrain
from taking any actions.
You continue
to throw out your ideas
as you always would,
but if they're based on
faulty assumptions,
your team
will point that out.
They won't do anything
that could hurt him.
So I trust my team.
Test was negative.
No blood in the prostate.
No structural abnormalities.
If something
doesn't make sense,
what does that mean?
It's not rhetorical.
I need your input
on everything I ask,

no matter how obvious
it might seem.
It means you're wrong.
It means one
of your assumptions is wrong.
Because if something
doesn't make sense,
it can't be real.
So, what are our assumptions?
We don't have any.
We're just
guessing on testing.
We assume the tests are right.
We've already redone them.
Twice.
Let's go more basic.
What's more basic
than the test results?
The tests themselves.
What does a biopsy consist of?
You take a sample.
Define sample.
It's a small
representative piece
of whatever you think
is the problem.
(House)
You go down to the shore,

you fill a cup of water.
It's got no fish in it.
Does that mean
no fish in the ocean?
We can do another biopsy.
We could fill
another cup of water.
We gotta dive in.
We gotta see
what's actually in there.
We can't operate.
He's got a bleeding problem.
We assume he's got
a bleeding problem.
Yeah, because he bled
from where he wasn't
supposed to bleed,
causing parts of his body
to blow up.
Assuming that crazy assumption
is correct,

if we operate on him,
we'll kill him.
What if we could find a way
to do this surgery
without giving him
more than a paper cut?
You want to let a robot
operate on me?
The technology is amazing.
It magnifies everything
ten times.
It's ten times
the accuracy.
No way.
I want a person.
A person
will be controlling–
People suck.
People have turned you
from a guy with
a swollen tongue

into a guy with one eye,
one ball,
and a stapled-on face.
If you want
someone to hold you

while you cry yourself
to sleep at night,

choose warm and soft.
If you want someone
to write you a poem,
pick the sensitive loner.
But if all you care about
is that something's done right,

pick the guy
with the metal head.
No way.
No way, no way.
You gotta see this thing
in action before you say no way.
Come on.
House.
What are you doing?
Nothing.
I'm not doing anything.
Just throwing out ideas.
I think
you should put him
in a wheelchair,
take him down
to the O.R.
But I may be out of my mind.
Relax, Cameron.
I'm not going to cut you.
I just want to show
what this puppy can do.
It can make
one-millimeter incisions.
You know how small that is?
It's small even in metric.
If I do something
that doesn't make sense,

even to you,
stop me.
Delicate, no?
[air blowing]
House.
Does that hurt?
Seen enough?
No.
That wasn't a question.
You either do this,
or you die.
You've wasted
your life.
Yeah.
If only I'd spent more time
dedicating myself
to finding someone
worthy to shoot.
If I had killed you,
would it have mattered?
Not to me.
Have you got a pen?
You don't care
if you live or die?
I care because I live.
I can't care if I'm dead.
I don't want
to hear semantics.
You anti-semantic bastard.
Would anybody care
that the world lost that wit?
Working here.
That's all right.
You don't have to say anything.

Just let me soak
into your subconscious.
You think that
the only truth that matters

is the truth
that can be measured.

Good intentions
don't count.

What's in your heart
doesn't count.

Caring doesn't count.
But a man's life
can be measured

by how many tears
are shed when he dies.

Just because
you can't measure them,

just because you don't want
to measure them,

doesn't mean it's not real.
That does not make sense.
And even
if I'm wrong,

you're still miserable.
Did you really think
that your life's purpose

was to sacrifice yourself
and get nothing in return?

No.
You believe
there's no purpose to anything.

Even the lives you save,
you dismiss.

You turn the one decent thing
in your life,

and you taint it,
strip it of all meaning.
You're miserable for nothing.
I don't know
why you'd want to live.

I'm sorry.
I know what's wrong.
House, get out of here.
You're not sterile.
He'll be fine.
(Chase)
Great.

What's he got?
How come you guys
have never tried
to yank me off this case?
I'm having hallucinations.
Blackouts.
But you're always insane,
and you're always right.
I'm almost always
eventually right.
You have no way of knowing
when "eventually" is.
Every time I've had
an epiphany on this one,
you guys were right on board.
No challenges,
no need to explain.
No offense, but either
you guys are getting smarter,
or I'm getting dumber.
We've worked with you
long enough to know–
I know the test results
even before
you enter the room.
We have identical knowledge.
How is that possible?
You're wrong.
If something
doesn't make sense,
one of your assumptions
has to be wrong.
Because if something
doesn't make sense,
it can't be real.
But what if
the faulty assumption
is that it's real?
House, you're losing it.
I've lost it.
Why did you stop me?
Because I think
you're going to kill him.
No, you don't think that.
You know it.
Because you're in my head.
As long as the delusion
makes sense,

my mind lets it go on.
I have to make it
not make sense.
I have to…
push it past the point
where it can trick my mind.
Hey, hey.
If this is a nightmare,
you're gonna wake up.
If it's real,
you're killing a man.
It's also possible
that I may already be dead.
But I don't believe
in the afterlife.
House,
go back to your room.
If this is a hallucination,
it's a good one.
You're pain free,
you can walk–
It's not real.
Therefore, it's meaningless.
I want meaning.
[monitor beeping]
[monitor flatlines]
Oh, God.
Goodbye.
(Foreman)
He was shot.

Twice.
Once in the abdomen,
once in the neck.

Hello.
It's going to be okay.
You're gonna be okay.
You don't know nothing.
Tell Cuddy…
I want ketamine.
Captioning by Courtney
at CaptionMax
www.captionmax.com

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