vicodincrutch | 080. Diagnosis

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080. Diagnosis

Voice;

I'm going to simplify my confusion into one, and only one, question. The answer, the hard part, is up to you. Be concise. The amount of focus it takes to write down my own symptoms on a napkin with a pen is tremendous.

And I don't feel much. Cool. Drugs, kids. They're something.

Back to the question: What the hell is going on?

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No one gave it back to you yet?

Nope. If this is an attempt to discourage mobility, someone should try harder.

Have you been walking about without it?

The vending machines aren't that far.

Well far be it for me to stop you.

Maybe Chase'll know.

Good. Wilson would be proud.

That could be his answer. Or part of it. I don't want to regret the joy of open ended questions.

Wilson would be proud?

We can ask him.

Are you trying to help add starvation to the symptoms?

Bloody hell, House, I'll fucking feed you.

Real food doesn't exist in any hospital. It's common knowledge.

Absolutely no frozen greens or jello, got it?

Have I ever used frozen greens or jello?

No. And don't start.

Just no bitching that I brought in food.

Who's side are you on?

Yours. You pay me.

But I also know that hospital policy bitches when people run this kind of crap.

I pay you not to care about that.

Well. All right.

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