sick_wilson | Anniversary madlib results

The madlib fun continues...

Part 1: housepiglet, t_eyla, shadowstark, toolazytowork, ilovedoyle, jdr1184, codysgirlkyla

Part 2: moondragon_kaga, starlingthefool, daisylily, audrey, itsacloudyday, brigidmn, k_haldane

Part 3: valn, shenth, r0s3l992, niiti, rnwannabe, slash_a_holic

moondragon_kaga

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another biopsy to rule out the possibility of strep throat."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the hydrochloric acid from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's anal sphincter. "Okay, I need for you to sneeze for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel golden and crispy, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Cephalexin. His pancreas sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Claratin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an MRI.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a burp she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of slimy pink bunny blankets, there were trace amounts of neon green sharpies in your urine, and your mammograms detected several large yawns in your ear drums."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like crunchy wolves or macadamia nut pancakes."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, sweaty rash, enlarged sigmoid colons, rigid small intestines, and cold lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the trachea tenderness, left kidney bruising, or the painful trapezius muscle spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, slap the same orange motorcycles, and go to the same stunt bike conventions and chess tournaments together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began slowly, willing herself to remain calm and blunt. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we licked a baby blue bendy straw or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and twisted. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Valium when he suddenly clutched his hippocampus and ~~telepathically projected~~ shouted like a one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen snow peas and shot glasses to his armpits, groin and heels. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the pink rose in her hand as she swiftly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that cloak you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his scapula for signs of athlete's foot, and schedule him for an emergency colonoscopy and EKG."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, fedoras, and engagement rings for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of syringes, and House's apartment for fluffy pink pillows or furry flaming broadswords. I'll call the CDC, The Shadowlight Tower's Department of Plague Containment, the publishers of Vogue magazine, and the local automobile assembly line to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to punching bright red coffee mugs in no time."

starlingthefool

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another inkblot test to rule out the possibility of kidney failure."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the purple Kool-Aid from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's cerebellum. "Okay, I need for you to gurgle for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel chocolaty and tired, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the clonazepam. His iris sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Prozac, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an MRI.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a squish she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of fluky galoshes, there were trace amounts of hamster wheels in your urine, and your urinalyses detected several large matchsticks in your armpits."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like effervescent chinchillas or marionettes."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, ugly rash, enlarged left ears, rigid right ears, and radioactive lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the kneecap tenderness, tongue bruising, or the painful right vena cava spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, hump the same empty wine bottles, and go to the same rare book collecting conventions and S&M parties together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began gregariously, willing herself to remain calm and iridescent. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we bit a jellybean or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and unique. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Flintstones vitamins when he suddenly clutched his ovaries and sighed like an octopus before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen corn and small dead animals to his armpits, groin and molars. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the cuff links in her hand as she irritatingly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that pink, lacy slip you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his duodenum for signs of foot fungus, and schedule him for an emergency liver biopsy and colonoscopy."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, edible underwear, and leather hot pants for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of plastic baggies, and House's apartment for latex gloves or foppish bacon. I'll call the CDC, the Parent-Teacher Association, the publishers of Playgirl magazine, and the local house of ill repute to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to poking marshmallows in no time."

daisylily

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another colonoscopy to rule out the possibility of hives."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the banana daiquiris from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's penis. "Okay, I need for you to burp incredibly loud for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel purulent and maggot-infested, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Zoloft. His left buttock sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Vicodin, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an embolectomy.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a hacking cough she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of lime-green rusty spoons, there were trace amounts of thumbtacks in your urine, and your MRIs detected several large spiders in your nipples."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like knitted fluffy bunny rabbits or ballpoint pens."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, rancid rash, enlarged tongues, rigid penises, and blistered lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the belly button tenderness, stinky foot bruising, or the painful spinal cord spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, snuggle the same dinosaur eggs, and go to the same bog snorkeling conventions and church services together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began ecstatically, willing herself to remain calm and hairy. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we licked a can of peaches or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and colorful. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of aspirin when he suddenly clutched his tongue and whimpered like a Tasmanian devil before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen fish sticks and rump steaks to his armpits, groin and chocolate orbs. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the cellphone in her hand as she agitatedly paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that tasteful Christian Dior frock you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his pancreas for signs of intermittent epistaxis, and schedule him for an emergency hamburger test and brain-stem biopsy."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, strings of pearls, and kitten-heeled pumps for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of chickadees, and House's apartment for balls of yarn or repellent carrier pigeons. I'll call the CDC, the Spanish Inquisition, the publishers of Canes and Enablers Monthly magazine, and Madame Zsa-Zsa's House of Correction to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to licking rhododendrons in no time."

audrey

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another lobotomy to rule out the possibility of pneumonia."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the water from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's butt cheek. "Okay, I need for you to gurgle for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel purple and yellow polka-dotted, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Tylenol. His Achilles tendon sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Pepto-Bismol, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an x-ray.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a hiccup she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of dark brown carrot tops, there were trace amounts of baseballs in your urine, and your tonsillectomies detected several large false teeth in your toenails."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like fluffy prairie dogs or telephone poles."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, long green-striped rash, enlarged tongues, rigid knees, and slick lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the neck tenderness, heart bruising, or the painful bladder spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, hug the same seashells, and go to the same archery conventions and soccer games together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began quickly, willing herself to remain calm and bright. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we spat at a turkey or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and flabby. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Sudafed when he suddenly clutched his lip and screeched like a beaver before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen ice cream sandwiches and fish sticks to his armpits, groin and fingertips. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the tweezers in her hand as she lazily paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in those tube socks you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his lung for signs of insomnia, and schedule him for an emergency CBC and ultrasound."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, thongs, and mittens for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of roadrunners, and House's apartment for rodents or flimsy teepees. I'll call the CDC, the county sheriff's office, the publishers of House Beautiful magazine, and the local dry cleaners to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to kissing rocks in no time."

itsacloudyday

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another pap smear to rule out the possibility of heart failure."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the orange juice from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's vajayjay. "Okay, I need for you to moan for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel sketchy and extremely large, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Viagra. His toenail sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Albuterol, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a brain biopsy.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a sizzle she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of smelly dirty socks, there were trace amounts of teeth in your urine, and your prostate exams detected several large cotton balls in your thyroid glands."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like flappy wombats or blankets."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, steamy rash, enlarged leg hairs, rigid penises, and scorched lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the armpit tenderness, neck bruising, or the painful belly button spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, caress the same lampshades, and go to the same stamp collecting conventions and cricket matches together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began quickly, willing herself to remain calm and slimy. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we fingered a Q-tip or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and wet. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of little blue pills when he suddenly clutched his anus and cried like a chimpanzee before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen body parts and Popsicles to his armpits, groin and left ventricle. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the vibrator in her hand as she experimentally paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that edible thong you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his eyelash for signs of Munchausen syndrome, and schedule him for an emergency colonoscopy and blood analysis."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, lip rings, and shimmering pink eye shadow for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of sweat, and House's apartment for damp towels or horny wings. I'll call the CDC, PETA, the publishers of Vogue magazine, and the local corner store to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to stroking thighs in no time."

brigidmn

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another lobotomy to rule out the possibility of anemia."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the maple syrup from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's jaw. "Okay, I need for you to scream for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel colorful and sedate, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Depo-Provera. His finger sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Sominex, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and a CAT scan.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a gag she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of noisy pens, there were trace amounts of sporks in your urine, and your CBCs detected several large shoes in your kneecaps."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like tidy koalas or chairs."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, friendly rash, enlarged earlobes, rigid elbows, and swollen lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the nose tenderness, eye bruising, or the painful hip spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, slam into the same bears, and go to the same macramé conventions and Stanley Cup finals together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began jealously, willing herself to remain calm and purple. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we kicked a singing fish or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and bright. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of Xanax when he suddenly clutched his throat and sobbed like a goat before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen ice cream sandwiches and steaks to his armpits, groin and fingers. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the key in her hand as she daintily paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that thong you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his ribs for signs of chicken pox, and schedule him for an emergency mammogram and colonoscopy."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, earrings, and bracelets for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of lamps, and House's apartment for cars or peaceful trees. I'll call the CDC, the Ministry of Magic, the publishers of Vanity Fair magazine, and the local bank to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to pushing buildings in no time."

k_haldane

A worried Cuddy watched as House’s team reassessed the condition of their two seriously ill patients. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since House and Wilson had been admitted, and they still hadn't been able to determine the cause of the puzzling symptoms.

Chase subtly shook his head as he repositioned his stethoscope and listened to Wilson's lungs. "Your breath sounds are significantly worse than they were this morning. We need to get another colostomy to rule out the possibility of ingrown toenails."

House nodded grimly. "You'll probably need to put in a tube to drain the low-fat soy milk from his chest."

Foreman warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope in his hands before placing it against House's Achilles tendon. "Okay, I need for you to gasp for me."

House rolled his eyes as he complied with the request. He hated to feel pink and gigantic, especially in front of his team.

Cameron's forehead wrinkled in concern. "Is House going to need a tube, too?" she asked.

Foreman removed his stethoscope and stuffed it back into the pocket of his lab coat. "No, at least not yet. He's responding well to the Nyquil. His pancreas sounds clear and his fever is coming down a little. But it would probably be a good idea to increase his dose of Valium, and schedule some nebulizer treatments and an x-ray.

Wilson absently fingered the oxygen cannula under his nose as he slumped back against his pillow. "Do you have the results back yet from our last round of tests?" he asked in a slightly raspy voice.

Cuddy nervously let out a gassy stomach rumble she didn't realize she had been holding. "There were some significant abnormalities," she admitted reluctantly. "Your blood work revealed extremely high concentrations of soft, flowing heating ducts, there were trace amounts of DVDs in your urine, and your urinalyses detected several large bottles of nail polish in your kneecaps."

House thoughtfully rubbed his chin as he studied the whiteboard that he had insisted upon having brought from the conference room. "That doesn't make any sense. None of those findings are consistent with our symptoms."

"Not necessarily," Chase argued. "They could indicate an exaggerated immune response to some type of environmental allergen or toxin, like glowing geese or paving blocks."

Foreman mulled over the idea as he reviewed the whiteboard. "That could certainly explain the fever, erect rash, enlarged humeri, rigid epiglottides, and swollen lymph nodes. But an environmental trigger wouldn't explain the transverse colon tenderness, anal sphincter bruising, or the painful mitral valve spasms."

Cameron's gaze shifted back and forth between their two patients before she addressed House. "The two of you spend a lot of time together, especially since Dr. Wilson moved back in with you last month. You work in the same place, live in the same apartment, embrace the same socks, and go to the same needlepoint conventions and BBQ cook-offs together. You could have easily been exposed to a common pathogen or environmental toxin."

Cuddy began to feel a knot form in the pit of her stomach. If they had picked up some kind of infection at the hospital, she could have another epidemic on her hands. "Okay, let's go over this again," she began successfully, willing herself to remain calm and short. "You both felt perfectly fine until about two o'clock yesterday afternoon, right?"

"Yeah," House replied as he adjusted his covers, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger. "Up until then, it was just a typical day. Wilson saw a bunch of patients, I hid out in the clinic and played hooky, we went to lunch, and we slapped a fruit bat or two on the way back to the conference room. You know, the usual. Then all of a sudden, Wilson started getting a wicked headache, and complained of feeling dizzy and lighter than air. He was about to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a couple of estrogen tablets when he suddenly clutched his thigh and sang like a ferret before he passed out. He was burning up with fever, and since we didn't have any ice packs in the freezer, we had to improvise and apply some frozen TV dinners and whole chickens to his armpits, groin and sweat glands. Cameron chased down a gurney, we rushed Wilson to the ER, and promptly started him on an IV. I was about to order some lab work when, well...you know."

"That's when House started exhibiting similar symptoms before he passed out," Chase supplied. "Except his fever wasn't anywhere nearly as high as Dr. Wilson's."

Wilson slowly turned his head toward House and smiled wanly. "Maybe all that acetaminophen from the Vicodin helped."

Cuddy fidgeted with the watch battery in her hand as she hastily paced back and forth, trying to figure out how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "Are you two absolutely sure you haven't done anything out of the ordinary during the past couple of days?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose has he tried to remember. "Let's see...House didn't make any obscene remarks about how you looked in that belt you wore yesterday, and he paid for my lunch. That was different."

"If this is where my generosity gets me, I'm never paying again," House grumbled.

Cuddy knew it was probably a long shot, but she had to cover all of her bases. "What did you guys have for lunch?"

"Half of a...tuna sandwich," Wilson wheezed. "House snitched...the other half."

House frowned as he started dictating orders to no one in particular. "Switch Wilson over to a mask and crank his O2 up to fifteen liters, check his metacarpus for signs of stiffness, and schedule him for an emergency CAT scan and sestamibi stress test."

Cuddy nodded in agreement as she started issuing instructions of her own to House's team. "Until we know what we're dealing with, I want you to take full isolation precautions. No one comes in here unless they're fully gowned, masked, and gloved. In fact, I want everyone who comes into contact with House and Wilson to wear goggles, wrist gauntlets, and nipple rings for additional protection. Check out the cafeteria for possible sources of contamination, the clinic for evidence of cushions, and House's apartment for Formula One racing cars or sensitive trapeze artists. I'll call the CDC, the Australian Quarantine and Immigration Service, the publishers of TV Week magazine, and the local gay bar to see if they've ever run across something like this before."

Then she smiled, determined to project an aura of confidence as she tried to reassure her sick friends. "Don't worry. We'll get this figured out, and have both of you feeling better and back to hugging stars in no time."

Part 3

Anniversary madlib results — Part 2

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