With Wilson's incriminating testimony in hand, Tritter offers House a deal: he can plead guilty and go to rehab for two months, or keep being stubborn and go to jail and lose his medical license. He gives House three days to decide. To force House's hand, Wilson and Cuddy conspire to cut him off from Vicodin. Seeing as going to rehab will also cut House off from Vicodin, I don't see the point in this. Unsurprisingly, House refuses to go for it, and vows to hold out. And Wilson and Cuddy's plan hits a snag when House refuses to treat his newest patient, a dwarf with a collapsed lung, unless he gets his drugs. Since House is the only hospital employee capable of doing his job, he's the patient's only chance for survival. Cuddy decides that she'd rather risk one patient to save the lives of all the patients House won't be able to save if he's in jail, and House decides to cut himself. Um, it's actually better than it sounds. Thank God. Also, Cameron throws a hissyfit at Wilson for turning House in. That is not better than it sounds, although it is pretty funny. House finally gets his hands on some oxycodone by stealing it from one of Wilson's dead patients, which gives him back his diagnosing superpowers just in time to save the dwarf, who isn't a dwarf at all but a girl with a granuloma squashing her pituitary gland, thereby cutting off growth hormones and causing her small height and the autoimmune disease that made her so sick. Patient cured, House is free to spend his Christmas Eve consuming the rest of his bottle of oxycodone, washing it down with generous amounts of alcohol. Wilson finds him lying in a pool of his own vomit and...leaves him there, which I still don't understand. Shouldn't people get medical assistance when they OD? No worries! House recovers from his overdose and goes to Tritter to accept his deal. But it's too late: Tritter has proof that House took a dead man's medicine, so the deal is off the table. D'oh! You have to love a show that makes its Christmas episode the most depressing one of the year.
Our story begins with a cheesy chalkboard-eraser-wipe from a shot of snow falling outside into PPTH's lobby, which is decked the hell out for the Christmas season. They've even got a giant Nativity scene practically blocking the entrance, which has got to be a fire hazard. And here comes Grinch McScrooge himself to ruin everything: House limps into the hospital and, shockingly, does not hit the Baby Jesus with his cane. The day is still young, though. He heads for his office, where Wilson is waiting for him. And so is Shitter, who wishes House a Merry Christmas that you know he doesn't mean. House responds with "and a happy go to hell." Good. Um...does Shitter really have to sit with his legs spread like that? His knees have exceeded the boundaries of the armrests! That can't be comfortable. Wilson tells House that he and Shitter "worked out a deal." House claims he doesn't care. Wilson goes on to say that he told Shitter he didn't write those prescriptions, and House takes a moment to look shocked, like, what did he think was going to happen? The way he treated Wilson, I would've been shocked if he didn't turn him in. Shitter says that the D.A. will let House keep practicing medicine and stay out of jail in exchange for a guilty plea and two months in rehab. "Get out of my office," House orders them both in a pick-up shot. Wilson can't believe House is turning down this fabulous offer. He says he went to Shitter and got this deal to help House. House tells Wilson to rethink his Christmas gift-giving strategies. Hey, Wilson's Jewish -- Christmas gifts aren't exactly his forte. Wilson starts listing all the things House has done to deserve this, like punching out his employees and almost unnecessarily cutting a girl in half, and I'm sure Shitter is taking notes right now. House yells that he didn't do those things because he was on drugs: he did them because he wasn't on them and was in pain. Wilson only wants to believe that House has a problem to convince himself that he's doing the right thing. Shitter says that House has a choice: he can stand on principle and go to jail, or take the plea bargain and keep practicing medicine. House kicks them both out of his office. Shitter tells House he has three days to take this deal.
Wilson runs after House. He can't believe House turned down Shitter's awesome deal. House says that he doesn't want to spend the rest of life in Vicodin-free pain, insisting that none of the other, non-addictive pain medications works for him. House points to the Baby Jesus and asks Wilson why he hasn't told on him to the Romans yet. Because Wilson's Judas now, you see.