Jack is ready for another MRI of DOOOM! He asks Foreman if he's going to die, and worries about what will happen to his brother and sister. Foreman assures Jack that he'll be fine, and starts up the machine. In the booth, Foreman is amazed that Jack is facing a terminal disease and that his first concern is still for his brother and sister. Then he sees a small tumor on the monitor. The next picture shows several more.
Cameron says that Jack must have brain cancer, which compromised his immune system and got him all those diseases. Wow, too bad Shitter put the only cancer doctor at PPTH out of commission. Now Jack is totally screwed! House doesn't have the same respect for Jack's selflessness in the face of death that Foreman does, which leads to Foreman's accusing House of being "pathetic" and a "hypocrite" for only caring about his patients' faults and not about their strengths. Except that House usually only cares about his patients' faults when they lead to a diagnosis. This leads to a discussion about morals and happiness and the dark side of human nature blah blah blah. People yell at House for thinking the worst of people every other episode and this is no different. The only treatment for Jack's brain cancer is radiation, but that will kill off his immune system, so House doesn't want to go there. Instead, he'd rather assume that the spots on the MRI aren't tumors, but pus. Really? There's a big freaking difference between a brain tumor and pus. Those MRIs are absolutely useless. They might as well appoint one of them head of Oncology. House guesses that the antibiotics they've been giving Jack have created a breeding ground for fungus. Foreman says if House is wrong about this, he'll be wasting the little time Jack has left. House says that's okay, since Jack's life of being an eighteen-year-old parent sucks. And if he's right, then Jack can go back to it. It's lose-lose! House tells them to do a brain biopsy and find out if it's cancer or fungus, which you'd think they would do before assuming Jack developed a whole crapload of small brain tumors overnight. With that, House down his last Vicodin.
Cuddy is next on House's list of people to get drugs from. He makes her a deal: he'll father her child if she gives him some precious, precious Vicodin. Cuddy is impressed that the Cottages managed to stand up to House's orders. "Yes, their cowardice is inspiring," House agrees. Hee hee hee. Cuddy states the obvious: if the Cottages had written House a prescription, then it would have looked like House had intimidated his employees and gotten him in even more trouble. Cuddy, on the other hand, is House's employer, so she doesn't have this problem. She writes him the prescription, saying that if House doesn't get any drugs, it'll look like he doesn't really need them, which will make Shitter's case stronger. House pronounces Cuddy a "genius" in spite of her cleavage (since we all know that big boobs drains some of the brain's blood supply, thus making well-endowed women stupid), and grabs for the scrip before she can change her mind. Doing so, House winces and has trouble moving his right arm, which does not go unnoticed by the selectively observant Cuddy who didn't notice that House got a new cane. He claims he pulled a muscle training for the Pants Off Dance Off, which I don't think it's fair to mention without letting us see. Cuddy thinks this is another one of House's psychosomatic pains, and asks him what's recently changed in his life to cause it. House has one of his trademark epiphanies, grabs the scrip with his good arm, and takes off.