“Teardrop”; José Gonzalez (Massive Attack cover)

House: You’re dead.
Amber: Everybody dies.
House: Am I dead?
Amber: Not yet.
House: Should be.
Amber: Why?
House: Because life shouldn’t be random. Because lonely, misanthropic drug addicts should die in bus crashes, and young do-gooders in love, who get dragged out of their apartment in the middle of the night, should walk away clean.
Amber: Self-pity isn’t like you.
House: No, well, I’m branching out from self-loathing and self-destruction. Wilson is gonna hate me.
Amber: You kind of deserve it.
House: He’s my best friend.
Amber: I know. What now?
House: I could stay here with you.
Amber: Get off the bus.
House: I can’t.
Amber: Why not?
House: Because… [sadly] because it doesn’t hurt here. I let it… I don’t wanna be in pain. I don’t wanna be miserable. And I don’t want him to hate me.
Amber: Well, you can’t always get what you want.

Amber: I’m tired. I think it’s time to go to sleep.
Wilson: Just a little longer.
Amber: We are always gonna want just a little longer.
Wilson: I don’t think I can do it.
Amber: It’s okay.
Wilson: It’s not okay. Why is it okay with you? Why aren’t you angry?
Amber: That’s… not… the last feeling I want to experience.
[Wilson turns around and presses the OFF keys on the bypass machines]

Wilson: Hey.
Amber: Hey.
Wilson: You’re in the hospital.
Amber: I’m on bypass.
Wilson: Yeah. Do you remember what happened?
Amber: Got on the bus. I shouldn’t have gotten on the bus.
Wilson: No. No, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.
Amber: How bad?
Wilson: You had tachycardia. It’s complicated by complete renal failure. The tachycardia degenerated into V-fib… followed by hepatic failure.
[She understands. Wide-eyed, she slowly shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes]
Amber: The flu pills?
Wilson: Yeah.
Amber: [sobs] I’m dead.
Wilson: I love you.
Amber: [crying] I love you too.

Cuddy: Wake Amber up. See her again. Tell her what she means to you.
Wilson: Wake her up to tell her that she’s… that she’s… [breaks down and covers his face as he weeps]
Cuddy: You are waking her up so that you can both say good-bye to each other. She would want it.

Wilson: Is that it? The flu? Is there any rare complication?
House: No. It would explain the rash, but nothing else. Unless…
Wilson: What?
[wide-eyed, House sees Amber takes a bottle of pills]
House: [softly to Amber] Don’t do it.
[she swallows the pills]
House: It wasn’t the flu. It’s what she did for it. She has amantadine poisoning.
Wilson: The crash destroyed her kidneys. Her body couldn’t filter the drugs. She ODs on amantadine. Explains the heart, the liver. We just need to start her on dialysis and flush the drugs out. What? What’s wrong?
House: Amantadine binds with proteins. Dialysis can’t clear it out of the blood. There’s nothing we can do. I’m so sorry.

House: Can’t hear him.
Wilson: Can’t hear who?
House: Everything’s in black and white.
Wilson: Who was talking? Is Amber there?
House: [to Chase] You’re supposed to be jolting my hypothalamus, not petting it.
Chase: We don’t want to overload it.
House: As long as I’m risking my life, I might as well be watching a talkie.

Wilson: Cuddy’s right. I was afraid to do anything. I thought if everything just stopped, it would be okay.
House: And it’s gonna be. Taub’s starting the treatment. We’re doing everything…
Wilson: Not everything. Before you warm her up… You said you wanted to try deep brain stimulation.
House: But there’s no reason. We know the symptom, we know what I saw.
Wilson: What if it’s not the rash? What if you noticed the rash in the ambulance or when we were putting her on bypass? What if there is still something else stuck inside your head?
House: You think I should risk my life to save Amber’s.
[Wilson nods, looking pleadingly at House. House smirks mirthlessly and then nods his agreement to Wilson]

Kutner: I know this is different. But it’s not. Everyone dies.
Thirteen: She’s not dead.
Kutner: You’re reacting this way because she might be… soon.
Thirteen: Yeah, I am. Why aren’t you?
Kutner: I’m an Indian guy named “Kutner”. Ever wonder what happened to my parents?
Thirteen: I’m sorry, I didn’t…
Kutner: I was six years old. I used to like helping out in my parents’ store after school. Guy walks in to rob the place. Ends up shooting them both. Wasn’t fair. Took years, but I had to accept that’s just the way it was. So you gonna help me fill her lungs up or not?

House: Thirteen. Who found the diet pills?
Thirteen: Kutner.
House: You didn’t even go in the bathroom, did you? You’re suddenly mute in the differentials. A blow-up doll would be more useful. And yes, that’s the first time I’ve ever implied something negative about a blow-up doll.
Thirteen: It’s Amber. I…
House: Normally, I’d be fascinated. Today, don’t care. Get over whatever it is and do your job.

Amber: Are you okay?
House: Can’t really say “yes” when it’s a hallucination asking.
Amber: Don’t worry, you’re just dreaming.
House: What symptom did I see in you? A myoclonic jerk…
Amber: Boring.
House: An incredibly rare neurological symptom is boring? Am I in someone else’s subconscious?
Amber: What did we do last night?
[House looks down and sees her pouring sherry into one of two flutes]
House: Was I meeting you for a drink?
Amber: Is that all it was? A man thinks a woman is beautiful, admires her intelligence, admires the way she has to get whatever she wants, the things he likes about himself [goes around his desk and comes near him]. Maybe she always had a little thing for him. His mind. His blue eyes. But someone gets between them. So, they decide to meet one night at an out-of-the-way little bar. Does that sound familiar? [their lips are a few inches apart]. Do I feel familiar? What do you feel? [breathes into his ear] Electricity.
[House wakes up]

[Kutner is watching a video on Amber’s MacBook]
Wilson: And… action. You look beautiful.
Amber: You look nervous.
Wilson: [laughs nervously] I’ve never done this before.
Amber: I have. Trust me. You’ll love it.
[She kisses him as she starts to unbutton his shirt. She straddles him… and Thirteen closes the MacBook]
Kutner: Hey!
Thirteen: Not even close to relevant.