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I'm pretty sure I am.

'Pretty sure'? Oh, that - that's clever. [He's laughing but it has a mildly high-pitched, hysterical quality to it, completely humorless. Daniel points an accusing finger at House, his other hand threading anxiously through his hair, his fingers twitching in seemingly random bursts of anxiety, almost as though he's conducting music only he can hear.] That's good. A real doctor couldn't say that. There're certain rules when you're talking to somebody whose perception of reality is skewed, you know.

[Maybe he's extrapolating a bit much from such a small amount of information but this is what Daniel does. And if he can convince himself that this fresh hell of scratchy bed linen, orderlies and potent anti-psychotics are all in his head, then great. Maybe his life hasn't been completely shot to pieces after all, just his sanity.]

Eh, I'm not big on rules. Rules are boring. [Messing with a crazy man's mind, on the other hand, is not boring. In fact, at the moment it's the best entertainment around.

House maintains a relaxed demeanor but he's acutely aware of every twitch, every inflection in Daniel's voice.]

Besides, if you and reality have parted ways, it doesn't matter what I say. I can tell you I'm real but I'd tell you the same thing if I was a hallucination.

.... Actually, the fact I don't insist on the reality of my existence is pretty good proof I am real. A hallucination would be far more determined to maintain its existence by encouraging your belief.

My subconscious tends to be pretty convincing on the whole. [It had Daniel fooled into believing that he was a witness to a murder that never really happened, didn't it?] You say that but that's exactly what I'd expect a delusion to say. You - you're just negating your own argument.

[He's getting agitated. The laughter's dried up and he's started to pace in faster, shorter circuits around the room, avoiding looking at House altogether. Acknowledging his existence like that would just mean Daniel's already lost the battle.] That's right out of the damn handbook. Schizophrenia 101.

[He stops, fingers paused in mid-air, voice low and wholly pathetic.] Just tell me how I'm supposed to get rid of you.

[House remains seated, slowly twirling his cane as he watches Daniel pace.] Ah, yes, the joys of paranoia. [Hey, he gets it. He's had his own bout of delusional psychosis and he knows how real the unreal can seem. He also knows how recognizing that fact can shake a man to his core.]

And again we're faced with the whole tenuous grasp on reality problem. If I'm a hallucination you can't believe anything I say. And if I'm real, which I am...well, you still can't believe anything I say because I lie. Except when I tell you I'm real--that's not a lie.

Fine. Fine, you know what, if you wanna play these games with me, go ahead, doesn't mean I have to listen to you. [Petulance, especially under duress, is something Daniel does well and, at a loss as to what else to do with himself and antsy as a result of the meds they're keeping him on, he stomps over to the bed and draws out a book of crossword puzzles from the pile on the bedside table.] If you want me to believe you then you can just leave. Now. There's nothing stopping you from going out that door.

[Legs crossed and shoulders firmly hunched, he presses his crayon to the page and starts rapidly completing the puzzle he'd been working on before House rudely interrupted him, fingers still tap-tapping away against his knee.]

Existentially or some other way?

I could do that, but it would kind of defeat my purpose in being here, which is to talk to you. Sure, you're completely nuts but you're still one of the more intelligent neuropsychologists out there.

[He rubs his free hand--the one that's not incessantly playing with his cane--over his face, scratching at the stubble. He's trying to devise a way to prove he's real but as a former crazy person himself, he knows that's damn near impossible.]

Look, you're taking your meds, right? Doesn't it seem unlikely a new hallucination would pop up just as all the others are going bye-bye?

A few days of anti-psychotics aren't enough to compensate for - for - for weeks of schizophrenia induced delirium. The brain just doesn't work that way. [Correcting the imbalances in his life could never be that simple. Daniel only wishes it were. And the fact he won't even listen to House's logic - vastly superior to his at the moment - is testament enough to just how unstable Daniel, a man who prides himself on rational thinking, still is.]

[His eyes flicker to the side, away from House, focusing on something in the corner of his hospital room. They narrow in confusion, his hand pausing over the paper he's been determinedly scribbling on, before he quickly averts his gaze back to his lap.] Okay. So - so maybe you - [He jabs the end of the crayon in House's direction.] - aren't a hallucination.

Physically. You can't be here. Why would you be? [For all Daniel knows he does exist somewhere other than in his imagination, he just doesn't know it. Or maybe he thinks he doesn't know it. The subconscious - especially of a schizophrenic - is an infinitely complicated thing, after all.]

No, it doesn't. But then even weeks of anti-psychotics aren't going to completely reverse your screwy brain chemistry. You'll get better--you may even seem normal--but you'll always be one missed pill away from crazy.

[He assumes Daniel already knows this but even if he doesn't...well, House isn't one to sugar coat a prognosis. He may seem cruel but he doesn't think lies are helpful to someone struggling to discern what's real and what isn't.

He stops twirling his cane and instead lightly bounces the rubber-tipped end on the floor as he thinks.] If there's some way I can prove I'm real, I'd be happy to do it. Otherwise...I can live with maybe.