"Wilson? Wilson, can you hear me?"
Wilson shakes his head to clear his vision. He must have hit his head when he landed. His wrist is killing him, but all thoughts of that are pushed to the back of his mind by the sight before his eyes: two Houses … one, covered in dust and sheet rock debris, is being dragged away by Police … the other, looking tanned and devastatingly handsome, is kneeling beside him on the sidewalk, gently probing his wrist and forearm.
"Shhh … it's alright now, Wilson. Just calm down and I'll explain. You bumped your head when you fell. You've been out for several minutes. I need to check you over. Don't try to get up just yet. I think your wrist is only sprained, but I want to run some routine tests and do a CT scan to be sure you don't have a concussion or any more serious injuries.
"It must be worse than that. I'm seeing double ..."
"You're experiencing double vision?"
"No … just you. I'm seeing two … of you!"
"Try to relax. I'll tell you everything on the way to the hospital."
"I should have run you over, you miserable little skirt-chasing back-stabber!"
Wilson turns his head sharply to the side, causing his vision to spin and a wave of nausea to overtake him as he beholds the second House - shrieking at them as he is being forced into the back of the patrol car.
"I don't understand … that's . . . YOU . . . House?"
"Well … not exactly … come and sit in the ambulance with me and I'll tell you the whole story."
Cuddy and her guests appear to be remarkably unscathed by their recent ordeal, and are busy giving police statements. Wilson shakes his head again and allows House to help him up and into a waiting ambulance. The police car containing Roger starts to pull away from the curb, but Wilson can still hear the screaming lunatic within:
"You will address me as ROGER! Roger Yos Huge! Surely you didn't think I was going to keep my filthy muggle name ..." The words are cut off as the police car moves out of ear-shot. Wilson turns to House again.
"I don't understand ..."
"I'm sorry you had to go through all this, Wilson. That was Roger, my … evil clone."
* * * * * (pause for dramatic effect … or perhaps a commercial break) * * * * *
"A little over a year ago I found out about some highly … experimental procedures in cloning replacement tissue. Skin, organ tissue, muscle tissue … I had to try it, Wilson, I had to. But it went horribly wrong. In the laboratory rat tests, the cells just reproduced whatever tissue was supplied by the host. But the results were stunning, Wilson. Whole organs reproduced. Viable organs. Limbs. Whole viable limbs! The possibilities seemed endless, so I contacted the research department. Naturally they told me they were years away from any human tissue trials, and the legal and ethical ramifications would probably prevent any such research from occurring during my remaining productive years of life. But I couldn't wait, Wilson. In my years of practice I've made a lot of powerful contacts. Not all of them play by the rules either. I arranged to have my thigh muscle reproduced at a super secret institution on a certain tropical island outside of U.S. jurisdiction, but things didn't go quite as planned. The tissue growth was exponential. It was obvious by the end of the second day that an entire fetus was developing. By the sixth week the clone was physically and chronologically an adult male, but there appeared to be no discernible higher brain function. By the way, I had taken Thirteen into my confidence at the very beginning, intending to attempt future reproduction of neurological tissues to inhibit the progression of her Huntington's disease. She was in constant secret contact with the institute as my liaison during the study. Anyway, on week seven, the clone … Roger … became self-aware. He had all my knowledge and memories up until the time of the initial tissue sampling, which was done on the day after you asked me to leave the loft. Apparently that memory became one of his many obsessive fixations. I'm assuming that's why he tried to run over you just now. He somehow convinced Thirteen to help him escape from the lab, and together they concocted the plan to replace me with Roger. They made the switch the night of that crane collapse last year. Roger assumed my place here, and Thirteen took her leave of absence to hold me prisoner on another small tropical island near the secret institute. Roger met Cuddy that same night after the crane incident and began an affair with her (which I would never do), posing as me. Thirteen rejoined him about three weeks after he and Cuddy broke up. When she realized what a violent loon he had become, she aided MY escape from the island this morning and I rushed here to reclaim my life. And YOU. I'm only sorry I didn't get here in time to save Cuddy's house. And your poster frames. Wilson, you're the one I love. You're the one I've always loved, and my time on the island made me finally realize that I had to act on those feelings. If you … share those feelings …?"
"House, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"You mean you don't share my feelings?"
"No … I mean YES … I mean the clone stuff is stupid!"
"You'd prefer me to be a homicidal maniac?"
"No … anything is better than that. So . . . okay . . . clone it is."
"But do you love me?"
"Of course I do, House. I've loved you for years. Sam was a mistake … both times … but at least it showed me what I really want. But what will happen to the clone now?"
"Oh, secret experimental evil clones are genetically predisposed to expire one episode after detection. He'll be gone along with Cuddy when we start the new season."
"Well that's convenient!"
"That's David Shore for you."
"So ... why does your evil clone call himself 'Roger'? What was it he was screaming? 'Call me Roger yoyo' ?"
"Uh … Roger Yos Huge. It's an anagram for Gregory House. Personally I prefer 'Huge Ego, Sorry' – but he chose to go with the more … physically descriptive name. We are identical in our physiques, after all … uh … well, you'll see … later."
"Why House, I do believe you're bragging!"
"Shut up and kiss me!"