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There might well be a case here, but this Dr. Tam is going about presenting it completely wrong. Chase may have only had this fellowship two months, but that much he knows.
"And you call yourself a medical professional," House says caustically. "Irrational behavior, intermittent psychosis, mood swings -- I'm sorry, you need help finding your ass with your own hands, too? The diagnosis is obvious."
"I'm aware of that, Dr. House," Tam remarks.
Chase isn't particularly impressed with the man. Dr. Tam is on the young side, but otherwise unremarkable. Blandly attractive, the image of wealth and good breeding; a perfect prig, Chase is sure. His voice is light and hesitant, with just a trace of sarcasm -- possibly his only redeeming feature.
"Then why bother coming to me?" House demands.
Tam opens his briefcase and pulls out some scans; Chase can't see them clearly from where he sits at the far end of the diagnostics office. "I believe you might find these to be of passing interest, Dr. House. I've heard you enjoy a good puzzle."
House looks less than impressed, but he snatches up the scans anyway, probably to prove just how utterly uninteresting they are. "The mystery patient's brain, I presume? I don't doubt the frontal lobe activity is unusual -- psychotics do tend to have some weird--" He cuts himself off, gaze sharpening intently upon the scan in his hand. "What the hell?"
Curiosity duly piqued, Chase stands and walks around the table to House. "What's up?"
House passes off one of the scans to him without a word, still examining the others. Chase takes it and looks it over. It takes a few moments for him to orient himself -- neurology isn't exactly his specialty, although he has the feeling that if he sticks out the diagnostics fellowship, there won't be many areas of medicine left that he won't be an expert in.
Tangentially, he thinks they could probably use a neurologist onboard sometimes, and makes a mental note to mention it to House at some point. Not that House ever takes his advice.
But the brain scan -- it takes some looking, but then he sees it. "What the hell?" he echoes.
"You've noticed the damage," Tam says. His eyes are dark, and Chase can see the flicker of anger there, barely suppressed. He takes the scans back from them and begins mounting them on the lightbox for better examination. "Even with just a CAT scan, it's readily apparent, and with more advanced neuroimaging, the extent of the damage only becomes more appalling. Needless to say, the effects on the patient's mental health are -- well, staggering. It took me months of treatment to get her even remotely stabilized, and she still has...episodes."
"You know," House remarks snidely, hobbling forward for a closer look, "it might help if we could see the patient."
"You've never needed to see a patient before," Chase mutters under his breath.
Tam shakes his head. "That's not possible, I'm afraid. At any rate, I'm not here for your much-vaunted diagnostic skills, Dr. House. I know what was done to her."
House snorts, gesturing to the scans. "Yeah, well, the whole lobotomy thing does tend to stand out."
"What I'm looking for is a way to reverse the damage," Tam goes on doggedly. "I've tried a number of variations on the standard cocktails of antipsychotic medications--"
"Right, and I'm sure the patient just loved being high as a kite twenty-four/seven--"
"She didn't," Tam says flatly. "She hated it, and it had a negligible effect on her psychological well-being anyway. I'm open to suggestions here, doctor." His voice softens. "Please."
"Spare me the sentimentality," House sneers. "If you're coming to me, you already know it's hopeless. I'm a diagnostician, not a psychoanalyst. Your little wunderkind doesn't need me. Oh, you did realize your patient was rather mentally enhanced before someone took a butcher's knife to her brain, right?"
"More than you can possibly conceive," Tam murmurs. There's something soft in his eyes that makes Chase wonder what exactly his relation to the patient is. And that's always a bad sign.
Chase clears his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, what branch of medicine do you specialize in, Dr. Tam?"
"I was a trauma surgeon," Tam says. Chase notices the slip -- was, past tense -- but doesn't remark upon it. "Not a neurologist, unfortunately, though I'm not entirely untrained in that area. I took a keen interest in neurology at med -- medical school. My younger sister was what you might call a genius, and the workings of her mind always fascinated me." His lips twist into a wry smile. "I never expected my interest in that area to take such prominence in my life. Professionally, of course."
"Of course," House says snidely. "How convenient for you. But one thing confuses me. Why would a trauma surgeon be given a neurological case of this complexity, Dr. Tam?"
Tam shrugs. "It's a long story, and I'm not inclined to share it with you."
House eyes him intently. "You don't seem inclined to share very much at all, in fact, apart from these very unusual scans. I suspect you share rather a bit more with your lovely patient."
Tam's mouth tightens.
"Can't take the competition, huh?" House waggles his eyebrows. "Psychotics can be pretty kinky, I'll admit. Never know what might turn 'em on. My scarred leg, her scarred brain -- it's like a match made in heaven. Or at least by someone with a really good imagination."
For a second, Chase thinks Tam might actually punch House. That would be interesting. "And you wonder why I'm not introducing her to you," Tam mutters instead.
House sighs. "So. Diagnosis: badly botched lobotomy for evil mastermind-like purposes. Result: psychosis. Treatment: not fucking much. So why come to me?" It's a good point. Interesting as the case might be, there's nothing for them to do here.
But Chase can see the way House is still glancing back at those scans, the strange, almost hungry gleam in his eyes.
"You have a reputation, Dr. House," Tam says. "I haven't been...in this area long, but already I've heard you're one of the finest minds in medicine. The damage to the patient's brain is right there in front of you. How can we set it right again? There's your puzzle. Isn't it one worth solving?"
"It's impossible," House replies flatly, deliberately turning his back on the lightbox. "You're wasting your time, and you know it. Stop wasting mine." And with that, he's gone, hobbling out of the office in search of someone new to torment or possibly lunch.
Tam looks neither surprised or angry, both reactions Chase would have expected. "He's not going to let it go that easily," Tam remarks, watching House's retreating form with some satisfaction. "Good. Well, Dr. Chase, I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your morning already. I'll show myself out."
"You knew," Chase says, realization dawning. "You knew all along we wouldn't be able to help."
"Of course," Tam replies. He carefully takes down the patient's scans, returning them to his briefcase. "The technology to repair the damage to the patient's brain doesn't exist yet. Even those who caused it don't have the means to cure it."
"Then why come here?" Chase demands. "Why go through all the trouble?"
There's an odd glint in Tam's eyes. "I got you thinking about it, didn't I? Medical progress is an amazing thing, Dr. Chase. All it takes is the hint of a possibility."
"It also takes time," Chase points out. "Generations, even."
Tam smiles and turns to leave. "Five hundred years will be good enough for me," he murmurs on his way out the door.
One scan of the patient's brain is left behind, stark against the white brightness of the lightbox. Chase takes it down and just holds it a moment, wondering.