[House might never know how lucky he is that Beckett's instincts, already whittled down, are further dulled by his illness; that uninvited touch would have cost him at least a finger, otherwise. As it is, he lashes out a moment too late, snapping no longer very impressive fangs. There's really nothing he can do but glare at the two of them, though now House gets the greater share of that glare.]

I'll grant you "alive", for argument's sake [he says after a moment, grudgingly.] But I am what I am. It can't be taken away as simple as that. Or mocked out of existence. [You hear that, House?

He hesitates on the offer, though, because god it would be nice to just breathe for a bit. Very few things win over practicality for Beckett; alas, pride is one of them.] You... shouldn't waste it where it might not have any effect.