[He's being goaded, Beckett knows; getting a reaction out of people is practically the Kindred national sport, after all. He'd danced that dance a thousand times, and if things were normally he'd never rise to it.

Things are not normal. His eyes narrow, and for a moment he looks at House like the blood bag that the uppity mortal is.] What do you think you know, human? [he hisses.] I heard you panic at what Freya showed you. You'll burn through your excuses sooner or later. But keep thinking you're the only sane one among us, if that's what helps you sleep at night. Treat the monsters as delusion, too. They'd be delighted.

[The outburst takes a lot out of him. Is he just taking a potshot at House's sense of reality because his own is falling in pieces around him? His head drops again and he breathes slowly, fighting with the growing certainty that he's going to be sick. Clayton might want to step back if he likes his shoes.]

[He frowns at Clayton with his questionable bottles and his entirely too helpful attitude. What does cough syrup actually do to a human body, anyway? The only thing he knows about pneumonia is that it kills people. Almost always, back when he was still a living man. Still, sometimes.]

What does that mean? [He asks, a little haltingly.] "Fungal pneumonia". What's - actually happening to me?