Two days later House was sitting hunched at the bar of a local truck stop on the outskirts of Portland, nursing a hot cup of coffee. His nose was mere inches from the scorching liquid as if he could warm his body by breathing in the heat. An occasional shiver racked his body and his leg continued to ache, even after three Vicodin.

In just a few short hours the weather had turned from mild warm temperatures to a thoroughly damp and chilling cold that pierced savagely through his clothing the further north he traveled. He was forced to pull off the freeway when the darkness engulfed him and he'd managed to lose feeling in his fingers and toes.

He'd parked his bike in the handicapped stall next to the buildings entrance and slowly hobbled inside, his right leg screaming as each step sent a fresh bolt of pain through his frozen body. The waitress, whose nametag read Shirley, led him towards the bar and quickly supplied him with a cup of specialty house brew and a carafe to get him started. Soon as he'd draped his jacket over the chair next to him and deposited his helmet, he slid heavily onto the stool. She promised to return in a tic to take his order.

"Hey, Mister." A kid's voice startled him and he turned his head to find a sandy-blond youngster, no more than about twelve, setting his duffle bag onto the chair. "Shirley says to show you the showers," he said, moving back a step as House raised an eyebrow at the bag beside him, then glanced back up to the kid. House wasn't given the chance to respond as to why the hell his bag had ended up in the kid's possession as Shirley's voice interrupted.

"That's a good boy, Jeffrey. Now fetch one of the keys and show the gentleman the way. No use sittin' around in them wet things. You'll feel a lot better after a hot shower and some dry clothes." She shooed them both away with a flick of a flour towel and was already hustling off towards another group of people.

Jeffrey just shrugged with an easy grin at House's lift of his eyebrow and nodded towards the back of the diner. "C'mon, the showers are back here. You can leave your stuff," he hastily added as House had begun to gather his jacket. "No one'll touch it, seeing how Shirley's got an eye on it." As if in response, Shirley caught House's eye and gave him a quick wink.

House slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed his cane and slowly followed Jeffrey through the short maze of tables. It was easier just to accept Shirley's suggestion of a shower rather than to argue, and besides the thought of a hot shower sounded appealing.

"You don't talk much, Mister." Jeffrey watched curiously as House accepted the key and disappeared into the small cubicle.

"Scram." Was the only reply he could muster, and heard soft laughter receding as he closed the door.

House sat a lot more comfortably at the bar, his wet clothes tucked inside his duffel and he'd eliminated the chill from his body. A little in part thanks to the whiskey he'd downed before his dinner arrived.

He finally took in his surroundings as he began to eat. There wasn't anything outstanding about this diner; he'd visited his fair share of local grease joints as they'd affectionately come to be called by the long haul drivers. Still the option of a warm meal and laid back atmosphere drew even the locals like magnets to the businesses, where folks knew they would be served a meal, almost as good as home cooked.

The small television tucked into the corner showed the weather map and conditions forecasted for the next few days. House inwardly groaned at the news he'd be facing even colder weather if he continued north. The front he'd been caught in was currently heading south, so no matter which direction he chose to go, he was looking at more misery.

A snippet of conversation reached his ears as he shoved another bite of mashed potato in his mouth. "Can't imagine the idiot that thinks he can ride a bike in this weather. That guy has to have some balls…" He was unable to hide a grin even with his back to the people talking and continued to watch the television.

"Well, as long as he stays out of my lane, I'll be happy."

"Aw come on, Hank, you'd only feel a small bump in that suspension of yours." Coarse laughter followed and he quit listening as the barstool on his left was pulled out.

"This taken?" House shook his head and ignored the man that took a seat next to him. Shirley bustled over, refilled the carafe, set it between the two before hurrying off again. "Name's John," said the stranger and held out a hand that House promptly ignored. John pulled his hand slowly away and picked up the coffee cup, his eyes straying to the television.

"Where you headed?" House gave a little shrug, hoping the other would get the clear message he'd sent and continued sipping his coffee. "I've got a load to drop in Tacoma, and then I'm heading home." House decided he obviously didn't get the subtle message and looked for Shirley hoping to pay his bill and leave.

John continued, either unaware that House didn't care or he didn't mind talking to himself. "Last haul for a month. I've been running extra routes and saving all of my vacation so that I can be home when my wife has the baby. It's our first— gotta tell you, it gets a bit old hearing one's own voice after a bit."

There was a pause, in which House continued to ignore him and Shirley set a large breakfast platter in front of John, who began eating in earnest while continuing his monologue.

"This is our third try; the other two didn't make it passed the second trimester. God, I so hope the boy is healthy." The man paused to swallow a forkful of eggs. "You got kids?" House just shook his head, his neighbor oblivious to his uncaring attitude.

"James Gregory Wilson."

House's head spun towards John as his brain cleared the fog. John swallowed hard under the sudden scrutiny of a shocked House and he stuttered a bit. "Tha-that's what we're naming him," he finished quietly.

Aware that the other man had stopped eating, his fork held in mid-air expectedly, House's expression turned to a smirk.

"I can think of a few names worse than Jimmy to have to live with," he finally confessed, breaking the tension. John laughed, resuming his meal and half-eyeing the television weatherman.

"Nasty storm brewing. Hope I can stay ahead of it."

House got a thoughtful look on his face. "Where's home?" he asked casually.

"Minneapolis, you didn't seem interested five minutes ago." John pushed the remainder of his meal absently around the plate.

"You weren't interesting five minutes ago," House shot back and John laughed pushing back from the bar.

"I've got a bike parked outside," House began, forming an idea.

John took a look over his shoulder, seeming to notice the motorcycle parked by the front door for the first time and looked back at House with an expression of doubt and something akin to admiration. "You're either part daredevil or insane, and by the looks of you, I'd seriously consider the latter option."

"A bit of both, and I'm firing my travel agent when I get back."

John chuckled, taking a long look at House, sensing there was something on his mind, and curiosity getting the better of him, he came to a quick decision. "Okay, I'm listening."

House explained his thoughts of transporting him and the bike to Seattle, the closest location he would be able to drop off the motorcycle, and still be able to catch a flight back to Princeton. At first John seemed reluctant to take on a passenger and weighed the risks of using the company truck to haul the pair, until House pointed out that the extra cash he'd make would help supplement the new kid.

The pair were headed north shortly thereafter, and House decided the warm interior of the cab was more preferable to riding a bike in the inclement weather, as he watched the rain turn to sleet through the windshield.

Two and a half hours later, House was sitting inside another diner, while he waited for John to deliver his load. This time he sat at the booth next to the front windows watching snow fall under the dome lights and turn into slush as rigs moved back and forth jockeying for position at the pumps.

He shivered each time the doors opened, letting in a new customer and a gust of chilly air. Another hour passed before House tired of waiting, pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. This time there were not only messages from Wilson, but one from Cuddy as well, and several missed calls from the ducklings.

Listening to the last of the phone messages, House rolled his eyes. Not only had they had a case but Foreman and Chase, after leaving numerous messages, had finally figured it out without his help, and it seemed everything was back to normal. Cuddy's was the last call.

"House, I hope you're enjoying your vacation." There was a sigh. "I thought I should let you know, the hospital board decided to bring Stacy in to assist with the defense of your case. Partly due to the fact that she's not only familiar with you, but is probably one of the few that doesn't believe you're a complete ass." There was another pause, and House had to loosen his grip on the phone. "I'm hoping we'll have this whole mess straightened out shortly. I'll be in touch. Take care of yourself." The last line was barely heard as House snapped his phone closed.

Damn Stacy for getting involved and Cuddy for allowing it. Even if Cuddy was right, and Stacy cleared him, it meant he'd still have to face her and talk to her again. He wondered idly if she'd confided in Cuddy since she'd gone back home to Mark. Suddenly getting back to Princeton didn't seem quite so important now, and left him feeling even colder. He opened his phone again and pushed a button, knowing Wilson would have already left his office.

"Wilson, I'm fine so quit your worrying. I'm thinking sand and surf after hell week is over, and lots of booze. I expect a welcome back party, complete with porn and pizza if not, two hookers in my bed. Give the twins my best and ignore the witch." He flipped the phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket, trading it for the amber pill bottle. He slumped further into the booth and waited for John to return.

John had to wake House up when he arrived. House squinted at his watch; it read two-forty five. John shrugged and explained they'd lost a driver and he'd been forced to pick up another load. He'd be driving the northern most routes to deliver the merchandise, but at least it was on the way home. He was anxious to get started as it would slow his return trip down considerably.

House wasn't as eager to comply, as it meant he'd be home a lot sooner also. The drop off location House had been provided with offered twenty four hour service, and he was able to complete the paperwork, leaving him free of any responsibilities. Making their way back to the truck, John lamented he'd be sorry to see House go as company would help to keep him awake. That was all the invitation House needed. He could catch a flight in Minneapolis just as easily, and since he wasn't expected to be anyplace for another couple of weeks, why the hell not travel the Midwest? It would definitely postpone any unwanted reunions.

They made it to Idaho before John admitted he needed to pull over for a few hours. He'd been fighting the rig in the gusting winds and falling snow for the past couple of hundred miles. House had managed to doze very lightly, occasionally peering through half-lidded eyes to make sure they were still on the road after a few particularly nasty jerks. John pulled the rig into a rest area, the overhead lights turning the grey parking lot into a checkerboard.

"I'm going to stretch for a bit, recheck the chains and then grab a few hours of shut-eye," John announced. House nodded looking at the world slowly turning white around them. "I'll pull down the bunk, if you want you can use the bottom," he finished, climbing out of the cab. He'd had his right leg propped up on the dash, and the thought of stretching it out even further came as a welcome idea, even with the extra Vicodin he'd taken.

House soon followed, shrugging quickly into his coat and turning to make his way to the restrooms. That building sat less than a block away, yet it seemed like an indeterminable distance as he bent his head into the wind and wet snow and carefully stepped forward.

Any misstep in these conditions with his leg and cane, and he was only too familiar with the consequences. He'd made it about half way before his teeth started chattering and he felt an arm slip around his waist. House fought back the urge to push John away, realizing he'd probably freeze out here on his own and reluctantly accepted the offer.

It still took them a little over fifteen minutes before they were back in the warmth of the cab, and shortly after John was snoring on the top bunk. House perused John's DVD collection shelved in the corner with a small television, and decided to watch Million Dollar Baby. He thought the story a bit on the sappy side, but enjoyed Clint Eastwood and figured it would help put him to sleep.

House awoke in near darkness, hearing voices. He groaned and popped two Vicodin before rolling towards the front of the cab. A slit of dim light between the drawn curtains told him it was still dark out, and he threw one side of the curtain open, not surprised to find another occupant in the passenger seat. He rubbed a hand over his shaggy face and eyed the newcomer critically.

John hooked a thumb towards the pimple faced teenager, dressed as a thick blue ski jacket and a striped knitted cap. "Picked Mark up thirty miles back. His car broke down," he offered in explanation as the kid stared back at House wide-eyed, before quickly looking forward again. House pulled himself upwards, clutching the backs of the seats and wished he'd remained asleep.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen so much snow. The world was practically obliterated and reminded him of his whiteboard. He glanced at the speedometer, they were only moving at twenty miles an hour, and John's fists clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. House had to squint at the wall of tiny white needles that assaulted the windshield and was unable to make out any type of landmark or indication they were still on a road.

"Where are we?" he asked not bothering to hide the yawn, hoping it would hide his nervousness.

Downshifting and leaning forward John answered, still not bothering to look anywhere but straight ahead, which bothered House more than he thought it should. "Crossed the Montana line about two hours back. They closed the highway, figured I'd take the round-a-bout way and come out a little further up." He downshifted once more, the truck lurched and John fought the steering wheel for a bit before he let out a heavy sigh.

House was able to finally make out the barest of landscape outlines as his eyes adjusted to the visibility. They rode in silence for twenty minutes before the bare landscape began to form into a tunnel of trees, and the change in scenery allowed a better view of the road. They were also climbing as House listened to the increased pitch of the engine.

"Think I'll go lie down and pretend this is all just a nightmare," House stated, and was only too willing to release his own tight grip on the cushions and settle back onto the lower bunk. He heard John chuckle, "Nothing's stopping me from getting home for my kid. Wife says she's starting to feel contractions."

House pulled the curtain closed between them and put in another movie in. He turned the sound on the television up in an attempt to drown out the noisy whine from the truck's engine. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could imagine he was lying on his sofa at home, and not riding with Stephen King's antagonist from the Duel. He thought about inquiring whether John had any kind of stash hidden away, the guy seemed too awake and eager, and then decided with the youngster traveling with them he'd save that question for later. There were still two more states they'd have to cross to reach their destination.