"Why would I want to go there?" Logan asked, upon being provided with Cameron's address.

"Because that's where Chase is. Course, I'm operating on the assumption you still want him to forget. Which is ironic, because he's the surgeon," he added, with a slight chuckle.

"What makes you think they went to her house?"

"Well, she had to fix her marriage. She's...kind of a wreck," he omissed. "Trust me, you go to her house, and you're guaranteed to find him. I think the term I'm looking for here is support."

"Okay, which way?" Logan asked, and followed the directions, realizing he actually was beginning to trust House.

Within the hour they were pulling into Cameron's driveway. Sure enough, Chase was sitting right on the front steps. Visible through the window, Cameron and her husband were yelling at one another. As House and Logan got out of the vehicle, Chase stood up, greeting the former with, "Well, I hope you're happy. Their marriage imploded. Because of you, she's going to lose everything."

"He's not everything," House scoffed. "He's a crappy husband."

"She's also losing her son and her house; and it's your fault. Help me out here," he added, when no one else said anything. "What did she ever do to you?"

After a slight, nonsensical stammer, House could only say, "There's no time to shoot the breeze. You're up," he added in Logan's direction, before beginning to limp away.

"Right. Well, I can't—"

"Hold up," Chase interrupted, and turned his attention back to House. "By some flaw of nature, you're actually important to Cameron. You have done nothing to deserve that; but you owe it to her to undo this."

What was he going to do, run away? Knowing he would never let up on him, House gave in with a sigh and limped to the steps. Not because he cared about Cameron, not because Chase told him what to do, and certainly not because he cared about her marriage, but because he wanted respect.

And if he could salvage it, he could prove they were both saps.

Rather than knock, House boldly stepped inside, freezing their fight. "Sorry to interrupt. Hell, you can finish first," he said, before he shut the door.

Alone with Logan, Chase looked at him. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Logan's voice was a murderous growl. "I told you to keep your mouth shut."

"I have."

"He told me what you said. Do threats on your life mean nothing?"

The confusion on Chase's face cleared. "I told him at the hotel. I didn't know it was secret, or even real. I was considering therapy," he confessed. "But since the shopping center, I have kept my mouth shut. I give you my word."

"Well, on the subject of undoing things, you need to pay a visit to Kayla. The less you know, the better."

"What can she do?"

"She'll erase the knowledge that we're mutants. But she'll leave everything else."

"Will it hurt?"

"No. No, it won't hurt," Logan said, trying not to sound as bitter and broken as he felt. He turned and went to his truck, sitting in the driver's seat with the door open and lighting up a cigar. As he tried to relax, he shook his head in disdain. Here he was, nearly immortal, four hundred pounds of steel with speed-healing abilities; and these simple humans felt less than he did.

"So it's true?" Michael demanded.

In the midst of trying to resolve the matter, this question angered House. He took a deep breath, trying not to use his cane as a weapon, then spoke in a deceptively calm voice that shook with barely suppressed rage. "You should not doubt your wife. She doesn't have a mean bone in her body."

"Unlike you!"

House sighed, trying harder than ever to rein in his anger. "Don't...don't punish her, okay? She doesn't deserve it."

Cameron's eyebrows rose at the kind words and the gentle way he'd said them.

"If people got what they deserved, you'd have a broken nose by now. What is wrong with you?"

"You'd think that's something a diagnostician would have figured out. I'm a constant surprise."

"Why did you do it?" Cameron interjected.

He sighed, unable to look away from her. "Because I'm a selfish jerk," he finally said. "I'm having a rough time, and I handled it badly. I'm sorry."

Her voice was quiet. "Well, I know you don't mean it, but I appreciate the effort."

"He doesn't mean it?" Michael asked.

To which Cameron told House, "You should probably leave now."

"Cameron, why are you friends with this asshole?"

"Because, he's... Well, he's..." Cameron paused, clearly floundering for words. "Well, I don't know why. I just am."

"Thanks," House said.

"All that matters, is that the text is void. None of it is true."

"Well, except for the hotel part," House said, and instantly regretted speaking. He tried backpedaling as Michael began to advance. "No, wait, that's... That can be construed as ambiguous."

The last thing he saw with clarity was Michael's fist, coming at his face. Then there was only pain and confusion. The ground moved under his feet and he felt himself fall, only to be caught from behind. Then the floor was touching the backs of his knees, and he felt his torso recline. He stared up at...his blonde friend. His thoughts swam in a disoriented fog.

Cradling his head, Cameron finally tore her eyes from House's stupefied face and looked up at her husband with narrow eyes. "What'd you do that for?" she demanded, her voice unstable with emotion.

"It's what he deserved."

"He didn't even go into the hotel room!" Cameron screeched.

The door blew open and the guys rushed to her side, helping House to his feet. His head lolled and the cane fell from his limp fingers, clattering to the linoleum. As the men pulled House outside without saying a word, Cameron walked to the coffee table saying just as much, picked up the divorce papers, and signed her name. Then, standing up and locking eyes with Michael, she startled him by throwing the pen across the room.

"Wait, no—I-I thought—"

"He's right. I don't deserve this," she muttered, and stepped onto the front porch. She turned to look at him one last time, her hand on the door knob. "See you in court."

She slammed the door.

The guys were helping House into the vehicle. "You okay there?" Chase asked.

To Cameron's relief, House continued moving on his own. "Yeah."

The guys watched her climb in beside House. Shrugging it off, Logan circled the vehicle to the driver's seat; and Chase climbed into the passenger seat. The doors simultaneously closed, and the vehicle was filled with the sound of three seat belts. Cameron looked over at House, still dazed from the punch, then reached over and buckled him in as well. He was looking at her with one eye; his hand obscuring his left eye as he slouched in the seat, holding his nose to stem the bleeding. Angry, devastated, and embarrassed, she averted her eyes and looked out the window as Logan backed out of the driveway and continued forward.

All she could hear was House's wheeze as he breathed through his nose. She was ashamed of the emotion that spilled into her voice. "Do you have tissues, Logan?"

"Glove compartment. You mind?" he asked Chase.

"Not at all." He popped it open and swiveled to hand Cameron the Kleenex. She began tending to his wounds, and House watched her hold in her tears.

Still facing forward, Chase frowned and asked, "What are you gonna do about your son?"

"Contend custody. In the meantime I can stay anywhere else. A hotel, a friend's place... America," she added quietly. Unlike House, she opened her purse and stuffed the bloody tissues inside.

"My DNA is not worth keeping."

"I'm not like you... I don't want to be rude."

His scoff was muffled by the tissues that still slowed the blood. His face was growing dark where Michael had decked him. Even still, he showed his strength by ignoring his own welfare and asking, "Are you okay?"

For a fleeting moment, Chase thought Cameron's voice had been drastically altered by emotion; then realized it had been House. He swiveled in his seat. "How hard did he hit you?"

"Can't remember getting hit."

Cameron sat still, looking miserably to her right at the seat. Then, after the commotion she ignored of House sitting up straight, suddenly he was putting his arm around her shoulders. The tissues fell into his lap as he clutched the bridge of his nose with a groan, but he determinedly clutched her tighter. "I'll try not to bleed on you."

She chuckled and rested her head on his shoulder, absent-mindedly putting her hand on his right leg. It was such a simple gesture; something everyone did. But not everyone had a generously sized dent in their leg, and she hesitated, unaccustomed to feeling a dent in human flesh. Like statues carved in the likeness of a couple, the pair sat completely still; each unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Cameron?" House asked quietly.

She yanked her hand away from the wound about which he was so closed off. "Nice jeans," she said, and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that one day, whether as a friend, lover, or patient, he could trust her enough to show her his wound...and wishing he would never let her go.