"Holy crap," Park said, with her usual eloquence. "Do you guys think Foreman knows?"

"I wouldn't doubt it, he called me first," Taub announced.

"You?" Adams asked simply.

"Thinking I was Foreman. When I spoke, he hung up."

Taub looked up as the glass door opened, sending reflections of light across the wall behind him and causing everyone to look at the door. Foreman stopped cold, seeing three identical looks of silent accusation.

Foreman raised his brows at his snarky-looking friends. "What's up?"

"Well, the Mets beat the Yankees. Johanssen's condition is continuing to deteriorate, even on broad spectrum antibiotics. And you need to call House back," Taub said calmly. He finished it off with an insincere smile.

"Oh," Foreman said pithily, and moved closer to his desk. He anticipated Taub would get out of his seat, which didn't happen. He stopped again, depositing his file organizer on his desktop. "I assume your lingering presence means you want to express your opinion on the matter."

"You did know," Park deduced.

Foreman ignored her, brandishing a thin stack of files. "If you're not going to move," he said, and offered them to Taub, "These go in the middle drawer."

Taub took them, but slapped them over the computer keyboard. "Cleanup can wait; this is House. Did you know about this at the funeral?"

"No. I didn't," Foreman answered sharply. "What can we do about Johanssen?"

"Apparently, we can get House's opinion," Adams bit, and stood up, moving her hands in frustration. "How long have you known?"

Knowing he wasn't going to get rid of them without answering their questions, Foreman tried to set the dying girl aside. "Tuesday."

Based on their reactions, even less than a week was too much time. He decided to exclude the fact that he had his suspicions for several years.

"Tuesday?" Taub said. "The phone call you shooed me from the room to take?"

"Yes."

"That's interesting; that's the phone call you answered with, I knew it."

So much for his omission. "I didn't know for sure. I had a hunch."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Park trilled.

"Because, it was... It was just a hunch!"

"Your entire career is built on hunches. If you're questioning your judgment, what's stopping me from taking this to the board of directors?" Taub asked.

"House being alive is irrelevant to how I do my job, and everyone in here knows it," Foreman pointed out. "And House...didn't want me to say anything. But you know what, you can go right ahead. It's not my fault you answered the phone."

"Nor is it my fault a stripper answered his."

Despite himself, Foreman was smiling as he picked up the files strewn over the keyboard. "I'll ask one more time, what can we do about Johanssen?" he asked, as he walked to the drawers. He pulled open the middle drawer, banging it into Taub's knee and scaring him out of the seat. Putting away the files in silence, Foreman's anger mounted. He pushed the drawer shut with deceptive peace. "You know, Adams, you raise an excellent point. I can get House's opinion. And I may need it, if I have to fire all of you," he added sharply, and motioned them from the room. But on their way out, Park and Taub were stopped at the door by one final question.

"Does this have anything to do with the absence of Chase?" Adams asked.

Foreman stared at her a moment longer, then smiled at the floor, shaking his head. "Go check on the patient while you still have one."

He watched her follow Park and Taub from his office.

"You had no right."

"It said Doctor; I thought it was urgent," Kayla argued. "For all I knew it was life and death. It's not my fault you're playing dead."

"For all you knew, that was my doctor making a confidential call."

"Then he would be a pretty bad doctor."

"Did I ever call him a good doctor?"

Kayla put her hands on her hips, looking at the tuft of blonde hair poking out from behind the brandished Cosmopolitan magazine behind which Chase was silent. "You really want to discuss boundary issues with me?"

"That is completely different. I'm listening to Sterling; not responding to him."

"I'm not talking about..." Kayla's words ran out and she motioned to the TV.

"Prescription Passion," the Cosmopolitan mumbled.

"Right. I'm not talking about what you've done. I'm talking about what you're trying to do."

House stared at her, finally returning his hand to his side. "Oh," he said pithily.

"I'm happy with Logan. If it's happiness you want for me, why sabotage it? And FYI, you can't," she told him.

"The man's in prison for taking sixteen lives. At least," he added, when he observed her reticence. "I don't know very much about the legal system's leniency in your country, but in mine you wouldn't see him again," he said, and observed her reaction as she obviously tried not to break down. "Does he really mean that much to you?"

"Of course he does."

House looked at her and spoke emptily. "Why?"

"I have my reasons," she said quietly. "And I find it very hard to believe that you made it...seventy years," she guessed, "Without meeting anyone special."

"Nobody's special."

Kayla raised her eyebrows. "Nobody in the whole world, except me?" she asked, and waited for a response. "You can only live in hypocrisy, Greg. You can't thrive in it."

"Did I ever say you were special?" House pressed, and didn't wait very long for an answer. "No. In fact I never said anyone was special. But I will say that I'm bored."

Kayla's eyebrows went up and she wouldn't speak.

House emitted a soft sigh, sparing a look at Chase's brilliant camouflage. "If you grow tired of waiting for him, I'll be in New Jersey."

She watched him limp to the front door; then heard a rustle of glossy pages. She turned to Chase, who stood up and offered her his hand. "Thanks again," he said discreetly, and following the handshake he got up and started tailing House; who was at this point walking in the rain.

"I thought you were going to be in my car."

Chase paused, turning back to face her. "Still?" he asked, and she nodded. "Alright. House," he called to the dark woods. He heard the cessation of his sloppy footsteps before turning back to look at her. "You remind me of Cameron."

"How's that?"

"You should be pissed at 'im, but you're not."

"I am. But I'm not going to punish you."

"Are you going to punish him?"

But Kayla wouldn't respond, walking past him to retrieve her purse with an enigmatic silence. Chase was chuckling as he let himself out of the cabin and into the storm.

House still stood there, his back to them as he waited for them to catch up.

"Like you could walk all the way to Princeton-Plainsboro," Kayla muttered, as they passed him. She opened her truck door and leaned on it, looking at him until he changed course. The quiet night was broken by the sound of three doors closing. Again, Chase took the passenger seat; and as he buckled up, he spared a brief look at his colleague. Or rather, who used to be his colleague. In his place was just the shell of an old, broken man. Their eyes locked and Chase could see in his a deep well of pain and hatred; then House turned his head and the movement of the truck pulling backward made Chase turn his attention to the sobbing windshield.

"Either of you care for music?" Kayla asked.

"Sure," Chase said.

His vote outnumbered, House motioned for her to go ahead, then turned his attention to Cuddy, smiling at him from the adjacent seat.

The first strings of the song were interrupted by the rattle of pills, and House's muttered, "Guess I won't be getting my motorcycle."

"Ugh, men," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes. She met his. "You told me you could change. Maybe you even gave it your best shot," she added, as she scooted closer. She smiled at him and wickedly whispered, "I don't think your best is good enough."

"You do. I know you do," House muttered.

Hearing his disoriented, impromptu comment, Chase and Kayla looked at him. He appeared to be shaking off the touch of someone he couldn't see. "No," he began, and then met two worried pairs of eyes staring at him. He sat back and smiled, pretending everything was normal.

His efforts were rewarded by the growl of the tires spinning on the wet forest floor as the car bucked and heaved down the wild trail.

"You didn't seriously think they would buy that, did you?" Cuddy asked smugly. "You shouldn't have spoken to me. Now she's taking you to the hospital."

"No."

Chase frowned at the second random mutter.

Eventually winding her way to the bottom of the path, House turned his attention to the window instead, watching the officers continue to unearth their fellow officers. Their flashlights swung in the dark, illuminating the frozen faces and the stained uniforms and the holes in the ground. At the sight of the car creeping down the trail, the cops paused in their activity.

"What the hell's going on here?" Chase mused.

Kayla didn't respond, feeling every pair of eyes following her through the dark. Obviously wondering if they should let the mutant go, now that Logan was taken care of... But not all the officers were too worried about a prisoner's threat. Suddenly the back windshield exploded. Chase and Kayla leaned forward and House lunged to the floor, cramming himself between the seats. He didn't know if it would protect him. Looking up, he saw Wilson looking down at him.

Then another shot was fired and his head exploded in blood.

With a screech of the tires, Kayla finally broke free of the confines of the forest and she stomped on the gas. As they drew further away, the only sound in the silence was labored, erratic breathing coming from between the seats.