House wasn't interested in the food. Nor did he care why Cameron had chosen him, an arrogant SOB, over Chase—her ex-husband. Of course, killing a man was a little more serious than a love tap to the leg. All he cared about was how completely normal Kayla appeared to be. Happy, even, as she ordered her meal with a smile to the waitress. A genuine smile, as if she hadn't spent the night helping him bury a body. He was tense, expecting her to stand up on the table and tell the entire retaurant about Wilson. But as the evening progressed, and they enjoyed their meals, she didn't betray his trust.

Realizing he not only needed, but wanted to apologize to her, House broke into the lackadaisical conversation about whether Logan was a marriage kind of man. "Cameron, would you just...go away? Just for a teensy bit?" he added, when Cameron stared at him.

"Okay," she said slowly, and stood up.

Kayla's eyes followed her, then flicked to meet House's eyes. She tilted her head, studying the gloom in his hopeless face. His eyes were barren of life and joy, more than ever before.

House sighed, leaning forward. For a few heartbeats he said nothing, gathering his thoughts. Then he gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You haven't hurt me."

"I did." He barely met her eyes before he had to avert his own. When he spoke again, his voice was so quiet she found herself leaning in as well. "The policemen chasing you, shooting at you. It's my fault."

Kayla frowned, tilting her head.

"When we met, you asked if I'd been shot. The shot you heard was Wilson shooting himself. But my prints were on that gun. They must have..." But his words ran out when he could only wonder how the cops knew he had been at their cabin. Why they hadn't taken the gun as evidence.

Seeing the clueless contemplation on his face, Kayla sat quietly in her seat. This was exactly why she didn't like mingling with normal people. There were too many dead ends, too many wrong directions. But she couldn't just say nothing. The man was obviously brilliant—and she was standing in his light. She only had two choices; tell him the truth once and for all, or avoid him until he left Canada. All she knew was that he had been okay with it before... That, and if she avoided him, he would inevitably realize his innocence anyway.

She was still struggling with the decision when House broke the silence first, while peering over her shoulder. "Speaking of cops," he said, and nodded at the entrance. "There's one at your car."

Suddenly he was standing, and leaving a tip. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'll talk to her."

"Greg, this could have nothing to do with either of us," she omissed, also standing. Seeing them prepare to leave, Cameron began weaving her way through the maze of tables. She retrieved her purse and coat, and was still folding it over her arms as she pursued them to the front doors and outside.

As Kayla approached, her face was unchanged in its mask of polite indifference. She stopped across from the officer and waited. Then the cop spoke, in an accent House could easily recognize.

"Is this your vehicle?"

"Yeah, it is." Kayla moved her head in her frustration. "I'm not parked illegally. My credentials are valid..."

"You chose a restaurant that doesn't serve alcohol, so you're not intoxicated. And I know you're not high. Because the only thing I found stashed away was...this gun." The cop then brandished the weapon the trio had all unanimously presumed was her own. "Speaking of credentials..."

When Kayla made no move to provide her card, House's voice broke the stillness. "That's not her gun."

The cop turned her dark eyes to House, and her flashlight beamed into his face. "Gregory House. Well, I'm not even surprised. Not a lot of doctors named Robert Chase prescribing Vicodin," she said, as House was finally cast back into shadows. Finally understanding the paper trail, House rejected the notion of running as quickly as he could conceive the thought. "Your hunting license, Dr. House."

"I don't have a hunting license."

"Bold admission."

"Well, I don't hunt. It's for self-defense, scaring birds..."

"Suicide," Cameron muttered.

"You know you can't own a firearm without a license. I'm confiscating it."

Cameron couldn't suppress a smile. Now she felt better.

House wasn't smiling. He was thinking, and as usual it led him to trouble. "Did you follow us here?"

"No."

"Have you been tracking me?"

"No."

"So how did you know we were here?"

The cop was staring at him. "I didn't. But all these questions you're asking me...I know you're guilty now. Of what, I'm not sure; but I will track you to find out."

"I... I didn't even do anything!" House exclaimed, as the cop turned away.

"The women didn't do anything," the policewoman said, as she turned away. House instinctively started checking her out, even while his mind latched onto her words.

"Hey!" he yelled suddenly, surprising all three women. She turned around, raising her eyebrows at him as he limped closer. "Is it a requisite for you people to punish the innocent?"

"You are not innocent."

"Neither are you. Your tattoo screams that you're here illegally."

The cop's hand went automatically to her neck, over the tattoo. "What? You're crazy. It is only my husband's name."

"Long distance marriage?" House asked, and observed her ring-free finger. "Or do you just take it off before you flirt with someone else?"

"I'm not an infidel."

"Yeah, you didn't pass English, either."

The cop frowned at him. "I normally am the one who does the interrogating."

"Normally. You're, what, Puerto Rican?" House asked. "They speak...Spanish over there, I think," he said, looking at her in mock confusion. "And yet your tattoo is in Chinese."

"You have a problem with interracial marriage?"

"Nope. I have a problem with police impersonators."

"Bite your tongue."

"No thanks. You're suffering from jet lag, but your skin is still red. You're on the run. So you married the first guy who made you feel funny. Well, all guys want sex, but almost no guy wants to jump right into marriage. Gong Fang Wei is probably also looking for a green card."

As the officer stared at him in silent unease, Cameron had to smile. She had forgotten he was at least a polyglot.

"Now you're here taking it out on me. Almost like people finding out is...actually not the last thing you want." House shrugged, gracing her with one of his rare smiles. "So what would be worse, my questions or my answers?"

The cop looked him up and down, finally responding. "My cousin works at the restaurant. I came to give her some news. Saw the gun."

"Thanks. Didn't want to push you."

"Yes, you did." The cop suddenly smiled then and said, "And I want to ruin your night."

House's eyes went to her pocket as she extracted her handcuffs. "Would you turn around, please?" she asked, and began rattling off his Miranda rights when he obliged. She cuffed him as House found himself looking into Cameron's eyes and unable to look away, even to Kayla.

He had gone to jail before. And yet, she looked scared. Of course, she'd never witnessed his arrest; and he found himself trying to calm her down. "They're Canadian. I'm not. I'll be back before you can say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis."

Cameron scoffed humorously, her eyes following him as he was escorted away. Turning back to Kayla, she started to grumble. "Perfect. This is just perfect."

"I'll take care of it."

Cameron frowned into her friend's dangerously calm face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

But Kayla only answered her with another question, brandishing her car keys.

"Do you know your way back to where his friend died?"

Cameron's eyes went wide. "He died?"

Kayla averted her eyes, appearing apologetic as she turned away and started pursuing the officer; soon fading into the dark of night. Alone, and suddenly feeling sick, Cameron leaned on the car; feeling so much more towards House than pity.

Walking through the hallway, the cop was pushing House forward from behind. "Come on," he was saying. "You know my name. If we're going to get to know one another..."

"I have no intention of getting to know you."

"Right. You're going to track me without learning a thing." He tilted his head then and added, "Ah, I guess it worked for your husband."

Suddenly the lights in the hall began to blink as an alarm went off, beeping consistently. The cop moved quickly, freeing one of House's wrists to cuff him to the nearest jail cell door. "My name is Sanchez," she said hastily, before beating a retreat down the hall.

Ignoring him as he called her name, she brandished her weapon and roamed the prison; looking for anyone wandering around in an orange jumpsuit. Eventually, the noise of someone rushing down the hallway made her stop at the end of the hall. Seeing a fellow officer round the far corner, she lowered her weapon; turning the safety on as the officer rushed towards her. "Rodriguez!" the fellow officer yelped, as she stopped in front of Sanchez. She was crying, and visibly shaking.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"One of the prisoners escaped. Murdered a bunch of cops!"

Rodriguez let her go and turned her safety off, pointing her weapon and taking the same direction. It wasn't long before she found the bloody hallway; stepping over one mutilated officer after another and leaving crimson footprints in between. The prisoners were silent, standing at the door, as if they were afraid. As if they were surprised to see criminal activity.

Rodriguez spotted the open cell and advanced, hardly able to believe her eyes. The metal bars on the door were all bent off to the side.