The handcuffs clattered on the bars as House strained to face the other direction, peering over his shoulder. Then, in a room too close for comfort, there were several gunshots before it sounded like a man pleading for his life. Then, in the silence that followed, a door opened nearby. And Logan stepped out into the hall. Though he was drenched in blood, it was the sight of his claws that caught House's attention.

With startling speed, and a strange ripple in both arms, his claws shot into his fists. Only the echo of the commotion could be heard as movement came from inside the cells. House turned his head for one second to look at the startled prisoner across from him, and was caught off-guard by Logan suddenly walking right past him. "Hey," House bit, but Logan kept walking. "Hey, Lawrence!" he yelled, but still the freak kept going. House sighed. "You know, you could have freed me! Jagoff," he added under his breath.

Unknowingly responding to a telepathic influence, Logan ignored him and kept going. The only thought he could consciously conceive was that the inmate wasn't addressing him.

He was stopped outside by a beautiful woman, who was obviously neither an inmate nor officer. She stood very still, her eyes taking in the sight of his slick arms. Then her eyes shot up to his as she asked him, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he growled, not looking at her. He peered into the dark hinterland. "Do you know how to get to the mutant school from here?"

"What?"

She instinctively looked down as he raised his left hand, extracting his claws. "It's where I belong."

Kayla stared into his emotionless eyes. "Are you breaking up with me? I thought we...dropped this," her words faltered as a look of confusion came over his face. Then his eyes slipped shut and his breathing changed, as he visibly swayed.

"Whoa," he said, as Kayla moved to his side.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

At her familiar voice, Logan opened his eyes and mirrored her earlier frown. He surveyed their surroundings. "I don't... I don't know what happened. How did I get outside?" he asked, and returned his eyes to hers. "Did you do that?"

Kayla shook her head, already willing to withhold the fact she was there for another man. Too bad she couldn't.

"Greg's here," she said simply. Then she sighed and ran a hand over his bloodied arm without touching it. "Provided you didn't kill him," she added as an afterthought.

Logan's voice was barely audible as he said, "I don't remember killing anyone."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He looked at her, bewildered. "I was sleeping."

Kayla reluctantly averted her eyes and retraced her steps into the building. Alone, Logan took out a cigar and then another, taking deep drags as he tried to calm his screaming nerves. He had just begun to wonder if a telepath had something to do with it when the entrance doors opened once more, and Kayla came walking out of the building. She let the door close behind her as she descended the steps, coming to and stopping in front of Logan. "Cameron has the truck."

"I don't even know this girl."

"I do. She'll be fine."

"Sure. It's the truck I'm worried about."

"I'm worried about you," was her response. She moved tentatively closer and clasped his hands. "I don't...insist on knowing everything about you. But if you're...old enough to get Alzheimer's—"

"It was a mutant." Logan paused, deciding as always to trust his instincts. "A telepath, I've heard him twice before all this."

Rather than emotionally asking why he hadn't said anything, as he expected she would, Kayla only asked, "Do you hear him now?"

"No."

"You, or he, asked me for directions to the mutant school." She smiled sadly into his befuddled face. "I know how much you hate that place."

"They glorify being a mutant; they advertise 'em. Last thing we need—" His voice broke off as she touched his face. "I told you. I don't hear him now."

"I know." She brushed her thumb across his cheek. "But, being gifted..."

The sparkle in his eyes was extinguished like a flame, as he quickly grew annoyed. "Will you quit calling it that?"

"Doesn't have to be a bad thing," she finished.

"Right," he said, and withdrew. "It's actually good that I don't know whose blood this is. For all I know, it's mine."

As she tried to piece together the correct response, it was House's voice that broke into their interlude. "It's not spreading."

As usual, Logan was the first to recover. Unaware House had seen his claws again, he tilted his head slightly. "Good point."

"So. How about we steal one of these cruisers and get out of here?"

"No! I'll call Cameron," Kayla said with exasperation. She walked a few paces away, digging for her phone.

"Taxi-Cam," House muttered, and shook his head. "I miss my motorcycle."

"Yeah, you and me both, bub."

House raised his eyebrows at the strange terminology, but remained quiet; his obsessive mind still reeling about the metallic claws he had hallucinated coming from the man's fists. Desperately anticipating the results of his MRI, he let himself wallow in his anxiety for another moment before rejecting the creepy, albeit cool, vision.

That's all it was. Just another trick, played on him by his most trusted asset. Unfortunately, it meant nothing else...

When Cameron stepped out of the vehicle to take her rightful place in the backseat of someone else's car, she didn't expect to see Logan wearing a coat of fresh blood. Unable to look at him or even find her voice to ask if he was alright like she wanted to, she walked stiffly past him; her medical mind able only to deduce that, yet again, the blood wasn't his. She slid into the back beside House, immediately glancing down at his right leg, which was furthest from her. Then her eyes shot up to his; and seeing him already watching her, she faked a smile and asked, "How are you?"

He hesitated, then gave a half-nod of acknowledgment. "I'm okay."

Knowing he wouldn't ask her, she looked out the window and tried to think about anything other than pain. Luckily she was distracted by her ringing phone; and as everybody but House reached into their pockets, Cameron was smiling as she looked over at House. "It's Cuddy," she announced.

"Ah. Great. A pain in my ass, a thorn in my side."

"Pardon me for actually giving a crap about your well-being," Cuddy's voice came over on loud speaker, surprising everyone. House scowled at Cameron as Cuddy continued, "I guess I'm in the wrong line of work."

Cameron smiled apologetically at House, who turned his scowl from her to her phone. "Why are you calling?"

"To...check on you. I thought my opening sentence made that clear."

"Okay. Why haven't you been checking on me on my phone?"

Cuddy was quiet for a moment, then said, "I didn't think you'd answer."

"Sit at your desk. Sit in on the differentials. Hell, you can sit in my lap, but I don't need or want a sitter!" House growled, and reached over to end the call. Cameron moved it out of his reach as Cuddy's voice filtered through.

"And yet, you haven't ditched Chase and Cameron. House...you know why they're there."

House barely met Cameron's eyes before announcing, "You're half-right. She's here."

"Chase isn't? Well, where is he?" Cuddy asked. At that juncture, Cameron offered him her phone, and he surprised her by taking it, turning off loud speaker and raising the phone to his ear. For a moment he was quiet, listening to the waiting silence on the other end.

Then he hung up, handing Cameron her phone back. Finally, he met her eyes.

Cameron scrutinized him, still brandishing the phone. "She wasn't talking, was she?"

"No."

"Why weren't you?"

House considered her question, then shook his head, only able to say, "I don't know."

Cameron lowered her phone-wielding hand onto her leg. "Yes, you do," she muttered, and wouldn't speak again until he made eye contact. "If you can't open up to your friends, then you don't have any."

"I don't want any."

"Then you're going to die alone."

"Everybody dies alone."

"No. They don't." Her expression was a silent challenge. She tilted her head, examining one of the three faces dearest to her. "But you want to..."

Her voice trailed off, and Kayla looked over her shoulder as Cameron faced forward, covering her eyes with both hands. House focused on her, knowing there were two—hell, three—more people in his company than he preferred. He didn't want to see Logan or Kayla, or read their minds. He didn't want to be having this discussion. Unfortunately he'd left all his chloroform at the hospital.

Cameron's phone slid off her leg, startling her. She dropped her right hand to pick it up, while running her left hand through her curls. Then she wearily met his eyes. "Do you really hate everyone that much?"

He gave a partial shake of his head. "More."

"Everyone. In the whole world. In all... 24.9 miles."

"Do you have a point? Other than to annoy me?"

"He broke you," Cameron mumbled, still staring into his eyes.

House analyzed her, feeling a surge of anger wash over him as he realized what she meant. Suddenly he changed his mind, deciding to force it out of her. It beat striking her with his cane, of which he had never been more aware. "Who?" he bit, with a challenge in his voice.

"Whatever happened between you and Wilson..." Her words tumbled to a falter and she sighed, starting over. "Chase was wrong. You're not the same bastard you were last year. You're worse."

Except for the quiet purr of the engine, the car was quiet. Logan and Kayla made no attempt to ease the tension. He focused on his driving and she tried to ignore both of her fellow passengers.

House finally emitted a soft scoff, as he finally withdrew away from her. "He and I could have never met," he growled, with a vague hand gesture. "I'd still hate you the most."

Her eyebrows went up and he turned his back to her, peering out the window and forcing himself to look past her reflection. Cameron sat in a quiet little ball of emotions and tried to absorb the painful revelation of his hate.

Standing in the doorway of one of the two bedrooms, Cameron surveyed the bed in disappointment. The last thing she wanted was to share a bed with House. But she couldn't help but feel like House wouldn't want to share a bed with Logan. And neither did she. Which ruled out all but one option.

She turned to look up at him. This time she wouldn't wait for eye contact. "You should be the one on the couch," she said quietly, so as not to draw attention. "But that would imply you're sorry, which would imply that you're actually a decent man," that comment did make him look at her. "Since you're not, I will take the couch. Not because I love you, not because you deserve it, but because of your leg." The last word was an unfriendly growl. She slipped past him and went to the stairs.

House swiveled at the waist, checking to make sure she was gone before he allowed himself to give in to the strain of climbing the stairs. His breathing deepened and his hand shook atop his cane. He limped into the bedroom and started closing the door, pausing to let the cat inside. He clicked the door shut.

Hearing it from the bottom of the steps, Cameron sighed and wandered into the living room, her eyes drawn immediately to the stain of blood and the chunks of glass. Sitting down on the couch, she finally reached over to pick up Wilson's wallet, pulling out his ID card. She observed it for a moment, then returned the card to its slot and tucked the entire wallet into her purse. Looking down at the chunks of glass, she then got down on her knees and was meticulously depositing them into one hand when there were footsteps on the stairs.

"Uh, there's a broom in the closet."

Cameron hesitated, then turned her palm over, spilling the shards onto the hardwood. She stood up straight and accepted the broom from Kayla. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. "Did you meet him?"

"Only if post mortem counts."

Cameron knew Wilson had been dying of cancer, but she didn't know what he had really died of. She kept seeing the gun, flashing in the light as House turned it over in his hands. With a heartbreakingly calm expression, like nothing moved him.

She turned to meet Kayla's eyes. "Do you know what happened?"

Kayla hesitated, then impulsively curled her hand around Cameron's. "I'm told he shot himself."

Cameron stared speechlessly into her eyes for several heartbeats, then her face crumpled. "Oh, my God."

Kayla stared at her, wishing so desperately that they could catch each other up on their lives. "I'm...I'm sorry. Greg never told me you knew him," she blathered, and squeezed her hand. "Were you close?"

Cameron sniffled and pulled away, needing a free hand to wipe her tears. "No. No, we weren't close."

She turned and quietly began to sweep, feeling like she was going to suffocate. "He was an oncologist. Didn't work for House, but we all knew him. Respected him. He was a good guy."

"Were any of you friends with him?"

"Uh...no, not...not really. I tried to get along with everyone, but I always felt like...I was giving more than I was getting. One told me we were colleagues only. Chase, well, he and I were married for awhile. But we only got involved in the first place because I got stoned."

"That doesn't sound like you at all."

Cameron shook her head. She had gathered all of the large chunks of glass, and was now trying to sweep up any fragments she might have overlooked. "I should have been his friend. I should have tried, but I just kept distancing myself." She nearly choked on the last syllable as she suddenly reminded herself of the man who hated her the most; and the tears began fresh. Disgusted with herself, she knelt and meticulously filled up the dust pan, dismissing Kayla with a hasty smile as she surged to her feet. "Goodnight," she said, and carried the remains of the mug away.

"Goodnight," Kayla echoed. She turned around and walked to the stairs, only looking away from her oldest friend when the second floor blocked her from sight. Going down the hall, she let herself into the bedroom and closed the door all the way, quietly, before sitting on the bedsheet. "How long are we staying here?"

He looked at her, with a slight frown on his rugged face. "Well, you tell me. You're the one with the messiah complex," he began, and gave her a severe look when she appeared to take offense. "Look how long you stuck around 'im."

"I was helping him."

"Yeah, with what?" he pressed, and continued when she couldn't, "You haven't done a thing for him. You couldn't even change his mind."

"I'm covering our tracks..."

"Way I see it, there'd be one less set to cover if you hadn't decided to help 'im." Logan shrugged then, looking ahead. "You like 'im 'cause he's broken, and I'm not. And you know I never will be."

"That is not why I like him."

"You like him?" he asked, and in the silence his eyes flitted to hers. To her, it seemed like she was looking at a stranger.

Still clutching the blanket in her hands, Kayla dropped her fists into her lap. "Is something bugging you? Do we need to talk?"

"Nope. I'm fine."

"Right," she answered, and began to get cozy.

"Kind of worried I might impale you," he muttered.

"You won't," she answered, as she continued tucking herself in. In the silence, she turned her head to the right, and saw him watching her. "I'll move," she assured him.

He looked back up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, wishing that he didn't have claws, and they could actually share the bed.

Gift. Whatever. The greatest gift he could possibly conceive was a cure.

Kayla's touch broke into his thoughts, and he focused on it until he dozed off. She took the risk of lingering longer than usual, remaining by his side as he entered REM sleep. She didn't think her touch had more than one mutant power, and one intimate power; but as she let him go and began sitting up, he stirred lightly, making a face and turning his head. And then he did something he had never done before—he started talking in his sleep.

"You can't," he muttered, almost incoherently. Kayla paused, sitting up on her side of the bed, waiting to see if he would talk again. He was quiet until she was on her feet heading towards the door. "Get out of my way, Erik."

She turned back, watching his still form in the moonlight. As she hovered, she suddenly realized why the name was so familiar.

"Cerebro," Logan muttered.

Kayla hovered for another moment, wondering if she should wake him up or let him sleep, and which action would disturb the telepath more. But then, realizing the mutant had him either way, she turned around and left the bedroom, allowing him to rest.