"Don't forget to check your message," House said, as they buckled up.

Looking slightly perplexed, Cuddy obliged. It took only a few seconds and she was disconnecting, appearing only more confused.

"Just get breathing?"

"She said 'No' and hung up. Half an hour ago," she added, and turned her eyes to him. "Check your phone."

"Okay, but I think I mighta broken it."

"Does Cameron know you might have broken it?"

"No."

"Then please. Just in case."

He grunted in displeasure, but got out his phone, flipping it open. "I'll be damned," he said, and dialed his own number.

"House, it's Cameron. Do not go back to the cabin. Logan has killed people. He put his hands on me and he threatened your life. Go home, House. Take Cuddy with—" Her words were cut off and then there was a clink. Into the staticky silence, they heard a motorcycle roaring past, then a gun being fired twice into the sound of static, followed by the sound of squealing tires and then a loud crash that made the phone vibrate in his hand.

The message ended.

"She hasn't called me since," he said grimly.

"Nope. Me, either." Cuddy started the car, looking back at him. "We should take that to the police."

"No, we really shouldn't."

"Why?" she whispered fiercely.

"Uh, two reasons," he said, adjusting himself. "One, we don't know where Cameron went or even who was shooting at her. And two, the police and I...not exactly BFF."

"Alright, then, let me hear your brilliant idea."

"As it happens, I'm something of a detective myself."

Cuddy settled against the back of her seat and they listened to the motor, as House wracked his brain. Thinking in silence, he pulled out the map and found their current location. "Let me see your phone," he finally said.

She obliged, and he began to tap on her phone. "Cameron should go to the police, and she knows it. Leaving the cabin, the nearest station is in Williams Lake, on Borland Street. Head west on Dog Creek Road." He fell silent, looking grimly at the screen.

"What is it?"

He glanced at her. "She's shot and we're almost three hours away."

"Yeah, but she can't break the speed limit," Cuddy murmured, and started the car.

Only two minutes away from their destination, on 4 Avenue, Cuddy was distracted by the siren and flashing lights in her rearview mirror. "Darn it," she muttered, pulling off to the side.

The passenger side was closest to the sidewalk. House looked to his right and scoffed, getting Cuddy's attention. When she looked at him, it was obvious that he wasn't mocking her. "What?" she inquired.

"The Canadian Mental Health Association...neighboring The Voice Of Pentecost Church," he said bitterly, then nodded, moving his jaw forward in sardonic contemplation. "Oh, Canada," he sighed wearily.

Shaking her head, Cuddy pulled out her license and registration, then rolled down her window. The cop came up to her side of the vehicle. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Probably because it's your job," House snapped.

Cuddy waved him off, turning her luminous smile to the officer. "Ignore him, he's just cranky from skipping his nap."

House rolled his eyes and turned his attention out the window, hating that she wasn't entirely wrong.

"Sure. License and...registration," he finished, as she held up her cards. He took them from her and walked back to his vehicle.

House looked at her. "This isn't your first time getting pulled over, is it?"

"What do you think?" she asked, hiding her frustration with another smile.

He let his head fall back against the seat. "I think Cameron still bled out, no matter how fast you were going. Even if my theory was right...she was still over an hour's drive from that police station. And she was on foot."

"You can't know that."

"No, that's true. She probably hitched a ride with the killer. No, wait." He stopped and blinked. "She's not crazy."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that."

"Logan must have shot her," he growled. "Heard her talking to us. Put a stop to it. Great, now we're going to her, and he'll be right there waiting."

"You watch too much TV," she said pithily, turning her attention back to the window as the cop came back.

"Why were you going so fast?" he asked.

"Uh, distracted... Fighting about my parents." She rolled her eyes.

"Ain't nothing worth getting into a wreck. Tell your parents to work on their own marriage." He tore off the ticket and handed it back along with her cards. "Ma'am, what happened to your face?" he asked, then bent down. "And his," he added.

"We got attacked. I don't know who they were."

House jumped in, describing the vehicle and license plate. The officer thanked him and wished them a good evening before they parted ways.

Cuddy felt him looking at her as she continued to drive. "I don't want to talk about it," she repeated.

"Me neither."

Coming to an intersection, Cuddy's eyes were drawn off to her right, where she saw Yorston Medical Building. She took the unexpected right turn and then made a left, swinging into the parking lot. "I'll be right back."

"I thought you were afraid of Cameron."

"Yeah, but if you go in, they'll just see a patient." She raised her eyebrows at him, then grabbed her purse.

"And you're taking your ID to, what, abandon me here?"

"Well, it sounds tempting. But I just don't want you snooping and taking my cash."

He grinned sardonically as she exited the vehicle, closing her door. Alone, he began to snoop through her glove compartment, but was stopped by a ghostly voice from the backseat.

"Put up your feet, old man. We all know she's dead."

House turned to look at Amber, staring back at him. Before he knew it, he was debating with the visual manifestation of his conscience. "We all know it's likely she's dead. Cameron's tough, she's gotten through worse."

"What has she overcome that's worse than two bullets? Even you're not that bad," she laughed, as he pondered her inquiry.

Somehow that second shot had slipped his mind. He turned to tell the extension of his own mind to get lost when he saw Cuddy walking back towards the car. He faced forward and ignored Amber, eager to be in the presence of more than a mirage.

She got back in the car. "They never heard of her," she announced.

"Oh, worth a shot."

She began buckling up. "Uh, just...out of curiosity. Do you have a backup theory?"

"Yes."

She nodded and then paused, waiting for him to tell her. "And what is it?" she finally urged.

"Checking the morgue."

Cuddy started the car, nodding slowly. "Of course."

"In fact I can tackle that while you check in with the 5-0."

Cuddy sighed, sparing him only a second's glance before looking back at the road. "You really need to clear your name. I'm tired of always affiliating myself with a criminal."

"Then cut me out."

His comment seemed to render her mute. She wouldn't look at him. As she was one of the very few people he liked, he grew discontent with the lack of attention and continued talking. "Don't want to do that, huh? Yeah. It's a lot easier with someone you're not in love with."

"House, just because I won't cut you out doesn't mean I won't get you arrested."

"Yeah. That's real scary to a criminal," he said, and took some Vicodin. "You're not even denying my statement," he added around the pills.

"An egomaniac wouldn't listen. But I did throw up in my mouth a little."

He smiled out the window as Cuddy drove up to the station. She turned off the car and sat still for a moment, then plopped her purse into her lap. She retrieved her phone, handing it to him. "You'll need their number," she said, when she saw the question in his eyes.

"True dat."

"Ugh," she said gracefully. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Of what?"

She smiled at him, unbuckling. "That brains deteriorate with age."

"You know, you're right," his words stopped her. "They all do. Some rapidly, some eventually. It's an ugly process. For you, the worst days are still ahead. And by the time they come, I'll be long gone."

She sobered fast, getting dejectedly out of the vehicle. Watching her leave, House glimpsed Wilson sitting in the backseat. The hallucination was quiet, looking eerily at him with that annoying, I'm-so-wise look.

"Oh, shut up," House said into the silence.

Wilson only smiled as House began researching Canadian hospitals. He was making his second call and ignoring Wilson at the same time when Cuddy returned. Neither could provide an update.

Cuddy still seemed put off by his remark, and it was mildly grating to his ego. And she was pregnant, and he had almost caused her death. So he made a decision and broke the tension with a proposition. "Hungry?" he asked, and she ignored him. "I'm in the mood for takeout. Even Canadians make that... Come on, my treat," he insisted.

That got her interest. "Really?"

"Technically? Technically it's Wilson's treat."

In the process of starting her car, she raised her keys. "You didn't."

"Sure I did, why not? Dead men don't wear leather."

"Get out of my car."

"What about the baby? You've got to feed it."

"That's right. I do. I'll take care of my own," she answered, and unlocked her car doors. "Get out of my car."

House unbuckled. "After everything you overlooked. This? Really?"

She nodded.

"The strawman that broke the Cuddy's back," he muttered, and left her car. Closing the door, he stood out on the sidewalk, watching her put the keys into the ignition—

The engine coughed, sputtered, and conked out. House began chuckling as she took out her keys and smacked the steering wheel; then he leaned down and tapped on the open window to get her attention. "Look at that!" he said, "The engine's affiliated with me, too!"

She let her hands fall into the seat as she threw back her head, reluctantly meeting his winter blue eyes. "Can you look at it, please?"

"Why?" he asked, and shrugged. "You take care of your own."

She watched him stand up and limp away.