Cameron's efforts to not believe Chase were effectively thwarted once she caught sight of the policemen. Guns raised, they swarmed the truck, all eyes alternating between Logan, Chase, and House as they wondered which man was the suspect.

Logan opened the driver side door and stepped out into the cluster of cops. Out of fear, Cameron finally spoke. "What do we do? Should we get out, too? Do we stay?"

"I don't know. I'm not well-versed in getting detained."

The car was quiet then, as the ducklings looked at House for advice to ridicule.

"We wait for instruction," House answered simply.

"Yeah," Chase scoffed, "You always follow the instructions."

"I do when munitions are involved," House growled, and continued peering out of the windows. Logan was ushered inside and the door closed, blocking them from sight. In the quiet night, all they could see were the roaming flashlight beams. All they could hear were themselves.

Seeing in her peripheral vision that she was under his intense scrutiny, Cameron looked over at House. Their eyes locked—hers were wide, and her hands trembled ever so slightly in her lap.

"So you believe me now, right?" he asked.

She wouldn't deny it.

"I told you Chase has a big mouth."

Chase turned in the passenger seat to give him a dirty look over his left shoulder.

"So you've...seen...them?" she asked falteringly. "For real?"

"Yeah. It's amazing. They're solid steel this thick," he said, demonstrating with his fingers. "And this long." Another demonstration. "I bet it covers his entire skeleton. It would explain the weight. Ohh," he added, as his eyes coupled in size, "Now I know why he rejected the MRI. What a mess that would be. God, I'd love to see it," he sighed.

His colleagues made twin faces of disapproval. "House," Cameron said. "That's morbid."

Chase's scoff garnered her attention. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know... Maybe that several weeks of therapy, several months of rehab, and almost a year away from the hospital would have inspired the smallest change."

"People don't change," House muttered.

"So when someone changes jobs—becomes vegetarian—starts working out—gets a tattoo... It always means nothing? It never indicates change?"

"It indicates that something changed."

"Just because you can't change, doesn't mean it's a fictional concept," Cameron argued. "Look at Foreman. You probably didn't see him taking Cuddy's place the first time he walked through the door."

"I didn't see Foreman taking her place the last time I saw him walk through the door," House scoffed. "He didn't change. The only reason he succeeded her was because they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Who else could it have been—Park?" he asked caustically, and leaned forward enough to give a half-hearted slap at the passenger seat as he addressed Chase. "Remind me again why you replaced me. The department was invented because of my mind, not yours."

"You trained me."

"I also trained a dog. I still wouldn't entrust him with my scalpel."

Chase pulled a face at the windshield. "The department's running great. Thanks for asking."

The car was quiet for a moment, each of them annoyed by the company they kept. But it didn't take long for the friction to be substituted with their collective medical interest.

"Can't be a natural mutation," Chase mused.

"You think it's man-made?" Cameron inquired.

"It must be."

House stared at the back of the driver's seat, his analytical eyes the only part about him that moved; until there was suddenly a flashlight shining into his face. The beam roamed to Cameron, then Chase, before returning to House, and a muffled voice said, "You, sir. Step out of the car."

House put his hand on the handle, but hesitated, looking over at his colleagues with a sigh of defeat. "Never get famous," he told them, and exited the vehicle. He found himself getting frisked before he had shut the car door.

"No weapons," the cop announced, as he located the pills. He took them out and held them up in his light.

"Whatcha got?"

"Vicodin. Prescribed to Gregory House; not by his usual practitioner." Now he addressed House, "Sir, I'm given to understand you're the friend and colleague to Dr. James Evan Wilson. Are you currently in touch?"

"No."

"Why not?"

House tried to close the door, but was stopped by his own cane. Cameron scooted closer and dropped her foot to the ground, preventing him from forcing it shut. At least, as long as there were cops around. Illuminated only by the moon, her eyes met his.

"We had a disagreement."

The cop waited for a moment, then pressed, "Do you have anything more to add?"

"No."

The cop nodded and took out his phone, tapping away as he spoke. "I'm going to offer you a chance to reconsider your statement," he said, then brandished his cell phone, flaunting the first selfie House had taken with Wilson; their motorcycles in the background.

"Yes, we went on a ride. From point A to Z. And then we had a disagreement."

"You went on a road trip, and he disappeared. Something that doesn't seem to concern you."

Thoroughly irritated, House narrowed his eyes at the cop as he reached a decision. "He's not missing," he began, and heard a small breath of excitement from inside the car. Before he could elaborate or be questioned, suddenly the stillness of the night was shattered by the sound of someone running. The officer bolted to the cabin and stopped at the front door, illuminated by the wall-mounted light. His dirty hands were shaking as he opened the door and let himself inside.

"Chief!" he barked. "I found their bodies in the woods."

"How many?"

"All of them."

The throng began to advance not just on Logan, but Kayla as well. "You leave her out of this," Logan growled.

"How about you tell us what 'this' is?" the chief asked, and as he spoke he happened to look down and notice a strange ripple in Logan's wrists. As his claws slowly slid out to their full length, suddenly the commotion came to a halt.

Moving slowly, hands in the air, Kayla knelt behind the couch.

"Leave her out of this."

The chief pocketed his weapon with one hand, the other in the air. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Just you, in my cruiser."

When the chief raised his other hand as well, Logan finally stepped towards him.

"I just want to know why you killed them."

Logan's voice was filled with death. "Because they showed up."

Claws still extended, he followed the officers outside; only to find himself looking at another officer who had made the mistake of pulling House's arms behind his back. If Chase and Cameron hadn't spotted his claws by then, it was unmistakable when he suddenly extended his arms; effectively stopping all the cops escorting him to the cruiser. He heard a soft whimper to his right and someone hitting the dirt to his left. In the stricken silence, his words echoed those of a mysterious telepath.

"Not them."

"You can't call all the sh—" But suddenly the officer who had found the bodies had been slammed up against the wall, and six huge claws were at his throat.

"Do these look familiar?" Logan whispered, and jostled him when he was quiet.

With wide eyes, House, Chase, and Cameron watched an officer raise her thumb and extend her pointer finger, mimicking a shooting gun and getting the chief's nod. She calmly raised her gun to the side of Logan's head. And pulled the trigger.

The bullet bounced off of him; killing his shooter. His head rapidly healing, Logan roughly let go of the cop and retracted his claws, slowly. "Leave all of 'em out of this," he growled, and dodged the dead officer, approaching the police cruiser.

There was a delay as several officers worked together to pick up their fallen fellow officer. Then, one by one, he cruisers drove off into the dark.

Chase and Cameron sat in overwhelmed silence. House didn't move; he just stared at the spot Logan had almost died in.

A firm hand on his shoulder finally grabbed his attention, and he looked at Chase; trying to shake the memory of Wilson snatching the gun.

"You alright?"

House's nod of affirmation was briefly delayed, he had an oddly traumatized expression, and he was not the first one to head inside. The natural leader's ambivalence made Chase uneasy as he escorted a dazed Cameron through the door. Kayla was standing on the opposite side of the couch, one hand on her elbow, other hand toying with her necklace. Chase awkwardly closed the door and the silence only grew; as Cameron didn't know how to proceed, having only been rejected by Foreman, and as House looked at the woman with whom he was falling in love—and about whom he couldn't think, as the knowledge Logan had spared him from getting arrested occupied his mind.

Finally Chase spoke. "I'm afraid you need to erase our memories again."

Kayla nodded, still toying with her necklace. "Sure," she began, and hesitantly circled the couch. "I'll need to separate you, so no one asks questions."

Chase nodded, but no one moved. The men were watching her with obvious trepidation; but Cameron only looked hostile. Kayla smiled, trying to convey all of her goodness into a single look. "I promise, you won't feel a thing."

Coerced by their synchronized reassurance, House finally unfroze; in time to save the ducklings. "I'll go first," he volunteered.

"Follow me, please—" Turning to the bedroom, Kayla stopped cold, frowning out the window; then she looked at Cameron. "Where's your car?"

"Like our friendship, it's not important."

"Well, I lied. I just didn't want you finding out what we are."

Cameron didn't look mollified, but finally satisfied Kayla's curiosity. "It's where it belongs. My marriage is over, and the car's in his name."

Kayla quickly absorbed the news. "I'm sorry. Extremely sorry."

"Yeah, that's one of you."

House looked quickly at Cameron. "I apologized first!"

"But you didn't mean it," she responded. When he rolled his eyes, she held out her hands, palms outward. "What do I have to do to you?"

"Come on. We all know you want me to do stuff to you."

"No. What I want, is to tell my husband he did nothing wrong. You deserved that punch. You deserve another punch!"

House's hesitation was very short-lived. Suddenly he tossed his cane, and it loudly struck the coffee table before clattering to the hardwood floor. He extended his arms. "Go ahead then. Hit me. Go on, I'm right here."

Cameron narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hit like a girl?" he goaded, and waited for a response that wouldn't come. He shook his head. "Not making a decision is a big decision," he said, as he turned to the coffee table to retrieve his cane. "If you want to hate me, you have my blessing. If you want to love me, I don't care. If you want to walk away, then don't let the door hit you in the ass." Now he began limping towards her, "I don't need your nosiness, your bossiness, your Pharisaism or your pathetic sympathy. Your friendship isn't worth preserving and it's damn sure not worth fighting for. You're a hypocrite, and that's bad; but you know what's worse? You're a coward."

"House," Chase tried to interject. "You're handling it badly."

Cameron stared at House, and though her eyes were beginning to tear, she was glad her voice was steady. "At least I'm not addicted to criminalizing myself. You think you're perfect?"

"Well, I'm good enough for you!"

"Because I lowered my standards."

"From what? Dying Man?"

Cameron's tears began to fall. She turned around and moved towards the door, but was quickly stopped by his words.

"There she goes! Cowardly Cameron, on the run."

She hesitated, then lifted her head and turned back around; retracing her steps. "I'm not a coward."

"You're effectively homeless, because you sided with the guy who wrecked your marriage, because he got punched. You're going to lose your boy. And that's because you're weak."

Cameron stared at him as long as she was able, then averted her eyes; quietly wiping her cheek.

"Come on, are you a coward or not?" House demanded, and suddenly he had whacked her in the leg with his cane.

"House!" Chase exclaimed.

He turned around, observing Chase's attentive concern. "Relax, it wasn't hard. She's just pathetic."

Cameron stood up straight, watching him limp further into the cabin.

"Are we doing this or not?" he asked, and Kayla followed; barely able to look away from Cameron.

In their absence, Chase was finally brave enough to speak again. "Are you alright?"

She stood up straight, her pained eyes meeting his as she pushed away his hands. "Thank you so much for bringing me."

"I'm sorry. I thought... I thought it would go better."

"That's odd. I thought you knew him the longest."

"He said it was good to see us."

"He said it was good to see you!" Cameron responded. She waved his hands away and moved to the door with finality. "I'm done with this. I don't care about her secret and I don't care about his."

"Cameron, it's pitch black and it's not safe out there. The forest is teeming with dead cops."

Hand still on the door, she turned to face him. "The killer's been arrested. I'll be safer out there than in here."

He held up a beseeching hand. "How would you feel if someone threatened to expose your secrets?"

"That would be a terrible thing. That's why I don't keep secrets. And I'm not about to start now," she concluded, and stared at him a moment longer before turning the knob. "Goodnight, Chase."

She opened the door and stepped out into the night.

"Goodnight, Cameron," Chase murmured, and watched the door close. Wracking his brain, he tentatively began heading for the stairs.

It didn't take very long for the front door to burst open, and Kayla's slender form to go running through the darkened woods.

"What secret?" House insisted.

"Forget it, House. I can't tell you."

House watched Chase return to the window for the fourth time in two minutes.

"Okay," House said abruptly. "How about a trade? My secret will definitely distract you from your distraction."

"No."

"It's about Wilson."

Chase looked quickly at him, with wide eyes that betrayed his tone. "I don't...want to hear it."

"That's a lie." House waited, certain Chase would give in. When he didn't, House shrugged and sat on the couch. "Too bad. I could really use a friend..."

To his dismay, Chase only laughed at him. "Yeah. That sounds like you."

He returned his eyes to the glass, resting his forehead upon it in worry when thunder growled. Wondering how many times Kayla was willing to do her magic, Chase turned abruptly away from the abandoned forest. "You know, it's not even worth discussing; you'd never believe it."

He sat down on the coffee table—and found himself unable to look away from House.

It was like he had aged five years since Logan left. He stared off into the shadows, with a blank face; like his brilliant mind had gone dormant. He didn't speak, like his forthcoming temperament had been destroyed completely. He seemed lost. Broken.

Traumatized...

Chase realized he hadn't misinterpreted him at all. Traumatized was the correct description. And the gunshot seemed to have prompted this reaction.

"You actually do need a friend, don't you?" Chase asked, and easily identified the hurt in his eyes when House looked at him. "Oh. Um... Maybe you should call Foreman."

House gave him an insincere smile. "That's a big help."

"I... Sorry. You're just... I mean, I've never," Chase floundered, as House popped some Vicodin. "I thought you were joking."

"I was."

"I know. But your secret is... It's going to kill you." Chase motioned to himself with both hands. "Hit me," he said, and cringed as House brandished his cane. "With your...news, House!"

House lowered his cane. "You should really put more thought into how you phrase things."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"Because I'm not a woman!"

"Okay, fine. It's alright, don't tell me." Chase narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I'm diagnostically trained."

"I'm not that good. But feel free to keep thinking I am."

Chase observed his guilt and pain a moment longer, then sat up straight. "Wilson disappeared, but he's not missing, which means...he's dead."

House's eyes shot up to his.

"You've been acting weird since the gunshot, and you were carrying a gun when I was chasing you. Means you were supposed to kill 'im, but for some reason you didn't kill 'im. Mentioned a disagreement, so I'm guessing you left 'im there to die of cancer."

House sat frozen on the couch, unable to believe that he could be so right and so wrong at the same time. He felt the foreign warmth of a tear gliding down his cheek. At the sight of it, Chase withdrew quickly, feeling like he had stumbled into an emergency. But before he could panic, House had grabbed his cane. Instinctively, Chase recoiled; staring at the empty couch cushion as he listened to his colleague limp away as quickly as he was able. The bathroom door slammed shut and House fumbled to lock himself inside.

Sitting alone in the dark, Chase told himself to move; but after nearly a minute of psyching himself up, was only capable of leaning forward and dropping his head into his hands.