House didn't know how long he had been trying to sleep, just that it wasn't happening. Opening his eyes, he rolled over onto his side and examined the position of the shadows. Curtains would have been nice. Electricity, food. He was practically a caveman. The toilet paper supply was critically low. Too bad they weren't staying at some hotel. Any hotel, as long as it had amenities.

Evan was sitting on the bed, watching him; and House was wondering if Canada had pet-friendly hotels that had pet supplies when he heard the unexpected creak of the door. Hoping it was Kayla, he looked over his shoulder; rolling onto his back when he saw the male torso, still embellished with blood.

"Let me guess. Cameron didn't want to share with you, either," House greeted him, and began to sit up. He was about to tell Logan off, when he caught sight of the adamantium claws, reflecting in the moonlight. His garrulous mouth wanted to say he couldn't blame her, but his rational mind was in shock, and words failed him. It was only because Logan spoke that he was able to tear his eyes away from the man's physical abnormality.

"You can't know about us," he growled.

House stared at him, unblinkingly, as he robotically uncovered himself and got to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he finally found his voice. "I wasn't...hallucinating?"

Logan was unresponsive, but began to circle the bed; his claws reminiscent of six deadly swords.

In his fear, his voice was weak as he called for assistance. "Kayla!"

In an instant, Logan had lunged, like a rabid animal. House moved off to the side, knowing he couldn't defeat him. Until he heard the explosion of his thick steel claws gouging the headboard. Deciding he would rather die over failure than surrender, House grabbed his cane and spun back to face his attacker, who was still working to pull his claws out of the wood. Backing slowly away from Logan, who appeared to be muttering to himself, House turned the cane upside-down in his hands, so the handle was pointing at the floor. He knew Kayla would never forgive him if he killed him...but he was obviously not just a man. He was a monster.

Fight or die. That was his choice. He didn't want to die just to avoid her disapproval.

He knelt, searching with the round handle under the bed, until it hit something metallic. He pulled the gun out from under the bed, took off the safety, and pointed the barrel at Logan, still kneeling on the floor. He was ashamed to see the unsteadiness of his hand. But he couldn't focus on that for long, because suddenly Logan smiled—and began to chuckle.

"What?" House asked.

"You homo sapiens and your guns."

House's eyes flitted down to his metallic claws, and he pointed at him with the gun. "This can't kill you," he deduced. Even still, when Logan approached, he instinctively pointed the gun at him; and was questioning his instincts when Logan was suddenly wrestling the gun from his hand. A shot was fired before Logan liberated it from his tenuous grasp.

"It can kill you," Logan said. They were staring at each other when Logan suddenly turned off the safety and threw the gun aside. "But I prefer to do it myself."

His arm was moving when suddenly Kayla's voice alone seemed to overpower him. "Erik."

Logan hesitated, visible confusion on his face. He turned his head to his right, as Kayla walked past House towards him. "How do you know my name?"

Kayla stepped closer, and caressed her lover's arm. "Please go."

House backed away, until he bumped into the wall. Logan stared at Kayla for a moment longer, then returned his eyes to House. He could instantly recognize the blank, disoriented expression of someone who had no idea what was going on. He looked down at his hands and quickly retracted his claws, with a loud clang that echoed in the relatively empty room. Unlike House, Kayla didn't flinch at all.

She smiled then, giving a little sigh of relief. "It worked?"

Logan looked down at her hand and gave a subtle nod. "Yeah," he said, his voice a whisper. Then he broke away from her and walked towards House, his hands remaining by his side and perfectly human. "Goodnight," he muttered, as he passed on by without harm. He stepped out into the hall and kept going.

Kayla followed, but stopped beside House, looking into his traumatized eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," he uttered.

She touched his hand. "Forget that happened. Just block it out," she said, and withdrew, observing on his face as well the blank, disoriented expression. "Goodnight, Greg," she said then, and left the bedroom.

House stepped out into the hall, watching her follow Logan into the bedroom and close the door. In the stricken silence, he thought he heard a sniffle on his side of the closed door. Still wielding his cane, he turned it upside-right and limped to the stairs, to begin the agonizing descent.

Coming to the halfway point of the stairs, he could see into the moonlit interior of the downstairs, but he couldn't see the couch in his failing peripherals. And he wasn't about to rotate on the narrow steps on one good leg. So he waited until he was on the landing. Immediately, he could see the abandoned couch. And Cameron's pale form, stooping between the couch and coffee table. Her soft cries came to him in the dark.

His socks muffled the rough impact of his feet on the floor. He limped towards her shriveled, sobbing form. "Cameron?" he asked, and saw the paleness of her hair move as she lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she repeated hesitantly, her voice quiet. He watched as she raised herself to a kneeling position and found her way backwards onto the cushion. Her face was flushed, her eyes were red, and tears still ran down her cheeks. "You don't remember the gunshot?"

House concealed his surprise well, and responded quickly. "Oh, that. Yeah, sorry. There was a bear in the backyard."

"No there wasn't."

She watched him pause, observing his unease; then stood and approached him, wiping at her face. She stopped in front of him, gazing into his eyes as she crossed her arms. "Foreman told me you were missing moments."

He stared quietly into her eyes for a moment, then said, "And Kayla told you what Wilson did."

She averted her eyes and would say nothing, so he pressed the issue. "That's why you freaked out when...whatever happened, happened. If being here freaks you out, there's...kind of an obvious solution."

Her eyes swung back to his. "I can't leave you."

He scoffed slightly. "Because you love me?"

She echoed his scoff. "Eleven years now, you've been dragging me down. Hurting me and everyone else, in the emotional and the physical sense. All I want to do is tell you to go to hell, because I hate you. But I can't leave you. Because two of my friends are Deans of Medicine. And I could have never met either of them... I'd still be a doctor."

He pondered her words and gave an acknowledging nod.

She sighed, staring at him. "House... If you tried to kill yourself, but missed, and ran out of ammo—"

"You can have the bed," he interrupted, and raised his eyebrows at her. "Only thing killing me are the stairs."

"I know you're miserable. And I know that sometimes you lie."

"You're describing only a few billion people."

She sighed, hands migrating to her hips as she stared at him; red-faced and quiet.

"Relax," he told her. "I have almost seven decades of practicing my aim."

Cameron dropped her hands to her sides and walked past him, heading up the stairs. House adjusted the blanket, watching her disappear. Limping to the window by the door, he pulled the curtain shut to block out the sunlight in the morning, then turned to go to the other window and block out the moonlight. And saw Wilson's silhouette perched on the coffee table.

"She's still pissed off, you know that, right?" Wilson asked.

The rattling of pills precipitated Wilson's words. "Yeah, make the problem worse. That's what doctors do."

Another pale flash in his peripheral vision made House look to his right. Wilson followed the motion of his head, and was now standing beside another hallucination.

"He's not a doctor."

House curled his fist around the pills, moving his hand as he contemplated taking them.

"Oh, just take the pills," Amber said in annoyance. "It's too late for you to fix your life."

"The pain is manageable," Wilson argued. "You want to stop hallucinating? Try something useful, like ziprasidone. You can afford it, since you mugged my corpse!"

House limped to the couch and sat, looking at the Vicodin pills on his palm.

Then Amber's voice distracted him from one problem, making him focus on another. "Doesn't it concern you that whenever you lose time, Kayla's touching you?"

House pondered the unspoken words of the physical representation of his mind. He couldn't deny the truth they held.

"The moments aren't missing. They were stolen," Amber concluded.

Wilson tilted his head in acknowledgment. "A woman's touch can make a man stupid."

"A woman's touch can make a woman stupid," Amber said dismissively, and walked to the coffee table. She sat on it, her nonexistent body phasing through the wine bottle and glasses. "You know it's irrelevent," she said, staring unblinkingly at House. "Because you know she's more than that."

"No. She can't be," Wilson argued.

"The information is still there, House." Amber tilted her head slightly. "You just have to find it."

Wilson was smiling again as House finally dumped the pills back into the bottle. He stuffed the container into his pocket, and pondered the fact that Kayla did actually seem responsible for his memory loss; then raised his eyes and saw that the hallucinations had faded.

"You've got a point," House muttered to himself.

"What's wrong now?" Cuddy's voice sounded tired, causing Cameron to check her watch. Her frazzled brain had forgotten the time on her phone.

"I'm sorry to call you so late, but...it's House."

Cuddy was instantly awake. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah, he is." Cameron leaned forward and picked up the gun. "For now."

"We're all worried about him. Even Chase is worried about him. You know it, his fellows know it, even House knows it. I just wish he would believe it."

"His gun was confiscated by the police." Cameron huffed a sigh. "But then I found another. And neither of them is the one he has at home."

For a moment, Cuddy was quiet; finally saying, "So much for being confident."

"What do I do?" Cameron asked defeatedly.

"You get close to him."

"I've tried! But it's kind of like cuddling up to a boa constrictor."

"That's not true... Boa constrictors will squeeze a person."

"He's squeezed you," Cameron pointed out. "Can't you get close to him? In the emotional and the physical sense?"

Cuddy's sigh was a whisper on the other end. "I'm already on the road."