Cameron averted her eyes, trying to process the revelation. "What-what do you mean he's AWOL?"

"I mean he's absent, without official leave," House said, his tone implying he was leading her to a difficult conclusion.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the acronym, House," she complained, as she got to her feet. She started making the bed, shooing him off.

He watched her continue making the bed. "Are you familiar with the rest of the words in that sentence?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. "No, I'm afraid not."

He lingered, still scrutinizing her. "You're different."

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "You're saying I've changed?" she asked, and stood still, clutching the blanket in both hands. He didn't overlook how they trembled—the shape of her mouth—the look in her eyes. "I thought that would violate the first of your House Rules."

"I didn't say the change was voluntary."

Cameron circled the bed, appearing content to revert back to her earlier method of ignoring him. Being House, he didn't want to be ignored; especially in a space with no other people. He gave his head a subtle shake and averted his eyes. "People don't want or try to change. They just do. Because shit happens."

"Only following the arrival of Gregory House," she grumbled, and quietly fussed with the covers a moment longer, trying and failing to ignore the fact that she knew his eyes were glued to the side profile of her face.

"Yeah," he finally said, and looked away. "My mother always said I had a way about me."

He returned his eyes to her when she was still quiet. "You know what's weird?" he asked. "You love me, and—"

"You're right, that is weird."

"Let me finish," he enunciated. "You love me, I'm kind of reckless with my life, and yet...this is the weird part—you don't seem to be all that invested in my welfare."

Cameron turned to face him, her crossed arms barely missing his chest. "Or, this is the weird part. You ruined it with me, and I'm...standing right here. You ruined it with Cuddy, and she came." She paused, tilting her head slightly and scrutinizing him. "Maybe we are all that invested, and you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, or you're weirder than me," he grumbled.

Suddenly her voice came out louder, and decidedly snappish. "Okay, I can't deal with you right now!"

He flinched a little as she stormed past him and opened the door with such force that it slammed into the wall. He stood there for a moment, trying to decode her unusual bitchiness; but could not. True, the cabin had no electricity or food, and was dangerously low on toilet paper. But she had been bearing that burden for several nights, and hadn't complained. And unless he was actually fallible, she wasn't menstruating. Feeling a surge of gratification at his new puzzle, he turned around and limped after her. He reached the top of the stairs as she stepped off the last of them, and immediately the interrogation began, "You didn't drink enough to get hung over. And if you don't hate me enough to leave, which you were advised to do; you can't blame me and still be rational."

"It's called professional responsibility, House."

"No. That's not your problem." He continued descending the stairs in agony. "You also didn't blink when I told you that...Leonard was missing. Whatever your problem is, he's in the equation." He finally reached the landing and stared into her eyes, and she stared back, trying to recognize an emotion in their wintry depths.

Finally she responded with, "It's Logan."

"Don't care."

"Of course you don't. You don't care about anything." Maintaining eye contact, she tilted her head slightly and asked, "How do you even get out of bed?"

He had to force himself to look away from her, and to ignore how much she was reminding him of Amber. Already wearing his shoes, he moved to the door and opened it to a gray, chilly morning. "Dye your hair back," he growled, and stepped outside. He closed the door and she raised her eyebrows in confusion.

Cuddy was already awake, but resting, when the knock on her passenger window startled her. Seeing House's shirt lingering outside, she rolled her window down to talk. He took it as an invitation to reach inside and unlock her car door, then get into her vehicle. "Sorry," he said, jostling the vehicle as he got comfy. "Needed to sit."

Cuddy rubbed her hands together, and was reaching over to roll up the passenger window when she heard it begin to move. She looked over and saw House's hand on the button before she graced him with a smile, and the welcome words, "Thanks for not killing yourself."

He hesitated, then gave a bowing nod of acknowledgment. "You're welcome."

"Would you have done it, if I..." Their eyes locked and she suddenly had to struggle to finish, "If I hadn't shown up?"

Prepared to make a brilliant joke, it died on his tongue when he saw the look on her face, and remembered what she said last night. He averted his eyes again, scratching his head. "Uh... Probably would have waited a bit longer, really made up my mind. Not that you're the solution to all my problems, but...it's nice to have someone other than Cameron around."

Cuddy nodded slowly. "She is a little...different."

"Really? What makes you say that?"

"I don't know, she's...nervous. And depressing," she added, contemplating the night before. "And I never thought I would see her like that."

House paused here, gazing ahead down the abandoned street. "She got stoned."

"Recently?"

He thought of Cameron being with her son, then shook his head. "No."

Cuddy checked her watch, then moved her arm to the car door to support her head. "Maybe she's having marital problems."

"Nope. Not that I know of; I mean, I wouldn't know. I think it's fine."

Their eyes locked and an awkward silence filled the car.

"Uh, you know, it's probably Kayla. Her husband Leslie went missing last night; she and Cameron are pretty close."

Without another word, Cuddy opened the car door and let herself out. House opened the passenger door, but stayed seated, waiting until Cuddy was on his side of the vehicle. "Uh, you mind if I drive to the store? We need a few things."

Cuddy stepped closer and got out her keys. "Where's your motorcycle?"

"By now? No idea."

She gently placed her keys into his waiting palm, but lingered, touching him. "Don't crash," she said, and felt her mood lift when suddenly he smiled.

"Yeah. I... Your car'll be safe."

"You think I'm worried about a hunk of metal?" she asked, and released his hand with an obvious reluctance, wishing he would smile like that more. She turned and ascended the hilly front lawn, and House watched her disappear inside before closing the passenger side door. He scooted over to the driver's seat, fishing out his ringing cell phone as he put the key into the ignition. Seeing Foreman's name, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and buckled up; looking at his phone until it went silent. He waited a few seconds, listening to the engine, until he was confident that Foreman would not call again; then began to drive. He was coming to the exit of the next street when he heard his voicemail chime. He tried to ignore it, but eventually pulled over, making a face of displeasure. He picked it up, called himself, and entered his password upon request.

"House, it's Foreman. I've been watching the news. Policemen are getting shot and torn to pieces over there. Two stations have been targeted in Canada, barely within two weeks. You guys need to get your asses over the border. I'm issuing a BOLO if we don't hear from you within 48 hours."

House then heard the familiar sound of a desk phone hanging up. It was choppy, like his hands were shaking. He couldn't imagine the stoic, unemotional Dean being anxious to such an extent; and though he wanted to relish that, he found himself unable to let him worry. So he called him back immediately to offer the comforting words of an old friend.

"You can stop pissing your pants, Foreman."

"It's good to hear your voice, too. Why's that?"

"Because I'm not a target."

"House, there is no way you can know that."

"Sure I can. I'm affiliated with him."

The delay was brief. "What?"

Then there was another voice on the line, a most unwelcome surprise. "Y-you're kidding," Park stammered.

"Not at all."

"How can you be affiliated with him?" Park asked.

"His hot girlfriend said hi to me. Oh, Foreman. Don't send out that BOLO. The cops and I have this whole ugly thing; it's..." House's voice trailed off and he made a dismissive sound into the receiver. "You're gonna have to trust me."

"Um, sorry to disappoint you, but that ship sailed a long time ago. And then, it sank. No, I'll trust Cuddy to keep us informed."

"Whatever floats your swan," House said, and closed his phone. He put his hands on the steering wheel and was preparing to pull away from the curb once again when suddenly an unpleasant realization occurred to him. Instinctively his eyes went back to his phone, and he let out an animalistic growl that was barely a word. "Damn!"

Cuddy shook her head. "Why am I surprised? Of course he interfered with your marriage."

"I'm surprised the black eye didn't give it away," Cameron grumbled. Looking longingly through Wilson's wallet, she looked over at Cuddy. "Hey, how come you never asked about that?"

"A small part of me was hoping he would volunteer the information." Cuddy sighed, walking over to the couch and sitting down. "Where House is concerned, I think I'm running out of hope."

"Well, it's about time," Cameron said, and added in a mutter, "For all of us."

Cuddy scooted closer suddenly, angling the wallet towards herself. "How did you get this?" she asked, and before Cameron had to muster up the courage to respond, they each heard their custom ringtone. Pulling out their phones, only Cuddy's was lit up, causing the girls to smile as Cuddy answered. "Hello?"

"Cuddy, it's uh, it's Eric Foreman."

"Hello, Eric," Cuddy chirped.

"You sound happy. Damn it," he added in a grumble. "I, uh, I need to talk to you about House."

"Yeah, okay. What about him?" She tapped the wallet and then pointed at Cameron, mouthing Tell me later and receiving a nod.

"He just confessed to being in touch with a criminal who keeps making the news. In fact, he implied he's equally to blame for the crimes."

"Oh, God," Cuddy groaned, and put her fingers on her forehead. "Uh, let me think, let me think. Mmm, Leslie. He said his name was—" Cameron's motion got her attention and she stammered, turning her head. Cameron was already looking at her; the only sound was a slight rustle on Foreman's end.

Then his distant voice said, "Adams. Consent form for Brenda."

"Foreman," Cuddy said, and repeated herself before he answered. "I have to go," she told him, and hung up, still unable to look away from the subtle horror on Cameron's face. She sat frozen, her phone still up in the air.

Cameron scoffed lightly and averted her eyes. "His name's Logan."

Cuddy frowned, unable to look away; which was the last thing she wanted to do. Her first instinct was to get as far away from Cameron as possible.

Cameron scoffed again, looking down at the wallet of a dead man. Her thumb irreverently stroked his face. Like she still cared about him, about anything. Like House hadn't finally snuffed her candle.

"He never could get his name right."

"My God, Cameron..." Cuddy whispered, and withdrew at Cameron's mere glance. "What have you done?"

Cameron frowned cluelessly at her. "Huh?"

"I can't believe this. You were so good." Cuddy shook her head, still staring unblinkingly at her.

Cameron's eyes flicked to the phone. "What...what did Foreman tell you?"

"You know very well what he told me," Cuddy mumbled.

The confusion on Cameron's face wasn't clearing. Then she started to prattle. "How did Foreman find out? I didn't tell House. Well, he is pretty observant," she added, tilting her head. "So I guess he could have found out on his own. Yeah, he wouldn't need proof. Still, after all this time, it's impressive." Her voice ended on an empty note as she realized Cuddy hadn't moved, and looked genuinely mortified. "Are you okay?"

"Like you care."

"Of course I care. Look, Logan's just...a little different. And he may act like he doesn't want or need acceptance, but that's...that's all it is. An act."

"I'll never be able to accept him. How can you even ask me to?"

"Look, that's what I thought at first, too. Okay? But...after Kayla explained it—"

"She's in on it, too?" Cuddy asked timidly.

"Yeah. But the bottom line, Cuddy...is that despite everything, they are just like us. I mean, I'm still struggling with it, too! I think maybe a small part of me will always be...disgusted. But they don't deserve that. It's just who they are."

"No. No, you're wrong. They don't need to be criminals."

"What?" Cameron asked humorously. "They're not... Yeah," she concluded, sobering suddenly. "Yes. I... I thought you meant...janitors."

"And you're a criminal, too. And House took my car, and now you're going to kill me."

"No! What? What are you even... Cuddy?"

"Just make it fast. And go to hell." Cuddy sank into the couch, clasping her shaking hands together. "You little...rotten liar."

Cameron sat there, trying to absorb not just House's hatred, but Cuddy's as well. She stood, not overlooking the way Cuddy turned her head to the other side. "Okay...I don't know what's wrong with you, but you obviously need some space. So...I'm going to go upstairs, and I won't come back down until I see you get in your car. And if you ever want to apologize, I promise to at least answer the phone," she continued to grumble, as she ascended the steps.

Left by herself, Cuddy began to feel less vulnerable; and as her tears subsided, she began to think rationally. Cameron had obviously been lying about the janitors, but her current actions kind of disproved Cuddy's theory. Her refusal to come anywhere near her, not to mention the relief she had seen when Cameron realized Logan was a criminal.

What could be worse than that...?