"This is pointless, Cuddy," House said to the passenger side window. "We're not going to find him. You know why?"

"Because the only person in this car who's looking has to watch the road?"

"Because he doesn't want you to find him. He knew you'd get suckered into helping, so he decided to make it difficult. He probably went three hours out of his way to not deal with a hysterical woman."

She scoffed. "You seem to have a penchant for getting kicked out of cars."

He glanced at her. "Look at you," he grumbled. "Driving in circles, wasting fuel. He's got you right where he wants you."

"He's not you, House."

"You haven't spent a second with him."

"Do you really think eight days is long enough to—" Her words broke off as House noisily flapped the map. She said nothing more, sighing lightly through her nose as she shook her head at the road stretching out before her.

"Your fuel to waste. You think it's worth his safety? Skip the Overlander Pub. That's less than an hour's drive. He's got wheels, too; you need to think bigger." He rolled the map shut and raised his eyes to their foreign surroundings. "Try Sisto's."

"Well, how far is that?" she prompted nervously.

"Oh...about seven hours."

She looked at him, eyes wide. "Seven hours?"

"He's not going to roll over and show you his belly. He's not you, Cuddy."

"God," she groaned, and gave the road another look of disapproval. "Cameron sticks you with me... Who do I stick you with?"

"You only have a few minutes out of seven hours to ask the wrong question," he pushed. "His life, or yours?"

Cuddy was quiet, but her car suddenly began veering off to the side of the road; until she parked at the sidewalk. For a couple of seconds, the car was quiet, only filled with the muffled purring of the idle engine. She opened her mouth, and House began preparing himself to get kicked out of her car. Instead she asked, "What would you do?"

"I..." He paused for a split second, taken aback by her composure. "I'd turn around."

"Yeah, of course you'd put your life first." She settled against her back rest. "I was a fool to think otherwise. Even for a single—"

"I'm not in this equation, Cuddy."

The serious tone of his quiet voice made her compulsively look at him, and she found herself locked into his sheer blue eyes.

He shrugged. "The question was his life or yours. Yeah, I'd put you first. I don't care about Lester and I don't care about the... 700 other missing people. I don't care if every one of them needs a doctor. I'll always put you first."

Cuddy was glad her car wasn't in motion, because her view was suddenly blurred by tears. She looked over at him and placed her hand on the cup holder bar between them, opening her hand and trying to smile as he placed his rough hand in hers. The effort went unnoticed as he wouldn't look at her, so she squeezed his hand until he did.

"Why do you do this to me?" she asked.

"Courtship?" he said.

Cuddy peered through her tears at the cringe on his face, then forced a laugh. "You either love me or you don't care. Can't be both."

"Oh, that's not true. Marriage could just be the only viable maneuver I have to financial security. Now, I'm all out of livestock, but I can barter away a cat, with non-life-threatening injuries."

Instead of cheering her with his wit, as expected, his words seemed to have the opposite effect as she released his hand, frowning at him. "Yeah, well. I'm afraid you'd have no one to barter with."

"Oh," he said intelligently. Then he was quiet, absorbing the news.

"You're not going to ask?" she goaded, and stared into his cheerless, uninviting eyes, as the disturbing truth sank in. "You really don't."

"Well, I care about you."

"But you don't care about my mother, or my—"

"That bitchy old hag I wanted to sedate the moment she introduced herself? No, good riddance."

Cuddy sat frozen for a few seconds, then began to cry and laugh at the same time. It was a humorless sound that had him preparing again to be left on the sidewalk. He glowered over the dashboard, preparing to unbuckle, because he sure as hell wasn't going to take it back.

Her giggles subsided as she leaned forward, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and still crying; then she covered her eyes, finally running her hands over her hair. "You know, all the crap that people do, it's becoming normal to hate them, even wise. But it is screwed up," she added emotionally, "To want them to hate you back."

He was quiet for a moment, then gave a subtle nod. "I know."

"You know what's even more screwed up?" she asked. "22 years of knowing you, and I'm... I'm still surprised," she said defeatedly. "And I'm willing to bet my job and my house—I'm willing to bet both our lives—that you, America's brainiest doctor, can't explain that to me!"

"You're naïve," he sighed, and raised his eyebrows at her. "Keep your life. Just give me the keys."

"I know the perfect place to put them," she muttered, and began driving again. "I came to Canada for you. I put my life on hold and in jeopardy for you. I even had this stupid urge to put my arms around you. Now you're making me hate you more than anything else in the world. So shut your eyes, shut your mouth, and give me at the very least, one hour."

"I don't know how I'll look for Lewis with my eyes shut."

"You're equally effective with them open."

He quelled the urge to argue, settling back against the seat and closing his mouth. Not even fifteen seconds into the hour, it was open again. "Are you looking for this guy because it's in your nature to put other people first?"

She was quiet for a moment, then growled, "Retribution."

He wouldn't respond, but she could feel his eyes on her. So she added to her statement, "Everyone's suffered for having known you."

He scoffed, but sobered when she continued to stare stonily ahead. "Even you?" he asked.

She scowled, and her voice was laced thick with sarcasm. "No, I didn't suffer! I hated having all four walls."

"It did let you see the stars at night."

"You're a lot of things. You've never been Mr. Bright Side."

"Come on! All that stuff, it's...water under the bridge."

"House, when there's a troll under the bridge, I'd rather not cross."

Satisfied, she turned her smug attention to the road ahead; and equally satisfied, House directed a discreet smile out the window.

It was the pungent stench of gasoline that roused House from sleep. It didn't take him long to realize he needed to relieve himself, so he got out of the car and began to circle the pumps. "Yeah, I'm just gonna...be a minute," he explained to Cuddy. She glanced over at him, and he impulsively hit on her. "Wow. You look really good. Maybe sometime you could handle my hose."

"House, I suggest you go pee, before you become highly flammable."

He grinned and continued limping into the building, spotting something strange off to his right as he went through the doors. After doing what he had to do, he exited the building and turned left; coming to a circular bulge of cement protruding from the sidewalk into the road, where rocks had been stuck into the cement when it was wet. He stood for a moment contemplating the idiocy of it, then realized he was looking at a phone booth across the street. He turned back to the car to tell Cuddy about it; and seeing a sign advertising hunting licenses, he was smirking in irony as he returned to the car.

She was sitting inside waiting for him, applying makeup by the rearview mirror.

He sat and closed the door loudly, then scrutinized her. "If I say you look like crap, will you still douse me in gasoline?"

"Try to put yourself in my shoes."

He made a face, effectively silencing her. "Only if you put yourself in my underwear."

"I'm tired. I'm stressed out. I've been driving way too much. And I can't even ask you to take over, because as soon as I fall asleep, you'll be booking it back to that lodge you're holed up in. And oh yeah, you'll probably sedate me, too."

"Now you're just being silly... I wouldn't wait 'til you fell asleep to sedate you."

She sighed, looking over her left shoulder. "That hotel looks really inviting," she murmured, and moved her key towards the ignition.

"So get a room."

"I can't; we're helping Kayla."

"Fine. Pardon my snoring. And the fact that I'll be using the map like a blanket," he added, opening it up. "By the way, the hotel looks like shit."

"Easy for you to say. You just woke up."

"Hey, when I close my mouth, my brain shuts off. It's not my fault I'm the only interesting person."

"What's so interesting about you?"

He smiled at her. "Oh, I am so glad you asked."

She frowned at him.

"Maybe this guy doesn't want you driving in circles, wasting fuel. I do. See, you shouldn't have turned back because I would have; you should have turned back because...he's not me," he concluded with a scoff.

Instead of being offended that she had been played, Cuddy raised her eyebrows and smiled playfully at him, which made him nervous. "I know how much your arrest would mean to the authorities. Not just here, House, but back home, so you go ahead. Keep pushing me."

Having finished her defense, she was now glowering as she began to unbuckle.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting a room!" she announced, and slammed the door. She turned around, then turned back and climbed back inside. "After I get out of this guy's spot," she mumbled, and closed the car door behind her. She left the station and drove into the parking lot of the hotel across the street. Upon parking, she turned off the car and looked at him, shaking her head. "Maybe that map will give you directions to hell."

"Pretty sure hell is down," he muttered, watching her put away her keys. "I'm also sure it only exists inside the heart of the weak and frightened."

"Head, House."

"I'm not objecting to that, but maybe someplace more secluded..."

Cuddy looked at him, brushing her curly mane away from her cheek. "Hell only exists in their head."

"Heaven and hell are an emotional pacifier, not a cognitive one. See, a cognitive pacifier is...you, naked, with a whip."

"My God, you're smooth," she said insincerely.

"It exists in their hearts," he repeated calmly, sparing her a brief glance. "Believing in the afterlife, where they can never lose their loved ones, it...brings them solace. It's a healing balm. People who use their heads, like us, are strong, and brave...and miserable. But nothing, Cuddy, nothing exists inside a religious brain. Cognition least of all."

Cuddy hesitated, staring off into the darkness for a moment, then began, "Okay, say you're right—"

"I'm right," he interrupted.

Despite herself, she was smiling and shaking her head as his phone chimed. He dug it out, unlocked his phone and checked his mail. "Uh, okay, this is awkward," he said, and brandished his phone. "Cameron wants to meet up."

She dropped her hands and stared quietly at him.

"You're gonna kick me out of the car now, aren't you?"

Cuddy sighed and grabbed her keys. "Nope," she said succinctly, and stuck her car key into the ignition. She rubbed her hands together and started looking both ways.

"Why not?"

She met his eyes and answered him candidly. "Because misery loves company."

She put the gear stick into drive, but hesitated when he felt his hand tentatively brush against hers. "Trade places with me."

She gazed into his eyes, trying not to think of vast oceans and summer skies, and nodded in consent. They unbuckled. He got out of the car and she scooted over to the passenger seat. Climbing into the driver's seat, he looked over and noticed that she was already beginning to nod off. Knowing she would never be so inconsiderate as to cover herself with the map he needed, he leaned forward and begrudgingly took off his coat, helping her spread it over herself. Looking up, he suddenly grew shy when he saw the way she looked back at him.

"You're really screwed up," she whispered.

"Yeah," he snorted. "Maybe I need drugs."

She pulled up the collar of his jacket in a failed attempt to hide her smile, and he felt his feelings for her come rushing back, suppressed for years. He pulled out of the parking space and carefully exited the lot, sneaking occasional glances at Cuddy long after she had dozed off. And there, in Clinton, British Columbia, far away from everything he thought he needed, he realized he was home.