"And in other news, the search for Allison Cameron continues. Friends say she was last seen wearing a brown leather jacket and black denim jeans; has long blonde hair, and green eyes. The missing person identifies as a doctor and may have a bullet wound. We ask anyone who sees her to call the police immediately, and allow a phone call. If the authorities discover a body, they—"

House reached over and turned off the station. Sitting in the car, all they could hear was the occasional crinkle of the paper bag. It was pitch black outside. Cuddy's screen lit up, illuminating the dashboard and reflecting in both windows.

Cuddy promptly accepted the call, greeting him with, "Hey, Foreman. How are you?"

House hid a smile behind his hand, amused by her obviously uncaring tone.

Foreman's familiar voice filled the car. "Don't play nice with me. How long has she been missing?"

"Uhm..." Cuddy checked her watch and was frustrated by her own foolishness. She rubbed her bare wrist, hoping House hadn't seen. "Uh, it's...hard to say. I mean, she last called me two hours ago, but she could have been gone before that."

This time it was Chase who spoke. "You have literally no idea what you're doing, do you?"

Cuddy's anger mounted. "Chase—what the hell are you doing there? You were asked to, told to, paid to be with House!"

"Yeah, I quit that job. Couldn't live off the salary."

"You're not poor. And I don't want to hear it! You had an obligation to a friend."

Chase scoffed. "That mumpish malcontent is nobody's friend." He then raised his voice above voices protesting in the background, "No, he's a stroppy wanker, and that's it. Hell, maybe if he'd killed himself like he planned, you could have kept your eyes on Cameron."

"Chase!" Adams yelled, as a door was loudly opened.

In the silence, House finally broke the ice. "Sure is nice to hear from the old gang."

"Damn," Foreman muttered.

"House? I am so sorry," Park's annoying voice trilled.

"It's okay. Personally, Cuddy is way better company. Even if she is in prenatal bitch mode."

"You're pregnant?" Adams asked.

"Hello!" Foreman yelled. "I think we're losing perspective."

"And what is your perspective?" House asked, as he unbuckled. "Say her name three times? Didn't work for Madison Scott."

He opened the door as Cuddy glowered at him, and then slammed it shut. Leaning against the car, he delved into his pocket, clasped his Vicodin bottle, and raised his eyes—to see Kutner standing several mere feet away.

"You're thinking with your amygdala."

"On purpose."

"It's a dangerous game."

"Why?" House asked, as he dumped the pills into his hand.

"Makes you incompetent enough to ask a ghost why," Kutner said, and turned around as House phased through him. "And this constant assault against your Wernicke's—"

"Oh, shut up," House dismissed. "I don't need to see ghosts to access my temporal lobe."

"That's right. You don't. That's the beauty of addiction."

House turned to glower at his hallucination, but it had vanished. Instead, he found himself looking at Cuddy, still talking to the team. She turned her head and their eyes locked. When he wouldn't look away, she smiled and rested her chin in her hands; and he squinted as he concentrated on reading her lips.

House sighed, shaking his head as he gathered Cuddy's luxurious curls in his hands. She lifted a palm off the wet, dirty road and touched the back of her hand to her chin. "I hate meat," she groaned, and retched again at the mere mention of it. "Haven't you ever heard of the BRAT diet?"

"Brat?" he repeated, and pulled a face. "I assume it doesn't stand for bleeding rectum and tachycardia. Who'd want that for breakfast?"

She gave a weak laugh as she got to her feet, accepting his offer to assist. Sniffling, she brushed back her hair and looked at him.

"This kid." House shook his head, examining her. "Better be worth it."

Cuddy opened her mouth to tell him of course it would be, but found she couldn't defend her pending motherhood. Realizing she was floundering, House watched intently as the most stubborn person he knew reined in her impulse. Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes to the ground and brushed gently past him, going back to her car.

"Hey." House turned and began limping after her. "What just happened?"

He stopped as Cuddy plunked herself down on the hood. "This is crazy," she said. "I can't become a mother again. I couldn't even keep a grownup safe."

He moved his mouth to the side and tapped his cane on his shoe. "Good thing your livelihood doesn't depend on it."

"You're saying I'm a failure as a doctor?"

"That what Cameron went through isn't your fault any more than terminal patients," he said, as he continued to advance. "How do you blame yourself when you weren't even in the room? He's not some hitman you hired."

"But maybe someone else hired him."

He frowned, mulling it over. "The Subaru," he growled.

"What?"

"The men that attacked us? They confronted me before. Well, not just me." He stopped and sighed, reluctantly adding, "It's complicated. It's hazy."

"Yeah, Foreman said something about Alzheimer's."

"I don't have Alzheimer's. I'm young."

"Well, son, it can happen in your youth."

"It makes sense," he growled. "They either want me, or their fellow Canadians. And their or my associates."

Their eyes met, and without talking they both got into the car. Cuddy locked it up and turned on her headlights as House examined the map. "Can't go to the cabin where Logan is. Can't leave Cameron. Can't leave a pregnant lady to get assaulted in the friendliest country," he muttered. Then he chuckled despite himself. "Shit, listen to this. One hotel, two motels, three restaurants, and three gas stations."

"That's...excessive."

"Wine store, liquor store, and a brewery, too. Kal-Tire, Integra Tire. Trailer repair, glass repair, more glass repair. They really cover all the bases. Shit, that's...that's just a couple blocks."

"You know what, a hotel and a restaurant sound really good."

"You just had chicken!"

"I just threw up chicken."

He nodded and looked back at the map. "'Kay. I could use a real bed, too. You don't have to spot me. Wilson's paying."

"Yeah, I'm still mad about that."

"Bury it. I had to."

Cuddy was quiet as she started the car, but before she started driving, she covered his hand with hers. "I'm sorry you had to."

He quietly nodded again and she put her hand on the wheel.

Coming off of Horse Lake Road, Cuddy turned right, swinging out wide onto the six-lane highway. From there she just had to follow the curves of the road, soon turning left into the parking lot of the hotel. It had white walls and a flat green roof.

"Maybe after we get a room, we could pick up some Subway and eat by the lake," House suggested.

"After we get a room, I'm sleeping. But maybe in the morning."

House was relieved; in retrospect, he really didn't want to be out there in the dark, either. They got out of the car and Cuddy locked it as they entered the hotel, feeling with each step that would be ambushed, drugged, and taken somewhere to get beaten. Or worse. He continued to sneak glances at her, observing how she continued to hold her head up high and look the hotel clerk in the eyes.

"Good evening. No luggage?" the clerk asked.

"No luggage. We just need a room."

The clerk's eyes went from Cuddy to House, and he appeared to smirk as he began making the room reservation. House turned away and busied himself with looking for angry gunmen in the night, trying to understand his own embarrassment. It wasn't like they were actually using it for sex, and even if they had been, he would have zero complaints. Zero surprises. He could still picture her body. Smell it. Taste it.

He quickly diverted his thoughts back to angry gunmen, effectively quelling the desire thinking of her evoked.

"Your room is number 27. Oh, and...please bag the linen when you're finished."

"Not why we're here," she said curtly, and snatched the card key from his hand. She turned and walked with House.

"I told you, I'd have my own room."

"This is cheaper. And at the risk of sounding weak," she added, "I don't want to be alone right now."

House was glad she could relate to him. Not like he would tell her he was afraid. So he remained quiet, and so she judged him.

She swiped the card key and opened the door, relieved to see two large beds packed into the small space beyond the closet that jutted out into the hallway, and formed the space in front of the bathroom that was bigger than the space between the dresser and the foot of the bed. The lights were off, and moonlight peeped in through the long, drawn curtains.

House lingered by the door, waiting for her to pick a direction. "Ladies first."

"Good, because I think I have to puke." She handed him the card key and isolated herself.

Alone, House limped to the furthest bed and sat down, plopping his cane beside him on the covers and allowing himself to emit a soft sigh.

Cuddy came out of the washroom, turned right past the closet, and stopped cold, surveying the situation. "You could have taken the first bed."

"I could have. I would have, except you're pregnant."

She smiled at him, ignoring the lightswitch beside her as she approached the beds. "Don't worry about it. I'm not fat yet."

"Really? Now you're telling me to not be considerate?"

She smiled at him and pulled back the blanket. "Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight."

She lay down and closed her eyes, thinking about Cameron, Logan, and the assailants. After quite awhile of laying there agonizing, she heard House get up and go to the washroom. Cuddy listened to him return and cross the room to his bed on the far side. Opening her eyes, Cuddy watched his silhouette; a tall man with a cane, just like the assailant. Feeling afraid even in their locked-up, inconspicuous hotel room, Cuddy watched him lay down and disappear into the dark.

She knew he was there. But she felt alone.

She sat up, brushing the blanket away, and approached his bed. His back was to her, but by the light of the moon she saw his eyes open. She knelt and moved the covers away, climbing into his bed and smushing her pillow up against his. As she leaned into him and draped an arm around him, he looked over his shoulder.

"Uh, what's up, doc?"

She smiled into his neck and said nothing, opening her eyes as he grabbed her arm. But he didn't push it away. He just held on tight.

She closed her eyes and tried not to cry on his clothes.