"Wish you wouldn't bring your car back to the hotel."
Pulling a flashlight off the store shelf, Cuddy turned to face House. "Why?"
"They've seen it," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "They find the car, they find us."
"Well, I—"
"They find your baby."
She smiled at him. "Do you really think Logan and Kayla—" She stopped cold as he shushed her, then watched him peer between the products on the shelves. "Are hunting us down?" she finished in a fierce whisper.
"Yes. And the gang in the SUV, too. I think we're probably caught up in some kind of war between..."
"You've gone soft," she muttered, examining the flashlight before putting it back in its place. She met his wide eyes. "All your hallucinations, the things you've had to do, the things you chose to do..."
"Yeah, you were real brave last night."
She turned away and sauntered down the aisle, checking out different flashlights. House stared at her posterior, thinking about his favorite part of pregnancy and imagining that side effect on her. It was only the clunk of her throwing a flashlight into the basket on her arm that made him raise his eyes.
"I don't need you constantly reminding me that she's out there. I already can't get it off my mind."
They fell into a state of silence as another customer entered the aisle. Cuddy walked up to House and waited for the shopper to get past the halfway point away from them, then whispered, "This isn't a good place to talk."
"Why cut the risk factor in half when we can cut it down to zero, and not talk?"
Cuddy stared into his eyes for a few moments, then walked away.
"And get a backpack!" he yelled.
She was not surprisingly unresponsive as she left the aisle. By himself, House limped through the store until he found a monitored location. He put his back up against the wall and absent-mindedly began twirling his cane as all of his unpleasant thoughts came flowing free.
Neither he nor Cuddy actually wanted to waste time sleeping. Every second they slept, Cameron could have been in dire need of a doctor, or a friend; and the only people who were both were choosing rest. It weighed heavily on both of them... At the same time, they knew they needed it. They couldn't help her if they were dead; which she most likely was, in which case it didn't matter. The only thing that did was that Logan suffered. He had to pay; it was right. Sure, he thought it was unlikely they would find Cameron alive and well, but he could ensure justice. All he had to do was tell the police where to go. He knew Cuddy hadn't done it. He'd have asked her why, if he was interested in her rationalizations; not doing it was inexcusable. Today, he would get it done. He would do what was right.
Unfortunately nothing could be done about the assailants. Unless they were connected to Logan. As something of a convict himself, he didn't think there was much to be pathetically frightened about law enforcement; and he had a feeling hitmen felt the same way. Not like they didn't suck at their job; they'd left both targets alive. Like they wanted to be turned in. Maybe they were friends with police? Well, that was something to be frightened by.
So why didn't it frighten him?
Finally Cuddy came walking out of the cashier aisle, rolling her eyes as she spotted him standing there. "You could have helped."
"You could stop nagging. I'm a cripple," he added, with a tone that implied it was new information.
"Your arm works," she said, and extended a shopping bag. "Luckily I anticipated that you might be useless and picked up everything," she muttered.
House reached out, but instead of retrieving the shopping bag, he retrieved a phone number from her chest pocket. "Even picked up a guy."
"What can I say? I like a guy who likes low-fat mayonnaise."
"Sounds Asian."
"Take the bag."
House nodded. "Sure thing," he muttered, and tore the phone number into four pieces. As she tried to absorb such a typical House thing to do, he took the shopping bag, then turned and limped for the exit.
Cuddy knelt, shaking her head as she collected the strips; then walked swiftly after him.
"Just because you're alone and miserable, I have to be?"
"Well, we're a group. We should do group activities."
Cuddy rolled her eyes again, shaking her head. "Maybe Cameron staged the whole thing to escape you. Your area, really, but she did learn a lot under your wing."
"Empty vessels usually do." He frowned as they continued across the parking lot. "I should teach."
"Yeah, that was my point."
"I know your point. You're angry. Bitter. It stung when you thought I died. Stung when you learned I hadn't. You thought, He should have said goodbye, we've been through so much, I deserve it."
"Actually, yes!"
"And you're right. So was I."
"About what, exactly?"
"Your feelings for me." He ignored it when, in his peripherals, he saw her look at him. "I understand. We're old flames, and I am in some ways impressive. You can't help yourself. By the same token, I can't help my feelings for you."
"So you tore it up because you're jealous."
"Does that turn you on?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Then the group thing."
She shook her head again, but at least she was smiling. They stopped beside her car and she reached into her pocket for her keys. "You're an ass."
"I know. But I make it work."
They put their new camping gear into the backseat. He sighed and met her eyes. "Just tell me how someone as kind and smart as you can think about romance at a time like this."
"Well, some people don't want to be alone and bitter."
"Then go out with an American."
Her smile died as he maintained eye contact for as long as he was able, then turned and began to circle the car. Effectively feeling defeated, she turned and let herself into the driver's seat.
"Flashlight, batteries. Binoculars. Matches and lighters. Scissors. Applesauce. Some new clothes. More batteries..." House frowned, pulling out an item they hadn't discussed getting. "Two-way radios?"
"I thought we should at least be prepared for when our phones die."
House put the package on the bed alongside the other contents, then moved on to the next shopping bag. "Peroxide, candles, a shitload of medicine, bandages, canned food, can opener, cutlery—" His voice stopped and then he met her eyes, slightly disturbed by the last unexpected item in the bag.
"For defense. In case you're right."
"I do have a pretty good streak going." He looked back into the near-empty bag and pulled out two packages of pocket knives, with spare blades. "It's a curse sometimes."
"Load up your backpack and don't go anywhere without it."
Cuddy plopped two backpacks on the bed and met his questioning gaze. "In case we split up."
"I-I-I don't...want to split up. No, we're—we're stronger together. We're already two men down. Well, two people, not two men. Not that I think Cameron would be offended, or at least if she was, she wouldn't say it, so as not to offend me. Not that I'd get offended at something so trivial, especially if I knew she was okay, not that I care."
Cuddy's brows had gone up during his tirade. His ramblings came to a finish and he was left staring awkwardly at her.
"Don't go anywhere without it," she repeated quietly.
They began removing everything from their packages and stocking up their backpacks. The only sound apart from the cutting and tearing plastic was his sudden shaky breath. She raised his eyes without moving his head, feeling like she was trying to defuse a bomb.
The dormant volcano of anger inside of him randomly erupted, and suddenly he was shouting. "It's Cameron, you pompous twit! Why didn't you turn them in? Or is it not that important after all? Maybe you can live with it! Who cares, as long as you get a date? God, you're more selfish than I am!"
She stared quietly at him in barely masked horror, her hand moving slowly to discard the empty plastic on the bed. She tried to be strong, but her emotions and raging hormones couldn't take it anymore. Eyes welling up with tears, she turned around and walked swiftly to the bathroom, isolating herself inside.
House grabbed his phone and dialed 911. But as he waited for someone to pick up, he had an epiphany, which resulted in him telling the dispatcher he must have dialed the wrong number. "I'm taking your car for a spin," he yelled, and grabbed his coat. "And I'll take the card key, so you're gonna have to stay in the room."
He grabbed his backpack and hovered near the door for a moment, listening to her quiet sobs, then let himself out into the hall.
The drive to Logan and Kayla's mountain cabin wasn't very long, but driving up the winding path was. House prided himself on making sure the gas tank was full, then mentally scorned the odd pair for choosing to live in such an inconvenient location. Not that it wouldn't be great for someone unemployed. Like himself.
He cringed at the reminder, then flicked on the radio to drown out a prospective hallucination telling him it was his own fault.
Finally, he reached what he could only assume was the center of the path. He parked Cuddy's car and got out, taking a deep breath before belting out Cameron's name, in a powerful baritone that reverberated through the woods.
No reply. He yelled again, waited a few heartbeats and got back in the car, taking it towards the top of the mountain. The classic rock station was a comfortable way to drown out unwanted voices. Until Blue On Black began to play. Normally he loved it. Today the lyrics taunted him, and he felt compelled to find something, anything else to listen to. He turned to the news station, hoping for an update. There wasn't one. The newscasters laughed and talked about sports, completely uncaring about anything else. Anything could go wrong, as long as they got paid.
Damn media whores.
Night came. He turned off his headlights and parked in the forest, the cabin in sight behind the trees; and took a moment to test his flashlight and extract his blade, wishing instead for a gun. Well, as long as he was looking for Cameron, he could snoop for weapons. Better he had them than someone completely unhinged.
He got out of the vehicle and closed the door as quietly as possible, locking her up tight. Hovering in the shadows, he peered at the cabin, trying to detect movement in the windows, the dark recess of the toolshed. Seeing nothing, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked to the cabin, letting himself inside.
The downstairs was abandoned. The door to the bathroom was wide open and the spotless floor was illuminated by the moon. He flicked on the lights. Nobody, nowhere. He limped to the stairs, his cane announcing his presence with every tap on the hardwood floor.
He sucked air through his teeth at the harsh labor of the simple act of going upstairs.
"Goddamn it," he groaned, unable to help himself. He finally got to the second floor and began checking rooms. With one bedroom down, he checked the bathroom and moved on to the bedroom.
Pushing open the door, he stopped cold, throwing his backpack to the floor as Kayla turned to face him. She only turned her attention away long enough to set a standing picture down on the bedside table beside her.
House sighed, trying to hide his knife from her. "Well, this is disappointing," he said bluntly. "You weren't supposed to be here."
She gave him a smile that lacked her goodness. It just looked eerie. "Who were you hoping for?"
"Nobody," he lied. "But I'm kind of a klepto."
"Ah," she answered, as she sat on the bed, putting her hands in her lap.
"Where's Logan?"
"I don't know," she said quietly.
"Yeah you do. And you know what he did. Probably helped him do it."
Suddenly her eyes turned yellow. She stood up, walking to him; every movement graceful. House held his breath, staring into her bizarre, very yellow eyes.
She leaned in close, turned her lips to his ear, and asked, "How did you know?"
House moved away, disoriented to see a blue woman in Kayla's place. He stared at her with a slight frown on his face. "Okay," he muttered. "Cut back on the Vicodin."
The hallucination bared her teeth in a grim smile. Then suddenly she had grabbed his wrist. Raising it, and squeezing tightly, she brandished the knife he held.
"I'm already crippled," he stated calmly. "Let's not be rude."
Confused at how quickly he had accepted her demonic appearance, the mutant tilted her head, then swung a fist into his hand. He dropped the knife and was still recovering when she became a spinning blur—
He felt his back slam into the wall before he slid into the deep abyss of oblivion.