When House came to, his back was pressed up against the passenger side of a brown truck, and the woman was tending to his wounds.

"Was your leg always like that?" she asked, and her eyes briefly locked with his. "Or were we supposed to call 911?"

House tried pushing away her administrations, but she persisted and he resorted to looking for the man he must have hallucinated. "It was already like that," he finally told her, and didn't overlook the subtle twitch of her cheekbones as she suppressed a smile. "You're glad?"

"No, not glad. Relieved."

He relaxed against the car, allowing her to clean his wounds. "Uh, are you aware you broke your wrist?" she asked, and House looked down.

"Oh. No, I can't feel it."

"That's...that's not good."

"Sure it is."

She averted her head, dry-heaving as he reset it with one sure yank. "Okay... We should probably get you to a hospital," she stammered.

Only then realizing that his bike was no longer resting on top of him, he looked at her in confusion. "We?"

No way was the Hulk real. But there was no mistaking the pronoun, and somebody had to have moved the bike. He tried surveying his surroundings, but all he could see was a trail of cigar smoke through the passenger window and the windshield. His hand patted the gravel searchingly. "Can you get my cane, please? It's on my bike."

She retrieved the cane and brought it to him, watching him stand; holding his injured left hand close to his banged-up body. Turning around, House looked at the brunette man making it a point to ignore him. With the intention to interrogate, House took one step; and the pain in his leg came flaring to life. His hand shook atop his cane.

Suddenly the woman was in front of him, staring up at him with her dark blue eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh. Completely."

"You sure? The nearest hospital's almost an hour away. We can call an ambulance."

House stared into her kind face, resisting the sudden impulse to give in. "I don't need an ambulance. I just need my motorcycle."

"And how are you going to lift your motorcycle?"

"Painfully," he snarked over his shoulder, as he limped to his overturned bike. She hastily followed him and started to assist, and looking over the strange biker's shoulder, she saw Logan looking over his own; watching them and still holding his cigar.

House growled in triumph as the pair corrected his bike. "Well, thanks."

"Wait," Kayla blurted, and remembered she had to touch the person for her ability to work. So she put her hand on his arm. "Please wait."

Again, that urge to accommodate her. Interesting. House nodded in compliance and she left his side, walking back to Logan as she raked her fingers through her windblown hair. He grouchily faced forward and took another drag, knowing what she was going to ask of him. She didn't need him to pick up the motorcycle this time―what else could it be?

Sure enough, "He needs help."

"So, call an ambulance."

"He doesn't think he needs help."

"And you know better."

Kayla looked at him for as long as she could, then glanced out into the trees to her left side as tears brimmed in her eyes. "You still blame me. That's what this is about, isn't it?" she asked, and when he was quiet she finally turned her eyes back to him. "For God's sake, Logan, they hunted me down. I didn't volunteer!"

"You didn't tell them to go to hell, either."

She put her left hand on the vehicle, leaning. "We're supposed to be enjoying this. William's the trickster, not me. I was content!"

Logan's response was cut off prematurely when House started his engine. Unfortunately kicking up the stand caused him a lot of pain, and the mutants watched him clutch at his leg.

Kayla looked back at him. "Logan," she whispered pleadingly.

He sighed quietly, looking down at her. "You find any ID?"

"Yes. But..."

"Then you'll know what to tell 'em."

"He's from New Jersey."

Logan's eyes flitted over her shoulder, and he scrutinized the injured American biker. "Do whatever you want," he grumped, and he opened the car door, got in, and isolated himself; waiting for her to decide.

Kayla turned around and walked swiftly back to House. Stopping by the wheel, she put her hand on top of his. "You should let us give you a ride."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You going to America?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Then I'll pass." House pulled his hand out from under hers. "You still have my wallet?"

Her eyebrows went up at his intuition. "No. I-I put it back. You're satisfied with that answer? You aren't going to count your money?"

"Don't have any." He raised his eyebrows at her as he began wiping the muck off his helmet. With one good hand, and a grimy surface, it was hard to hold onto, and he fumbled it into the grass.

Seeing House getting to his feet, Logan uttered a curse and got out of the truck. He approached, grabbed the bike without saying a word and carried it to his vehicle―the tires suspended above the ground. As if it were a cardboard prop, he slam-dunked it into the back and kept going. While House was trying to analyze the man's strength, suddenly Logan had put his truck in reverse and was headed straight for him.

The back of the truck stopped a hand's length away.

Kayla looked at House and raised her eyebrows. "You're cool to ride in the back, right?"

"Sure. Cool," House muttered, and limped closer, throwing his cane onto the platform. He pulled down the retainer and sat on the platform as Kayla got in with Logan; whose distinctive voice could be heard saying, "Roll up your window."

Kayla obliged with a sigh. "He was going to drive away."

"Next time, let him."

She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, stopping when she saw him staring into the rearview mirror. He adjusted it and wouldn't blink. Looking over her shoulder, she watched as the biker dug his fingers into his wound.

"Every time I deal with a human, it ends badly."

"Every time you deal with anyone, it ends badly."

He spared her a brief glance, but wouldn't look away from the busy highway for long. After the eleventh time someone honked at him, he extended his middle finger; quelling the urge to extend his middle claw instead. "He's not staying at my place; I'm sure as hell not driving him to America."

"I'm sure that you will," she said, and their eyes locked. "You try so hard to set yourself apart. But you're a better person than you think."

"You don't know half the things I've done."

"I know you saved him from walking too far. It was sweet," she added, smiling at him.

Logan scoffed over the steering wheel. "Sweet," he echoed gruffly.

"It was."

Exiting the highway, he slowed his vehicle and looked over at Kayla, who smiled innocently at him, resting her head on the back of her seat. She quickly sobered when he asked her, "Did I ever tell you about the time I killed my father?"

She lifted her head, staring at him long after he had turned his eyes to the road. Finally, pushing down the discomfort that threatened to drown her, she said, "Well, I'm glad you're giving this Gregory guy a chance. For people like us...chances are everything."

"Kayla, I really doubt This Gregory Guy is people like us."

"You know what I mean. After everything you've done, I know you understand what this chance could mean to him." She looked over her shoulder and was a little disconcerted to see House looking over his shoulder. Their eyes locked and she smiled awkwardly.

"Why should I give a shit what something means to him?"

She looked at Logan. "So you don't give a shit that people don't care about mutants?"

"No."

"You don't give a shit if they don't care about me?"

He spared her a brief glance, turning his eyes back to the road; then held up a hand. She took it and he gave a curmudgeonly sigh.