Not even House's intellectually superior brain could analyze the man's strength in the several minutes it took for Logan to swing into the parking lot of a gas station. He didn't realize until Logan got out of the truck just how heavy he was―the vehicle rocked back, jostling House, as his motorcycle and cane slid on the platform with a clatter. Though Logan barely spared House a glance, the latter followed him with his eyes; just as intrigued by Logan as he was Kayla.

It was like they were...more.

He watched Logan pay the cashier, then come walking back to the pump. "What the hell are you looking at?" Logan grumbled, as he went to the machines.

"I'm not entirely sure. A white Hulk?" House guessed, and kept talking, facing away from Logan's sudden and uncharacteristic reticence. "Sure, people have lifted more than six, seven hundred pounds before; but you can see, it's not easy. They struggle...you didn't."

"Yeah, my limit's 601."

House gave a bitter smile, as he rested his head on the back windowshield and savored the brightness of the day. "And then," he said casually, "There's her."

The pump clattered and Logan walked to the vehicle. "Don't talk about her."

House looked into the man's hostile eyes and gave an acquiescing nod. "Sure. You're more interesting, anyway. Not as appealing, of course. Just means the game is fair."

"Pal, if I can do that to a motorcycle, what do you think I can do to you?"

"I'd rather find out what she can do to me."

House's eyes flitted down as the side panel of the bed began to crumple beneath Logan's hands. "Then again, you are giving me a ride."

Logan was unresponsive, but stopped victimizing his vehicle and continued to fill up the tank.

"So what's the agenda here, Logan?"

Reverting to his original method of ignoring him, Logan finished gassing up and opened the door to the driver's side. Again, House's motorbike jostled roughly as Logan got inside. Alone on the platform, House leaned his head against the windshield as he tried to estimate the man's weight.

"Wow," he whispered.

He exhausted every possibility, but could reach no logical conclusion. All he succeeded in doing was giving himself a headache.

Logan drove up to a remote cabin on a cliffy mountain; surrounded by trees overlooking Canada. It was certainly warmer and greener than House had imagined...but Logan was cold enough. The odd couple continued to sit in their vehicle, isolating themselves long after the truck had been shut off; and House thought about Wilson, and what he had done. What he had prevented. Until finally he was nearly rocketed off the platform. He grabbed the panel to stabilize himself and wished he had a pillow. Then Kayla darted past him. "Hey," his yell stopped her. "I thought you said an hour."

She turned back, smiling at her boyfriend. "Logan and I are going camping, I need some things. I'll just be a few minutes."

House watched her rush inside. "Said every woman ever," he muttered, and too late spotted Logan directly in his peripherals.

But Logan only tipped his head to the side and remarked, "Yeah, you got that right."

Not because it was true―but because he had to do anything to make Kayla seem like an ordinary woman. Something about this guy was making him crazy, threatening to bring out his inner wolf. An American motorcyclist, comparing him to a genetically altered movie character within ten minutes of their first meeting? No, this guy knew stuff. Kayla had been wrong to be so ready to help him. Of all the people in the world, she had to help this guy. If he was also cagey about who he was, Logan would carve him like a turkey. He turned abruptly and asked, "So who are you?"

"Why?"

"Just...answer the damn question."

House frowned at him. "Greg. Or House."

"Yeah, I'm not asking your name."

"Oh. Well, I'm a doctor. Head of diagnostics at Princeton-Plainsboro."

Logan mirrored the man's earlier expression. "Okay, before I point out that such a thing isn't real, I guess you need further clarification; why are you here?"

"Sightseeing. Always wanted to see the wonders of your country." Before Logan could point out the sarcasm heavy in his voice, House added, "And they made it a thing. They invented it, because that's how good I am. I am the Nancy Drew of things that matter."

"Yeah, well, I don't think you are," Logan growled. "I think whatever that gunshot was, you were connected to it. Ah," he added, when he saw sudden emotion in the man's eyes. "Listen, bub, if you lay a finger on her, if I find any connection between you and the Colonel, you're going to wish you had a gun."

He ignored the confusion on House's face. It was a façade, and he had to warn her. He turned and walked with unintentionally heavy steps into the cabin.

Left alone with his troubling thoughts, House reached for his phone. He even flipped it open and began to dial. Then remembered that everyone thought he was dead. And as soon as they talked, there would be a trail.

He closed his phone.

Pushing and pulling his way past the motorbike, he finally got to the end panel of the bed and started to push; ignoring the pain in his bruised wrist that seemed to fill his whole limb. With suffering he popped the retainer down and scooted back.

"What are you doing?"

House's eyes found both of them, but he only spoke to her. "I don't need to take his accusations. It'll be easier on everyone if I get out of his hair," his voice strained as he attempted pushing his bike. He gasped in pain as the rear fender dragged along his leg. Looking down at Logan, all he said was, "You use your girlfriend's hairspray for that?"

"Greg, please," Kayla said, and quickly reined in her frustration. "Okay, how's this? Logan will drive you to the hospital. I will pay for your medication. And you will keep to yourself."

She looked from one man to the other. "Deal?"