"How do you think House is doing?" Chase asked, as the trio entered their hotel room.

"I'm sure he's fine. He's House," Cameron tried to assure all three of them. "It's not like he's going to do something stupid."

"He's walking up to the man who almost decapitated him and...being himself," Cuddy pointed out.

Chase used his foot to slide their luggage into the closet.

"Thank you, for not ridiculing me," suddenly Cuddy's hand was on his arm. "I honestly expected otherwise."

"You're welcome," he said, more surprised that he sounded normal than he was by her touch.

Cameron sighed, sitting on the edge of the nearest bed and plopping her cane on the covers beside her. Rolling up her pant leg, she examined her foot.

"I really thought you'd be in a wheelchair."

"Yep," she groaned, "Me too."

"They screwed up," Cuddy interjected. "Again. That hospital deserves to be hog-tied in litigation."

"And ours doesn't?" Chase blurted, and pressed his lips together in immediate remorse. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. It's true," Cuddy told him, and crossed her arms, watching him bend into the shadows. He began pulling out the beverages he bought, and she opened the mini-fridge and took every drink he retrieved, helping him stock up. In the background, they began to hear the familiar comfort of the television; when the bag was empty and the fridge was full, Chase naturally gravitated to where their injured friend was trying to distract herself from the pain and discomfort of her wound. Cuddy looked at the closet a moment longer, finally going into the survival bag she had stocked up with House. Pulling out a notepad and pencil, she carried her pregnant self to the furthest bed and sat down with her supplies. Scooting back to the mound of pillows, she turned on the lamp and began drawing, to the best of her hardly-used ability, what she had seen once upon another hotel room in different company.

"Chase... You can sit."

Cuddy barely spared the lingering shadow in her peripheral vision a glance.

Looking awkward, Chase walked between Cameron and the TV, to the side of the bed with the most room. He faltered for a moment, looking at Cuddy's bed, then quickly sat on Cameron's bed; she had scooted back to the pillows, and he sat like a statue on the foot end, staring into the darkness inside the shelves below the TV.

"What, do I have bad breath?"

"I-I-I don't want to hurt your foot by accident."

"I trust you. Or," she said, when he barely lifted his head, "I can be on your other side."

He nodded and stood up, and she scooted closer to Cuddy's bed. The woman was completely buried in her notepad, the pencil moving 100 miles an hour.

"Anybody need Tylenol?"

"Save it," Chase admonished hastily. "You need it much more than we do."

She let her head fall against the headboard, and squinted at the screen as she tried silently to pronounce the last name appearing on the screen.

"What kinda last name is Lagina?" Chase muttered. "What is this, anyway?"

"Uh, The... Curse Of Oak Island." She shrugged, "I saw the title when I turned to it."

"Lagina," he repeated, and scoffed.

But it didn't take long for the men on TV to be the only voices in the room. He stared at the screen, comprehending nothing as he battled his emotions. He couldn't help himself. He reached down and fumbled around on top of the blanket until he grabbed her hand, and observing the state he was in, she squeezed as hard as she could.

If he had known she was going to get shot and left in the dark to die, no way he would've left. It should have been him to find her, damnit. Him.

About halfway through the show, Cuddy walked between them and the TV, tossing her notepad onto the bed as she went. Finally releasing her hand, Chase scooted forward, grabbed the notepad and scooted back again, finding himself pressed right up against her shoulder. He spared her a nervous smile, but she was too invested in the drawing.

Cuddy closed the bathroom door. Alone, they stared at the drawing of a man with gigantic spikes coming out of his hand.

"You know what? House told me," Chase mumbled, as he rolled even closer to Cameron. He dug out his phone and started tapping away, typing Mutant uprising 2006 Logan into the searchbar. They gawked at the results that popped up. There were even photos; mostly blurry and faraway. And all of which were boring; Logan walking down the street, Logan appearing to be at work in a lumber yard. But there were articles, accounts, and stories, and lots of them.

"'Metal Man K.O.'s Thief With Arm,'" Chase read. "'Metal Man Holds Purse Snatcher At Claw Point.' 'Metal Man Spotted At Shopping Center'?"

"That's ridiculous. If House can't be a doctor anymore, he could come up with better titles than these."

"A monkey could come up with better titles than these if he sat on the keyboard."

Cuddy left the washroom, and could be heard clanking around in the fridge and grabbing a plastic bag. She soon returned with honey graham sticks and bottled water.

"Listen to this," Chase said in disgust. "Metal Man was seen on Thursday kissing a local grade school teacher. The students may know her as Ms. Silverfox, but Metal Man knows her as Do It Harder."

Cameron exclaimed wordlessly in disgust as Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Classy," Chase muttered. "If this were a paper, I'd tear it for my sake!"

"The bodies of multiple policemen were found in Deer Park Heights. All 38 were stabbed three times in the chest," Cameron read. "Authorities believe they were pushed off the cliff confirmed to be the residence of Metal Man."

The hotel suite was quiet as both women had to blink back more tears. His gaze alternating between them, Chase turned off his phone and stared up at the TV.

"What have you done?" Cuddy asked brokenly, into the silence.

"Should I call him?"

"Yes, please!"

Without hesitation, Chase turned his phone back on, entered his password, and speed-dialed House. To their surprise, he answered.

"Change your mind about the booty call?"

Chase smiled, rather relieved to hear his typical Houseness. "Not yet, but keep asking," he joked. "What's going on?"

"I learned some stuff...few things of importance. They're in bed and I'm locked in the downstairs bathroom."

"What have you learned?"

"Let me think, um... Her grandfathers sort of looked alike. One of her grandmas looked like me. And oh yeah, Logan's basically immortal."

"What?!"

"Yeah, speed-heals and doesn't age."

"Bollocks."

"I also have their address, and possibly their trust. Although he will kill me when he gets out of jail. If I live that long. Which I don't expect, because...well, he deserves 100 years in the slammer."

"Uh, well, we've all learned that Kayla's last name is Silverfox. Nothing on the Internet about his last name, though."

His only response was the muttered, "Sil...ver...fox," then House added, "Thank you."

"Sure. You about done up there?"

"Just getting started."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I need more for the report. And why, all of a sudden, do you care?"

"Because we're not crossing that border without you."

"Oh, man. You're still here?"

Chase sighed. "We're in a hotel."

House's sigh was much deeper and longer, followed by only a faint crackle in the background. "The entire point," he muttered, "Was to get you guys out of here. It's not safe."

"Never leave a man behind, right?"

House sighed again, but only said, "Don't trust anyone. Maybe not even each other."

"House?" he asked, confused.

"It's not safe."

And with that, he hung up. Chase tapped back to the home screen, looking dazed.

Clinging to his voice, Cuddy tried to smile, even though she was dying inside. Cameron thunked her head against the headboard again, wishing with every fibre of her being that Chase had listened.

Cuddy couldn't sleep, and it wasn't morning sickness keeping her awake. It was the man she wanted by her side―the man she wanted to be the father to her child. Knowing he was trying to get in good with such a terrible man, a man who could stab 38 people and feel no remorse. He was so terrible he made House look like a saint. And what if Logan's behavior, his attitude, rubbed off on him?

What if the House she knew, the House she loved, turned into that monster?

She rolled over onto her back and sat up. Almost immediately, the lamp was turned on, and she looked over to see both Chase and Cameron also sitting up in bed.

"This is pointless," Cuddy groaned. "We may as well be with him."

"Another stupid idea," Chase told her bluntly.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"He killed 38 police officers," Cameron said. "I think he wouldn't hesitate to kill a pregnant woman."

"House wouldn't want it," Chase added. "He doesn't even want us to be in Canada."

Cameron scooched closer to the edge, sitting up straight and grabbing her pills. Cracking the bottle, she dumped two in her hand and held them out to Cuddy. "Here. It'll help you sleep."

"But you need them."

"I can get more. More after that."

Cuddy gave in and accepted the pills, and Cameron offered some to Chase as well. He relented, allowing her to dump them in his palm. Finally Cameron served herself, and they all took the meds. Then the lamp was turned off and there came only the rustle of blankets as they settled in all over again; Cameron felt Chase snuggle into her and wrap an arm around her, pulling her in. She turned her head into his face and took him in―wishing that he, too, would never let her go...

It didn't dawn on Cuddy that she was dreaming. To her sleeping mind, everything was normal. The cabin where Wilson died was indeed the cabin where Logan lived, and she was indeed nearing her due date; nothing was out of place. It was real. It was normal. House sat by her side on the sofa holding a beer, and her hand.

She smiled, looking at him. She never would have expected to be so happy, so content, with someone who didn't do the top button even if he was wearing a suit. But today he was just kicking back in his Death Valley and jeans. And he needed to shave―but then again, he always did. As usual, he wore his ugly sneakers, with his right foot pressed up against the edge of the delicate glass-top coffee table.

"I love you."

"I know," he said.

And then Logan came down the stairs, wearing a bloody tank top. His claws were out, shining in the light.

"Morning," House called.

Logan was quiet as he approached. And started stabbing House. Over and over...and over again. Cuddy screamed and cried for him to stop. He didn't. And House just smiled.

His claws rang as he repeatedly pierced House through the stomach. Blood was squirting everywhere.

And House just smiled. Even as his blood landed on Cuddy. The words and logo on his shirt were soon covered by blood. It ran down his arms and seeped into the sofa. Finally Logan extracted his nasty claws of death, and House fell over. Dead.

Logan turned to Cuddy. His claws were completely crimson, dripping onto the hardwood floor. She could hear the blood falling.

"I have to take care of you both," he said.

Cuddy screamed as he lunged―

Cuddy came awake with a short-lived yelp. She quickly realized the room was dark and she could still hear quiet snores behind her.

She rolled over onto her back and turned her head, staring into the darkness. She couldn't see a thing, but the snores went on. A stinging heat irritated her eyes and she covered both with her hands, trying to cry quietly. Rolling back onto her side, she wept. And tried not to hate Chase.

He was protecting strangers. He was protecting a country. They both were.

But she couldn't stop crying. And so she wept―unaware that her sobs were not unheard.