House lay on the sofa, listening to the rain. He wanted to think of the inhumans upstairs, but he couldn't. Because for all the shit he'd done to his colleagues, as a whole and as individuals, they refused to leave him alone.

What more did he have to do?

They acted like they didn't respect him, but how could they keep coming back, over and over again, without it? Unless they were so damaged, they actually liked him. Either way they were hypocrites. "It's the worst idea you've ever had! I want to be a part of it." The only people who could get away with that were the idiots on That '70s Show. Very unbecoming of intellectual professionals. There shouldn't even be a word for how naïve they were being, but there were several...most of which could get him kicked out of the common workplace.

Maybe they were all suckers for punishment. Were they masochists? Suddenly plain old hypocrisy didn't sound so bad. Trying not to let his inner monologue shine a light on himself, he tried again to get comfortable on the sofa. It wasn't working too well; it barely worked in his own home. But then, his own bed barely worked if there was a beautiful woman beside him. He was laying there with his eyes shut, fantasizing (admittedly about Cuddy) when he began to hear soft rustles coming from the steps. Already on edge about hallucinations, he sat up quickly, staring into the dark.

The rustling grew a little louder as Kayla eked past the ruined step, jumping around it. She stopped when she saw him. Half his face was in the shadows, and the moonlight struck the left side of his face, making his eye glint in the darkness. She could see the bruise on his face. He looked dangerous...and he hadn't made her feel bad. Realizing she couldn't help but like him, she was smiling as she said, "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No. Can't sleep." He rolled onto his side and turned on the lamp with a groan.

"Me neither," she said, as he sat up and rubbed his hair.

Suddenly she was sitting on the coffee table right in front of him. In her PJs. He now quickly sat up straight, frowning into her eyes.

"I've been thinking about you."

"Yeah. Much as I want this, I really don't wanna die like that."

"I've been thinking about how you're here... And the person who came to pick you up..."

He lowered his head, his eyes reluctantly and coldly meeting hers.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, as much as I anticipate a strip search in front of my mother," he began, making her smile. "I don't know, I guess I'd rather learn about genetically-altered people who can do the impossible."

"And the bike...shockingly poor man?"

"Yeah, Wilson didn't just have seven thirty-five. That's just what he had in cash."

Her body stopped rocking and she stared at him in silence.

"Told you I'm not an upstanding citizen."

She hesitated for a moment longer, then got up and began going back towards the stairs.

"You know, I'm starting to think honesty's not the best policy," he announced.

She gave a light groan and went upstairs.

He blinked, shaking his head. "It's not like I shot him," he said quietly, and lay back down.

It seemed like House was awake on the couch for eight hours and asleep for two minutes when he was again disturbed. Again, it was Kayla. She had freshened up and appeared to be getting ready to go to work. Crossing the room, she glanced over at him.

"On the other hand," he said, like too much time hadn't passed, "I suppose there's nothing stopping you from turning me in."

"Would it even bother you if I did?"

He didn't respond, and she watched him seriously, thoroughly consider the question.

She shook her head, pulling on her boots; House didn't even watch. "Okay, well, I'm going to work. And I'm sorry, but there's nothing ready-made; if you get hungry you'll have to raid the garden."

He cracked a smile, sobering quickly when he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Without saying anything, Logan joined Kayla at the door and started getting ready to go out.

"Where are you off to?" she asked.

"Hardware store."

"You should tag along," she said in House's direction.

"I'd rather eat roadkill," Logan muttered.

"Yeah, I'm...sleep-deprived and have yet to answer the call of nature," House said, and hesitated when his phone began to ring. "She's really impatient."

"Hey, bub, you might as well come with, because you're sure as hell not staying. Alright, so why don't you empty your colostomy bag and get a move on."

"I don't have a colostomy bag."

"Maybe you ought to get one."

Kayla shook her head as she shrugged into her jacket.

House smiled grimly. "You want me to go?"

"Yeah, I want you to go. Fuckin' far away."

"Are these the manners you use in restaurants? You do know what a restaurant is, right?" he added, with a suble motion at the room. "See, the human brain is like a hamster. It can be content for awhile, spinning on its wheel, but it also wants to get out of the cage once in awhile. And I bet my left leg that there are no fancy dresses and tuxedos in your closet. No jewelry box," he added, limping towards the steps. Logan and Kayla were quiet, watching him; abruptly he stopped at the foot of the stairs, thumping his cane down onto the wood floor. "Really?" he asked, "Not even for a quiet date night here? Or do you have date nights?"

They were quiet, now not looking at him or each other.

House sighed, rubbing at his forehead before limping closer again. "You two are a shining example of why marriages typically end badly."

"We're not married," Kayla said softly.

"Good! You can still get out of this! Go buy a...nice house in suburbia. Like a normal teacher. Go on dates again, convince him to do that thing you like. This guy," he added with a pointing finger, "Might be a freak like you, but he's still falling by the wayside. You shouldn't waste your life just to have something else in common."

"We're trying to live in peace."

"By committing genocide? My god, woman, you're a teacher. Aye," he sighed. "All those children are screwed and Tinder really crossed a line. You're supposed to love and feed the hamster, not use the wheel to beat it to death."

"Can we just drop the rodent metaphor?" Logan asked.

"Careful," he said, causing Logan to frown in confusion, "Negligence kills hamsters."

"We're not killing our relationship," Kayla tried to argue.

"No, just policemen. Kind of a big deal."

Kayla sighed, suddenly looking at Logan and saying, "You could let them walk away."

"No, you could let 'em."

She scoffed, zipping up her zipper. "I'm going to be late for work," she muttered, and grabbed her purse. There was a clatter as the hanger fell off the shelf; ignoring it, she opened the door and let herself out into the early morning.

"Well, now I'm curious. If she can let them walk away, and they can't hurt you, why kill them? Or is it for pleasure?"

"So they don't keep bothering us. Maybe other people will take a hint."

"Ah. You'll do anything to protect your isolation."

Logan considered. "Basically, yeah."

"You've martyred countless people for a maybe. Can't imagine how Kayla teaches those kids the alphabet while thinking of her serial killer boyfriend." Now having reached Logan, he stopped in front of him, boldly meeting the man's hostile eyes. "You feel that mounting rage? That intense craving to punch my head into my ass? Yeah, breathe past it."

"Why?"

"Because you don't want people thinking you're an animal. Unless you do. But then...you'd want her thinking it."

"I'm not a serial killer, asshole."

"You? No. You're a gentle soul, like Bob Ross. You ever think of taking up painting? Be a nice outlet for all that destructive energy. How many times would you have killed me now if she wasn't part of your life?"

"Well, I don't know. I never would have helped you in the first place."

"Yeah. I would've gotten up, dusted myself off, kept riding. See, the problem is, we haven't admitted that Kayla's the problem. It's because of her I'm in your house."

"I think you're in my house because you know we're mutants."

"Yeah, because of Kayla."

"Actually, I suppose it's because of me. I should've let her take it away."

"Yeah. You probably should've. But, you know, she can still do it. I just ask to learn it all first. I satiate my knowledge, you protect your lonely, secluded, miserable lives, everybody walks away a winner."

"Oh, I don't believe this. We're getting judgment from you?"

"Since day one."

"Yet your life is lonely, secluded, and miserable, maybe more than ours. I've killed a lot of people, Nancy. Never a friend."

"I never killed a friend either."

"Well, I never considered it."

House smiled, cocking his head and restlessly tapping his cane. "Why do I get the feeling," he asked, "That you will?"

Logan watched him turn around and limp through the cabin. "What are you doin'?"

"Kayla said I could raid the garden; I'm gonna find it."

"Fine. Answer the call of nature, have some breakfast, then fuck off."

House opened the sliding door, hearing the front door open. Looking over his shoulder, he watched Logan shut the door, and waited impatiently for him to lock it. When he heard the motorcycle start up, he slid the door shut, turned on his heel and limped quickly to the stairs. The gaping hole there made him slow right down, and he scoffed, inching his way around it. It was a trick, and he had to pause long enough to pull a splinter out of his toe. Finally he ascended the rest of the stairs as quickly as he was able.

The hallway was dark, and his hand fumbled along the wall until he found the light switch. Then he took the paper out of his pocket and looked at what little information he had gathered so far. Their address, her last name, and Logan's potential immortality was not enough. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know where they worked, he wanted to know their banking information, he wanted to know which doctor they used, and he wanted to know the name of every kid in her class. Everything he could use or barely use.

Pressing the paper up against the wall, he wrote down Kayla's license plate; he had seen it enough times. He didn't know Logan's license plate; it would have been the only perk of tailing him to the hardware store. Writing down the color and model of Kayla's vehicle, he folded up the paper and pocketed everything before limping to their bedroom.

It looked so...normal. It was so tidy, except for the sweater draped over the back of a chair. There was no blood on the closet, no knives on the dresser. It even had a pleasant, piney smell, although it was probably one of the perks of living in a forest. He stood in the doorway, inhaling it for a second before he began the incredible invasion of their privacy. Nothing screamed murder inside the closet, either; just hanging laundry. No dresses or tuxedos, but all that indicated was a majorly boring personal life.

House went to the dresser and was halfway through the drawers when his phone rang again. "Damn it," he growled, banging the drawer shut. He pulled it out and barely looked at Cameron's name. "What?"

"You didn't answer, I was worried about you."

"Well, stop worrying. I know that goes against your nature, but trust me, you don't want..." His voice trailed off as he pulled out Logan's Yen. "Gray hair," he muttered.

"What?"

"You're young. Go to a beach or something," he said vaguely, and hung up. Plopping the roll of foreign currency back into the drawer, he shut it and abandoned the dresser, going back to the closet. This time he stepped up against the clothes and patted around on the shelf until he grabbed the corner of what he thought was a box. When he pulled it down, he realized it was a photo album. He smiled. "Jackpot," he said, and flipped it open. There were pictures of Kayla with other people, laughing and smiling―and a picture of Logan doing, well, neither of those things. He turned the page, only to see just three more pictures in the entire book. Of strangers. But from the woman's brown hair and blue eyes, he assumed it was the grandmother he resembled. He assumed the men were her grandfathers.

He put it back on the top shelf and closed the door feeling defeated. He may as well have gone to the store; at least then he'd have something more compelling than his Japan lead. All that told him was information he already had―Logan didn't age. Big deal. There was nothing new, nothing interesting... Nothing.

He snooped through the bathroom and the inexplicable guest bedroom. Not surprisingly, he found nothing incriminating, and returned to the downstairs in disappointment. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, he looked around the wooden kitchen slash living room. Mounted guns, a TV, a couch, a kitchen... Where could he find something useful, if not in their heads?

People as paranoid as them didn't go five feet off their property without their cards. Unless they were too paranoid to get cards. Unless they weren't too paranoid to get cards, but paranoid enough to use fake names, and that didn't help him. But he knew people who could. Getting out his phone, he star-69'ed.

"Is everything okay?"

"No, I need you to do something for me."

"Sure."

"I need you to look up all the schools within a...five mile radius and send me their names. Also, don't greet me with 'Is everything okay?' Just say hello," he said, and huffed a disappointed sigh. "She answered my phone once before."

"Sorry. I'll let Chase and Cuddy know."

"Thanks, Cameron." He started to move the phone down, but her voice stopped him.

"House? Just... Be safe."

"Don't worry. Everything's okay. Trust me."

He disconnected, his eyes roaming with a slight urgency around the cabin. How could he make it okay? Moving fast, he limped to the TV, clattered his cane atop the coffee table, and knelt, rifling quickly through the shelves the TV was placed on. A mostly-empty pack of batteries, a box of Kleenex, a photoless picture frame, and a layer of dust did not a police report make.

He had resorted to looking through the kitchen cabinets and seeing nothing "unkitcheny" when his phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he was surprised to see Chase's name. Flipping open his cell, he greeted him simply with, "Yeah."

"Okay, given your parameters and the fact she teaches elementary kids, she's most likely a teacher at Nesika, Cataline, or Marie Sharpe. Though I fail to see how this helps your investigation."

"Did you get the phone numbers of those places?"

"No. Cameron did, as requested."

"Good. No offense, but why am I talking to you?"

"Because I don't have open stitches."

"Ah, gotcha. Damn," he added, banging a door shut.

"What are you doing?"

"Snooping. Unsuccessfully, I might add. For serial killers, they sure worry about their image."

"Hm," Chase muttered. "Do I recall seeing mounted guns on the wall, a lot of rifles?"

"Yeah."

"Cameron's bullet wound was small; she was shot with a handgun. Rifle would've left a bigger mark. My guess is, there's something other than ammunition in the mag."

Without disconnecting first, House tossed his phone onto the coffee table and limped to the wall, carefully peeping into every gun until he pulled out a wallet. Flipping it open to make sure it had cards, he swooped his phone up. "Chase, you're a freak! A blonde genius."

"Great. Glad I could help," he said, in a rather careless tone.

"Okay, I need both my hands, so I'm hanging up now," House said, and the dial tone buzzed before he could do so. Rather miffed, House pocketed his phone and the wallet before checking the gun beside the one that had stored the wallet. And pulled out another one. Smiling, he wrote down all the information on the cards as well as the names of each school Kayla potentially taught at.

Time was a-wasting. He pocketed his slowly-expanding list, stuffed the wallets back into the guns, answered nature's call, and raided the garden; by the time Logan returned, he was baking.

"What the hell's all this?"

"Lunch! And dinner. And maybe breakfast and lunch again; I don't know how picky you guys are. Although, based on the wall of poison―"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you don't ever drink beer, I get it. You poured it out the window and filled it with water."

"There's nothing wrong with the occasional drink. I'm a doctor," he added with a smirk. "And it's time you guys were introduced to calories and carbohydrates."

"Don't pretend to be concerned."

"I'm a doctor," House repeated, feigning offense. "Which means I absolutely am concerned, even about people I despise."

"Yeah, I think you just wanted an all-access pass to narcotics."

"Not why I put up with two years of med school."

"Two years? Come on, everybody knows it takes four."

"Sure does, for the slow kids," he said, and continued over Logan's scoff, "In high school I didn't have the pain I do now. No pain, no antisocial drug-seeking behavior."

Logan watched him watch the oven.

"You like pizza, right? Hope you're not a vegetarian."

"Do I look like a vegetarian?"

House's eyes flitted over to the man who could probably be a wrestling champion. Rather than openly talk about his body, he quietly returned his attention to the oven. The only sounds in the room were Logan's heavy footsteps as he carried his tools to the stairs, then started to repair the crater he had made. House listened to the sounds of construction until time ran out; he got up and took the second pizza out of the oven. "Smells good," he said, uncomfortable with the enduring silence. Logan was still unresponsive, so House kept talking, if only to fill the empty air. "Probably should have asked about allergies first. But, whatever―you heal, so there's no concern there. Kayla can ask, or I can. Or we can just play a dangerous game called Wait And See If It Kills Her," he said, barely pausing when Logan suddenly focused on him. "But you might want to sit that one out."

Logan was still quiet, and House tried not to squirm under the intense scrutiny of his almost-killer.

"Okay," he said, tossing the towel onto the counter island. "That should feed you until tomorrow; I've got some errands to run. Then I'll be back."

"What makes you think you're welcome here?"

"Well, I suppose I could start following your girlfriend―everywhere," he answered. "Her work, the garbage dump, the gym... The gym showers..." He hedged then, watching Logan's eyes blaze. "Didn't think so. I'll see you tonight," he said, and began limping to the door. He looked over his shoulder as he grabbed the knob. "I rub off on people. You'll see," he said in parting, and let himself out.

The library had wheelchair access, and House used it to avoid the stairs. There was a group of teens hanging out at the front, and they barely spared him a glance, too involved in their riveting discussion about fashion. They certainly didn't open the door for him. Letting himself inside, he surveyed the room. It was busy; people sitting on chairs, or on the floor in the aisle, reading books and tapping away on their phones. And a beautiful row of computers, just waiting to be used. He limped slowly towards them, hoping only to accomplish his task before somebody realized what he was doing. Unfortunately he wasn't there for porn.

It was much worse than that.

Finally reaching the desks, he sat down and got to work―trying to hack the patient database of the hospital Cameron had been taken to. It didn't take him too long; soon he was looking at a long list of names. He clicked on the search bar and typed in Kayla's full name.

No results. None―ever.

But it wouldn't stop him. Even if it was the final nail in his coffin, and he ended up sharing their cell, he would hack every hospital in Canada if he had to...

Author's note: Ugh. Recovering from surgery number three. I hope it's over!