He didn't have to read the words to remember what he'd written in a small notebook a while ago:

Insomnia
Nocturnal hypermnesia
Accelerated metabolism
Abnormal weight

This was a longer version of the list he had started on the white board once when trying to peg what was wrong with Logan. The fact that Logan was odd had intrigued him. The fact that Logan had nightmares beyond the scale of night terrors had fascinated him enough to start the symptom list. But he had been forced to erase it and put it here in private notes when Cameron and Chase came in the room and started in on a diagnosis, not realizing the list didn't pertain to a patient.

Now that he knew Logan was a mutant, someone who was at the extreme edge of human evolution, House realized studying the symptoms was possibly futile, as the realm of normal medicine no longer seemed to apply. Still, he dutifully flipped to the page in the notebook and added his latest discovery to the list:

Hyperesthesia of hearing, olfactory

There were no words to describe his other discovery: Logan's phenomenal healing factor.

He had never seen it in action, but House knew the man could recover from cuts, food poisoning, and even bullet wounds. His burning desire to see how Logan's body could respond so quickly to injury was tempered by his knowledge that somehow, somewhere a doctor had laid hands on Logan with the same keen curiosity House felt, and had destroyed Logan's memory and altered his interior physiology permanently. He had a nasty feeling the same doctor had tried to make Logan into a permanent addition to the military's arsenal of weapons. The fact that Logan had killed two men the last time he and House had gone fishing, and had killed them with the efficiency and undiscoverable methods of a professional assassin, did not escape him.

House shivered slightly.

"Cold?"

The notebook was immediately slammed shut and House temperamentally threw it into the bottom drawer of his desk, the one he kept locked and locked now.

"Just responding to your negative vibes," House said testily as Cuddy turned a chair to face him and sat, a small folder full of papers in her hand.

"I need you to attend a conference," she said, tossing the folder on his desk.

He cocked his head. "My first week back on a normal schedule and you try to get rid of me?" he asked as he reached for the papers. "You really are trying to seduce me. Be still my heart."

House glanced at the conference title and frowned. "Medical Negligence and Risk Management in Medicine, Neurosurgery, Emergency Medicine and Radiology?" He met her piercing blue-eyed stare with one of his own. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not."

"You told me once you thought I was insane," House remarked as he leaned back and propped his right leg up on his desk to ease the throbbing so he could think clearly, "and you also thought it was insane to try to change me. What's the matter? Am I over budget on my legal retainer fund?"

Cuddy sighed. "No, but I'm sending you anyway. I signed up for this months ago and now I can't attend. Rather than lose the money we've already sent, I'm sending you. Not only do you need to know how other doctors practice medicine within proper ethical bounds, I need you to rest. You were supposed to stay home and take it easy. No stress after the relapse, remember? You're not, which tells me you don't want to be by yourself. Fine," she said, standing. "Rather than drive everyone here crazy while you heal again, go and make others miserable."

She moved to the door and hesitated. "I don't want to see you back in this hospital until that conference is over, understand?"

"It starts in two weeks," he observed from the papers.

"Fine. Drive down there. Take your time." Cuddy waved a hand in frustration. "Take someone with you. Talk. Heal. Rest. And come back prepared to do lots of clinic duty."

The door closed silently behind her and House leaned back in his chair to ponder the situation until Wilson poked his head in.

"She's right, you know. You need to be at home or in therapy."

House was smug. "She's not sending me home. I'm going to a conference. Want to come? It's in Atlanta."

Wilson frowned and entered, snagging the chair Cuddy had vacated. "Atlanta? When? On what?"

"Medical Negligence and Risk Management. Starts in two weeks." Wilson looked away, but not before House smelled a rat. "Why?"

"I called Stacy when you were shot. She wanted to know how you were – wanted to come here."

"Very touching, I'm sure," said House, gripping his cane harder than he meant to. "I don't remember seeing her at my bedside."

"She mentioned that conference. Said she was going to it and wondered if she should come and see you afterward." He stared at House with puppy-dog eyes of sorrow. "I told her that wasn't a good idea."

"You should know," said House evenly. "But then I should be happy to go to Atlanta if she's there. According to you, I love being miserable, and seeing her would only remind me that I gave her away. Fits in nicely with Cuddy's directive to go spread misery."

"House," Wilson began, but House cut him off.

"I have to pack," he said, pushing his leg off the desk and struggling to rise with dignity. "I take it you're not coming with. Your loss - you'll miss all the fireworks," House remarked as he left the office without looking back.
---

House hurt like hell, but he knew what would make him feel better. Clumsily, blearily, he opened his eyes and reached out sideways for the coffee table surface paralleling his position on the couch. The fifth was already gone, not having been anywhere near full in the first place, but there were still a few pills left in the official-looking amber plastic container with the false prescription pasted on it – a gift stolen from the very man he would like to see die any day now*. As a physician, he knew the dangers of mixing alcohol and amphetamines. As a former lover of a now married woman, an incredible woman who had hurt him worse than he could ever imagine, he disregarded the information. He flipped the oblong white pill up in the air, wondering whether or not he could actually catch it in his mouth in his condition, whether it would choke him and he would die a pathetic figure in an empty room, or whether he would swallow it and really feel relief from the pain inside him.

A hand deftly caught the missile before it reached its destination.

Confused, House looked over and spotted a man seating himself on the chair nearby, a man who now dropped the pill back in its container and capped it with a grim expression on his face.

"I don't remember letting you in," House muttered with heat, angry at the deprivation of relief.

"And I don't remember knocking," Logan growled back. "You don't want help, fine. But don't leave your cell phone where Wilson can get to it next time."

"Wilson." He meant to say the name with a snort of derision, but House couldn't manage to be too contemptuous. Wilson was, after all, somewhat of a friend, not that he needed a friend at the moment, not one who would tell him he was happy being miserable, anyway. "Did he tell you to come and rescue me?"

"No. He told me what was going on and expected me to come."

"He doesn't know you very well then."

Logan's brow creased. "You don't either. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and sober. You've got a conference to go to."

House closed his eyes and a woman's face framed by dark hair floated behind the back of his eyelids. "She'll be there."

"Then you shouldn't have told Cuddy you'd go."

"I can handle it," House snarled.

"Right," Logan responded.

House felt his arm grabbed and the next thing he knew he was bent painfully in half over one of Logan's shoulders as Logan carried him down the hall.

"Put me down!" House said, his head pounding from being upside down. He tried to push against Logan and grab the nearby walls for support, but his hands weren't cooperating.

"Gladly," said Logan.

House was unceremoniously dumped into his own bathtub. He looked up at Logan with a glare of hatred. "You wouldn't!"

"I said you don't know me very well," Logan offered as the first droplets of icy water rained down on House, sucking the breath from House's lungs for a moment with the shock of the temperature change.

"At least turn on the hot water!" roared House as he struggled to rise from his awkward position, wet clothing not helping the situation at all.

An hour later he was clean, dressed, and felt more human, though he didn't want to be. Hair still damp and mussed from the towel, he explored his home, hoping Logan had disappeared. Instead he found the man buttering some toast in the kitchen area. The coffee smelled fairly decent, so House sat at the small table and poured some into an empty cup from the carafe on the table. He sipped it carefully, burning his tongue slightly as the hot liquid slid down his throat.

"So why are you here?" House asked cautiously, testing his lucidity as the caffeine made its way to his brain.

"I guess I'm going to be your driver for a few days," shrugged Logan, setting the plate piled with toast on the table.

"I don't need a babysitter, Logan," House said, reaching out a shaky hand for a piece.

"Right," Logan confirmed as he sat, pouring himself a cup of coffee and gulping half of it down without pause. "But until I get my cell phone number changed you're stuck with me. Either that or you get Wilson to go with you."

House shook his head gently, a throbbing ache accenting every movement. "No. I don't need Wilson on my back right now any more than you do."

"Then I guess we'd better map out the best fishing places between here and Georgia," Logan stated in a matter-of-fact tone, reaching for a map perched on the corner of the table.

"You can't go with me," House said. "Do you have any idea where I'm going?"

"Yeah, some safe-practice seminar for doctors," Logan said from behind the map as he folded it to show only the east coast of the U.S. "Sounds like fun. Don't expect me to attend. You're on your own when we get to Atlanta."

"And here I thought I'd have to protect you from a room full of doctors," House quipped, feeling slightly better now that something other than alcohol and drugs was in his system.

Logan snorted. "Right. As if I'd let myself get stuck in a room full of doctors. Driving down with you is going to be bad enough," he said as he flattened the map out and traced their path from Jersey to Georgia over a mound of toast.

Noting how the food underneath distorted the map into a three-dimensional mountain of immense proportions, House was amused by the thought that the trip might be just as insurmountable.

"Fifty bucks says we don't make it without something happening," he said through a mouth full of toast.

Logan cocked an eyebrow at the man across from him at the table. "Be specific."

House coolly returned the look. "Well, the last time we went fishing, we ended up invoking the Jersey Devil and leaving dead bodies in our wake. Abyssus abyssum invocat," he offered with a grin.

"Story of my life," said Logan with a shrug. "No bet."

*Reference to Mark, Stacy's husband, who is a school counselor and confiscated the amphetamines from a student. Foreman later found the fake prescription in the couple's place and brought it back to the hospital, where House surreptitiously pocketed it.
---

Light was fading, stabbing weakly through the trees surrounding the small cluster of rental cabins, but the fiery sky was still breathtaking, even if it was obscured somewhat by the needled branches. House looked over at Logan as they both sat in rocking chairs on one of the cabins' porches, both with feet up on the railing.

There was no conversation. Logan, unlike Wilson, would not delve into anything unless he really needed to, it seemed. Sometimes this was a vast improvement to what he was used to, but this time House actually found himself wanting to talk about something.

"Penny for your thoughts, or whatever they use as currency in Canada," House said, testing the waters to see if Logan would talk.

Logan grunted. "Just spill it."

House actually smiled. Logan was definitely intelligent, though he didn't seem to care if anyone else thought so. An amusing image of watching Wilson take on Logan in a conversation flashed through House's mind.

"I was wondering what you did with all the crabs we caught in Maryland," House asked. "You know, the ones you shipped off when I supposedly wasn't looking. Do the kids at that school like crabs or something?"

Logan pulled out a cigar from his jean jacket breast pocket and stuck it in his mouth, chewing it over before replying. "Sent them to that hospital of yours, to Cuddy, in your name."

House closed his eyes for a moment and bit back a laugh. "That was inspired. Cuddy howls about the crabs, Wilson sees they're from me, and quits calling you because he thinks things are back to normal."

"Self preservation."

"You could just turn off the phone," House offered.

"Can't. They might need me."

"Now what kind of school makes calls at all hours?" House asked, eyes alive with curiosity.

"A teaching hospital maybe?" Logan replied, spitting out the end of the cigar he had just bitten off. A match flared in the dim light, struck against the jeans Logan wore, and House watched the smoke curl upward around the man's stony features before the flame was extinguished. "It's part of my job to be on call all the time, same as you."

"I'm not on call now."

"Lucky you."

House admired the trees again and the cool air of the evening. "I'll have to admit it, Virginia is nice," he said, pulling his sweater sleeves down over his forearms. "Been here before, or did you pick this place out on a whim?"

"Whim. Drove near here once on the way to Florida," Logan answered.

"I've never had a desire to go there."

"Never have either. It was a business trip."

"Delivery?" House asked, ever curious to determine what Logan really did for a living, since he knew the man didn't really make deliveries for Dr. McCoy in return for an income.

"Pick up." The end of the cigar glowed. "Went about as well as the last fishing trip we went on."

"Careful, Logan. That sounded like you actually volunteered information." House grinned. "Just how many dead bodies did you leave behind that time?"

Crickets chirped for a few heartbeats. "I'm not sure."

House's eyebrows rose quickly. "You mean you did?"

"We ran into a mutant hunter." There was a rustle of clothing as Logan shifted his position. "Kill or be killed at that point."*

"And you made sure it was kill. You don't seem to know what remorse is. Part of the programming?" asked House flippantly, though he was far from flippant about the subject. "I mean what prevents you from just mowing down every person staying here? They might have a thing for mutants, too," he said as he waved a hand around at the other cabins. "Or me? Why don't you just kill me for knowing too much?"

"Ouch," Logan said sarcastically. "Now I'm wounded with guilt."

The cigar glowed yet again and when Logan spoke, his voice was back to normal. "So you want me to kill you. I can see why. The pills and the alcohol are too slow, and anyone can walk in on you. Still, it seems to me you're not really dedicated to ending it all. There are a lot of reasons to die, House. Are you sure you've found the right one?"

"You've never been crippled," House shot back, angry at having the tables turned on him.

Logan sighed. "There's more than one way of crippling someone. Trust me."

The crickets' chorus remained uninterrupted for a long while as both men remained silent, meandering through their own private thoughts while Logan knocked ash again and again from the cigar and House listened to the sounds of nature around them.

Then Logan added, "Most people can't forgive someone if they've tried to save them, hurt them, or change them. She do all three?"

"Are you a mind-reader, like Xavier?" asked House acidly.

"No, I just read people from the outside."

"Does he really read someone's thoughts?" House inquired, curiosity getting the better of his temper.

Logan flipped the now spent cigar out into the grassy lawn beyond the rail. "Don't know. I've never really had him read that much in mine. Not much there to read, I suppose."

House frowned, remembering what Xavier had mentioned about Logan's memory the first and last time they had met. "He said that doctor took away your memories. How exactly?"

There was a small sound of movement and House decided Logan had shrugged. "Don't know."

"We could try hypnosis…."

"We, huh?" There was a gruff-sounding chuckle. "No one screws with my brain anymore, House. If you want to try it on yourself, be my guest. Might be better than the booze and the drugs. She'd be gone and you wouldn't have to deal with it. Trouble is, when you can't remember something it eats on you. Might even come back to bite you in the butt when you're sleeping."

Deck boards creaked and Logan made a grunting sound as if stretching. "See you in the morning."

"You mean you're actually going to try and sleep?" House was impressed. "I guess the cabin walls are thick enough. I won't hear you when you scream."

A porch light flicked on as Logan entered his side of the little duplex cabin, not rising to the bait House had thrown.

"Whatever," he said before closing the door.

No lights came on inside, and House wondered fleetingly what it must be like to see in the dark. Then his thoughts began to drift and Logan's last little speech started circling around in his consciousness. Logan was crippled, he realized - mentally crippled. For all his physical perfection, he was only a ghost of a person.

At least he had his brain intact, House reminded himself, though the thought of excising Stacy from his memory was tempting. She was always tempting. He had let Stacy go the last time, pushed her away because he knew he couldn't change even though she offered to leave Mark to be with him. He'd finally begun to resist the temptation, he supposed, that's why he made her leave. Either that or he wanted to hurt her. He'd never forgive her for the condition he was now in, unlike Mark. Hell, Mark was in a wheelchair and still forgave her, even to the point of fighting for her love. More power to him, thought House morosely. Mark could have her; in fact, he did have her. Trouble was, after everything she had done, House still wanted her, too, and wanting was a weakness, just like his leg.

He didn't have much patience with weakness.

With a heavy sigh, House pulled his feet down from the rail and rose stiffly from the chair, leaning on the cane heavily for just a moment before testing if the right leg would hold him or not. It did. He looked at the sky as if questioning whether it would continue to do so, and paused to really take in the sight. The moon was just beginning to rise over the treetops, a pale sliver that didn’t offer much light on his situation, not that anything would at this point.

House shook his head. He would go to the conference, sleep through the classes, hibernate in the hotel room, turn in the paperwork Cuddy would need, and forget the whole damn thing, he decided. He'd stop asking Logan questions so he wouldn't get dangerous replies that made him think. And he would definitely stop thinking about Stacy – she was out of his life and needed to stay that way. Not a bad plan, he thought to himself. Sounded as reasonable as the time he had gone without painkillers to prove a point to Cuddy, and had ended up breaking bones in his hand to make sure he was distracted enough not to feel it when the nerve endings in his leg turned him inside out with agony. Yep, not a bad plan, he told himself as he headed for bed. Not a bad plan at all.


*Murder, Mayhem, and Mother Goose – no relative bearing on this story, other than the fact that Cyclops made Logan take a vacation and things went horribly wrong.
---

"What happened to the fish?"

"What fish?"

"The fish we caught in Virginia, Logan." House eyed him skeptically from the passenger seat of the SUV. "Don’t tell me the amnesia is progressive."

Logan's focus switched from the road to House, then to a check of the mirrors and back to driving along the winding road and blind curves ahead of them.

"What makes you think I have them?" he asked casually.

"I don't think you do; that's my point," House said, happy to show off what he knew of the situation. "The cooler's empty, we haven't been to a postal establishment, and I know you didn't give them to the owner of those cabins. Not after what he did that second morning."

"Damn straight," grumbled Logan, to House's amusement. "He's lucky all I did was scare the shit out of him."

"Literally. So where are the fish?" House asked, even as he paused to admire the scene when the claustrophobic hillside outside the passenger side window suddenly gave way to a panoramic view of a heavily forested valley.

"I figured since you're flying back on a plane from Georgia, you wouldn't want to pay airfare to transport the fish. And since I'm going back to New York, not New Jersey, I wouldn't be able to drop them by your place." Logan chanced a quick admiring glance at the valley, too. "I made arrangements for the fish to already be in your freezer when you get back."

House raised an eyebrow. "So now you can deliver by magic? Or is it some mutant thing?"

"It's a you-don't-need-to-know kind of thing."

"And if I did manage to find out, Xavier would be called upon to wipe my memory. Tempting,"

Logan snorted. "You still thinking lack of memory can solve all your problems? Trust me," he said firmly, "I don't need Chuck to solve any problems you'd bring up."

House cocked his head to one side, like a bird of prey now interested in dinner. "Be careful. I could finger you for murder."

"So why don't you?" Logan let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. "Maybe because all you have are suspicions, and nothing else?"

House opened his mouth to protest, when he instantly realized it was true. All he had was what he suspected and inferences made from what Logan had cryptically said. There had been no witnesses. It had been too dark to see what really happened, and the method of death was so bizarre, no one would believe him if he tried to explain it, not even his own staff.

"Knowing and proving are two different things," Logan added.

"Great," muttered House. "I fish with a psychopath who gets his kicks from murdering innocent murderers, and I don't even have the pleasure of blackmailing him about it."

"Sociopath."

House blinked. "No," he argued, "psychopath."

"Sociopath."

"Psychopath, Logan. Sociopaths are more likely to…."

There was a loud noise, and the SUV suddenly lurched hard to the right. Logan gripped the wheel with determination, applying expert driving skills to bring the vehicle back under control enough to stop it safely on the widest part of a shoulder he could find past a very sharp bend in the road. He pulled the column stick to park and turned off the motor.

"Flat," he said. "Must have been something on the road I didn't see."

"And you didn't see it because you weren't paying attention because you were arguing with me," House remarked dryly. "That'll teach you, you silly psychopath."

"One of us is mental, that's for sure."
---

"I'd help, but you have this thing about pampering me."

Logan glanced up at House. "Right."

"Touchy, aren't you," said House, amused by the other's lack of emotion. He glanced around at the beautiful scenery of the Smoky Mountain Range surrounding them. "I suppose I can see why. This is a dangerous place to change a tire."

"No shit, Sherlock," agreed Logan.

The SUV was still on the curve, near the guardrail the highway department had put there to keep people from careening down the side of slope and into the gully far below.

"I'm betting someone hits us," House mused, looking back up the road to the blind curve they had just passed. "I've heard about North Carolina drivers. They're dangerous."

"Then jump out of the way before it's too late."

House leaned heavily on his cane and raised an eyebrow. "Are you mocking me?"

"Oh hell no, House. By all means stand in the way of a moving vehicle. You'll love how it feels to be hit by a ton of steel, aluminum, and fiberglass," Logan grunted as he finally managed to loosen the lug nuts.

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

The wrench dropped to the asphalt as Logan stood up and gestured a hand toward the tire that still needed removing.

"I see. You're worried about getting hit by a car but can't keep your ears open and your mouth shut at the same time. Tell you what, I'll stand guard against an accident and you can change the tire."

"About time," House said as he shoved Logan over and assumed control of the operation. "You'd think I was crippled or something," he grunted out as he maneuvered down to where he was sitting in front of the offending tire.

By the time he had the spare on, with Logan only rolling the old tire away and the new one to him, House was fairly pleased with himself, though very tired if he really stopped to admit it. His body still needed to recover, he knew, but he was pleased with his progress for the day and tightened the lug nuts with a self-satisfied smirk, one that was lost when he glanced up and realized he didn't have an audience. Logan was intent on something in the direction they had just come from, and House was reminded of a setter on point when Logan's nostrils flared with other muscles tensing to respond.

In an instant, Logan was on the move. He reached down and jerked House up by the collar of his shirt, dragging him quickly to the passenger door, which he opened and shoved House past without ceremony. He then grabbed for the cane, jack, hubcap, and wrench in one fast swipe, fairly racing around the back of the vehicle to the driver's side.

"Here!" he said as he dumped the items inside and jumped in the seat, starting the engine and shoving it in gear with a haste that made the hairs on the back of House's neck stand on end with apprehension.

House grabbed for his door to close it even as Logan grabbed for his own, and they didn't even get them shut before something big, something moving very fast, rounded the corner and headed right for them. Logan gunned the engine and they lurched forward and out of the way - just in time. The large truck, a moving van from a rental company, slammed into the railing with a horrible sound, twisting metal, splintering wood, and shattering glass easily with the intensity of its speed. Before Logan or House could say anything, the other vehicle pitched over the crumpled remains of the guardrail and alternately slid and flipped down the side of the hill.

House leaned out carefully against the door, opening it a little wider to view the slope better. No flames were visible on or near the huddled remains of the vehicle far below them. He turned to Logan.

"I'll call. You go."

Logan shoved the SUV in park, tore the keys from the column, slammed the door closed, and was gone before House had finished fishing out his phone to dial 9-1-1.
---

"There's no signal!"

House waited for a moment as the echoes of his shout rang in his own ears, hoping Logan heard him.

Faintly, a voice floated up from the gully. "Look in the back. Get out the blue rope. Tie it to one of the guardrail posts and throw the other end down here."

"Great. Daniel Boone is going to haul up a back injury and get us both sued," House muttered. Before he could shout something out, though, the voice floated up again. "He doesn't have a back injury, just a head wound. He's out cold. I've strapped him to a dolly and wrapped him with some of these moving blankets. We can pull him up when I climb back up there, and then head for the nearest hospital."

Impressed with the plan and Logan's hearing, House decided not to comment as he rummaged around in the back for the rope. After tying it off and throwing it down slope, he decided to satisfy his curiosity. He hiked back up the road until he came to a shady area. Hidden by the trees above from sunlight that would glint off the metal, he found a handful of little metal objects scattered on the road, larger than jacks found in a child's toy of the same name. Angry now, he picked them up and pocketed them carefully in his coat. The entire way back to the truck, his mind ran over the possibilities, all of which fled when he heard the engine of a truck. He hobbled around the bend, just in time to see the tilted front of the SUV disappear from sight, coupled to a wrecker truck he never saw, only heard. Cursing loudly, he caught his breath by leaning on the post the rope was still tied to.

"Son of a bitch!"

A low growl made him turn sharply, and he caught the murderous expression on Logan's face as he hauled himself up to and over what was left of the guardrail.

"Should have known," Logan spat out.

House pulled one of the tire spikes from his pocket. "These were on the road. Someone hits them, pulls in here and tries to call for help. No signal. They happen to come by and tow for a 'nominal' fee. Not a bad enterprise, until someone loses control and has an accident." He cocked his head toward the mangled highway safety feature. "Must be the first time it's happened."

"And the last. They must have taken the SUV to sell, and to make sure they have time to flee the county before we can talk," Logan answered, nostrils flared. "Too bad for them they won't make it."

House held out a hand. "I hate to rain on your revenge, but there is the small matter of the wounded man. Now that you've trussed him up, we can't leave him. We can't even call for help, since your magic phone was in the truck and mine won't get a signal."

"I'm guessing there's a lot of dead spots around here," Logan conceded as he rubbed a hand over his watch for the barest of seconds, a move that didn't go unnoticed to House since he'd never done it before. "That driver's not going to die anytime soon, but his eyes didn't look too good. The nearest town is about 20 miles down this road." He glanced over the valley. "But it's only 8 if we trek through the woods…."

He bent over to untie the rope, but House stopped him.

"There had to be some kind of traffic or they wouldn't have picked this spot. We should pull him up and stay here."

Logan looked around. "It'll be dark soon. Less traffic and you know it. Besides," he muttered as he undid the surgeon's knot, "down there I can find us some food."

"Down there we might become food," quipped House, but his stomach rumbled with the thought of dinner, and there was a wounded man he should probably check on, being the only doctor in the neighborhood.

"The longer we leave him down there, he will be. There was a soda in the cab of the truck. It spilled all over him."

House raised an eyebrow. "And what will that attract? Bees?"

"Bears."

"Bears still live in North Carolina? I'm assuming black bears, not grizzlies or anything truly dangerous."

Logan nodded and stepped back over the guardrail. "Yeah, black. About 10,000 of them," he added, slowly picking his way down the steep hillside.

House grimaced. "I vote we stay on the road and let the bears eat him," he said, changing his expression to an innocent one.

"Right," Logan called out as he sank further out of sight. "You stay here and flag down traffic. Of course, bears don't really respect the fact that you consider the road to be your territory, not theirs. It might help if you piss in a circle around yourself. I'm sure either your cane or your wits will keep you safe."

"Crap. You're such a Boy Scout," House grumbled. "Doing good deeds. I'd have thought you'd had enough of humans. Or are you doing this to get back at the only human around here, namely me?"

"What about the driver down there. He's human."

"He doesn't count. He's unconscious. Let's hope the bears don't mind company," House stated as he hooked his cane over the metal to steady himself before following Logan's example. "And it better be a damn good dinner."
---

The trail of debris was easy to follow. Remnants of things once precious were now strewn randomly down the side of the hill, spilled out when the truck was mangled enough to lose the integrity of its shape - its doors no longer able to keep the carefully packed contents safe and secure. House wondered just how badly the driver had been damaged, given that his possessions had faired so badly.

When they reached the actual wreckage of the vehicle, the pleasant breeze following them from above fled, and the stifling air that clung to the trees slightly below them did not promise a pleasant journey. House had half a mind to bully Logan into going back to the original plan of hauling the injured man upslope and wait for some kind-hearted driver to stop for them. Then it hit him. Logan would not believe there were any kind-hearted drivers in the world. The man had let slip on the last fishing trip that he was a mutant, a pariah of society, and given what little House had managed to get Logan to talk about and what more he had observed, Logan had absolutely no reason to trust humans whatsoever.

Making it all the more odd that the he would drag a wounded human through a forest to save his life.

Satisfying himself on the condition of the driver, and retying the man to the cushioned dolly to both protect his neck, back, and life, should he choose to panic upon waking up, House then walked up behind Logan, who was crouched on the ground, rummaging through the contents of the truck's cab which had spilled out on the ground.

"Mild concussion, several contusions, mostly from the seatbelt, no major lacerations, and no broken bones," he offered. "Pretty good shape for someone who was facing a railing with only four of six tires working. Steering wheel's not even bent, a sure sign he was relaxed and never saw it coming, so either he was asleep or drunk. Find any alcohol?"

The truck cab was leaning crazily on its passenger side, the smashed front windshield neatly removed from the rubber gasket imbedded in the bent frame. The seatbelt was also carefully cut, and House eyed the precise edges of the separated material with a practiced gaze, but said nothing. Logan rose from his position, holding out a crushed granola bar and a crumpled cup.

"Just a soda. I'm guessing sleep." He tossed the cup away and handed the sticky snack bar to House. "Chew on this for now. Let's make some time while it's still light. I'll gather dinner on the way."

"Sounds yummy," House remarked as he took it and watched Logan loop the rope through the handles of the moving dolly several times, and then knot the loose coils into a harness for his arms and shoulders. "Now I get to see what you do for fun in the woods at night."
---

Maneuvering the dolly through the trees was actually fairly easy, thought Logan; the pneumatic tires made all the difference when turning and twisting between narrowly spaced trunks and over exposed roots. The hardest part was making sure House kept up. Strange how he knew all this information about taking down an opponent – it never occurred to him to wonder just how humans recovered when they were injured. Sure, he had been around the X-Men after a bout with the Brotherhood, or mutant demonstrators throwing rocks and bottles, enough to know they healed fairly well. Could be a result of the medical facilities at the mansion, he wasn't sure. The one time he had been a patient of Jean's had been one too many for him, and his body had done most of the work then, thankfully. Still, he thought, as he surreptitiously kept an ear out for House's progress over the tangled terrain underneath the forest around them, he wasn't sure humans' bodies always did get better.

House was a prime example. His right leg was giving him trouble and yet it had been healed, or so House had said. While Logan wasn't exactly sure what had happened after House had been shot, he did know the first time his leg was damaged was probably the result of poor diagnoses and treatment from another doctor. That would account for House's bitterness against doctors in general. Now he was beginning to suspect the woman House seemed to be in love with was part of the problem as well.

"Hold it."

Logan stopped as House had commanded, hearing the shortness in his breath and knowing House was hurting from the way he reached for the pill bottle in his jacket pocket. To his surprise, House approached the man on the dolly, feeling his forehead, checking his eyes, and adjusting the blanket 'collar' around the man's neck. To Logan, the man seemed fine. He had not noticed a change in the man's heartbeat, which was steady, and he did not hear any choking noises. Wondering what was up, he turned and watched as House flipped a pill to the back of his throat and swallowed, grimacing at the effort it took to swallow with a dry mouth.

"How far do you think we've come?" House asked in a neutral tone, leaning heavily on his cane for the first time in days, his knuckles white from the death grip he held on its handle.

To Logan's ears, House's heart rate was elevated but not dangerously so, or so he believed. Maybe he was wrong about that. Maybe they should stop for a little while, he reasoned. While he could carry two men, it would slow him down considerably as he wasn't gifted with super strength.

"Enough to take a small break," Logan answered, releasing himself from the shoulder loops and gently lowering the man down enough for the dolly to be propped in an incline on a fallen log.

House double-checked to make sure the dolly wouldn't fall, much to Logan's amusement, for it was interesting to see how House acted around a patient. Logan suspected there wouldn't have been as much interaction had they been in a hospital, given how House did not exactly like sick or injured people. He had mentioned being a diagnostician, and a damned good one. That Logan could believe, since there wasn't much House missed. But the way he studied the man on the dolly made Logan think House was more concerned for his fellow man than he let on.

As long as they were unconscious, anyway.

"I'll be back," said Logan, and without anything further comment, he slipped away to roam, his sharp eyes and ears hunting up food in the area while House took a much needed, and unobserved, rest.
---

House awoke with a start, a stab of pain shooting up his back. Checking his watch, he realized his micro nap hadn't lasted more than fifteen minutes. There was still light around him, even in the gloom beneath the woods' canopy, but it wouldn't last long. Grumbling at himself for sleeping with his back against a fallen log studded with broken-off branches, House rose to his knees and checked the unconscious man. One pupil was still dilated, but his skin color was good, his breathing steady, and, despite the stuffiness that had caused House to drop off in slumber, his temperature seemed fine. That might change as the sun continued to set. At this elevation, they were definitely in for a cold night.

Something shuffled in the underbrush about a football field away, and House visibly relaxed. At least Logan was back. They needed to get going. The driver needed proper medical care, not babysitting. A small moan rumbled in the unconscious man's throat and House's attention shifted back to the patient. Eyelids fluttered but did not open on their own, and the driver's neck rotated slightly but went still once more.

Irritated with the delay, House shouted out, "Don't worry about the damned dinner. Let's just get out of here!"

But when he turned to see Logan emerge from the brush, he was suddenly faced with something far different. The shuffling noise stopped, and a black bear's head and shoulders rose unsteadily over the growth. Bear and House looked at each other, House praying the lack of wind would conceal him more than the log in front of him. The head disappeared and the shuffling began again, only this time it steadily increased in volume. House felt the blood drain from his face as an icy chill shot through him. They had no weapons, not that he really wanted to shoot the animal. He racked his brains for something that would make a loud, scary noise, or flash a light that would blind the approaching bruin, but nothing came to mind until his hand slapped against his coat and the sharp tire tacks struck him back. Perfect, he thought, as he carefully withdrew them and laid them out near his knee; he could shout and throw them at the bear when it came into range.

Silently he watched as it shouldered its way through the underbrush and into a clear area several yards away. It wasn't moving fast, just curiously sniffing the air. House remembered what Logan had said about the soda drenching the driver and he tensed, willing the beast to turn in another direction, any other direction. It didn't. House rose suddenly, to the full height of his knees, and the bear stopped short, turning slightly. Again it rose on its hind paws and stared at House, as if trying to see what it was really facing more than anything. Again it dropped back on all fours. Then it began to lope forward, not in a charge exactly, but with a determination that made House's heart sink. House let out a shout of anger to scare it, lobbing one of the spikes at the same time. It bounced off the thick hair on the animal's shoulder. If the bear slowed, House didn't see it, and he peppered the ground in front of the bear with the spikes, hoping it would step on one. It didn't. He flung the last spike with as much force as he could, aiming straight for its nose. Unfortunately another target skidded to a halt between him and the bear and took the missile in the back.

"Damn it! Stop throwing those and get him out of here!" shouted Logan as he spread out his arms and tried to look as imposing as possible.

The bear slowed to a halt a few feet from Logan and began to swing its head slightly from side to side.

House grunted as he stood and levered the dolly upward. "He's confused. We could play dead."

"Not with a black bear!" Logan shouted back, as much trying to scare the animal as make sure House heard him.

The bear lunged forward, half rising off the ground as it bared its teeth for the attack, and House tripped, trying to look behind him and steer the dolly at the same time. He heard a strange metallic sound as he fell, like a lock clicking closed, or teeth snapping together, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see Logan trying to stand his ground as the bear rose against him, Logan's broad back hiding whether or not the bear was actually mauling him or being shoved away. House stumbled forward, half on his feet and half on his knees, shoving the dolly as hard as he could away from the log the two combatants were now approaching. When he looked again, the back of Logan's legs were against the log, and the bear, jaws wide, was lunging for Logan's throat. Just as Logan shoved his arms forward and the bear locked his teeth around the soft flesh below Logan's chin, they both tumbled over the fallen log. There was a sickening crunch as Logan's head struck earth and the rest of his body, and the bear's, slammed it unnaturally backward and sideways, effectively breaking his neck as the bear flipped over him and fell heavily with Logan now on top.

Nothing moved for a moment, not even House. Stunned by the suddenness of the outcome, he could only sit there and stare at the mess behind him. His senses came to him at last and he turned and crawled over, snatching up his forgotten cane on the way, wary of the bear even as he assumed lack of movement meant lack of breathing, and therefore death. Sure enough, the bear was dead, though how Logan had killed it was a mystery. Blood was everywhere, but House hesitated to turn Logan over to check his chest and stomach for wounds he couldn't see. It would be a moot point, seeing as Logan wasn't breathing either, and his neck was broken.

A moan startled him, and House realized it was coming from the man on the dolly. Knowing there was nothing more to do for Logan, he scrambled for he other injured man, still dragging his cane beside him.

"What happened?" the man mumbled.

"You were in an accident," House said curtly, swallowing hard as he tried to process the fact that Logan was dead. What the hell would he do now? "You have a head injury and some bruising. Try not to move."

"My wife?"

House's eyebrows shot up. "No one was with you."

"Behind me, in a car with the kids. I wanted to get there first."

"How far behind you?"

"A day."

House frowned. "Just relax. We'll get in touch with her."

The man sighed and closed his eyes. When House checked his pulse and temperature, the man did not move, again out of it and resting comfortably.

"Is he okay?"

House glanced up. "Yes, but we still need to hurry…."

House stopped and gaped at the man standing over him. Logan, covered with blood, shirt torn with obvious claw marks, was standing there for all the world as if nothing had happened as he rotated his now straightened neck and shrugged his shoulders to relax them. He wrenched the spike from his back and tossed it aside.

"Then let's get going," he said as he leaned over House and grabbed up the ropes still attached to the dolly. "Should be there in another two to four hours, depending on your pace."
----

Logan felt the stare bore into him from behind, more intensely now than it had an hour ago. He sighed and pulled the dolly further up slope until he found a small level place to rest. When he shrugged off the homemade harness and maneuvered the dolly down to a resting incline for the 'patient', however, House did not come near to check the driver's comfort for himself. Instead he lowered himself to the ground where he had been standing and sat in a wane patch of moon light, morosely gazing, not at Logan, but at the cane he held in his hand.

"We're almost there," Logan said, trying for an encouraging tone though he himself was tired and thirsty.

He would've drank from the stream they came across a while back, but for some reason he felt it would add insult to injury, considering neither House nor the man could drink safely from it and both of them were just as parched. He had simply removed his tattered shirt and splashed off the blood, aware that no marks showed from his encounter with the bear. House hadn't said anything, just leaned on his cane and mutely watched.

Tossing the shirt aside, Logan had then set a brisk pace as the sun continued to disappear, hoping House could make good time before he couldn't see the trail to follow. He had. Even when it became dark, House insisted all he needed was a rope to hold onto until the moon rose, and he had only stumbled three times, truly falling only once. Now they were on the steepest part of the slope back out of the valley. Logan could hear the sounds of traffic on the road far above them – so close but yet a few miles away still – and the light from the small city made the stars harder to spot in the sky. At least they were up enough for a breeze to get to them occasionally, he thought as he stood and let a brief gust cool his healed chest and throat. The tree branches above them swayed, allowing a little more light to filter down from above.

"What did it feel like?"

Startled, Logan looked over to discover House's blue eyes gazing unblinkingly at him in the darkness.

House continued. "Do you even know what pain is?"

"I can feel everything you can, so, yeah, I know exactly what pain is," Logan stated flatly.

"And you don't fear it." House sighed. "Imagine that. I think I know now what the attraction would be in taking you apart and seeing what makes you tick."

Logan frowned. "If you think I go looking for it, you're crazy." There was no response, and Logan sniffed the air, testing for the scent House would give off if he were in pain. Instead the thick cloying reek of sadness hit him, and he lowered himself to the ground, wondering what to do. "You need a longer break?"

"Only from reality."

"Take a pill."

House grunted and fished in his pocket for the little bottle. Only this time he tossed it to Logan, and Logan realized when he caught it that it was not the usual bottle House carried.

"In case you don't know what it is, it's over the counter pain reliever."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "And that's significant?"

"It is for me.

"Three months ago," he added, "I had to take prescription pain medication just to be able to think straight over the pain in my leg. When I was shot, I asked that Cuddy give me a certain drug that would induce a coma, hoping it would 'reset' my brain and make my leg hurt less. It worked."

Now Logan was really confused. "If it hurts less…"

"Then, it did. Now?" House stretched out his legs and moved his feet to stretch them too. "I was running, Logan, several miles from my place to the hospital, and I didn't feel a twinge more than what I should have. Then I felt a twinge I shouldn't."

He turned a sharp eye on Logan. "What did Wilson tell you?"

Logan shrugged. "Not much, really. Just that you'd had a relapse."

House nodded, more to himself than anyone. "I told him about the twinge and he laughed it off. I had more twinges. Not true pain, but I knew where it was going."

"And?"

"And I'm letting it distract me. Pain is a great motivator. I can browbeat my patients with it. I can make people not want to deal with me by inflicting it verbally." He paused and glared at Logan. "And I'd love to see just how much of it you really can take."

"Why?" Logan growled in a low, dangerous tone.

House chuckled humorlessly. "Don't worry. I never would. But knowing I'm weak makes me strive to find weakness in others. And I'm weak when I'm in pain. I can't function. That's why I need the Vicodin. Not to get high, but to function. No one else understands that."

There was a long pause, as if House was debating about telling Logan something. His heart rate was elevated enough for Logan to know something was really bothering him, and the way he twisted his hands around the wooden cane made it clear what it was in relation to.

He hurled the cane at Logan, who caught it with a quick snatch before it could strike him. "I can't even trust the damn thing to support me anymore," House snarled.

"And Stacy's just the icing on the cake?" Logan asked.

"Exactly," House confirmed as he struggled to rise. "She's the last straw in all this mess. We'd better get going before I end up sobbing on your shoulder or something equally as disgusting."

"Fine," Logan replied, standing and snapping the cane in half across his knee.

House stared. "You son of a bitch!"

"What? You hate the thing anyway," Logan commented as he threw away the pieces. "You said you haven't really felt pain yet. Let's see if you do. Start pulling your fair share," he said as he removed the ropes from the dolly. "You take that side."
---

About a quarter of an hour had gone by before House felt enough of his anger drain away to let him focus on what he was doing, and fifteen minutes after that he was still doing fine. This wasn't like running. This was slowly slogging through trees while hauling a fully gown man strapped in a confined position on a heavy, metal-framed moving dolly and doing all this while traveling uphill on a fairly steep grade. His chest was hurting, but only for oxygen. His legs were aching, but it was the dull throb of exhaustion. His right arm felt like the shoulder would be pulled from the socket at any moment.

But…

He was making it.

"Mind trading sides?" he panted.

"Up there," Logan said, pointing to a small area without trunks a few yards away.

When they stopped, House bent down and touched his toes, then straightened and twisted gently from side to side to stretch out his spine.

"Not like running," Logan commented.

House grinned ruefully. "Positive reinforcement and you don't mix. Now about my cane…"

"It's been hours since you've eaten or drunk anything," Logan stated, "you've been walking down and up some pretty steep terrain, you've been attacked by a bear, and you're starting to get punchy. Tomorrow you won't feel so maudlin. Anything else?"

"You make it so easy to apologize. And here I was only going to ask you to replace it"

Logan actually snorted at that. "Don’t."

House cocked his head in a humorous way. "You still owe me a dinner."

"Fine, you pick when we get there. Someplace that doesn't require a shirt."

"That could restrict our choices," House noted aloud. "Are you cold?" he asked as a cool breeze knifed through the area and made him pull his jacket closer to him with a shiver.

Logan shrugged slightly. "A little. I'm from Canada, remember? This is nothing."

They traded sides on the dolly handles and continued up the last remaining stretch of wilderness, the sound of cars above letting them know just how close they were to civilization.

"So why don't you play dead for a black bear?" House asked.

"They'll just eat you. Grizzlies are the ones that supposedly fall for that trick, but I won't believe it till I see it."

House made a face. "That's something to keep in mind."
…

House glanced backward one last time at the clinic door. The bent-legged body strapped to the propped up dolly made an accusing picture, but he ignored it. Logan was right about leaving the driver and calling the police anonymously as the best solution to the problem. House just wished there was some way to let the wife know where her husband was.

"I want my aspirins back," he said as they walked away to find a phone booth.

"Hmm," Logan answered absently, and he fished the bottle out of his back pocket.

An engine started up nearby and Logan instantly grabbed the front of House's jacket and jerked House back with him against the wall of a nearby building, effectively merging both of them with the shadows. House watched the little white pills that had spilled out of the inverted bottle bounce and roll on the pavement.

"Was it something I said?"

"Shh!" Logan hissed, and his nostrils flared. Then he chuckled softly in his throat. "I'll be damned," he whispered, releasing House from his death grip.

Still a little shaken, House nonetheless bent over and picked up two of the pills from the ground, chugging them back and swallowing without water to wash them down.

"I thought you already were," he remarked as he straightened out the front of his clothes where Logan had fisted wrinkles into them.

A black SUV pulled around the corner and the passenger window facing them rolled down. The small woman inside the large vehicle smiled at them both and waved an inviting hand as she flipped her cell phone closed.

"Need a ride fellas?"

Her voice was a cross between sweet southern bourbon and a light little laugh, and House felt his mouth fall open slightly in appreciation. While her accent was smooth and sexy to his ears, it was his eyes that seemed to have the biggest treat. Beautiful dark hair accented by a small white lock to one side of her lovely face spilled around slim but athletic shoulders, revealed by a lacy black tank top. She wore black leather gloves on her hands, and he saw her tight-fitting black jeans and boots when Logan opened the door. He was so distracted it took him a minute to realize the SUV was the same one Logan had been driving, the same one that had been stolen.

"Gladly," Logan responded. He slid into the front seat and leaned over to give her a kiss. "Nice to see the truck again."

Her pout was comical. "That's all you can say?"

House reached for the rear passenger door and helped himself to the seat inside. "Yeah, Logan. The least you could do is say thanks to the little thief."

She stepped on the gas and the truck lurched forward as House shut the door, and he grabbed for the seatbelt before he was thrown further off balance. "I take it this is the girlfriend?"

"It is," Logan said as he reached over and rubbed her back.

She shot him a sly smile. "That's what you think."

House snorted at the interplay. He'd never thought Logan would be the type to court an airhead, but this woman was smart, sassy, and gorgeous to boot. Trust him to find a woman who could hold her own in any match. He frowned a little as an image of Stacy came unbidden into his thoughts, but he shook his head slightly to dispel it.

"Ah called you," she said, her Southern accent making House's ears perk up again, "And someone else answered your phone. Imagine that?"

"Yeah, imagine that," Logan muttered as he clicked his own seatbelt on. The seat in front of him shifted and House realized Logan was tired enough to lean back heavily against it. He reclined as well, and reveled in sitting on something soft and out of the cold wind. "You fly down alone?"*

"Yep," she replied as she turned a corner and fished out something from the console between them. "Found your phone, rescued the truck, and taught the bad guys a lesson in morality. It's been a busy couple of hours."

"They left the scene of an accident," House interjected, trying hard to keep his eyes open.

She shot him a quick glance over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. "Ah found that out when Ah located them and listened in on their conversation. One was taking the plates off this truck and switching them with some from a junked car while the other emptied y'all's baggage into their tow truck. Seems they were going to deliver this SUV to someone who didn't really care if it had a previous owner or not. When they decided to walk down the block for a bite of dinner, Ah decided to take matters into my own hands. Now Ah've just been waiting for you two. Ah called the clinic. They'll be here any minute to take care of your friend."

"I'm surprised the police let you have it back, considering it's evidence," House said with a yawn.

"Mutants can't call the cops, Dr. House. Look out the window."

House looked first left and then right. An auto parts junkyard went rolling past his view. The parking area to the side of the dark establishment looked like the back lot of wreckage had spilled over into it. Tires, fenders, engine block, and other items were scattered around like so many pieces of a giant-sized jigsaw puzzle - all that remained of the vehicle that had taken the truck from her Logan, he realized. House swallowed hard. She knew he knew about Logan's medical condition, or she wouldn't have mentioned the word mutant. And the fact that she said mutants didn't call the cops lumped her into that category as well. But the destruction she had wreaked on the wrecker spoke volumes as to what she was capable of. Definitely a class far removed from Stacy, who wouldn't have been capable of such single-minded action combined with quick decision-making abilities. Impressive.

"Good anger management," he offered. He wondered what mutation she possessed that had allowed her to create such a mess in such a short time. Still equating mutants with odd characters from cartoons, he racked his brains to remember any comics he had once read as a child. Did she have super speed or something?

She laughed and patted Logan's shoulder with a gloved hand. "Ah had a good teacher."

A light snore was her only answer.

Rogue frowned slightly in concern and half turned as if to ask House what had happened, but she bit her tongue and concentrated on driving. House felt a small thrill run through him. There must be something else he didn't know, something she was making sure he didn't hear from her. His curiosity now aroused, he found himself not quite as sleepy as he had been.

The truck soon came to a halt in the back parking lot of a small but neat hotel with an all-night diner next door. The woman pulled the keys out and dropped them in Logan's lap. There was no reaction.

"Ah can't stay long. Your rooms are booked for the night and paid for." She dug in her pocket. "Here's your card, Dr. House."

"You can call me Greg," he said dryly, suddenly feeling rather old and wondering just how old Logan was to be dating someone so young.

She gave him a knowing wink. "Well, Ah could, but then Ah wonder if House doesn't suit you better? How about we drop the Dr. part and go with that?" He nodded, finding himself more and more attracted to the playful soul in front of him. "Ah've got time to eat with you, but Ah need to get back. Ah've got an exam in the morning."

"Logan mentioned you were getting your teaching degree. Rogue, isn't it?" House asked.

"My manners are suffering, that's for sure." She offered him a hand awkwardly, due to their positions in the truck. "Yes, my name's Rogue. It was impolite of me to wait to be introduced. Ah do hope you forgive me."

House was a bit startled by the sincerity in her last words. "Of course," he said when he realized she definitely meant it. "If you can give me about twenty minutes, I can shower and change enough to go to dinner."

"Well, "she said, looking in askance at Logan, "I'm not sure what to make of this. He's usually not so quick to fall asleep on me." A sly smile let House know what other context she was referring to, and he returned her grin, a bit more confident that she was not as naïve as she had seemed just a moment ago. "Anything special happen?" she asked lightly.

"There was a bear. He stepped between it and me and killed it, though I'm not sure how," he added truthfully. "Logan's neck was broken and he wasn't breathing. I thought…" He stopped, suddenly not sure he wanted to tell her what he was thinking at the time. "I turned my back to check on the wounded man and Logan suddenly stood up and got us back on the trail."

She nodded, but absently, as if nothing he said were out of the norm, not even the killing of a wild animal with no weapon. "Y'all have been on the road about week now, right?"

"About nine days, yes."

"And do you know if he's slept in all that time?"

Her face was carefully neutral, and it dawned on him that she didn't know he knew about the nightmares. His interest waned a little, realizing he probably now knew all there was to Logan.

"I haven't heard him scream or yell, if that's what you mean," he said pointedly.

Rogue frowned and her green eyes glittered with resolve as she stared him down. "No, that's not what Ah meant." There was a certain power in her tone, as if she were insulted that he would say such a mean thing to her and expected him to recognize his mistake. "And Ah don't find that remark to be very kind."

They locked eyes for a long moment, and House realized that she, just like Logan, was not going to be bothered by anything he said. Unlike Logan's attitude where he was inclined to slough off House's remarks as so much noise to be ignored, however, she didn't want to hear them in the first place, and was putting her foot down with no apology offered for taking him to task about it. He found himself envious of Logan just then, wondering where he had found such a curious woman – one who was both innocent and worldly wise at the same time.

"How old are you?" he asked. "If you don't mind," he added, thinking for the first time about how one of his blunt questions might be taken.

The smile was back, though only a shadow if its former self. "Old enough to know not to answer a question a true gentleman wouldn't ask."

He nodded, acknowledging the gentle chide. "I don't know if he's slept or not, come to think of it. Is that bad?" he asked, curious once more.

"Maybe."

Rogue leaned over Logan, one arm now pinning his arms neatly in his lap as she slid the other behind his back to hold his far shoulder. She gently kissed his cheek. "Sugar?"

Logan reacted quickly, just as House had seen him do before, but this time he simply jerked slightly, focusing on his girlfriend fast enough not to flip her has he had done that time to House.

"Time to move?" Logan muttered.

"Time to move," she said softly. "Let's get you in a shower and all cleaned up for dinner."

"Dinner, got it," he said as he kissed her soundly on the lips. She leaned back and off of him, concern still evident in her eyes, at least from House's vantage point, as Logan fumbled for the handle to open the truck door. "Give me about five minutes."

"Make it twenty," she whispered to House.

*Note: I'm basing Rogue on the evolution of the character as set up in some of my Logan/Rogue stories. She looks like movieRogue, has met Carol Danvers and absorbed her powers permanently (ergo she can fly, has super strength, and invulnerable skin like comicRogue), and is 21 years old with a good, but not permanent, control of her original mutation.
---

A light knock sounded on the door, and Rogue rose from her perch on a pillow and smoothed her hair a little, throwing a quick glance back toward the bed as she moved across the room to let House in.
"Stand right there," she said, pointing to a spot just inside the door, then she took one look at his face and nearly laughed as she grabbed him and pushed him gently into the chair nearby. "Ah swear you two really know how to show a girl a good time."

House yawned and tried for a smile, but she knew he was as tired as Logan for she could see how heavy his lids were drooped over his eyes and the dark circles that had formed beneath them.

"Ah tell you what, if you promise to be a good boy and stay right here in this chair, Ah'll run over to the diner and grab us something. You up for a burger? Well done, I take it?" She understood the small nod to be a yes and continued with her verbal run down. "Logan'll be awake in a few minutes and Ah'm guessing you could use a power nap yourself before we eat. Ah just need to run to the little girl's room, and then check my gloves to see if they're dry. Had to wash some grease off of them, you know," she said with a slight wink and a soft voice as she turned and disappeared into the small bath and shut the door behind her.

When she came out again nothing in the room had moved, for both men were sleeping peacefully. Grinning to herself, she picked up Logan's wallet from the bedside table and pulled out a couple of twenties, which she slipped into her back pocket before reaching for her gloves. She hesitated then, and ended up leaving them on the counter in the bathroom. Nothing had happened in a long time and she was feeling good, a sure sign she could keep a handle on her mutation for a while. Besides, Logan was here and she didn't want to miss any opportunity she could to touch him skin to skin, she decided as she stepped to the head of the bed and leaned over to run her fingers through his still damp hair. Chuckling slightly, she straightened and headed for the door, giving House a pat on his head as she sailed past. As long as he stayed asleep and where he was, he was in no danger from Logan.
---

Something shuffled in the brush. House could see the undergrowth shaking slightly, though he couldn't hear a sound. He knew what it was, though, and decided the best course of action was to slowly move away from it. Trouble was his legs weren't going anywhere. His feet were leaden, nearly sinking in the soft ground littered with dry leaves around him. Red eyes now glowed in the dark crevasses between the bushes and House reached in his pocket for the spikes he knew should be there. Instead only a small pill bottle could be found. Desperate to throw anything at the rapidly approaching bear, he opened the bottle, but it was empty. The pills were all over the ground now, writhing like living things in, around, and under the fallen leaves, wriggling like stubby little worms desperate to stay clear of his grasping hands.

He looked up. To his dismay, the bear was standing right there, looming over him and casting a huge shadow over everything. All he could see was its red eyes and white fangs, which gleamed like polished ivory keys when it opened its mouth to swallow him whole. An inner voice screamed at him to run, but House's leg gave way and he sank in a huddled mass at the bear's feet. The pills dove for cover, offering no help to his plight, and House realized his only chance was to crawl away before the bear considered him a free meal for the taking, but it was too late. The bear dropped back on all fours and razor sharp fangs sank deeply into his right leg.

Breathing fast, House sat up, hands shoving against the animal biting his thigh.

Nothing was there.

His leg was throbbing all by itself, with no outside influence – no teeth were evident anywhere, and his pant leg was whole and unstained. Disoriented, he studied the room around him, trying to figure out what had just happened.

He was in a hotel room – crappy furniture, bad paintings, door with a peephole and inane locking system making that evident – but he couldn't remember why he would be in one. Only one light was on, across the room on a table by a king-sized bed. Logan was on the bed, sprawled out and fast asleep - though this time there was no snoring. He hadn't made it much past the shower stage, for he was only wearing a towel. Pieces locked into place in House's mind then, remembering why he was thinking of a bear, wondering what had happened to the driver of the truck, and recalling how Rogue had set him in the chair of Logan's room. He'd dozed off while waiting for her. He didn't see Rogue anywhere now, and that meant he was alone with Logan.

And Logan wasn't aware of it.

Intensely curious and dying to take advantage of the circumstances, House stood, intending to examine Logan's chest and throat more closely. From this angle and in the terrible lighting from the art deco lamp on the bedside table, nothing showed – no marks, no scars, not even a mild skin irritation. House checked his watch. It had only been a few hours since Logan's battle with the bear and there wasn't evidence that he had been even so much as sneezed on. Unconsciously House rubbed his aching thigh. If only there were some way to bottle the DNA miracle inside Logan. He took a step and nearly fell.

Cursing Logan for breaking his crutch, House managed to take five of the dozen steps he needed to make to get to the head of the bead. Now that he was at the foot of it, he leaned forward and put a bracing hand on the mattress even as he grabbed his right thigh with his other hand in a futile attempt to placate the raging nerve endings.

There was a clicking sound behind him, and the door to the room opened. House started to turn and ask Rogue a question, but he never got it out of his mouth. She closed the door behind her and then realized what he was doing - staring for only an instant before dropping a large paper bag she had been carrying in order to leap across the room. The minute her hands grabbed his sweater, she changed directions as fast as lightning, dragging House backward to the door area, turning the both of them so that her back now faced Logan and House's back was rammed against the doorknob.

"Do you have a death wish?" she hissed, her green eyes alive with both fear and anger. She shot a glance over her shoulder and relaxed only slightly when there was no movement from the bed.

"As much as I'm loving the feeling of your chest pressed against me, chill, will you?" said House with more confidence than he felt at the moment. "He's out of it, and the worst he's ever done is knock me backward and into the mud."

Rogue turned to face him once more. "Yes, Ah know about that. Just remember, outdoors he's a little more forgiving. Indoors, with walls around him, he's not so kind. And he can come 'out of it' pretty damn quick."

House's eyes narrowed as he felt her shiver slightly. "You know this from experience, don't you? Why were you sitting on the pillow next to his head if he's so dangerous? I saw the indentation on it," he said before she could protest. "And how can you leap in one direction, then change angle and velocity without your feet ever touching the ground?"

Her cheeks flamed for a second, and she released him, much to his relief until he nearly fell. Reacting quickly, she grabbed him and hauled him back up and on his feet without any effort.

Astonished, he raised a hand to move hers off of him, but they wouldn't budge. An eyebrow rose from curiosity, for he was bigger than she was, and he wasn't a weakling.

"Just how strong are you, Rogue?"

"Ah didn't use any tools on that truck, if that's what you're asking," she shot back in a low, hard tone. "And yes, Ah can defy gravity now and then. You're changing the subject when Ah'm trying to give you some very sensible advice. Keep your hands off Logan, House. He's not some pretty sparkling medical miracle for you to play with. He's dangerous as hell. Yes, even to me," she confirmed as he opened his mouth to ask. "You smell like a doctor to him, and if he's in a room with you and falls asleep, either leave or stay as far away from him as you can. Got it?"

"What I'm getting is the fact that you are too busy yelling at me to notice he's not waking up. I was about to ask you how long he's slept. I don't know him well, no, but I know he doesn't sleep long when he does sleep." She bit her bottom lip and chanced another glance at Logan. He knew he had her then. "I suggest we go over there and check his temperature. I won't touch him if that's what you want, but I can observe things like skin coloration, breathing, and so on. It's only been about four hours since that bear mauled him, tore his throat out, and killed him – fell on him when he tripped backward over a log and broke his neck. He was dead. That may not be a big deal to you, but it is to me." She eased up on her hold and he pressed forward. "Contrary to popular opinion, I can be a good doctor when needed. My bedside manner sucks, so you can hold his hand all you want. I just want to make sure he's okay. That's all. I promise."

"Right," said a sardonic drawl from the bed. "Say it enough times and you might start to believe it."

Rogue's face lit up and House took a moment to appreciate the sight before she let him go and he leaned back against the door for support.

"It was worth a shot," House said amiably, watching Rogue run and jump on the bed in order to make it bounce Logan off the pillow beneath his head.

"Sorry Ah woke you, sugar," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. She looked back at House. "His temperature's normal and he looks just fine to me."

"And you got your medical degree where? Oh, that's right, in education." House made a face. "It's a habit, okay? I see someone die and then come back to life, and I want to investigate. Part of the programming."

House leaned forward and snagged the back of the chair, working his way to sitting in it. Rogue cocked her head, giving Logan a look House couldn't see, due to her position. Then she dealt Logan a playful slap on his shoulder and Logan sighed before rolling out of bed gracefully and heading for the bathroom, snagging his pants as he did so. A flush of the toilet later and he was back, with pants on but no shirt, and, at a small nod from Rogue, he walked over so he was standing in front of House. He knelt down and exposed his throat by tilting his head up slightly, much to House's surprise.

"You've got her feeling sorry for you. Hope you're happy," he growled out in an undertone.

"Sure," said House softly so Rogue wouldn't hear. "Chicks love helping out cripples. I get lots of action." He reached out his hands and then paused before actually touching skin, staring carefully into Logan's eyes for a moment. "You sure?"

There was no animosity, only resignation in Logan's set features. "Go ahead."

House prodded and maneuvered Logan's head and neck, testing both for any unusual color, swellings, or restriction of movement. He couldn't find anything wrong, and withdrew his hands but not his interest.

"I'm satisfied," he finally said. "Let's eat, assuming what Rogue brought is enough for everyone. I, for one, am starving."

Logan rose and went over to the paper bag, now showing several spots of discoloration where contents were leaking out of their containers.

"Might be enough for me. I'm not sure about you two." He glanced over at Rogue. "Mind making a second trip?" He ducked and deflected, causing the hurled pillow to hit House directly in the face. "I'll take that as a no."
---

Logan checked his watch and Rogue smiled at the movement. House had heard her promise earlier that she would leave at midnight. It was a few minutes after. House was amused, for he had never seen Logan even look at the watch on his wrist before, a sure sign that it was another contraption, like the cell phone, that Logan had no true use for. Judging by her reaction, Rogue agreed with House's assessment. Obviously pretending she hadn't seen the watch check, she stood from her perch on the bed's edge, stretching her lithe body as she did so. She pulled a door card from her pocket and placed it on the small table near the door, picking up the empty and ill-used paper bag from the diner to start stuffing the remains of her meal in it.

"It's been fun, fellas, but Ah've got to go now," said Rogue as she held out the bag for House to put his trash in.

House grunted, still chewing the remains of the last of his French fries as he contributed his mess to the growing pile in the bag. Logan seemed distracted now, though he threw his stuff in as well, and House was tempted to credit this to Rogue's immanent departure, but Logan turned to focus on the window overlooking the parking lot outside instead of on his fiancée. The curtain was closed, so House supposed his mutant hearing was working a little overtime. When Logan suddenly went still and alert, House tried hard to swallow quickly in order to ask why. Rogue, noting Logan's change in posture, set the bag down near the chair and pressed a hand to his back.

"Sugar?"

"Stay here," Logan said tersely, and he moved for the door, opening it and nearly closing it before House had tensed his arms and pulled himself up and out of the chair.

Rogue moved forward and caught the door, intending to step out. House was hot on her heels, hopping awkwardly but quickly to her side. Outside, the parking lot was dark, and the light from the room backlit them in the doorframe. House recognized the dangerous situation and reached over to flip the switch off just as Rogue turned and plowed into him, chin to chest. Two small popping noises made House's eyes fly wide as the force of her impact shoved him against the door and halfway back into the room. He knew that sound well now, having been recently shot, and when Rogue let out a soft but forceful expulsion of air, he had a good idea where at least one bullet had struck.

As if in slow motion, he finally saw what was happening in the parking lot over Rogue's shoulder. Two men were running away, as fast as they could apparently. Logan had begun to pursue them, then stopped, staring directly at House, even as House clutched Rogue to him and tried to carry her inside the hotel room so he could assess the damage done. Whatever he was doing seemed to satisfy Logan, for he disappeared in the shadows before House could close the door, but not before he heard voices echo across the parking lot from the direction of the diner as people began to go outside and look for the source of the disturbance.

Rogue started to pull away from him and House took advantage of her movement to grab the hem of her tank top and pull it up and over her bra, turning her quickly to get a good view of her back.

Nothing.

Actually, there was something, but not what he expected. Her skin was whole, but there was a small inflamed area an inch to the right of her spine, midway down her torso and just visible under the bra strap. Red and irritated, it fascinated him. No blood, no torn muscles, no trauma – he wondered just what damage had been done, if any. When he pressed two fingers in the area to check, she gasped sharply and jumped. Accusing green eyes stared at him and he frowned back at her.

"How can a bullet have cracked your rib but not broken your skin?" he asked.

She shrugged, but stopped when pain clamped down on the motion and made her pretty face go pale. "My skin is tougher than you think, and my bones are thick enough to keep up with my strength, but can still break if hit hard enough," she said through gritted teeth.

Voices could be heard outside the window now, and House helped her to the bed.

"Under the covers," he ordered as he reached out and pulled the shirt back down. He tousled her hair. "Just show your chin."

While she took her place, he shucked his sweater, messing up his own hair, then whipped out his belt to toss it aside, untucked his shirt, and began to unbutton it then rebutton it crazily, as if he had just put it on in a hurry. He fell on the bed and made sure the covers were rumpled, then pulled off his sneakers and tossed them under the nearby table.

A knock sounded at the door and he said in an overly loud voice, "Who is it?"

"Police."

"About damn time!" House said angrily, and he rose and hopped quickly to the door, jerking it wide open when he got there. "I hope you caught those punks!"

Taken aback at the quick movement, the officer stepped sideways and peered into the room, quickly spotting Rogue. House closed the door slightly and changed his stance so she wouldn't be so visible.

"She's not part of our conversation," House said aggressively. "What are you going to do about those firecrackers?"

The officer's brow rose and his dark features frowned. "Firecrackers?"

"I heard them right outside. You'd think someone would have better sense than to scare people at this time of night," House growled out. "I was going to give them a piece of mind."

"I'll do that for you, sir, but I need you to answer some questions first," stated the officer flatly, obviously upset that his hunch hadn't paid off. He checked the rug and door area, and noted the way House favored his leg. Immediately the interest was back in his attitude. "Have you been injured, sir?"

House glared. "A long time ago. What does it have to do with firecrackers?"

The officer held up a shell casing, and then put it in the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. "Not firecracker, bullet. Let me see your leg, please."

For a moment, House considered refusing, then he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, letting them drop to his knees in order to expose the old scar and slightly disfigured thigh muscle of his right leg. Once the officer was satisfied and the flashlight beam ceased its examination, House bent to retrieve his dignity and fasten it back about his waist.

"Happy now?" he growled out.

"Not really," came the official reply. "Are you the registered occupant of this room?"

House pulled his hotel door card from his back pocket and held it up. "Those kids are getting away," he said savagely, and he flipped the card on the table where Rogue had placed hers. "What took you so long to get here?"

"My partner and I were just down the way at the restaurant. I think a one minute response time is acceptable, sir," he said stiffly, accenting the last word to show how patient he was. "I'll need your name."

House didn't answer.

The officer opened his mouth to say something further when the far off sound of a shot caught his and House's attention, interrupting the interrogation. He pulled his radio from his belt but stopped when two more shots, fired almost simultaneously, echoed down from the hill behind the hotel.

"Stay here!" the officer said as he quickly holstered the flashlight and drew his weapon. His footsteps and radio call could be heard distinctly as he ran off into the night.

"This time I think I will," House said softly.
---

Rogue tried to take a deep breath, forgetting for a moment that she had been wounded. The sharp pain proved to be a quick reminder.

"Stand right there," she said after House closed the door.

He made a somewhat comical face. "Afraid I'll be too much for you?" he asked as he fixed the buttons on his shirt and started to tuck it in.

"No. And Ah liked your drawers. Very sexy," she offered, knowing instinctively what kind of private hurt had been violated by that exposure. "Logan should be back here any minute and he doesn't have one of those card thingies because I had his," she said, pointing to the table. She pushed the covers down and away from her, and tried to straighten her hair, wincing as she raised her right arm.

"Don't do that," House exhaled. "One, you'll aggravate it. Two, your hair looks good that way. I bet Logan goes for that tousled look, doesn't he?"

She shot him a warning smile, but appreciated the distraction he offered. "Maybe he does and maybe he doesn't, but Ah bet if he did, he'd want to have done the tousling himself."

"Touché." House waved a hand at the chair. "Mind if I sit while I wait?"

A faint single knock tapped on the other side of the door. House raised one eyebrow and waited for her nod before allowing the knocker access.

Logan came in and quickly pushed the door closed behind him.

"How bad?" he asked, staring straight at her.

Rogue felt her heart flutter – a direct reaction to that intense gaze.

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking," quipped House. "Oh, you meant Rogue. She has a cracked rib, as far as I can tell. Her bra's pretty. You should see it."

Logan's brow furrowed and Rogue felt her cheeks heat up. "It's nothing. Ah can still make it home."

"She could barely straighten her hair, which I tousled, by the way." House reached out a hand to grab the back of the nearby seat. "Now can I sit in the chair?"

"Fine by me," Logan shot back, then he turned and locked eyes with House for a second. "Thanks."

House shrugged. "Not much I could do for her. That's some skin she has," he remarked as he plopped down in the chair and rubbed his thigh.

"I know," Logan said softly. "And I'm glad she has it."

Rogue pushed her feet over the edge and bit her lip, knowing Logan would hear any moan, however faint. "Ah really have to go. That test is not going to wait for me. Ah need some sleep before Ah take it, and you two won't help with that."

"No, we only specialize in tag team insomnia," said House. "What?" he asked when Logan shot him a dark look.

"You're not going to get sleep while you're in pain," Logan said while walking over and sitting on the bed right beside her. "Think you can take some without getting a headful?"

Rogue was suddenly on the alert, and gave him a critical examination with her eyes. It would be nice not to have this stabbing pain anymore, but not at the risk of hurting Logan. She knew full well any healing he had done within the past few minutes would come undone if she borrowed his mutation. Her memory of waking up on the Statue of Liberty was still a nightmare for her because of that. Still, looking at him now, no visible marks or blood smears were evident on his chest, shoulders, arms, or neck, and, other than some bits of twig in his hair, he seemed fairly healthy. His jeans were dark, but she didn't see anything that looked suspicious.

"Ah don't know," she commented, still not sure it was the best idea. "Did anything happen to you? Anything at all? Would it be safe?"

He nodded. "I'll be safe enough. Got a few scratches, nothing much. What I saw wasn't pretty, though. I don't want you dreaming about it."

"Ah can handle the dreams," she countered. "Ah just don't want to leave you if something goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong."

"Abyssus abyssum invocat," muttered House.

Rogue cocked an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Logan answered, pulling one of her hands up to his face and kissing her palm. He pressed her hand against the smooth area of skin over his cheekbone. "I don't like seeing you in pain. Go ahead."

She took a breath and held it, reaching inside herself for the slumbering danger within, allowing her skin to charge with an unseen force that had at one time been impossible to control. It only took a few seconds, a flash of time accompanied by a surge of heightened sensory awareness, primitive energy, and deadly visions. Quickly she clamped down on the connection, feeling the echoes of it course through her body and attack the searing pain in her back. In a moment all that was left was a tingle not unlike the aftermath of having a foot or hand go to sleep. She released her breath then inhaled deeply, and found she could now do so without any discomfort.

Focusing back on the room, she noted that Logan's eyes were closed, and his skin ashen and sweaty. A few scratches had appeared on his skin, probably left by branches and brambles from the woods where he had chased the two men. He was still sitting up, though, not convulsing on the floor, and she took pride in the fact that she had mastered the use of her mutation enough not to cause serious damage anymore. At least not to Logan, anyway.

House had risen from his chair, the look on his face a mixture of curiosity and concern. She almost laughed. At least he didn't fear her - probably because he didn't exactly know just how deadly she could be. Images still flitted around behind her eyes and she mentally shelved them away without studying them, as Xavier had taught her, hoping gunshots and blood wouldn't interrupt her sleep like Logan feared. A thought suddenly struck her, now that she could think without pain.

"Those two men in the parking lot were the ones with the wrecker, sugar."

"I know. Same scents I caught on the highway when the SUV disappeared."

House frowned and sat back down. "Of course. They saw us drive by the junkyard and realized it was the same SUV from the plates."

Rogue bowed her head. "That was stupid of me. Ah was showing off, Ah guess. They must have followed on foot and decided to take the SUV since Ah dismembered their truck."

A clammy hand touched her under the chin and raised her head so she could face intense brown/green eyes.

"They won't be back, and it was their own bad choices that set their fate." Logan sighed. "Don't blame yourself."

She nodded and stood. "Ah'm gone. Ah'll take him with me and put him to bed," she said, a jerk of her head indicating House.

"Oh, good," said House. "Tuck me in."

A low growl sounded in Logan's throat and Rogue laughed. She kissed him on the forehead and patted his cheek.

"Ah love only you and you know it. Get some sleep. You're okay, aren't you?" she asked, intently aware that Logan hadn't moved much. He nodded and she smiled again. "Thank you. Ah can stay if you want…"

"No. You need to get back." He looked up and she took advantage, kissing him soundly on the lips. "I'll be fine, he rasped, his voice a little thick. "I'm just a little cold. I'll be thinking of you."

"And Ah, you," she answered.

Rogue circled around the bed and grabbed up a card from the table. "Here, House. Ah'll see you out the door before Ah catch my flight home."

House rose and studied Logan. "For the first time since I've met him, I'd say he looks sick. I'll stay with him as long as there aren't any lame cracks about house calls."

"Oh no," she said, pulling him to the door and pressing the card into his hand. "Ah think you've had enough excitement for one night, doctor. You need your own bed," she stated, pushing him out and letting the hotel door latch behind them.

"Walk me to the door?" he asked, batting eyelashes over innocent blue eyes.

Rogue laughed and leaned forward to kiss his stubbly cheek. "Thanks for being worried about him." House didn't flinch and she smiled as a reward. "He'll be fine in a few minutes."

House's face suddenly grew serious and he grasped the hand she had held against Logan, turning it so her palm was facing up in the faint glow of the parking lot safety lights.

"Did you heal you, or did he heal you?"

His eyes were as hard to meet as Logan's, and she was tempted to lie, knowing he wouldn't be able to tell. It was really none of his business anyway. Then it dawned on her why he asked the question, and she covered his hand with her other one, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Ah healed me, borrowing Logan's abilities for a second or two. That's my mutation – Ah take life and energy, and even mutant powers, in through my skin, just by touch. There was a time Ah couldn't control it, and even someone who only brushed up against me by accident would get badly hurt." She paused, looking down at her hands touching his, still amazed by the wonderful, if somewhat fragile, hold she had over it now, then looked back up to meet his gaze, knowing what he needed to hear. "He can't heal you. And Ah can't heal anyone else using his mutation. He likes my skin because he knows if something goes wrong, he can fix me.

"But only me," she added softly.

"I see."

"Do you?" she laughed and withdrew her touch. "These fascinating 'gifts' we have are really curses in disguise. Trust me."

She wiggled her bare fingers and sighed. "Damn, Ah left my gloves inside, and neither of us can get back in again."

"That's not all that's in there," said House, wiggling his sock-covered toes. "We could knock. He is capable of opening the door, right?"

"You and Ah can wait. He'll give them to you in the morning. Just give him a few hours sleep to recover. Ah need to go," she prompted, pointing to his door down the way.

"No tucking me in, then? Are you even going to help me to the door?" he said petulantly.

She walked him to the door, letting him lean on her arm and elbow as he tried to step without limping too much. As he fiddled with the card in the door, she stepped back and walked out between two trucks parked nearby, waving when he glanced over his shoulder at her. She lifted her arms and reached for the sky while he wasn't looking, feeling the wind in her face as she climbed for the stars. She heard House call her name faintly, far below, but she decided she had stayed long enough. Logan was fine, the men were out of danger, and she'd only create problems if she stayed.

New York, and her history exam, awaited her.
---

House limped back to Logan's room, irritation accenting his awkward movements. Rogue had disappeared without warning and now he was forced to get back into Logan's room and get his card off the table, as Rogue had grabbed the wrong one. When he got there, his knock went unanswered. Not one to be shy about situations, House figured the light still on in the room was an invitation to enter; danger or no danger, he was not going to sleep outside – he wanted his own bed after all he'd been through.

Logan was right where they had left him, sitting slightly slumped over, back to the door.

"Rogue handed me the wrong card. I'm just getting mine," House groused.

There was no response.

The doctor in him said something was wrong. The angry soul in him said it was none of his business, and Logan couldn't die anyway, so no big deal. The doctor won when House flipped on the overhead light and Logan still didn't move.

He hopped up behind Logan and put a hand on his bare shoulder. Normally overly hot, Logan's cold and clammy skin sent off alarm bells. House noted the shallow, rapid breathing, and hopped one more time to get directly in front of Logan. He was cyanotic - his lips, fingernails, and drained features a stark contrast in color to the normally healthy flush Logan usually displayed. House glanced up quickly to make sure he had closed the door behind him, then tried to maneuver himself to where he could push Logan over and into a reclined position on the bed. There was no resistance; Logan simply fell over.

"Crap!"

House leaned over and grabbed a pillow and the edge of the coverlet on the bed. He shoved hard to get Logan on his back and then propped Logan's legs up on the pillow. When he started to tuck the coverlet around Logan, he noticed the warm, sticky area around where Logan had been sitting, a dark stain hidden by the deep brown color of the bed covering. Probing Logan's black jeans with fast-moving fingers, he quickly discovered the source of all the moisture: a small hole in the right front, almost hidden by the coin pocket of his jeans, was releasing a flood of liquid for its small size. It was a bullet wound, and, judging by the lack of exit wound and hole on the other side of Logan's torso and leg, the bullet must still be inside. The wound seemed to have a downward and inward angle, and immediate thoughts of the femoral artery below that area flashed in House's mind. He checked under the coverlet and blanched at the depth and saturation of the stain.

Cursing loudly now, House hopped to the bathroom, grabbing every towel he could find before hopping back as fast as he could manage. Hemorrhagic shock had the potential to be deadly, but the amount of blood that had seeped into the coverlet, mattress, and rug at Logan's feet indicated 'potential' was out the window and 'deadly' was now the issue. This blood loss was critical, a situation House could not treat without a massive transfusion - something that might not work even in the best of circumstances. He racked his brains, figuring Logan had been this way for several minutes now. An ambulance wouldn't make it in time. Nothing would, he thought as he stiff-armed a wad of towel against the wound and the artery below it with one hand and tried to check for a pulse with the other. He didn't even bother with Logan's wrist, stretching his hand up awkwardly to reach the carotid in the neck. It took him a second or two to find it at first, as it was weak, and the rapid, thready rhythm confirmed his fears.

"This is what you get for going off the deep end when someone shoots at your girlfriend," House rasped, adrenaline making his throat dry. He studied the scratches on Logan's chest, arms, and feet. "Your mutation can't take it when she borrows from you, can it? That's why she didn't want to do it. You lied so she would. Well she's about to lose you, you idiot," House hissed out through gritted teeth as he added another towel packet to the now sopping mess and pressed hard with both hands. "I guess it's going to be a race to see what happens first: you heal again, or you bleed to death."

He looked around the room in desperation and his gaze fell on the ice bucket Rogue had filled when she went to a soda machine to get them drinks. It was still fairly full, and gave House an idea.
---

Something was buzzing, not loudly, not obnoxiously, but strangely enough that its vibrations against the table top next to the bed echoed in his head, since his head was near it.

House grabbed the offending piece of technology and grunted at it, inadvertently pressing a button as he did so. Immediately a voice, loud enough to be heard without pressing the cell phone to his ear, attacked him.

"Thank God! You're alive! Ah should skin you alive, but at this point Ah'm just happy nothing happened."

It was Rogue.

"Ah swear you take the cake! Ah told you last time you weren't supposed to let me do that if you'd been hurt. And don't think you can pull that, 'it's okay' crap on me, mister. Ah just finished my test and let go with the memories. And what do Ah find running around from your head? One of those men shot you! You could have bled to death! What do you have to say for yourself?"

House cleared his throat, not really sure what to say, but Rogue wasn't finished.

"Ah have half a mind to come down there and give you what for, except, like Ah said, you're damned lucky to be alive, and Ah guess Ah'm damned grateful, yet again, that you think that much of me. Don't-don't-don't do that again! Ah swear all Ah need is for you to up and play martyr one time too many. Can't you get it through your thick skull that Ah love you and Ah don't want to lose you? Ah know what's at stake, and Ah know how much this hurts you that you get to watch me grow old and die and there's not diddly you can do about it. Ah get that. But Ah don't want to bury you either, got it?"

Now he clearly didn't know what to say. House fumbled with the phone for a full five seconds, inadvertently letting the silence grow more and more awkward while he tried to digest the true meaning of what kind of curse a healing mutation could bring on.

"Sugar?"

House tried for a hello and ended up with a gruff, "Rogue," instead.

There was a heartbroken gasp. "House?" And then a choked sob of, "Oh my God!"

"Hang on. He's not dead. He's right here," House said quickly, rolling over on the king-sized bed as if to prove it to himself.

The problem was, Logan wasn't there. The towels were there, the soaked puddle that was Logan's side of the bed now that the ice had melted was still there. Even the bandage he had made for Logan's leg, once the blood flow had slowed dramatically, was there, the strips of material still stained with blood, as was everything else on and in the bed.

But no Logan.

House, at a loss of what to say grabbed up the bandage, absently noted the neatly cut edges, and stared at the still locked hotel door. A noise from the bathroom startled him, then made him roll his eyes in exasperation.

"He's here – in the bathroom," House offered, making a face at his own idiocy.

He stood up from the bed and promptly fell when his leg gave out in an agonizing wrench of pain.

"Crap!"

The phone went flying as House flung out his arms and caught himself before his nose met the carpeting. Bare feet appeared, dripping water in puddles, and a hand reached down to pick up the now frantically yelling phone.

"Rogue?" Long pause. "I know. I'm sorry." Another contrite pause. "Not here. How about the first restaurant down the highway? How did you register us? Uh-huh. I take it back, then. Meet us here and go in with House to turn in the cards." Another pause. "Because I'm asking nicely. Please? Thanks. I'll see you in about an hour. Love you, too."

Before House could react, two feet straddled him and two strong hands gripped him under the armpits and hauled him upright, smearing him with water all in one motion.

House turned and stared, really stared, at the healthy specimen standing front of him.

Logan, in turn, shook his head, spattering House with water.

"Did you have to use all the towels?" Logan said accusingly as he sidestepped the stunned physician on his way back to the bathroom.

"Too good for drip-dry?" House shot back.

He followed Logan, using the bed as a prop to travel the length of the room. From the back, again, House noticed nothing wrong with his fishing partner. There was no damage. Logan didn't even walk with a limp.

"We have to get that bullet out of you," House commented, gimping across and catching the counter where the sink was.

Logan ducked into the bathroom and then plopped a small bit of metal in front of House's hand. "Did that already."

"I figured it was a .22." House picked up the metal blob. "Strangely enough, your pocket knife is still by the bed, so that leads to the question of how you cut it out of yourself?"

There was no answer, not that House expected one at this point.

Still it irritated him, and House glared as Logan tried to dry his hair and body with a washcloth.

"You know, normally I really don't care much for thanks. I do my job and that's the end of it. Patient lives or dies. You, on the other hand, don't seem to realize just how close you came to death's doorstep."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "You mean people actually care about you when you stupid things that might cause you to die by your own hand?"

Taken aback, it was only seconds before House made a comeback.

"Ouch. Physician, heal thyself, and all that that implies, right? At least you have more interesting tactics than Wilson. Actually, all it took was Rogue crying on the phone for me to see the error of my ways, not that I have someone who would cry over me like that," House replied, hoping to hit a nerve himself.

"She would. And not because you're a cripple, either," Logan said dryly as he started wiping down the bathroom with the washcloth. "You might leave behind more than you think. Cuddy and Cameron would both shed a few tears, from what I see."

Now the wind really was knocked out of House's sails, and he leaned against the counter heavily. Cameron was one thing, but Cuddy? Logan must have assumed he would fall because House was suddenly grabbed and half-walked and half-carried over to the chair.

"I thought you said your leg was better," Logan accused as he dropped House in the seat and returned to his duffle bag.

"It's been through a lot lately. Part of that Abyssus thing," House said absently as he watched Logan don boxers, blue jeans, and a T-shirt.

How much could Logan sense? Could he tell if someone had feelings for someone else? He let the bullet roll around in his palm and then pocketed it, deciding to change the subject.

"No infection, no stitches, no scars, but one bullet. You really did surgery on yourself, didn't you?"

Logan nodded. "Not the first time. I'll get you to your room and you can shower and change. We need to leave before the maid discovers all this mess."

"They'll think someone was murdered," House agreed. "They'll take a DNA sample and run it."

"Won't do them much good. I don't exist, and my blood doesn't do well outside my body. Won't be anything to get in another hour or so – too degraded, or so I've been told," said Logan as he started to sit on the edge of the bed to put his boots on and felt the spot where he had lain an hour before. "Ice?"

"Ice," answered House. "You don't seem to react like a normal patient, so I took a chance hypothermia might be a better option than bleeding to death. It slowed down your system until your healing kicked in again."

Logan stomped his boots on. "How many trips did you make with that little bucket?"

"Enough to make me want to whack you over the head with my cane if I still had it."

Ten minutes later Logan had wiped down all surfaces in the bedroom with the little washcloth, then he dumped the towels, bedcover, and everything but the mattress in the bathtub and ran water through them to dilute any strong blood samples still remaining. He checked his watch and House grinned.

"You still have about an hour. You've done this before, haven't you?"

Logan shrugged. "Don't know. Seems to be instinct. We should be okay if you and Rogue check out together. You two were the only ones seen, and if they don't have a body, they don't have a crime."

He lifted the mattress as if to flip it over, and House started to make a smart remark about how juvenile that tactic was when, to both men's astonishment, they discovered it wasn't the only bloodstain on the mattress. There were several. Logan slowly lowered it again and looked quizzically at House.

"I'm guessing they don't care."

"Either that or you were here a while ago," House observed.

Logan frowned. "Not funny. Huh. I'll tell her to complain about the mattress and sheets. If something happened here before, they might be reluctant to call the police."

"Might work at that. All that blood reminds me, what happened to those two men?" House asked casually.

"I jumped between them and they opened fire. They both missed me and hit each other. End of story."

"Except you killed them," pressed House.

There was a breath, a sigh, and then a grunt of acceptance as Logan retrieved his bag and the trash with his bandage and the food in it, the only things left in the room that they had touched.

"They left the scene of an accident, left us without help, put out a trap that might have killed someone, shot someone trying to stop them from stealing, and then decided to kill me up there and frame me for yours and Rogue's murders," Logan said in an even tone. "I'm not going to regret the fact that they were too quick on the trigger and shot themselves. Their fault."

House cocked his head slightly. "They were going to come back and shoot us?"

"They were hoping you were dead already. You and Rogue were lined up pretty neatly in the doorframe. Made a nice shot."

"Too much information," House said slowly, rubbing his temple and wondering what he needed more: sleep or food. "I'd rather blame you for bringing them to a harsh justice than think I was stupid enough to underestimate them."

"Hmmm. Threw me, too, for once." Logan shouldered the bag and held out an arm. "I say we leave and meet Rogue for breakfast."

House pulled himself up and tested his leg, making his own, slow way to the door unassisted. "You're buying again. Payment for saving your life."

"You didn't save my life," Logan countered as he flipped off the overhead light with the back of his hand and wiped the door latch with his shirt tale after House had opened it. "Besides, we both owe Rogue for paying for the rooms last night," he said as he pocketed his card and tossed an old twenty-dollar bill on the unmade bed.

"Never hurts to tip," he said when House raised an eyebrow at him.

"Wait," said House as he pulled his card out and tested it in the door. It didn't work. "Okay. Just making sure. How did she register us, by the way?"

"She paid cash, and signed in as Smith and Jones," said Logan as he let the door latch and wiped it off from the outside.

"Nice aliases," quipped House. "I'm sure no one suspected a thing. Rogue Smith sounds better than Rogue Jones, so I'll take Jones. And I did save your life," he reminded Logan as he walked off stiffly.

"Whatever."
---

Logan had gone to take a piss, so Rogue took the opportunity to have a little private talk with House. As she exited the restaurant and approached the truck where he was waiting for Logan to unlock it, he actually gave her a charming smile.

"Did you know you look like a skunk when you pull your hair back in a pony tail?"

Taken aback, she blinked and then sassed, "At least Ah only look like one."

"Brawn and brains, gotta love the combination," House countered, clearly amused at her wit. "How did the test go? You didn't say. Instead you spent the entire breakfast chewing on Logan." His face grew somber. "I'm not sure he meant to do that, you know."

"Nice try," she countered. "He knows as much as you do about the anatomy of the human body, and he knows exactly what can cause it to fail. Ah don't need the soft soap, House. Ah'm a big girl."

She glanced back at the entry of the establishment and then moved closer to House.

"We need to talk."

His eyebrows shot up. "Not that I wouldn't mind, but I think Logan would."

"Ah'm not interested in that," she said, slapping him on the shoulder with a now gloved hand, causing him to stagger slightly. "Not from you. No offense," she offered. "Ah just have a moment before Ah need to get back and Ah want you to watch over him for me."

House goggled at her. "He's the most indestructible person I've ever seen and you want me to baby sit him?"

"He's not sleeping again. And he damn sure knew what he was doing last night. He's letting things get to him, and Ah want to make sure he's got someone to talk to. Ah'm hoping you can control that tongue of yours long enough to listen if he feels like it, got me?"

"Why on earth would he confide in me? I'm a doctor, his most evil enemy, as you so distinctly reminded me last night."

She smiled sadly. "You two have a lot in common, including pain, attitude, and antisocial behavior. The fact that he fishes with you says a lot, at least to me. He may say nothing. That's his way. He's all or nothing. Trusts you or he doesn't. There's no middle ground. But if he does trust you, and he does say something, just listen. Don't offer advice. There's none to give him, and that's not what he needs anyway. Just listen."

"Just listen," House repeated. "Right. And what do you two have in common?"

She let her green eyes linger over the little lines of concern on his forehead, and she nodded to herself, certain now that House really did care.

"Love, and death."

"Good groundwork for a marriage, I'm sure."

"Ah mean we both have the potential to kill, whether we want to or not, and we represent a real danger to anyone who gets close to us, even to ourselves." She sighed. "And we love each other, so much sometimes that it just hurts." Rogue watched him flinch. "You know what Ah'm talking about, don't you?" she asked, rubbing his shoulder softly in apology where she had smacked him. "There are some hurts Ah'm willing to take just as much as he is, some risks, too. Logan just hasn't clued in on that yet. He's still relearning how relationships work."

"Well I'm not one to give advice on relationships," House said finally, after looking off down the highway for a few breaths. "I'll just listen. I can promise you that."

"Good man," she said, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek.

His eyes brightened, and the sly smile on his face told her she was in for it again.

"You didn't stay in town and your hair is wet. I wonder why? Did you know clouds are made of water vapor? I bet you already knew that. The faded blue jeans, white shirt, and white gloves are quite a change from last night." He gazed up at the clouds and then back down. "In fact those colors would be perfect camouflage for a cloudy day like today. Last night you were dressed all black, which would be perfect for night flying. Since that town didn't have an airport, and you disappeared without a trace, I'm assuming you can actually fly."

"You know what they say about that word 'assume,' House," she said lightly, wiping the smudge of lipstick off his face and leaving a smear of pink on her gloved thumb. "Ah'd hate for you to make an ass of yourself."
---

Logan was relaxed. The ripples on the water, the sunlight dappling through the trees above them, the warmth of the breeze that wafted through the surrounding woods, bringing him scents of interesting things nosing silently around in the relatively unspoiled area they had hiked into, had all conspired to move his brain from constant alert to relative monitoring. His legs were crossed, his hook in the water (sans bait, though House didn't know that), and his torso reclined in a canvas-covered folding camp chair – the perfect image of a lazy fisherman.

So he cursed silently to himself when he heard House's heart rate speed up a little, indicating something was up. He allowed one eye to open just a crack, and found the doctor was studying him, as if debating whether or not he was asleep.

"Just go ahead and reach for them," Logan muttered.

Startled, House nearly dropped his pole, but recovered nicely. "Do you always scare the shit out of people like that?"

"Always."

He saw House's hand reach toward his shirt pocket and he shook his head slightly. "You switched them, remember? The others are in your tackle box." House paused, so Logan explained a little more. "The pills you threw at me a few days ago, the ones you said were over-the-counter, they're in your shirt pocket. The ones you've always used, the ones you said you didn't take any more, they're in the tackle box."

"You're harder to fool than trained detox staff, you know that?"

Logan didn’t bother to answer the rhetorical question.

House sighed. "It's no fun to try and hide something from someone who truly doesn't give a damn whether you're hiding something or not. You aren't even going to ask me what happened, are you?"

"Nope."

"You're worse than Wilson. He plays dirty and deserves my scorn. You play…"

"I don't play," Logan observed.

"Exactly," House said with a gesture as he switched out the aspirin for the vicodin, and took a pill. "You don't. You don't know how. With you it's all or nothing. Rogue mentioned that at that breakfast we had." He paused and made a face at Logan. "Yes, I've been mixing the two, going back to the vicodin when I need it. What gave me away? My serene and happy state lately?"

Logan raised a lazy eyebrow. "You've been serene and happy?"

"Okay. That's better," House said as he began to reel his line in. "You're easier to understand when you take me seriously."

"Right."

House struggled with the line, which had become snagged on something.

"You can say 'left' occasionally. I'm not prejudiced. I'm taking the vicodin because I need it. Even Wilson tried to shove some down my throat when he thought it would get me to keep exercising my leg," House grunted out, intent on retrieving his hook. "Trouble was, he thought it was all in my head and it isn't. Damn. I'm really caught. Help me with this, will you?"

A heavy sigh accompanied Logan as he uncrossed his legs and rose from the chair. Grabbing House's line, he walked to the edge of the marshy waterway, fed by a large creek and recommended by the last hotel owner as a good spot for fishing. Then he froze.

"Do you smell that?"

House frowned. "What?"

"Kind of like Florida, only different," Logan muttered. "Never mind. It's probably nothing."

Logan wrapped a hand around the line and began to tug hard. Something began to give, something stiff and badly misshapen, something that didn't smell human, though it looked it - an arm, attached to a torso that no longer had legs or another arm. The head, when it broke the surface of the water, caused the man behind him to gasp softly, and he heard House leave his chair to get a better view.

"Don't say it," muttered Logan, stepping into the water now to free whatever the body was snagged on.

"You mean Abyssus…"

"It's not real," Logan warned. "It's a mannequin."

"Damn." House seemed hurt. "I was hoping for a little more excitement. You're falling down on your job of entertaining me."

Logan freed the dummy and tossed it to the shore. House's line, however, wasn't free yet. It now began to move slightly, as if a fish were on it.

"Stay there and help me land it. It feels like something big," said House, pulling hard and reeling for all he was worth.

But Logan began to smell something again, something very familiar.

"Don't reel it in. Let it go," he said, trying to grab the line that kept whacking him in the face.

But House was determined.

The string suddenly went slack, and Logan, boots mired in the mud under the edge of the water, began to try and shake himself free.

"Get back!" he yelled at House.

A rush of water surged against the boundary between the land and the unknown, and a large nose, followed by two eyes, large teeth, and a prehistoric body suddenly followed it, a body longer than Logan was tall. With a shocking display of speed, the teeth grabbed for the nearest target, and Logan's left hand was suddenly engulfed by the alligator's mouth.

Pain seared up and down his arm, and when the alligator began to shake its head to throw him off balance and drag him back into the water, Logan went with the motion, popping the claws on his right hand and ramming them into the brute's skull even as he fell on top of it, pushing it and him deep into the shallow water. It gave a last thrash, and Logan twisted the claws slightly, causing more damage. His lungs were hurting for air, for he hadn't had a chance to draw a breath before the attack, and he tried to maneuver his legs back underneath him. His knees made contact with mud and he rose out of the murk, head breaking the surface of the water just as something grabbed him under the right arm and tugged hard.

Out came his hand from the alligator's skull, flying backward and toward whatever was pulling him. Only at the last minute did he realize House had him and was pulling him up and away for all he was worth, despite Logan's weight and the weight of the reptile still clamped to his other arm. He twitched a forearm muscle, but he knew it was too late. Panting hard, and looking through a haze of slime and water dripping over his face, he could still see House's stunned expression perfectly over his shoulder, could watch House's eyes stare at the slits in his hand as they healed.

Great.

Logan shook off the teeth imbedded in his forearm and managed to right himself, slowly standing so he was almost nose-to-nose with House. He noticed two things: House had grabbed his chair and had stabbed it toward the alligator as a lion tamer would, and the somber, serious look in House's eyes bore into him with an intensity he decided he didn't want to meet. He looked over House's head instead.

"Don't do that. You could get killed," he said gruffly, rubbing his left arm while the teeth imprints faded away.

House opened his mouth but said nothing, just letting his blue eyes convey all the sadness, horror, disbelief, and revulsion for him.

Logan decided it was all or nothing at this point. He popped the claws on the other hand, and struck them against his own flesh. When metal met metal, there was an odd sound, and he made sure House saw the bones that stopped the blades were coated with the same material. He withdrew the claws, retracted them, and all evidence disappeared slowly, achingly. He ground his teeth together and let the muscles of his jaw deflect the yell of agony. When he could speak, all he said was:

"Now you know. Every good killing machine needs armor and weaponry. That doctor that 'altered' me took care of both."

He wiped his face on his sleeve and walked out of the water, controlled steps hiding his anger at himself and House. If House hadn't kept asking questions, and if he had been smart enough to give up a chance of learning what friendship was, none of this would have ever happened. Hell, if he had just left Rogue by the side of the road his life would still be in the same rut where he never had to interact too much with anyone, keeping things at a level he could handle just fine. He wouldn't be facing a future where he watched Rogue get old. He wouldn't know what family or friendships were and would therefore never miss them.

He didn't need this crap. Maybe that's why it was so appealing to let himself bleed to death the other night. If he'd died, he'd be in the real hell now, not this poor excuse for one. And a creature of hell should reside in hell, right?

Part of him realized he was leaving House in the water. Part of him realized the sensible thing was to try and explain it all. But the part of him that was beyond the reach of Stryker, beyond the reach of civilization, the part that helped him survive the unsurviveable, kept on walking into the woods.

Deep in the wild where only animals surrounded him, he came to a stop, struck by the beauty of a place untouched by human hands. The scents, the sounds, and the 'feel' of it agreed with him, and he drank in what he could to rinse the bitter taste of Stryker's legacy out of his system for a time. At least humans hadn't mucked around up here, screwing with everything in an effort to 'improve' upon nature. But the peace of the place didn't take everything away as his forays usually did.

Something was still bothering him, something he needed to take care of.

And that was it, of course, in a nutshell. During the last three years he had become used to taking care of things, people, and situations; it had become a part of his nature. If he had left Rogue alone, she would be dead. If he had left House alone, he would be dead. If he had left the X-Men alone, things might have turned out far worse than they had. How the hell had he gotten himself so embroiled in the lives of others? More importantly, how the hell was he supposed to back out now?

Thick and fast, fragments of memories assaulted him, things he knew had been done to him so he would serve others, mainly Stryker. Was this what he wanted? To become a pawn again? One memory came to the forefront almost immediately – it was a harsh memory, one of him holding a lifeless Rogue on top of the Statue of Liberty - and the feelings he had then, the ones he remembered painfully now, let him know he was no pawn.

Logan sighed in frustration. He was sunk.

He couldn't leave Rogue. He loved her. He couldn't leave the X-Men. He believed he really could help those kids – keep them out of the hands of people like Stryker, anyway.

Hell, he couldn't even leave House. The man had no transportation to his conference in Atlanta; he couldn't even walk well. Every day Logan had noticed more pain in the lines around House's face, noticed how his back stiffened with pride even as his leg slowly gave way beneath him. In one of those annoying phone calls, Wilson had told him everything about the shooting, the suggestion (even while wounded) to Cuddy about healing his leg situation, the astonishing workouts, the sudden stop of them, and even the part about Wilson's effort to get House to use Vicodin to try and stave off the pain and keep going. House had then had an accident on his motorcycle, and Cuddy had demanded he take a few weeks off, spending some time in a clinic that specialized in physical therapy and chemical dependency to make sure the accident was just that. Wilson had then pleaded with Logan over the phone to distract House, to keep him off the drugs. Keep his mind off Stacy. He kept saying House would be fine if he could just get everything out of his system. His leg was fine – it was all in House's head.

Only Logan knew better. It wasn't all in House's head - not the pain anyway. Logan knew the scent of pain intimately, and House reeked of it.

Since Wilson was wrong on that part, Logan had every right to consider that Wilson was wrong on other parts of the story, or at least not giving away all the details.

He should ask, he knew. He should let House just spit out the whole mess and listen attentively. Trouble was he wasn't sure he wanted to know. House was a doctor, someone Logan associated with pain. House was also vastly different than the X-Men; someone Logan was somewhat comfortable being around, as the man didn't require him to spout doctrine, enthusiasm, or even be sociable. But Rogue had let him know before leaving the restaurant the other morning that House was something else: her friend. He had protected her, dragged her away from danger, examined her for injuries, and then kept the police away from her.

Logan couldn't forget that.

Roaming as he was thinking, Logan realized something blocked his way back. An old water oak had recently tumbled in a storm. Now the beautiful, strong wood would fall into decay and become part of the forest again in a new way. For some reason, Logan didn't want that to happen this time, even if it was the normal way of things. Somehow he wanted to make a use of this once proud icon before it slipped away completely. Eventually, the claws came out, and he spent the last of his anger and frustration at the whole situation on a section of the old trunk, the sound heart of the former giant, until a piece of its strength was finally free and he could hold it in his hands. He didn't need it, but he knew someone who did.
---

The snake was still there, the same one that had been there for almost half an hour now, looking at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread. House was uncomfortably cramped sitting cross-legged in the canvas chair, but he figured the snake had as much right to be there as he did, even if he didn't offer it one of his feet to strike. Besides, he was more than lost in thought, and the thought that the snake might take exception to his presence didn't really occur to him. The thing was more than likely looking for a frog or a rat, and while he might be a rat at times, he had nothing on another physician he didn't have a name for. Well, maybe he did.

Monster.

The bulletproof bones…there were no words for them. He had imagined something along the order of inserts he had seen in patients, where the idiots had actually spent money to have someone make a slit in their skin and slide a foreign object between skin and muscle and into their body in order to make their skin all "bumpy and pretty."

This metal, surgical steel maybe, had been implanted on Logan's bones, probably every bone. No, not implanted, he corrected himself; something that neat and tidy had to have heat involved. The skin had been cut open and held that way while the metal was seared onto the bones - impossibly, incredibly, and inhumanely formed around living tissue. And since Logan healed from every thing, anesthetic was probably useless, even if it had been thought of.

House shivered.

The pain was beyond his comprehension. No wonder Logan couldn't remember anything – there was every possibility that procedure, or torture, had made him lose his mind. Even if it hadn't, whatever monster had ripped him apart had probably not thought anything about fucking his mind over.

And the hands….Logan's forearms….housed weaponry. Now he knew what had happened to the bear. It, like the alligator, hadn't stood a chance against a foe armed (literally) with knives nine inches long. House flexed his fingers, the same ones that had examined the alligator's skull and found that bone was no match for them. Surgical steel slicing through a skeleton like that was not out of the realm of probability, considering the force he had seen when Logan slammed his hand into the water. The cuts were clean, though - like a hot knife through butter. Maybe a metal stronger than steel was involved….

He didn't hear the footsteps but the snake did. It bowed up and hissed - it's foul odor stifling the immediate area with a territorial warning.

House looked up in time to see Logan evaluate the snake with a measured stare, then lean forward with a large wooden hook, snag the snake gently, and move it to another location with a small toss. The snake, when it landed, was anxious to get away after the indignity of air travel.

Logan then took his seat, stretching out his legs and crossing them while he assumed the same air of laziness he had taken before. To House's surprise, Logan handed the hook to him. And when he took the proffered hook end, and felt it fit his palm with a solid smooth form, he realized what it was.

"You made this?" he asked as Logan scanned the water in front of them.

House wondered if he noted how the ripples in the edge water flowed over and around the alligator carcass hidden just beneath it. He had.

"I don't always kill with them, even if that's what they're for."

Logan's voice was measured and even, a change from the angry, frustrated, and defiant tone he had used before storming off. House decided to chance that he was as calm inside as out and posed a question he had thought of a while ago.

"The nightmares, are they about the metal…?"

"Yeah," Logan answered, cutting across the inquiry. "They are."

House rubbed the cane absently in his hands, twirling it and finding the balance with practice born of habit. It was not ornately carved, just simply shaped, sculpted, and bent as it if had been a living piece of wood meant specifically for the purpose of helping someone get around in life.

"Thanks," he offered, not knowing what else to say.

'Welcome," Logan replied. "Ready to move on?"

House nearly laughed, but it wouldn't have been a happy one. Logan had the most wonderful knack of putting things so simply into perspective, even when they were the most impossible things House had ever considered in his life, that House had come to expect it, countering it with his own brand of snark. But the phrase lent itself to more than just leaving the marshy river area and heading to the closest hotel South Carolina had to offer. It was a challenge to House to get past the worst. And the worst in Logan's life made his own woes seem small indeed.

"Yeah," House said. He rose and tested the cane – a perfect fit for his height. "Nice. If you ever needed a career besides delivering things for McCoy…" He stopped himself when he remembered exactly what had carved the wood.

Logan shrugged. "OSHA wouldn't like my work habits."

House goggled at him, and then decided he could let the smile loose since Logan had a devilish little glint in his eyes.

"Alligators and bears don't either. And who knew South Carolina had Alligators?" House asked as he folded up his chair and retrieved the remains of his fishing gear.

"I think they even have them in Texas," Logan offered as he packed his own items up.

"Georgia is as far south as we go," said House. Then he eyed Logan with one of his best stupid patient vs. smart doctor stares. "Warn me next time your life is in danger. A fish isn't worth you getting your hand bitten off."

"Left."

It took House a blank moment, and Logan's cocked eyebrow, before he came back with a snappy remark of his own.
---

It did not take long to track down House. The hotel was large, ornate, and filled with people, but Logan's keen sense of smell was not inhibited by any of this. What was unusual was the fact that the closer he came to hunting down a fresh whiff of his prey, the louder the soft piano music grew. Curious, he now opted to track down the sound rather than the scent.

He opened a door off a large corridor just past the lobby and found the source of the music. There in the very corner of the deserted ballroom slash convention hall, already decorated and arranged for the medical conference tomorrow morning, sat a baby grand, and on the bench, toying with the keys, sat House. For a moment, Logan studied the man unobserved. The tune was familiar, and Logan began to hum along until he realized he had no clue what the name of the song was or even when he had heard it last. His lip thinned slightly in irritation. Again another memory he could not lay claim to had surfaced, reminding him of all the disjointed fragments floating around in the thing he called his brain.

The carpeting was thick around the edges of the room, and Logan chose it as his path rather than tangle with the strict rows of chairs and tables arranged on the wooden-surfaced area in the center of the space. By the time he leaned against the edge of the piano, House was aware of his presence. Still he played on, his eyes flitting up every now and then as if to see if Logan approved the musical selection. Actually, he did, Logan realized. House had smoothly transitioned what he had been toying with to something soothing but far from melancholy – a jazz piece, he guessed.

"Nice," Logan offered.

"The piece or the technique?" House countered.

Logan listened for a moment. "Both," he decided aloud.

House nodded, accepting the small compliment with grace for once.

"Stress relief?" Logan asked as he pulled up a chair and sat, stretching his legs out as if intending to spend more time there in appreciation of the music.

House quirked a grin. "No flies on you."

Logan let the compliment slide by and said nothing.

Finally House paused and folded his hands in his lap. "You're supposed to sit there and tell me what I should do and how things will be fine. Then I retort with appropriate comments, and we trade insults on each other's intelligence."

Sighing, Logan reached in his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. "Then call Wilson. I was interested in the music, but if you're going to harp, take it out on someone else."

"You didn't come in here to listen to the music," House said coldly. "You came to find me. Why?"

"Rogue wanted to go out to eat and made me find you so you could come along."

House's eyebrows rose in surprise. "No lectures? No guilt trips? No pats on the head? Just dinner?"

"Just dinner."

"You don't have a clue how to be a good friend, do you?" House observed wryly.

Logan shrugged. "Nope. Rogue wants to introduce you to another doctor going to this shindig. It's a foursome for dinner." He glanced at his watch. "She'll be in here in ten minutes if we don't show in the lobby."

There was a wicked grin. "How would she find us? Another mutant gift?"

"Not hers."

Logan could tell House's curiosity was now piqued, but he kept a straight face.

"The doctor's? Is she good-looking? Stacked? Lots of leg? Blond? Brunette?" A fast, complicated, and racy tune rattled out from the hammers and piano strings as House let his fingers reveal his thoughts of appreciation on the feminine form.

"Tall, red-headed, and leggy - she's engaged," Logan said.

House ended with the musical equivalent of a wolf whistle, then nodded and stood, bringing the cane around as he slid out from between the bench and the piano.

"It'll make dinner more interesting," he said, heading toward the door on the far side where Logan had come in. "By the way, can you tell if a woman's pregnant?" he asked Logan as Logan followed him.

Slightly surprised, Logan gave a guarded answer. "Maybe."

"Cuddy, for instance. Could she be pregnant?"

The tip of the wooden cane met with the edge of the of the wooden floor and House suddenly teetered as the two slick surfaces slid against each other. Logan reached out with lightning reflexes and caught House by the upper arm, tensing and holding until House regained his balance.

"I guess I need to put rubber on it," House said as he tapped the cane on the ballroom floor. "Worked fine on dirt and carpeting, but the hospital will be a bitch to navigate with a slick tip."

The door to the ballroom opened suddenly, and Logan, expecting Jean and Rogue, was surprised to see a dark-haired woman about House's age come in and glance around. Her eyes quickly targeted on the two of them, and she headed their way. House tensed his arm against his body, trapping Logan's hand firmly around his bicep. Confused, Logan decided to see what House was up to before making a comment.

"Greg."

"Stacy."

Now that they had clarified for the other that each remembered the other's name, Logan belayed the frown that wanted to form on his face. So this was the woman who had tangled up House's heart. It would be interesting to see if she was as confused about her feelings as House was. Both of their hearts were beating rapidly and both were chemically attracted to each other, he observed.

"I'm….I heard the piano a moment ago and thought it might be you," she said lamely, glancing somewhat dismissively at Logan. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," House said, his heartbeat slowing slightly. "Wilson called you?"

She colored beautifully. "No, email. He said you were still recovering from rehab and thought you might want some company. The desk said you checked in this afternoon. I thought…."

House became enthusiastic. "I'm sorry, this is Logan. He's taking me out to dinner right now. He even promised to tuck me in afterwards." House leaned in against Logan, who continued to keep a straight face. "Are you here alone? That's a shame," he said when she nodded slowly. "I would have thought what's-his-name would join you. They have room service all night, though. Don't they, Logan? Didn't you say we could get chocolate-covered strawberries later?"

Logan nodded, not trusting himself to speak for fear of laughing at Stacy's startled reaction. Instead he blew lightly in House's ear for effect.

"And it seems Logan wants to rush dinner a little. He's such a good little bed warmer," House purred, squeezing his arm more tightly still against his body so Logan wouldn't pull away. "I'd invite you to join us, but, well, two's company and three's a ménage a toi, and Logan doesn't share well."

Pushed to the limit of his poker face, Logan steered House toward the door at that point, detouring around the speechless Stacy on his way to getting House out and into the lobby before Rogue and Jean entered and put a different spin on things. They passed the hotel store and Logan forced House to duck into it with him, where they found a rubber tip for House's cane. Logan fished out a couple of dollars to the cashier and handed the cane tip to House, who took it and put it on the end of the cane, a perfect fit.

They exited the store in time to see Stacy head for the elevators, her step slow and thoughtful and her head shaking slightly from side to side as she neared the panel of buttons. When the doors closed behind her, both men looked at each other and busted out laughing.

"What will she say when I tell her you bought me a rubber?" asked House, still chuckling wickedly.

"She won't come near you again," said Logan, sobering quickly with a mock glare, "just as you planned. I knew doctors were mental, but you take the cake."

House shot him a serious look in return. "Thanks. I needed the help, and the laugh."

"Yeah, well they may cost you, as you're paying for dinner tonight after that performance. Rogue's going to be jealous as hell that I blew in your ear."

"Just keep her away from my motorcycle," House warned. "She's scary."

"You haven't met the redhead yet," said Logan, cocking his head toward the two waiting women.

House's eyes lit up upon seeing Rogue again, but they lingered on Jean and her tight sweater, much to Logan's amusement.

"Good point. So," House said as they began to walk toward the others, "you never answered my question."

"She's not pregnant," Logan said. The smile on House's face was enigmatic, but Logan could tell by heartbeat and scent that Jean had nothing to worry about. "I take it that's a good thing."

"Couldn't be better."

"Jean, this is Dr. Gregory House. House, this is Dr. Jean Grey," said Rogue when Logan and House neared.

"It's a pleasure," offered Jean, hand outstretched.

House took it. "Definitely."

Jean fished something out of the small purse she had and handed it to Logan when he was done hugging Rogue. "New cell. Programmed with everything, and all our phones have been updated to your new number. Sorry for the delay," she added with a small kiss to his cheek.

Logan grunted and switched it out with the one in his jacket pocket. "Thanks."

"By the way," House said, eyeing the phone and pulling out his own cell, "what's the new number?"

"Oh, hell no," Logan growled out. "Wilson will….."

"I'm not going to change the number under Logan," House said with an evil grin. "I'm going to add two new entries: Aby and Jean."

"Abby? Who is Abby?" asked Rogue.

"I'll tell you later," House replied. "Right now, I'm starving. Let's get going," he said, pushing the others ahead so he could walk with Jean.

"And you think I'm going to give you my number?" Logan heard Jean mutter behind him.

"Yes. Just in case I need information on how to treat Logan if we have an accident on a fishing trip."

"Logan doesn't need medical attention," she countered demurely. "He leads a rather charmed life in that aspect."

"Abyssus abyssum invocat," House murmured back. "Bet you fifty bucks something happens on the way to the restaurant."

End.