Blue Moon

A House MD Fanfiction

Author's Note: Warning: Very bleak!

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD.

A warm, late summer breeze lightly pushed at Thirteen's hair, causing it to fly into House's face. House brushed a blond lock out of his field of vision with a swatting hand.

"Sorry." Thirteen apologized. They were sitting back to back, using each other to hold themselves up.

"No problem." House responded quietly. The only thing that could be heard other than the slight rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the crickets was Thirteen and House's shallow breaths.

Other than that, the night was silent. Bright, and silent. A single, large moon hung in the blackened sky, tinted blue. They were in the middle of a small meadow, surrounded by towering pines that almost obscured the blazing moon, miles away from the outskirts of Princeton. Miles away from civilization.

They didn't want to be found.

House ran a hand over the smooth, black surface of his father's pistol. How did Wilson ever think this was fake? No, every inch of cold metal screamed that this was a lethal weapon. He knew Thirteen had the firearm she had purchased years ago (and never used) in her hand. He had pointed out on the drive over how ironic that she was going to end her life with a weapon she had purchased for self defense.

"You okay?" House asked, tilting the gun. Thirteen laughed behind him.

"House, I'm about to shoot myself." House shrugged in response. Even though she couldn't see him, she felt the movement in her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Thirteen, I'm about to shoot myself." He mocked. He sighed, eyes unable to leave the weapon in his hand. He relented. He'd spent his whole life deflecting. Might as well be honest in his last few moments. "I'm not okay. That's why I'm doing this. Why we're doing this."

"Yeah." She agreed softly.

"Second thoughts?" He asked. Both of them knew they were both staving off the inevitable.

"Not really, surprisingly. I mean, I'm going to die either way. I just get the choice whether I want it to be long and painful, or quick and on my own terms." She said. Thirteen was speaking as if she was telling House about the weather, not her decision to commit suicide.

"Even with the Huntington's, you'd probably have another five or eight years with that lady friend of yours." House pointed out.

"And force her to watch me degenerate into a shell of myself? No. No, I've been there... I won't do that to her." Thirteen explained, an edge finally creeping into her voice.

"What does she think you're doing tonight?" House asked.

"She doesn't think I'm doing anything. As soon as we decided to do this I ended it. Make it easier for her. It's been two weeks, hopefully no one will find us out here for awhile. Maybe by the time she finds out, she'll be over me." House didn't know who she was trying to convince. Him, or herself. She breathed deeply, and over his shoulder she saw her absentmindedly playing with a piece of grass. She plucked it from the ground, twirling it in her fingers.

"Maybe." House agreed, distracted. House frowned as he thought of what Wilson would say if he saw him here. He wouldn't want House to do this. He knew that. But in a way, hadn't Wilson committed suicide as well? He could have taken the chemo, the treatment.

Wilson didn't.

Because he didn't want to suffer.

House didn't want to suffer either. He shouldn't have to.

"You're not sure about this." Thirteen stated. Any other person would have phrased it as a question, but Thirteen knew him too well for that. House didn't respond, mainly because he didn't know how. "House, this doesn't have to be the end for you. You've still got things to live for." House snorted at this.

"No. I don't. Wilson's dead. Cuddy's gone. Everyone in the world thinks I'm dead except for you, who's going to be dead in a few minutes." He said, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. He was hollow on the inside, he'd come to terms with this immediately after Wilson's death. The one thing that had meant more to him than anything was Wilson's friendship. He had given up everything for those last five months with him, and he didn't regret it.

But now, there was nothing left. The only thing that had prevented him from ending it right after his death was his promise to Thirteen. His promise to be there for her in the end. House was a strange man. He had absolutely no problem with lying to people, but when he promised someone something...

House was a man of his word. He found Thirteen one week after Wilson died.

The Huntington's symptoms had already began when he showed up late at night at her apartment. He remembered the night well, mainly because it was the first real human contact he had had with anyone other than Wilson in almost six months. He had banged unceremoniously on her door around eleven in the evening with his cane. He had spent days trying to track her down. It seemed Thirteen had pretty much dropped off the map after she quit, and it wasn't as simple as typing Remy Hadley into Google and hoping for the best.

But he had found her. He had privately expected fainting, or her insisting that he was a ghost haunting her from beyond the grave... but no. It hadn't been like that at all.

He had heard a muffled "Coming!" from inside the apartment. Thirteen opened the door. She looked older. Bags under her eyes. Hands shaking. He knew right then that the Huntington's had already began. She had raked her vibrant eyes over him, then brought her eyes up to meet his.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She opened the door. He came in. They talked for hours.

And they came to a decision.

Thirteen was dying physically. House was dead emotionally. Thirteen had always planned to take herself out before the Huntington's got too severe. She was going to go by euthanasia, but when House arrived, they decided that what better way for two impossibly screwed up people to end their lives than to just take a quick bullet to the skull? She had proposed getting the necessary cocktail to put them to sleep so they would never wake up, but House had held up a hand at that.

"We can't leave any room for error." And although the chances of them failing to euthanize themselves were impossibly slim, House didn't want to risk it. This had to be the end.

So, House told of her of a quite place he knew several miles away from Princeton. She had insisted they should both take two weeks to think about it. If neither of them changed their minds, they would meet at the end of the lonely dirt road at midnight on the early September evening and begin their trek to their chosen execution sight.

Thirteen had been waiting for him when he arrived.

"You could still find someone, House." Thirteen said.

"As soon as people figure out I'm alive, I'll be back in jail for years. Once I get out, I'll never be able to practice medicine again, and when I do get released, I'll be in my sixties and my liver will probably be about to give out from the years of vicodin and alcohol abuse. I've got nothing left." He shook his head. "We've already gone over this. I've made my decision."

"I know." She replied, taking one of her shaking hands and placing it over his. "I just want to make sure you're ready to do this."

"Am I ready to die?" House clarified. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a long moment, and much to Thirteen's surprise, House turned up his hand to grasp hers back. She was shaking badly now. He didn't know how much of it was her disease, and how much of it was the nerves.

"This is stupidly romantic." Thirteen said with a bitter laugh. "Two lovers taking their own lives on a moonlit night to avoid the sorrows of life."

"You're right. Except for the part about us being lovers and avoiding the sorrows of life. We've had enough sorrows to sink a damn battle ship. Plus, I think we've kind of got that 'brother-sister' vibe going on." He added.

"Brother-sister vibe?" Thirteen repeated.

"I'd say father-daughter vibe, but it makes me feel old." He joked. He couldn't help but acknowledge the insanity of it all. They were joking, even though they were about to kill themselves.

"Ah. Well, now you won't have to experience the pain of a mid-life crisis." She said philosophically.

"That's always a plus."

He didn't know why neither of them were making a move to do what they came here to do. House hated to admit it, but some part of him, small as it was, was scared. What if he had been wrong, what if there was something on the other side?

He didn't fear death. He feared divine judgment.

"House?" She asked tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think he was thinking about before he killed himself?" Her words were almost too quite to discern. House didn't need to ask who he was. It took him a long time to compose his answer.

"He was thinking about how nothingness was better than the pain." House said. Thirteen nodded, her hair brushing the back of his neck as her head bobbed. House suddenly felt miles closer to Kutner. He understood his decision now, in a way.

To quote the hallucination of Cameron, he deserved the chance to just give up. He stared down at his father's gun. What would his father say if he knew he was going to end his life in an act of cowardice using the weapon he had bequeathed him?

Suddenly, he felt a thrill of fear. No. He couldn't do this, not with this weapon. He couldn't end his life with one of the only things his father had ever given him.

"Switch me guns." House said suddenly, releasing Thirteen's hand and turning to face her. He saw now, in the pale moonlight, that she had trails of tears edging their way down her face. She looked him in the eye now, blue meeting blue. The empty hollowness inside of him eased slightly, and pain for Thirteen crept into the crevices. So young, so beautiful, and here she was about to stick a gun to her head.

"Why?" She asked.

"I can't do it with this one." House answered cryptically. Thirteen searched his lined face for a moment before nodding. She handed him her small pistol for his .45. She examined it as they returned to their back to back positions. Their hands found each other again.

"This was your father's, wasn't it?" She asked.

"My father as in the man who married my mother, yes." House answered, choosing not to elaborate further. An owl hooted in the distance. House lifted the small gun to his head. "We going to do this, or do you want to continue social hour?" Thirteen stiffened behind him.

"You're right." He felt her other arm shift, and her grip on his hand tightened.

"Thirteen..." House began. "Thanks."

"For?"

"Everything. We don't have the hours to rattle off all the stuff I owe you for." House said. "I guess, to put it in Wilson-terms, thanks for keeping me grounded." He winced at the thought of his best friend. He wasn't sure which he hated more. The pain of losing Wilson, of losing everything, or the emptiness. The complete lack of feeling, the all-consuming lack of purpose and hollowness.

"No problem." Thirteen said. She traced a finger over his wrinkled hand. "Thanks for keeping your promise, House. For being here with me." She let out a quiet sob, her body shaking behind him.

"I'm a man of my word." He said simply.

"Now?" She asked.

"Now." House agreed. Safety off. Cold barrel to his temple. "On the count of three."

"Alright." She breathed. "One." She began.

"Two." House whispered.

"Three." They said together.

Two gunshots pierced the night air, disrupting the otherwise calm night.

The moon blazed blue up above, unaffected by the events of the world below.

Author's Note: I was inspired by the recent blue moon, and this story formed in my head. I hope you enjoyed. Please review!