A Foreteen fic – my first newish develop thiny. Soooooo ik that thirteen is like bi and all but we'll see how this goes – this is a short story, not a series of oneshots like joy to the World X-mas 08 extraordinaire (if you've read it)

Nefertiri – Peace Out – Ode to MC no not m.d. MC ! Oh and btw it's mostly from 13's POV

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One

Her forehead rested in her palm, her eyes flickered to a close; she sighed. 13 was on call, late. Foreman, Taub and Kutner were asleep elsewhere, miscellaneously lying on the couch or sitting in a chair somewhere. It was taking her forever to fall asleep. She could feel her hand shaking, twitching ever so slightly. Huntington's was going to kill her. Only one tear leaked out. Remy had always prided herself on being somewhat emotionally strong, but she didn't want to die. No one in their right mind would want to die. But she acted like she did sometimes. Her downward spiral continued endlessly. As the disease progressed, she had seen her fellows watching her slight, almost unnoticeable twitch, a fraction of a millimeter, just enough for them to almost see it. Some watched with concern, others with pity as the disease rapidly progressed. Foreman still worked with her constantly, but she knew that nothing was going to help her in the long run. She would begin to shake wildly and act uncontrollably and insanely, unable to do much for herself, by herself. With these thoughts her slightly shaking arm, became more prominent. One more tear escaped from somewhere. Damn those tears! With shaking hands she wiped them away. She stifled a yawn under one of those hands, and laid her head down on the table, trying to sleep, trying to forget her disease, the patient, everything. But she was haunted with dreams of her mother, the mother that looked an awful lot like herself, her older self, but still her.

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Remy bolted up, her eyes shot open and her brain became alert.

"You O.K. Thirteen?" a whisper asked her, concerned.

She turned to face the voice of her rescuer from the dreams that haunted her sleep often now days. It was still dark and Remy had to squint to make out Forman's body.

"You were visibly shaking," worry and concern dripped piteously from his voice.

"I…I'm fine, what time is it?"

"Around threeish, patients stillokay, I checked her out,"

Remy nodded groggily, her brain fogging at the mention of the early hour.

"Go back to sleep, sorry I woke you,"

"Mmm, it's okay," she sighed heavily and leaned her head backwards to stare at the ceiling. She squinched her eyes shut tight not wanting any stray tears to loose as she once again thought about her ailment.

"You sure you're alright?" Foreman asked, watching Thirteen shudder.

"The things in life worth doing," she began bitterly, "you can't do before you die. With Huntington's, I'll never have kids, at the end I won't have control of my body, my mind at all, why is it worth living till I die of Huntington's! Everyone will be a one night stand, no one but Cameron is foolish enough to let herself love someone so deeply while they die. It would break most people to pieces. Once someone learns I have Huntington's I'll be over," her voice was still a whisper, but tears were silently pouring down her cheeks now, at the though of never being a mother, which was still a possibility, she wasn't lesbian, she was bi. She shuddered again and leaned forward, fully crying. She had no idea why she was pouring out her heart to Foreman, nor why she felt so weak and out of control as she did just then.

He pulled out a chair next to her, placed a hand on her back as she sobbed.

"I don't want to die," she murmured desperately.

"It'll be okay, you're fine, your not going to die for a while yet, I'll make sure of that, we all will," he rubbed his hand over her back in small circles as her shoulders heaved. With his consolation she threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. Why was she even breaking down like this? He was taken aback, of that she was positive. Remy could tell he felt awkward as he patted her back and let her run down the water works. Eventually she released him, pulling away and whipping the tears out from underneath her eyes, sniffing a little, and resting her head on her hand again.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired right now,"

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault, this is a hard thing to go through, no one should have to deal with it. If you ever need anything, or anyone, I'm here for you," Foreman finished shakily.

"Thanks,"

"Get some sleep, you need it,"

"I will,"

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Two years later the cure for Huntington's was being refined, cut down to a perfect art. Remy was deteriorating, quickly. Her disease was rapid, more rapid than was common. She would die, faster than her mother, faster than she had ever considered. She was almost certain that the cure would prove false on her count, she had no hope.

"At least try it Thirteen," Foreman prodded. Though she was no longer a fellow (she, Taub, and Kunter and had 'gotten all the info possible stuffed into their trivial brains' a long time ago) they all still worked together. All the former fellows, the original fellows and now there were new fellows. Cuddy hadn't run, screaming, for the hills begging to be let go for pain of 'House' yet and, miraculously, House hadn't been fired for whatever persistent reason yet. He hadn't scared off Wilson, yet either, they were closer now, than before. The trying their friendship had been given had bonded them. It had been deemed a 'bromance' after all their snide jokes about how being straight was boring. Thirteen had to admit, working at PPTH had never been boring. Ever. Not once. PPTH was home, all the former fellows felt that way. In a way, they were a family, bonded together by one, ever annoying, SOB teacher, an amazing, strong, and kind boss, and other good and caring friends throughout the hospital that had taught them along the slow, pokeish, and sometimes proddish, way. Common experiences had a way of doing that.

Soon, Remy new that she would have to start saying goodbye. Her hands always shook, so much that patients began to ask her if she was feeling alright. Soon her mental status would drop and she would no longer be able to self preserve. She was alone. She hadn't spoken to her father in years, she no longer went for one night stands (though she still maintained her status as bisexual), no romance had erupted in her life. She couldn't bear to have to depend on her co-worker family for help when her last days came. She couldn't imagine the horror of them seeing what she was like, deteriorated and dying. She cared too much for them to let herself burden them.

Yet Foreman and all the others still persisted to help her. They never gave up. Remy knew she needed them. She just couldn't bear to put her weight on their shoulders. It turned out, she didn't have to. They did it for her.

"Try it, I'll make you, Remy, I will make you," over the past years, Foreman, her closest friend through her personal trauma, had begun to call her Remy.

"Fine, I'll do it, but I swear, it won't help me,"

"If you weren't so dismal about it, it might help your mental state. It's a proven fact that thinking about your condition prods it further. If you think you're sick you will get sick. If you think it won't work your body will defend against making itself better. I've seen it hundreds of times,"

"Fine. Give it to me, but not until it's a matter of life and death,"

"Why not, you need-"

"Because I said so, those are my wishes, give me the consent for and I'll sign it,"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive,"

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And a month later, Remy Hadley lay on her deathbed, incoherent in speech, jerking shaking with the effects of her disease, horrified at being taken care of, horrified that her closest friends had to see her this way. She could see but not touch, hear but not communicate. It was as if she were a spectre, watching, wishing someone could see her too.

House was the attending. Today, as he walked in she could see a homemade shirt reading – 'It could be Lupis,' – on the front and the back – 'it's never Lupis,'. If she had been in any condition to laugh, she would have. House walked out after tending her and then Foreman entered, looking relieved.

"Hey," he whispered gently to her, "It's working, you're getting better, you're gonna be fine. You'll have full control over your movements in a couple weeks, but the mental capacities will take a little longer. Remy?" Foreman was staring at her. A light was shining in her eyes. It hurt. Photophobia. Why? Why he staring at her like that. She tried to scream as she felt the searing pain travel up her spine and into her head. It was like being slashed through and through with a blade. Why, why was he doing this to her?

But then she heard his voice.

"Remy, Remy? Remy!" he shouted. Yes he was saving her; the other invisible black hearted demon was the one killing her. Her vision left, she screamed harder.

"Patient is coding!" the shout came, recognized unconsciously in Remy's head. Somehow he had become her eternal source of comfort, no matter what was wrong. And then the pain ended. The sightless red pain, faded to black, and not even Foreman's voice could be heard beyond her sub-consciousness.