Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS slayer. I wish I did. I still don't own House either. Damn it.

Buffy: "Does it ever get easy?"
Giles: "You mean life?"
Buffy: "Yeah. Does it get easy?"
Giles: "What do you want me to say?"
Buffy: "Lie to me."
Giles: "Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."
Buffy: "Liar."

-"Lie to Me" BtVS

He woke up in the evening again. He felt the soreness in his chest from the procedure Foreman had performed earlier, but he felt better. He couldn't see the light through his eyelids and the usual sounds of a busy hospital were absent. He felt something tickle his hand as he moved it. Finally opening his eyes he saw that it was, indeed, night. The security lights from outside bathed the room in a bluish glow. He saw Cuddy sitting next to him, half lying on the bed. Her hair was spread out over her, covering her face and, partially, his hand. She was asleep. The bags under her eyes had lessened. She looked peaceful. The hectic, frantic energy of the day before had gone, not to even leave its mark on her. He looked around the room. His chart was lying on the table next to him. Foreman confirmed his diagnosis. He'd have to go easy on the booze and be started on statins. He groaned as he imagined the gloating faces of Foreman and Chase. They'd never let him forget this. At least it wasn't Taub. He would have let himself die on principle before that happened.

Glancing back at Cuddy, he watched as a strand of hair fell directly over her nose, making it twitch irritably. He smiled to himself for a moment before sweeping the offending strand away from her face and to the back of her ear. He could see her face clearly now. Impulsively, he ran his fingers across her cheek, feather light, enjoying the feel of her soft skin. She stirred a little and opened one blurry eye.

"Hi," she said, her voice deep and sultry from sleep.

"Hi," he rasped. His throat still felt sore from the tube.

"I see you've already read your file."

"After trying to look down your shirt, it was the first thing I did."

"Well, we've already started your medication. You should start feeling better soon." She straightened up in her chair, stretching and popping the joints of her shoulders.

"I feel better already. Before we start even more small talk and avoidance, I want to know about Thirteen."

Instead of flinching or blanching as he suspected, Cuddy's face dropped. Her eyes turned glassy.

"She had been rushed to the OR as you saw before your procedure... She had complications."

He frowned, hating every moment Cuddy took to compose herself.

"Before you beat around it even more, is she alive?"

This time she did pale.

"Technically."

"What bullshit is—"

"She's brain-dead. She had a stroke which turned into a lacunar stroke and she was gone. We're keeping her on life support so her father can say good-bye."

"You knew about this before my procedure. Wilson knew and that's why he disappeared."

"He's always had a lousy poker face when it comes to hiding important matters from you."

"But not you."

"You would have done the same for me. You have done the same for me. I didn't want you thinking about all the 'what ifs' during your procedure. Your body is already stressed out enough."

"Yeah, I was really focusing on getting better rather than wondering what the hell was going on."

Cuddy still looked unrepentant. She moved her hand to his and squeezed it in what he presumed was a sympathetic manner.

"There was and is nothing you can do," Cuddy firmly stated. "You gave her all the help she needed. No one could have saved her. It was remarkable she lasted this long with her lifestyle, the accident, and her Huntington's ravaging her body."

"You should have told me."

"You should have told me you met with her while everyone around here who cares for her was left wondering where the hell she was and if she was even alive."

"I knew you'd throw that back in my face," he grunted, staring stonily at her.

"We're still playing our respective roles, House. I'm just stating the obvious."

"When will her father arrive?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Later on today. He's driving down from Ithaca."

They grew quiet, fingers caressing each other softly and, seemingly, unconsciously.

House was seated in a wheelchair outside of Thirteen's room. She was attached to a ventilator, the beep of the heart monitor the only sound permeating through the glass walls. A man stood next to her. He was slightly bent as he stood, but he gave off the image of a tall man. His white hair was thin and brushed back severely. He had the same green, sharp eyes of his daughter. He was in a simple suit; brown slacks, cream color button up shirt, with a matching corduroy jacket. House noticed he was probably in his late seventies due to the progression of arthritis in his gnarled hands.

One hand was holding his daughter's limply. House was reminded that he was a man who had lost all of his family. Every person was taken too early from this frail guy standing in front of him. House heard footsteps approaching him and turned his head to see Chase. Chase gave him a quick nod and stepped into the room. He shook Mr. Hadley's hand with both of his and gave his condolences. The old man smiled weakly in thanks and glanced down at his daughter. Chase asked him another question, the question, House knew by the old man's stricken look. His green eyes filled with tears but he did not let them fall. He shook his head jerkily and turned back to Thirteen. Chase looked out of the room, towards House, meeting his eyes before he turned to the ventilator. With quick, sure hands, Chase pushed all the buttons and knobs used to turn off the life-supporting machine.

He listened to the beep of the heart monitor slow and hold steady for more than ten minutes. He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Cuddy standing next to him, looking into the room, solemnly. He turned back to the father and daughter and saw the monitor slow again. The beep, a sound so normal to a doctor, sounded like an obscene death bell, tolling down to that single, life ending breath.

Two more minutes and Thirteen lay still.

He heard Cuddy sniff loudly behind him. He watched as Chase wiped at his eyes before murmuring something to Mr. Hadley and practically fleeing from the room, not glancing at him or Cuddy as he passed. Cuddy squeezed his shoulder and told him she would be back. He knew she was going to go speak to his team. The Dean of Medicine was taking control of what was left of the situation.

House sat there and watched the man grieve. He stayed with his daughter for another half hour before turning his back on her and walking out of the room. His eyes were red rimmed and his face drawn. A man defeated by life, thought House, as the man approached him. He straightened in his wheelchair.

"Dr. House, I'm Jerry Hadley."

He held out his right hand and House shook it. The old man's hand was warm and his grip firm.

"I'm sorry for your loss," House said to him, as sincerely as he could.

The man nodded.

"Remy was a good girl, but so headstrong. I think she knew she was going to die young so she did anything she set her mind to, regardless of the consequences. My only wish was that I could have understood her more." Mr. Hadley took a deep, stuttering breath. "Last time I had seen her, we didn't part well."

"She was always very opinionated. She challenged all of those who worked with her. I wouldn't worry about her thinking the worse of you when she was awake. That would have been set to the way side by her."

House didn't know why he was telling the old man this. He didn't know why he felt it was necessary to share this piece of Thirteen that her father hadn't witnessed. He wasn't, by far, the type of doctor to comfort family but this man in front of him, brought it out of him.

Mr. Hadley nodded, unable to speak. He took one last look into the hospital room and turned, walking stiffly down the corridor. House thought he looked like he had aged another ten years after leaving that room. A nurse came up to him and wheeled him back to his room.

Only once he was settled back in his bed, did he let a tear silently fall down his cheek. His chest was tight and his mind racing with thoughts of the young, dead doctor in the next room.

House was released from the hospital three days later, a new prescription of statins in his pocket. Cuddy had driven him to his apartment for fresh clothes and a suit, and then back to her home. They laid in each other's arms, her head on his shoulder and his resting against hers. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other holding her arm to his chest, his fingers brushing against her skin.

"Are you sure you want to go to the funeral tomorrow?" Her voice was soft and quiet.

"No," he answered honestly. "I'm still going."

"Why?" Cuddy turned slightly in his arms, her body pressing closer to his.

"She would have come to mine."

"It can't be as plain as that."

"Why not?" His tone was slightly annoyed with her persistence.

"You liked her. She was tough and vulnerable and deep down, you really respected her. I wouldn't say you were kindred spirits, but she was like you. Definitely overly secretive."

Their blue eyes met in mirth for a moment before leaving each other's gaze.

"She was a good doctor," he grunted out a moment later. He tightened his grip on Cuddy, telling her without words that he appreciated her being there for him. He would never tell her something like that out loud.

"She was more than a good doctor," Cuddy whispered, the long day finally getting to her.

"She was a babe."

"House. Shut up."

The funeral was short and to the point. Jerry Hadley sat in front of the open grave and accepted all the condolences given to him with grace and dignity. House couldn't believe the man was still sitting up straight after all the world had thrown at him. The man's wife's grave was next to them along with an older brother House did not know anything of, Thirteen's secrets still coming to light. House picked out only distant cousins from the group of mourners, no close family living. Foreman, surprisingly, and Chase gave a decent eulogy. The usually emotionless neurologist shed a few tears but stoically pulled himself together.

After the service, mourners lined, one by one, next to the grave to drop in soil or roses over the brown casket. Cuddy did all the talking to Mr. Hadley as he just shook the man's hand for the final time and walked away. Cuddy looped her arm through his free one and kept in step with him through the tombstones, towards the street where she was parked.

"I'm glad to see you better despite this," she told him.

"People die every day. There's nothing more to it."

Cuddy squeezed his arm. "Liar."

"What? I'll hire another pretty doctor to walk around like lobby art and all will be well in Houseland."

"Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?"

"No, only in my head on the way here."

He saw her smirk out of the corner of his eye. They walked around a rather large statue of an angel, wings spread out with open arms and blank eyes.

"I'll bet it'll take you months to hire a new doctor because none of them could be her. Your mystery is over, House."

"We'll see."

For as grim as the mood was, the day was gorgeous. House inhaled the smell of freshly dug earth and the hint of rain to come. The sun was high above them but was not scorching or brutal. A light wind was coming in from the Atlantic, cool and calm. He heard Cuddy clear her throat, but not speak.

"Spit it out," he said without any harshness in his voice. "It's eating you alive to ask."

"Will you tell me next time you're in pain?"

"Yes." No.

He glanced down at her and saw her looking straight into his eyes. Hers were glassy and her face had gotten withdrawn.

"Are we always going to be like this? This back and forth between having to read between the lines or accepting the lies?"

"I expect so. You knew what you were getting into when you jumped me that night."

"I did not jump you. And can't you just try to comfort me for once?"

House took in a long, suffering sigh. Looking down once more at her, he could see under the façade of her questions, her longing to hear everything would return to normal, or at least to what was almost normal in the world of Princeton-Plainsboro. He smiled though.

"It'll be rainbows and puppy dogs. Patients will always get a diagnosis on the first try and live to see another fifty years. You'll win the Nobel for Medicine, which will translate into best ass once the other laureates see you…"

"House…" he could hear the thinning patience in her voice.

"Hm," he replied.

"I've forgotten you're a horrible liar."

Fin.

Many Thanks to you all who have stuck by this story! I know this was cut a little short, but this was how I pictured the ending of the story to be. I have 2 stories coming up, one with the prologue already out and one first chapter that will be posted once I get it beta-ed. I've never worked on two stories at once, but the inspiration for these both won't leave me be.

Special thanks to Akemi1582 for being such a wonderful beta! She has stuck by my many new fics and for that, I am eternally grateful.