"Okay," was how Foreman greeted Remy, "I've got the dehydrated fruits, extra clothes, water...and you," he added.

"And I've got the directions, extra clothes, and the toiletries."

"You're going there to die! Why do you need extra clothes?"

"Well, I don't want you to think I stink." They noisily got into the car and closed the doors. "You got the gun?" Remy asked quietly.

In the middle of buckling himself in, Foreman's movements suddenly stilled. "Yeah," he sighed.

Remy sighed, closing her eyes. "Thank you for doing this."

There was no answer; only the sudden crank of the ignition. Remy looked at him, startled by the hostility on his face. "Boy, if looks could kill, we wouldn't need the gun," she noted. Still, he was quiet, pulling forward out of the stall and towards the exit from the hospital's parking lot. "Okay, you're pissed at me."

"I'm the Dean of Medicine. I'm not supposed to kill people, I'm supposed to cure them."

"I'm incurable, Eric. You know that. And this isn't something I forced on you. I asked, you thought about it and said yes; admittedly while I was zoned out."

"Yes, I know," he bit. "I thought about it, I knew it was a big deal, and I said yes anyway. Is that admission supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Because I still need to know what you want me to do with your body."

She sighed, training her eyes past the dashboard. "I asked you if this was something you could handle. That...might have been your cue."

Foreman slapped his palms against the steering wheel, visibly startling her. "I know! Just...just stop it. Stop...guilt-tripping me, I'm trying to do the humane thing here."

Remy leaned back against the seat, gazing at him. "The humane thing to do would have been to say no and tell me to leave. People always take the easy way out. Look at me. You're doing a good thing, but nothing about this is humane. Because it's the most difficult thing you'll ever do."

"Yeah," he bit. "I know."

They were quiet, listening to the rain splatter on the windshield. Foreman flicked on the wipers and Remy examined the pages in her hand, causing them to rustle. Her foot twitched. Her hand thumped into the passenger door. Still, not a word between them. She rummaged noisily around inside the glove compartment, retrieving a roll of tape and sticking the directions to the dashboard in front of her. Foreman turned on the radio. No words. Just the rain, the poor clarity of the station, and the quiet purr of the engine.

Finally Foreman broke the silence. "You still haven't told me what you want done with your remains."

Remy frowned. "I want to be buried beside my parents. Hillside. Change lanes and take a right."

Foreman obliged. "Hillside," he muttered with a sigh. "That's a little out of the way. Kind of like this stupid cabin."

"Sorry," Remy said insincerely. "I don't want my death to inconvenience you."

Foreman glowered for a bit, but he couldn't be angry for too long. "No, I don't want to end this on bad terms. Look, it's no trouble. We'll do this however you want."

Remy closed her eyes, willing away her tears. Like any other girl, she had many dreams growing up. To be the first female president, to be a princess, or a mother. She had outgrown all those desires. Right now, in the end stage of her disease, in the end stage of her life; all she wanted to do was prove House wrong. She wanted to die with dignity.

She would not cry.

She opened her eyes. "I want to be buried beside my parents. Hillside."

Foreman frowned, feeling so much more than the task before him weighing him down.

"Boy, how long is this drive?" Remy asked.

"You told me it takes two days."

"How long have we been travelling?"

Foreman shrugged. "Five, seven minutes."

"Wow." Remy tightly crossed her arms, trying to prevent involuntary movement. "We've got a long ways to go."

"I'll drive as long as I can. Hit a rest stop at some point."

"I'm good to take over."

"Yeah, we'll just tell your ticks to take a break," Foreman answered wryly. "Look, no offense, but I can't let you get behind the wheel."

Remy shrugged, smiling as her crossed arms suppressed a jerking of the hand. "Well, there's something I forgot to tell you. I brought every penny in my name; figured I won't be needing it. Hotel and room service, my treat."

"Really?"

"I'd rather not tick in a small area with glass. And your face."

Foreman shook his head. "Alright. Yeah. But listen, even if you beg me, I can't shoot you in the hotel, okay?"

"No, I understand."

Foreman hesitated, looking at her askance and finally asking, "Can I ask how much?"

"Um, about...eleven grand. I'd like a view."

Knowing Remy was low on volunteers, Foreman tried not to die of shock. "How are you carrying that much money without me knowing it?"

She gave him a confused smile. "My bank card."

Foreman's chuckles quickly subsided. It was easy to forget they weren't just hanging out. Would it be easy to forget they would never hang out again?