Disclaimer…I own Libby and that's it.

Author's Note…Awww, that last chapter was so sad at the end! I don't think the rest of it was so good…kinda choppy…oh well. And if I'm not mistaken, I don't think I received any reviews. Please review for this one!

It was still flat.

House had seen the group of assorted doctors which included Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, and somebody that just happened to be in the hallway resort to every piece of equipment in order to get Libby's heart beating again.

Fools. When will they learn that sometimes, when something gets so hurt, it will never work again?

Suddenly, House realized what was going on. He pushed his way in there and started to shock her back to life. He was numb, but he was working so fast, so incredibly fast. He was dimly aware of Cuddy crying, she looked weak, and Wilson's hands on his own shoulders, repeating that it's too late, too late, too late.

House was even aware enough to notice that the doctor he didn't know had started to talk. "Time of death, eleven-oh"

"No!" House shocked her again; nothing.

"House, let her go." He felt Cuddy's small hands on his shoulders, trying desperately to save him.

Very softly, barely spoken "I can't."

Shock; nothing. Shock; nothing. Shock; something. A little quiver on the heart monitors had given House a new lease on life.

This ray of hope (although it was much more comparable to a cheap emergency flashlight of hope) gave the team new strength to feverishly work on Libby. In a blur of shouting and white and then absolute stillness, Foreman had rushed Libby off to the OR, which House was waiting outside of.

It was so. Damn. Still.

After a moment, an hour, two days, the rest of House's life, Wilson came out and sat next to House. "Hey."

"What's going on?"

Wilson sighed. How could he tell his best friend that during the surgery, they had found another tumor, a massive one, growing alongside Libby's heart, that she would need a heart transplant, but that no transplant committee would give it to her?

Wilson choked on his words.

"Well, we opened her up, trying to get to her heart, everything was moving so fast…"

House interrupted him. "Is she alive?"

Wilson looked sadly at him. "Yes, she's still alive. Just barely, but she'll pull through this one."

House let out a small sound of gratitude. Wilson hated to cut his relief short.

"House, there's something else. When we opened her up, we had to get to her heart, we thought maybe there was something surrounding it, drowning it, you know. And, well, we got to her heart, but House, there's a tumor there."

"On her heart?"

"On her heart."

"Well, then we'll just have to do some more chemo and more radiation."

"No."

"No?"

"It's too big for chemo to handle, or radiation. She needs a heart transplant."

"Then she'll get one. We'll get Cuddy to put me temporarily on the transplant committee and you're already on it, so is Cuddy, and I bet you could get Dr. Lagber to vouch for us, and I can certainly bribe, or threaten a few people. It'll be…it'll be fine."

It's not going to be fine, you idiot. She needs a freaking heart transplant and she's not even four years old. Man, so many lies.

"Those are all long shots, and it's not going to get to the transplant committee. It's a kid with severe lung cancer. A lung cancer patient isn't going to get a heart transplant very easily. Especially a patient that…"

Wilson thought he was going to freeze to death. House's eyes were so cold.

"A patient that what?"

"A patient that…"

"Wilson, don't be a coward. Get over yourself, tell me."

"A patient that probably won't survive even with the heart. We can keep her alive for two weeks, tops."

House went all cold. Even when she got diagnosed, it was different. Now, she's dying.

And he couldn't save her if he tried. But he knew someone who could.

"Gimme some quarters."

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In a nice house in Short Hills, one Mark Warner picked up the phone. He was expecting a call from his divorce lawyer.

"Please say I got the book collection. Please. The house isn't complete without it."

"You're getting divorced?"

"You should know, you're my divorce lawyer."

House decided that if Mark and Stacey were getting divorced, he would be the last person Mark wanted to talk to. He probably didn't remember his first name, right?

Riiiiiiiiiiight.

"No, this is Greg. Stacey's cousin? Remember me? I was at the wedding."

Mark didn't remember a cousin Greg, but he had already proved that he hadn't paid much attention during the duration of his courtship and marriage with Stacey. He had fallen in love with one girl, and one girl only, and it didn't need to be said that that girl wasn't and will never be Stacey.

"Oh yeah, I remember you. Oh, you made the funniest joke there. Umm yeah, Stacey's right here hold on…" Mark held the phone away from his face. "Staceeeeeeeeey! Phone!"

House rolled his eyes. Stacey hated it when people drew out the last part of her name. It was one of her little quirks that he always liked about her.

Liked. Never loved.

"Hello?"

"Stacey. It's me."

"Greg?"

"Yeah. Listen I got to talk to you."

Stacey gaped at the other end of the phone. He wanted to talk? What had changed?

So, so much.

"Ummm, ok, what's up?"

"I need my…my patient to get a transplant."

"And?"

"And the transplant committee won't give it to her. She's a little girl, four tomorrow."

"Why are you calling me?"

"You're a good lawyer. You made friends at the hospital. I need you to come and I'll explain the situation to you better here."

"Greg, this really isn't that good of a time for…"

"No, it's a perfect time. You're getting divorced. You'll want to get away, get your mind off things. Believe me, this will keep you distracted."

Stacey had been with House for five years, and she had never, ever, heard him sound this sincere. This had to be serious.

"How soon do you need my down here?"

"Tonight."

Stacey groaned as she mentally compiled a packing list.

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Two and a half hours later, House met Stacey outside the emergency entrance. Stacey resisted the urge to gasp. Even when he had the infarction she had never seen House look this bad. He looked broken. And so, so tired.

She walked briskly over to him. "Hey."

House didn't even respond. He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. For the tiniest piece of a second, Stacey thought he was going to kiss her. But he just pulled her along. She talked as she followed.

"So, how's the team been doing? Everyone still working here?"

"Everyone except Dr. Cameron."

"Haha, I bet she left because she couldn't stand you any longer."

Stacey couldn't have said a worse thing at a worse time if she tried. House gritted his words out. "Just. Follow. Me. Don't talk."

He turned to look at her. His eyes were moist; Stacey guessed something had gone down with the two of them. It had to happen, she obviously liked him although Stacey really couldn't fathom why.

Much like the reason she was there in the first place.

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House brought Stacey into the post-op room. He hadn't really seen Libby since the surgery, and when he had, she was sleeping, still under the affect of the heavy amnesia. He had expected her to be awake when he brought Stacey in.

He should have learned by now never to set expectations ever again. They only lead to disappointment.

Stacey stared at the little girl that lay in the hospital bed. She must have been hooked up to a million machines but Stacey thought she was beautiful. Even though she was bald, which Stacey guessed was due to cancer, there was something about her that made her look angelic.

Perhaps the obvious affect she was having on the man standing next to her?

Stacey looked at House. "This is your patient?"

"Stacey, this is Libby. My daughter. The patient that needs the heart transplant."

Shocked wasn't exactly the word for it. Traumatized didn't even begin to cover it. House had a daughter? And she's dying? Whoa.

Suddenly Stacey had a light bulb moment. "Greg, does she have anything to do with the reason Cameron isn't here anymore?"

House wanted to kill Stacey for being so ignorant. "Yes. She's hers too."

Stacey's mouth dropped.

"The reason Cameron isn't hear is because…well, I killed her."

"You…k-k…you killed Cameron!"

"She died when she was having Libby. Aneurysm."

Stacey had never fainted before in her life, and the only thing that stopped her from doing so now was the overwhelming sense that it would just make House mad.

"Stacey, I need you to make sure she gets this transplant."

Stacey gave him a brief nod. "Come with me. I'll go talk to Dr. Ameshaw right now."

House felt the tiniest sense of relief. Even by House's standards, Dr. Ameshaw was an excellent transplant surgeon and was the very influential head of the transplant committee. He was also wooed by Stacey.

They two did a sad walk to his office during which House gave a better explanation of how dire Libby's situation was. They caught him just as he was leaving. "Dr. Ameshaw?"

"Why, Stacey! How are you?"

Stacey turned to House and spoke very quietly to him. "Actually, you had better wait out here. Don't worry; I'll get him to do it."

House never knew what went on during that conversation, but it didn't matter. Dr. Ameshaw came out a tired looking man and for the first time in his career, saw House not as a rude doctor, but as a man, a widower. A father.

"I'll do the surgery tomorrow morning at 7:30. That's twelve hours from now, sixteen since Libby's last surgery. You know how risky this is?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've apparently got a long day ahead of myself, so I'm going to go home and go to sleep. Good night to you both. 7:30 sharp, I'm going into that operating room whether you're there to say good-bye or not."

Stacey blinked.

"Wilson will let you stay at his apartment tonight. He's usually up for single women staying the night. Or you can sleep in my office, whatever. I really don't care."

"What about you?"

"I'm bunking out in Libby's room for the night. I'll sleep on the chair."

"But your leg…"

"…can survive for the night."

Stacey turned to go but allowed herself one last glimpse at the man she once loved.

"Stacey?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Stacey gave him a sad smile. "No problem. See ya tomorrow."

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Twenty hours later Dr. Ameshaw walked out of the operating room and sought out House. He found him sitting on a bench, twiddling his thumbs. He had been doing that since 7:31 that morning and it was 3:15 in the afternoon. Stacey was too scared to visit him, Wilson understood that House was better off left alone, though he had come to check on him every fifteen minutes or half hour, and Cuddy didn't want to add to his emotional burden by being with him, but she just sat at her desk all day, thinking over the things

Dr. Ameshaw frowned. Fathers shouldn't have to endure this floor. And they certainly shouldn't have to endure the news this one is about to get.

He walked over to House. "Good afternoon, Dr. House."

House stretched out his arms. "Is it?"

"Dr. House, the surgery your daughter just went through was extremely complicated. It was successful, but we're having some problems waking her up."

"What?" What? What do you mean, what? She's not waking up. She's comatose.

Dr. Ameshaw's words confirmed House's thoughts but he wasn't listening. House got up as if in a trance and walked down to Libby's room. Dr. Ameshaw might have still been talking.

House got to Libby's room and sat down in the pink plastic seat next to the bed. He took Libby's hand in his and softly rubbed circles in her arms. "I'm not leaving 'till it's over."

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Ten days later, House had left that chair only to shower, eat, and use the bathroom. It was one thing when Libby kept getting infections, but having these one-sided conversations with a dying child was the antechamber of Hell.

On Day Two, Cuddy had come in. She hadn't said anything to House, just sat down next to home. Since then, she left almost as rarely as House. House was glad for the company. He couldn't be alone.

By Day Eight, the possibility of Libby not being alive next week was sinking in. By Day Nine, even though she was comatose, it was clear she was in pain. Wilson was looking at her, enjoying her presence. He turned towards House.

"She was a great kid. Always did what you asked."

House murmured something unintelligible. Wilson choked his way through the conversation. He knew House had to know what he was about to tell him.

"I've had patients in the past, kids, who were kind of like her. They couldn't die while their parents were in the room. They just couldn't let them down. House, look at me." House gave him a glance, nothing more, nothing less. "You need to let go."

"It's not your daughter."

Wilson got up and left in a huff, nearly crashing with Cuddy on his way out.

"Hey."

House looked up. "Hi."

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, not knowing whether it was due to knowing too much about the other party, or too little, from having too much to say, or absolutely nothing at all.

They sat like that for 23 hours. They dozed, they read the paper, but a word didn't leave their mouths. Suddenly, House jumped up from his seat and did a very good run for a handicapped person down the hallway. Cuddy sat in shock for a few minutes, not exactly sure what to do. She glanced back at Libby, hoping…but for what? A flicker beneath her eyelid? A shift in her position? Anything.

She got up and walked around the hospital for a while, looking for House. She noticed it was completely empty, and very gray. Where is everyone? There are other patients here. Cuddy looked at her watch. 3:06 AM.

Cuddy must have looked for half an hour before she finally found House in the children's playroom in the Oncology Wing. He was scribbling furiously on a piece of construction paper with a green crayon. "House?" No answer. Out of the blue, Cuddy had to know what he was writing. She ripped the paper from his hands and read silently to herself:

Favorite color yellow

Loves dogs

Favorite book is I'll Like You Forever and knows all the words by heart

Has a beautiful singing voice but only sings in private, when she thinks no one's listening

Loved "Sesame Street"

Loved running around the kitchen table

The list went on and on like that. Cuddy looked up at House, tears in her eyes. "House, is this…is this a eulogy?"

House looked at the floor, then made eye-contact. "If I don't do it now, I won't be able to when it's time."

Cuddy ripped the paper in half. "It's not time."

House gave a brief nod and Cuddy actually saw him folding into himself. Finally, he left, to who knows where.

Cuddy spent the rest of the evening taping together the list. She smiled to herself as she noticed that House had forgotten to put down that she loved drawing pictures. She picked up the green crayon and added it in herself.

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House went back to Libby's room after that, fully prepared to say good-bye. He took her hand, and wrapped her little fingers around his, just like the first thing she did for him.

Only to feel the weakest pulse, the softest fingers, the tiniest squeeze as Libby made her way back into this life.