A/N: This is my very first Thouse story. I usually don't write stories this dark but the idea just came into my head and wouldn't let go so I had to write it. It is set ten years in the future with Thirteen and House in an established relationship. I took liberties with trying to image the possible progress in medicine but if it's not like this ten years from now, don't blame me.

Take one thing into consideration before reading the story. If you have a problem with euthanasia, don't read. And don't leave me a review that says "I don't believe in euthanasia." That is hardly the main point in my story.

Disclaimer: If I owned House, he wouldn't still be fawning over Cuddy and thinking he's in love with her. And she would never have got involved with Foreman.

She looks so fragile. His eyes gazed over her face, taking in her closed eyes, shallow breathing and the slight twitching of her neck. All the medication in the world couldn't take the symptoms away completely, no matter how they had tried, how much trials she had undergone, how rapidly the medicine progressed in the field of treatment for Huntingon's chorea.

House was still amazed ten years and a degenerative disease hadn't taken anything away from her appearance. She was just as lean as when he first met her. Her hair was shorter but she didn't have any grey hair. She seemed exhausted and there were age lines around her eyes and mouth but to him, she was still the most beautiful woman.

"You are doing that thing again." She spoke quietly, with her eyes still closed but her lips were curved into a small smile.

"What thing?"

"Watching me with such intensity I can feel it with my eyes closed, House."

A real smile appeared on his face. She was joking so she must've been feeling good.

"I was just imagining you in anonymous girl-on-girl action," he offered a joke on his behalf as well and she accepted it by outstretching her hand.

The trembling was evident there. Thirteen couldn't drink from a glass more than half full because the liquid would spill. Only when he held her hand, did it ever slow.

She was going to be forty next year but there was a great possibility she will have succumbed to dementia by that time. Her mental abilities were still as good as they had ever been but the prognosis was not positive in that area and he knew she would hate that.

His time was running up as well. Despite having gone off Vicodin and alcohol more than ten years ago, his doctor had warned him liver failure was in the near future for him. A transplant would be possible, given his reputation but that would only give him more years to endure not only the constant pain in his leg but also the side-effects of aging.

"Please tell me the treatment is over and I can leave." Thirteen opened her eyes and gave him a demanding look. A one hour long treatment every day was the only thing keeping her body's muscles in somewhat good shape so she didn't have to endure the constant twitching and they were thankful for that.

"You know I'm not the doctor but if you want to, we can play doctor and patient." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she laughed. A ten year long relationship with her didn't mean he was going to stop being inappropriate, suggestive and sexist.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was going to play that with the cute nurse who was here the other day. But maybe you want to oversee the procedure?" He had known all along she was cut out from the same wood as he was and she continued to prove that every day.

Thirteen was released a few minutes later and House wheeled her out. She brought out the qualities in him no one knew he even had: he was caring, protective, even nurturing.

By the time they got home, she was tired again and had to lie down while House gave her the pills she had to take in addition to the treatment.

"I had a talk with Dr. Casey. She said that the treatment's too weak. She has to increase the dosage and I have to have it every twelve hours from now on. And she thinks that my mental abilities have already started to decrease."

He didn't say anything. He already knew that, so he just held her close, silently grieving for the time her illness was in the background. Until two years ago, she had been fine. There was only a slight tremble in her hands that had forced her to stop practicing medicine four years ago and even though they both knew Huntington's didn't just go away, they were irrationally hoping it had.

It had hit Thirteen suddenly and with tremendous force. She had lost the ability to control her muscle movements in a matter of weeks. The doctors had been able to control it with drugs and pills and injections and experimental methods. He had given up practicing as well to be with her; he had money to last more than a decade. But they both knew she wouldn't live longer than ten years.

"I'm so tired of this all, Greg. I just want it to be over." She spoke in a hushed tone and he knew what she was asking of him. They had joked about euthanasia but neither of them laughed about it.

"I know. Me too." He could've grown old with a liver transplant but it wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't really about his leg or his fear of being an old, incapable man; he was already a cripple. He didn't want to be left without her.

They had drafted all the paperwork in advance so nobody could become suspicious and try and stop them. Not that anyone would have. Wilson knew what was going on in House's head – and heart – more than House would ever acknowledge. He understood the depth of his feelings for Thirteen and saw how much her deteriorating health affected House. And all the rest didn't really matter.

She looked into his eyes and for the first moment he saw what he had been afraid to see for the past two years: decisiveness.

"I cannot live without my sanity, House. You have promised me I would have a way out."

"And I cannot live without you."

The statements hung in the air, letting them both know the gravity of what had been said. She wanted to die. He didn't want to live alone. And so it was decided.

Two days later the preparations were done. He left letters, legal documents, everything needed to make sure the proceedings went smoothly.

Thirteen was waiting for him in the bedroom as he entered with a glass of water and two red pills. He didn't say what they were and she didn't ask. It didn't really matter.

"It will take five minutes to take effect. You will start to feel drowsy and sleepy and basically you feel like falling asleep. I think this is better than jumping to a bloody pulp."

Even before imminent death, he was the same as he had always been and she was glad he wasn't going to turn into someone else. She didn't want him to cry, talk her out of it or do anything overtly emotional and unlike him.

In a swift second they took the pills and then he took her in his arms, intertwining his fingers with hers to stop them from trembling.

"It was a fun ride while it lasted, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "Glad you were the one sitting next to me."

He didn't believe in afterlife so she didn't say something meaningless like Meet you on the other side.

"I love you."

"I know."

A/N: It was emotionally hard for me to write this but I feel that someone like Thirteen would want to die on her own terms. Euthanasia is a very controversial topic everywhere and I'm not saying anything about my personal preferences but I thought it would suit them.