Author's note: I'm new to this whole thing, so please R&R.

Rating: K, for this part, it'll get saucier later, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own House, or any of his associates (I would if I had enough money.)

Chapter 1

She felt as though she was falling, spinning out of control, gaining momentum in that sickening, stomach-lurching spiral of fear. Rain streamed downwards and melted into her tears. She was broken and she knew it, as lost in life as those fated raindrops in the vastness of the black abyss above. Her heartbreak was underpinned, perhaps, by her realisation that she had not even been living before she knew she was dying. She had spent her entire life failing to make anything meaningful; pushing anything and anyone with a connection to her away. She had nothing and no one, and all she wanted now was to feel. To feel something; a hand in hers, a pair of eyes that weren't afraid to look and to keep on looking even when she looked away. There was an ache somewhere in her body, or maybe it was in her whole body, that never ceased, and had multiplied a thousand times in the hour that had passed since she had looked at that piece of paper. She needed to feel the rain pouring down on her, its beating sheets like a heartbeat of company in her desolation.

"Dr Hadley?" a hesitant voice called out to her. Thirteen could hardly bear to look around. She didn't know what she had expected really, the bench outside the hospital entrance was not the most private location for an emotional breakdown.

"Remy. . .?" the voice called out again, approaching her from behind. Thirteen clasped her hands in front of her and stared at them, unsure as to whether she could handle a conversation at this moment.

Dr Allison Cameron climbed up to sit next to her on the back of the bench, her feet resting on the seat below, hands clasping the wood to steady herself.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked softly, her face shocked to see the distress so obvious not only on Thirteen's face, but also in her posture, her body stiff and shivering. She was soaked to the bone, and dripping, which looked now to be Cameron's fate.

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked gently, her closest hand coming to rest on Thirteen's shoulder, the raindrops now falling on Cameron's exposed skin. Her compassion caused Thirteen to look away suddenly, and Cameron knew she was crying again when she felt the shoulder tremble and shake beneath her hand, heard Thirteen attempt to choke back the tears, and to hide her face in her hands. Cameron's gesture had reminded Thirteen once again of the lonely, self-contained farce that she called her life, and she cried like a child remembering that she had not let anyone touch her like this in a long time.

"Hey, it's okay," Cameron whispered, as she moved closer. Thirteen felt arms envelope her, a warmth as Cameron held her, and rocked her back and forth.

"It's okay, I'm not gonna leave you." she said soothingly, tears welling in her own eyes. In her darkness, Thirteen grieved, for all those lost years she had missed, and all those lost years she would never have. Cameron stroked her hair, not knowing what else to say, not knowing whether to ask. And when Thirteen opened her eyes and looked up at her, Cameron knew that this went deeper than she would ever know. She couldn't begin to understand the terrible aching yearn of regret she saw framed by those long, wet eyelashes; Thirteen's wide eyes themselves the colour of heavy, bruised rainclouds in a darkening sky.

"You can't stay here, like this," Cameron reinforced, slowly, "I'm gonna take you home now, or you'll catch pneumonia."

"I'm so sorry," Thirteen said throatily, "I . . ." her voice trailing to a whisper.

"You don't have to explain," Cameron replied, "but you have to get out of this rain before you freeze."

Cameron stepped down from the bench, and reached out to hold Thirteen's grasped hands in her own. She separated them, and held both softly, pulling Thirteen down. Thirteen allowed herself to be guided, supported by Cameron's arm around her waist, into the shelter of Cameron's car. Cameron opened the passenger door, and helped Thirteen inside, leading the other woman like a child. She opened the driver's door, and climbed inside, her face concerned for the woman sat next to her who was staring out of the window. She shut the door, and started the engine hesitantly.

The soft hum and whir of the engine and the rain against the outside of the car felt like a finality to Thirteen. She wondered if this was what it would feel like to be in space, in one of those little capsules, locked away in a vacuum where nothing could touch you and time seemed to stop.

"I have Huntington's." she said, her gaze still fixed at an eternal point out of the window.

She could almost hear Cameron's intake of breath, almost feel Cameron's horror, feel her resolve to say something.

"I'm so sorry." Cameron whispered, breaking the silence. "Did you just find out today?"

"Yeah." Thirteen looked up at her, a small smile of irony and fear gracing her beautiful, stricken face, before looking down at her hands.

"I'm so sorry," Cameron repeated, a sick, bleak feeling taking over her whole body, a pointless, desolate fear washing over her in waves. "Would you, I mean, would you like to. . . if you didn't want, you could stay with me tonight?"

Thirteen paused to consider whether she wanted to be alone again, alone in the endless monotony of loneliness that she had felt for so long. "Okay," she said in a small voice.

They reached Cameron's apartment, and both stepped out of the car, shell-shocked and weak. Cameron wrapped her arm around the younger doctor, and led her up the stairs to her apartment. She unlocked the door, switched on the light and turned around to find Thirteen standing, like an island, lost in the middle of the room, rivulets of water still running from her thin shirt and onto the carpet. Cameron's heart jumped a little, she felt a longing, some sort of innate sensibility to protect the other woman from harm. She felt anger as she realised that all the harm that would hurt Thirteen was there in her body, a ticking time bomb, with every breath, every heartbeat bringing her closer to the end. She wondered if that was the reason she had invited her; her subconscious need to surround herself with broken people, surround herself with their repugnancy that, in her eyes, seemed to have a kind of artful beauty.

"I'll get you a towel," Cameron said, coming out of her reverie, "and some clean clothes." She disappeared into her bedroom, her actions quick and deliberate, reluctant to leave Thirteen by herself for long. She came back into the room to find Thirteen still standing, all traces of her tears gone from her face, her hands firmly rooted in her front pockets.

"Here," Cameron handed the towel, t-shirt and sweatpants to Thirteen, "I'll go and make some coffee for us." Thirteen replied with a fleeting smile, so brief that Cameron thought she might have imagined it.

Cameron left to make the coffee, and Thirteen began to change. She sat down on the sofa when she was finished, and quietly awaited Cameron's return. So many thoughts ran through her head, it began to pound incessantly with their intensity. She didn't know what to do with herself, this was clearly a time meant for reflection, contemplation, perhaps to gaze into the mirror and form some ludicrous musing that had no relevance to real life. But all she could feel was numb, she felt the coldness returning, seeping over her mind, her face becoming expressionless.

She felt movement beside her as Cameron sat down, and placed a mug of hot coffee into her hands. Cameron didn't look at her, which she was grateful for.

"It doesn't have to be this difficult, you know?" Cameron said slowly, wondering at her own audacity. "You should let someone else take some of the. . . weight of it. I know talking about it is clichéd and you're probably going to walk straight out of that door, but you don't have to."

Cameron took a sip of her coffee, and turned to face Thirteen, who was still silent. Thirteen knew she had opened up too much, she felt herself paddling backwards furiously, trying to reign herself in, to bottle back those emotions that she had allowed to diffuse from that dark place where she kept them, paralysed.

"Yes, I do, need to go." Thirteen answered, playing true to a lifetime of running. "Erm, thank you, I'll return your clothes."

She stood up, avoiding Cameron's eyes, and began to leave, opening the door and stepping through the doorway.

Cameron looked down at the cup in her hands.

"I don't remember ever crying." Thirteen stated, her voice breaking slightly, her hand still on the open door. "Apart from what you just saw, obviously. I didn't know I could."

Cameron looked up at her, and their eyes met, a moment neither would forget. She stood up, and reached around Thirteen to close the door.

"You'd be surprised what tears can heal. And sleep, for that matter." Cameron said sensitively. She led Thirteen into her bedroom, their hands firmly clasped. She pulled back the quilt cover, and motioned for Thirteen to lie down. Cameron pulled the cover over the other woman's body, and went around to the empty side, getting in herself.

They lay there for minutes in silence, the rain pouring and dripping onto the rooftop and tricking down the glass window in twisted and knotted rivers. Thirteen held Cameron's hand tightly, and only relaxed as her breathing began to slow and soften. And as she stared at the ceiling, Cameron's eyes were as wet and dark as the sky outside.