House was hiding out in Exam Room 12, playing on his Xbox, when the hotshot new oncologist, Dr. Rick Brody—handsome, slick, abundantly full of himself—barged in.

"Ocupado," House said. "In case you didn't know, that's Spanish for 'get the hell out.'"

"Good to see you, too, House," Brody said. He had the arrogance to believe he could actually win a battle of wits with House.

"You're going to have to do your quarterly self-testicle exam in another room," House said, not bothering to look up from his game. "This one's taken."

"Actually, I was looking for you."

"How'd you know where to. . .? Nevermind. Remind me to unfriend Wilson on Facebook." House's fingers were still dancing on the handheld device—he was even providing his own machine-gun sound effects, like a 10-year-old.

Finally, in an exasperated voice he said: "What do you want, new oncology guy?"

"I wanted to ask you about Dr. Cuddy…"

And with that, House bothered to look up.

"What about her?" he said.

"You guys seem close."

"Close? If by close, you mean she finds a new way to make me miserable every day of my life, then yes, we are practically joined at the hip."

"So you're not seeing her?"

"Seeing her? As in . . .without any clothes on? God no. Who told you that?"

"I just assumed. . .I've seen you two together a lot."

"Strictly indentured servitude on my part."

"Good," Brody said.

"Good?"

"Well, I was planning on asking her out and didn't want to step on any toes. . .Do you know if she ever dates any of the doctors in the hospital?"

House glared at him.

"Why on earth would you want to go out with Dr. Cuddy?"

"Uh, have you seen her?"

"Yes. And I've also spoken to her. She's Satan in a push-up bra."

"I like her. . ." Brody shrugged. "And, if I've been reading her body language correctly, I think she likes me, too. Actually, I was thinking of inviting her to next week's Charity Gala."

House felt a sudden and inexplicable need to deck this guy.

"You can't do that," he said quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because she's going with me."

######

"I need to find a way to get Cuddy out of the country next week," House said.

They were sitting in Wilson's office. House had actually bothered to close the door behind him, so Wilson knew it was serious business.

"What did you do now, House?" he said.

"Nothing. It's just that, under no circumstances, can Cuddy be in town next week."

"What's happening next week?"

"The PPTH gala."

"Oh right. The gala that raises funds for the hospital that she runs. I'm sure she'll gladly skip it."

"But if there was some sort of family emergency? Or all-expense paid Botox retreat? Or Romanian orphan she needed to rescue.. . C'mon, help me out here, Wilson."

"And I repeat: What did you do, House?"

House sighed.

"You know Brody? The new guy in oncology? The one with the fake tan?"

"Yes, I hired him, House—and I'm pretty sure that tan is real, by the way. What about him?"

"He's under the impression I'm taking Cuddy. . .to the dance. . . as my date."

Wilson laughed, shook his head.

"And why would he think that?"

"Probably because I told him I was."

"What the hell, House?"

"He told me he was going to ask her. And he was being so smug about it—all this talk about reading her body language, it was truly nauseating—I had no choice but to launch a counter attack."

"I don't see the problem here," Wilson said with a shrug. "Just ask Cuddy to the dance. Brody doesn't need to know the timeline."

House looked stunned at the very suggestion.

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because she's. . . Cuddy!"

"Look House. It's about time you stopped pulling her hair in the playground and putting frogs on her chair and actually asked her out on an adult date. With adult clothing and adult conversation and maybe even an adult beverage or two. It's obviously the reason you told Brody you were taking her."

"I told Brody I was taking her to make him shut up."

"Or your subconscious was forcing you to do something that you haven't had the nerve to do in real life."

"You think I'm afraid to ask Cuddy out?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I think."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Then prove me wrong."

House folded his arms, smirked at his friend.

"You think if you dare me, I'll actually do it."

"It's worked before," Wilson said dryly.

"If I do happen to ask Cuddy to the gala—and this is a big if—I want to assure you that it's not because you dared me."

"No, of course not."

"Just so we're clear on that."

"We're clear, House . . . and maybe comb your hair before you ask."

########

Cuddy was eating lunch alone in the cafeteria when Dr. Rick Brody, the handsome new doctor that all the nurses were mooning over, materialized at her tableside.

"May I join you?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, equal parts surprised and flattered.

"How's your day going?" Brody asked. He was eating a yogurt parfait with granola and strawberries.

"The usual minor flare ups to put out. No real fires."

"I keep a fire extinguisher in my desk, just in case," he said, winking.

Cuddy laughed, maybe a little too hard. This Brody guy was seriously cute—he had a Mark Harmon thing going for him.

"So," he said. "Excited about next week's gala?"

"I guess. It's really kind of a working party for me. So many boardmembers to schmooze, so little time."

"And I'm sure House is no help on that front."

Cuddy took a sip of her iced tea, narrowed her eyes.

"House?"

"I'm just saying, he doesn't strike me as the type of guy to enjoy small talk."

"That's true. But you've lost me. What does House have to do with the PPTH gala? He hates galas."

Brody stared at her.

"Isn't he your date?"

Cuddy did a spit-take, worthy of a vaudeville comedian.

"I'm sorry. . .my date?"

"He's not taking you to the gala?"

"No! Why on earth would you think House is taking me to the gala?"

"Because he told me he was."

"You must've misunderstood him."

"He was pretty clear."

"He was messing with you."

"He was?"

"Apparently so."

"So. . .who is taking you?"

"I'm going solo."

"Not anymore you're not. Dr. Cuddy, would you do me the honor?"

Cuddy smiled broadly.

"Call me Lisa. And I'd love to."

#########

"House!"

Cuddy stormed into the differential. Something about the way she stomped so confidently in those 3-inch stilettos made her that much more fierce. Everyone kind of flinched.

"Your office—now!"

"Uh oh, I'm in trouble," House said, biting his nails in mock fear. "Keep brainstorming. . .and I use the term loosely."

He followed Cuddy into his office.

"You're hot when you're angry," he said, sitting at his desk.

"Why the hell does Brody think you're taking me to the hospital gala?"

Oh shit.

"He told you about that, huh?"

"Yes."

"I may have of told him I was taking you," House admitted.

"You may have?"

"Okay, I did."

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it's not funny."

"It's no game," House said.

"So. . .you asked me to the gala and I just. . forgot about it? Which is actually possible, considering that extreme trauma can sometimes bring on temporary amnesia."

"Cute Cuddy. What I mean is, I was planning on asking you. . .I just hadn't gotten around to it yet."

"You are so full of it, House. Is this some sort of pissing contest between you and Brody? Are you threatened by the hospital's new alpha male?"

"Is it so hard to believe that I just want to take you to the dance?"

"Yes," Cuddy said.

"Then let me prove you wrong," House said. He instinctively went to smooth his hair with his hands—following Wilson's advice. "Go with me."

"You're asking me out? To the gala?"

"Yes."

"It's too late, House. I'm already going with Dr. Brody."

"But you can't go with him. You were going with me first."

"No, actually I wasn't. That was only in your fevered imagination."

"Do you actually think you'd have more fun with Brody than you would with me?" House said.

"Hmmm. Let me see. He's handsome. He's a responsible adult. And actually likes me. You're right House! Why would I possibly pick him over you?"

"Cuddy, I never took you for someone with such conventional taste."

"You'd be surprised how conventional my taste is."

House shrugged.

"Well, have fun with Dr. Dullard."

"I'd save you a dance House.. .but I suspect you never had any intention of going to the gala to begin with."

"Oh, I'll be there," House said.

"Sure you will, " Cuddy said, getting up. "Oh, and House? In the future, stay out of my private life."

She strut out of his office.

"What was that all about?" Cameron asked with a concerned look when House rejoined the differential.

"Nothing. Cuddy's just upset because I refuse to be her date to the hospital gala."

"But are you still going?" Cameron asked hopefully. "To the gala, I mean?"

House frowned.

"I haven't decided yet," he grumbled.

########

He actually did show up to the gala—sitting at a table with his team and Wilson, wearing a tux, nursing a scotch, and looking bored out of his skull.

When Cuddy and Brody entered the hall, he stared at her brazenly.

"I thought you said he never showed up for these things," Brody said to her.

"He d…doesn't," she stammered.

She stared back for a second—then forced herself to turn to her date.

"Are you sure he's not into you?" Brody asked.

"Yeah. . I'm sure," Cuddy said, suddenly not so sure.

"Good."

They got their drinks, Cuddy introduced Brody to a few of the hospital donors. He really was the perfect date for the dean of medicine—smooth, charming, impressive. All the while, House sat with his eyes trained on her, looking glum.

"Stop sulking," Wilson said to him.

"I'm not," House said sulkily.

"He won. You lost. Get over it."

"He may have won the battle, Wilson. But I will win the war," House said.

House watched with annoyance as Brody took Cuddy's hand, spun her around, and led her to the dance floor.

He took a large swig of his scotch, yanked Cameron by the arm.

"Let's dance," he said.

Cameron, of course, was flushed, flattered, abashed.

"I'd . . . love to," she said.

From his seat, Chase watched the whole scene play out. He was concerned—not just because he wanted Cameron for himself, but because he knew that House didn't.

As Cameron was trying to memorize the way House felt and smelled—fantasizing, as she often did, about being the one woman who could save him from his misery—House was staring over her shoulder, at Cuddy.

Cuddy tried not to look back, but couldn't help herself. What the hell was House's game anyway?

The song ended and a slower one came on—Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World"—one of House's favorites.

"Thanks for the dance, Cameron," he said abruptly. He gave her a platonic pat on the arm and left her, literally, standing alone in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, Chase sprang into action, coming quickly to her rescue.

"Care to dance, lovely lady?" he said, gently taking Cameron's arm and leading her away from House, who was now limping purposefully toward Cuddy and Brody.

Cuddy watched him approach with some dread—it was sort of like witnessing a car crash play out in slow motion.

"My turn, doctor," House said.

"Buzz off, House, " Brody said.

"Cuddy promised me a dance," House said stubbornly. Clearly, he wasn't budging.

"Well, she's dancing with me now," Brody said.

For a second, Cuddy actually feared they were going to come to blows.

"It's okay, Rick," she said. "I'll join you in a second."

And with that, she was in House's arms and Brody was skulking back to their table.

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Yes, very," he said, smiling triumphantly. "And may I say, you look gorgeous tonight."

It was true. She was wearing a form-fitting, champagne-colored backless beaded dress that only a handful of women could pull off—and she was one of them.

"Thank you," she said.

He pulled her in tightly. She rested her head on his chest. House, of course, wasn't a great dancer—he could barely walk, after all—but dancing with him brought back the heady thrill of junior high school mixers. She half expected Mrs. Janikowski, the gym teacher, to come put a ruler between them.

"Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?" she asked skeptically.

Anytime she let down her guard around House, she lived to regret it.

"I'm always nice to you," he said.

His face was so close to hers, they could practically kiss. He smelled vaguely of scotch and the cigar he must've snuck out with Wilson to smoke. Unlike Brody, he wore no cologne.

"Now that's some revisionist history," she chuckled.

"I promise to be nice to you from now on," he whispered in her ear.

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Yes, but I'm obviously not responsible for what I'm saying right now," he said, looking her up and down admiringly. "Under the circumstances, it's not fair to hold me accountable."

She snorted, pretending that his flattery didn't affect her. In fact, it was totally working. She'd seen House be a jerk, she'd seen him be a sexist pig, but she hadn't seen him in full-on seduction mode since college. He'd gotten better at it.

He grinned at her. "So how's Doctor Doofus?"

"What's your deal with him anyway? Why are you so obsessed?"

"I never gave him so much as a single thought until last week," House said.

"What changed?"

"He asked you out."

She stared at him, surprised. She mulled his words over a bit.

"To be perfectly honest, Brody's a little boring," she said finally. "He keeps talking about this yacht that he has a time share in."

"How thrilling."

"Also, he's a shameless name dropper. He apparently treated Rudy Giuliani's prostate cancer."

"He's practically a national hero."

"He seems to think so."

"I told you you should've come with me," House said, dipping her.

"C'mon House. Were you ever serious about taking me?"

"Of course."

"But what about Cameron?" she asked teasingly. "She's obviously smitten with you. And unlike me, she's a sure thing."

"I prefer a challenge," he said. He took his hand and caressed her the skin of bare back.

#####

"Jesus, they're practically making out!" Chase said to Cameron. At her request, he had been giving a play-by-play of House and Cuddy's moves on the dance floor.

"Really?" she looked over her shoulder, trying not to be too conspicuous.

"House and Dr. Cuddy. . .wow," Chase said. "I should've known that you couldn't have that much hostility without some sexual tension to go with it."

"What are they doing now?" Cameron said, craning her neck to see better.

"His hand is basically on her ass," Chase reported.

"Oh. . ." she sighed, trying to mask her disappointment. "And now what?"

"Cameron—what do you see in him?" Chase asked pointedly. "He's a jackass. You know he's a jackass. Plus, he's so. . .old."

"I don't like him that way anymore," she said defensively. "I'm just curious about what's happening with Cuddy. . .what are they doing now?"

"House is looking at his pager. Which means, we need to look at our pagers, too, because they're probably going off."

Sure enough, their patient was crashing.

"This guy has lousy timing," House grumbled to Cuddy. "He is dying at a very inconvenient time."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

"Of course. He has the good fortune of being treated by your hospital's best doctor," he boasted. "Save me a celebratory dance for after I pull him back from the brink, okay?"

"I'd like that."

She watched him limp away.

It took her about 30 whole seconds to remember that her real date, Dr. Rick Brody, oncologist to the stars, was waiting for her back at the table.

######

The party winded down some time after 12:30, but House had not come back upstairs.

Cuddy made her way toward his office. The hospital had a different feel late at night. Everyone spoke in hushed voices, moved at a slower pace.

She was expecting him to be long gone. The flirting, the dance, the promise of more romance to come—it all seemed a bit like a dream now.

Instead, she found him sitting alone in the dark, deep in thought, twisting a rubberband around his fingers.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He looked up. "My patient died," he said, almost to himself. He seemed truly stunned.

"Oh House. I'm so sorry."

He blinked.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 1 am."

"Oh. . . where's Captain Wonderful?"

Cuddy smiled.

"He left a long time ago. . .he wasn't very happy with our little dance. Referred to it as foreplay."

"Foreplay, huh?" he raised his eyebrows a bit. But he had lost some of his gumption to flirt.

"And where's the rest of the team?" Cuddy asked.

"I guess they . . .left."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. . ." she said reluctantly. "I'll guess I'll see you on Monday then?"

She began walking toward the door.

"Don't leave," House said quietly, firmly.

Cuddy stopped.

"I don't want to be alone."

She looked at him. It was a line, right? The oldest line in the book: "I'm sad, baby. Console me."

But did she care? Why had she come down to his office if not to consummate what they had started on the dance floor?

So she stood, frozen.

He got up from his desk, walked up to her, wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, as though they were still dancing. They swayed a bit, a very slow dance to no music.

Then he began kissing her—his mouth was insistent and probing. His hands were in her hair and moving up and down her body, and he was devouring her, kissing her like his life depended on it.

Moments later, there was a sound of a door being opened, then a stifled gasp.

They both looked up.

"I'm sorry. . . I . . . didn't mean . . .I . . ."

It was Cameron.

By then, House had Cuddy pinned against the wall. His shirt was untucked and his belt dangled, half-open—Cuddy's handiwork. Her dress was unzipped in the back, the shoulder straps lowered, dangerously close to sliding off her to the ground—House's handiwork.

He dropped his arms, allowing Cuddy to duck out from under him.

"I'm sorry," Cameron repeated, her face a deep crimson. "I didn't know you guys were. . ."

She'd had an image in her mind of a woman comforting House tonight, but that woman was most definitely not Cuddy.

"It's not what you think," Cuddy said, zipping her dress hastily, although there was really no point.

"I know. . . I didn't see anything," Cameron lied.

"What do you want, Cameron?" House said evenly.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay," she said pathetically.

"Obviously, I'm fine," he said.

"Okay. . .good. . .Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," House said.

And she ran down the hall, as fast as she could, as far away from him as possible, her face streaked with tears.

She slammed right into Chase, who had forgotten his iPod in the DDx room.

"Allison, are you okay?"

She looked at him. He was everything House wasn't—sweet, caring, so very pretty.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she said.

"Me neither," he said eagerly. "We can go anywhere you like. I just have to get my iPod out of the office."

"Uh, that's probably not a good idea."

########

Back in House's office, Cuddy was mortified. It hadn't exactly been a banner night for professionalism on the job.

"Well, that was awkward," House said, trying to make light of things.

"I should go. . ." she said.

"Nooooo!" he protested.

Any concern about the patient seemed to have dissipated. Right now, House just wanted to finish what he and Cuddy had started.

He leaned in, gave her a soft, tantalizing kiss.

"Back off, Romeo. We can't stay here," she said. "Cameron might come back—with Mrs. Janikowski."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. . ." she kissed him back. "My place?"

"Too far!" he moaned, kissing her neck.

Then an idea popped into his head. He smiled, like he was sharing a very dirty secret: "I know an Exam Room that's probably empty right now. . ."