A/N

Thank you all for still reading this!

We're back to the future with this chapter...

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October, 2008

"Michael," she asked, amazed. "It's been a very long time! What are you doing here?"

He laughed, "Getting something to eat. I just moved here, and after spending the day unpacking, I didn't feel like cooking." He relaxed his embrace, "You look just as beautiful as you did in Michigan."

She blushed, something she didn't do easily. "Thank you." she smiled at him.

"Are you meeting someone here? I don't mean to be nosy; I was just wondering if you could join me. It would be nice not to eat alone."

"Well...," she wondered what to say. "I was supposed to be on a blind date, but catching up with an old friend sounds like a much better idea."

"Blind date? You mean you're not married yet?" he looked stunned. When he saw the indigent look on her face, he rushed to explain, "I just meant, that as beautiful, talented, and intelligent as you are, I would have figured you would have guys tripping over themselves for you." He shrugged, "that, and I always thought you and Greg House were destined to be together."

She was shocked at his words, but she was focused on his last line, "All Greg House is destined to be is the biggest pain in my ass." She had to smile at the confused look he had on his face, "Let's grab a table. I'm starving, and the food here is very good."

He nodded, and he offered her his arm. She had to smile; sometimes it felt good to be around a true gentleman. She just hoped that a certain limping twerp wouldn't go and ruin their evening, but the nervous feeling she was starting to feel in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise.

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He limped into the restaurant, and he scanned the tables. He'd hacked into her date book (oh why didn't she change her password), and this was the place that she had typed in the entry blank. His grip tightened on the handle of his cane, and a deep feeling began to burn in his chest. It couldn't be jealousy; he didn't care about her. Or so he told himself, as he spotted her. He worked up his best scowl, and he made his way over to her.

She was having a good time, reminiscing about her days at Michigan. She hadn't really kept up with anyone from those days, and this was a pleasant experience. She laughed as he recounted how another girl in their anatomy class had not known the difference between clavicle and cervical on an exam. "You know," he grinned, "I ran into her at a conference a few years ago, and now she's an OB." He sipped from his wine glass. "So, what are you up to?"

Before she could answer, a rough voice grumbled, "She's assigning parking spots and vetoing my treatment decisions." She closed her eyes, and she counted to ten under her breath. She should have known that he'd find her. One day, she was going to ask him if he had planted a homing beacon somewhere on her.

Micheal, however, took his appearance in stride. "Greg!" he smiled, offering the tall, gaunt man his hand. "It's been a long time!" His brown eyes flickered to the cane, then back up to his eyes. Ina softer tone, he said, "I heard about your leg..."

"Yeah, pulled a hammy playing fantasy football." he interjected, quickly. "Coach told me to walk it off." His blue eyes burned into hers, and she swore she knew what he was thinking. It involved the words jackass and loser. "I need to do that biopsy. Patient got worse." He thrust the file toward her.

She took the file, and she shot him a death glare. To Michael, she explained, "I'm the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House," she shot him another bitter look, "is the head of my diagnostics department. I'm his boss."

"So she thinks, but she wears such tight clothes that most of the male employees have formed pools on whether or not the girls are going to pop out of her top." He shrugged, "Kinda hard to respect someone because of that.

She sighed deeply, but she actually wasn't really embarrassed. He'd done far worse to her at other points in time. She scanned the file, and she realized that he was right. "Okay, have Foreman do the biopsy."

"But, mo-om!" he complained loudly, drawing stares from the other diners.

"No buts." she warmed to his game. "Foreman's the neurologist, you're just a lowly infectious disease man." Her silent look to him conveyed the fact that they would be discussing this in the morning. "Now, get out of here, and treat your patient."

He nodded slowly, then he leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Very loudly, he observed, "At least his toupee looks real! Not like the last guy! He looked like he had a dead rat on his scalp!" Then he limped quickly away, hoping she wasn't going to throw something at him.

She buried her face in her hands, and Micheal laughed. "He really hasn't changed much, has he." She jerked her head up, surprised. "And, my hair is real."

She shook her head, "look, I am SO sorry, I..."

"Knew that he was going to act like that? It's really not a problem, he's always been jealous of any man that has shown interest in you? Remember how he was at Michigan?"

He had a point, and she was a little relieved, "Thank you, for understanding. Most people...don't."

He reached across the table and he took her small hand in his. "I understand this is a combo deal. I'll gain a friend and an insanely jealous stalker. I just hope he doesn't slash my tires," he grinned at her. "So, what are you doing Saturday night?"