1Disclaimer: Hello, House fanatics! This particular fic comes from the 'You Pyg!' universe, which I hope you have read b/c we have been BLATANTLY PLUGGING IT since we wrote it. Please, go read and review it. Reviews are our anti-drug. We live just north of the Meth capital of the US. It is pathetically easy for us to score drugs if we so desired. Please don't be responsible for the rapid decline of two youthful, brilliant minds such as ours. Oh, wait. I'm getting off subject. House M.D. is owned by David Shore...and he won't share, the jerk.

A/N: Any of you guys see 'Inside the Actor's Studio' with Hugh Laurie on Bravo Aug. 1st? Ack! Fangirl squeals were prevalent in my house that night. Watching it did three things for me: 1. Made me hate James Lipton (that pompous $) more than ever. 2. Confirmed, once again, that Hugh is the sexiest man in television. 3. Gave me a feeling of pride as about twenty of our 101 reasons were confirmed by Hugh Laurie personally. Excellent.

Ramblings Ten: "House-coming"

"Aw, honey, you look so handsome."

Greg House glared at his mother, who bit her tongue to keep herself from laughing. The comment had been carefully manufactured to irritate the hell out of her youngest son. She smiled as she adjusted his tie for him and tried to make his hair do something constructive, 'It's certainly true, though,' she thought. He impatiently batted her hands away and went to go look in the mirror.

"So who's this girl who you're going with, again?" she asked impishly, silently blessing the girl for giving her this rare opportunity to get a rise out of her son.

Greg stopped looking in the mirror and checked his watch, avoiding his mom's smirking glance. "For the billionth time: her name's Gabriella Clemons and she plays opposite me in the musical. I wouldn't be going to this stupid thing if I weren't subjected to her presence for three hours a day, five days a week. There's a reason everyone calls her 'Gabby'. I'm simply preserving what's left of my sanity, so you can wipe that damn grin off your face."

Unfazed, his mother calmly remarked 'Language, dear' and grabbed him one more time to look him over before standing and brushing wrinkles out of her nursing uniform. She'd have to go straight to work after he was picked up by his date. She bit back a giggle as she thought of her prickly son being picked up by his date, who'd also been the one to ask him out.

As he checked his watch again and then adjusted his tie in the mirror she couldn't help but comment, "Your insistence that you are going against your will would be a lot more believable if you weren't so obviously nervous."

"Or if you hadn't bought her a corsage with your own money," chipped in Chris as he popped into the room to grab his car keys off the dresser. "Cute, by the way. Saw it in the fridge as I was grabbing an apple for the drive to work." Greg was about to serve his brother with a biting comment about his minimum-wage job and a suggestion of where he could stick his apple that would have had his mom giving him a taste test of lye soap when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway stopped him short. He glanced out the window to see a slight, pretty, brown-haired girl in a loudly colored dress pop out of the driver's seat of a brown Vista Cruiser and bounce up to the front door. His mom watched, smiling, as he ran off to fetch the corsage from the fridge. Catching up to him, she straightened his tie one last time before the door bell rang. He paused, and looked at her wide eyed, one hand on the doorknob.

"You don't think the corsage is lame?" he asked quietly.

Mrs. House glanced out at the beaming girl waiting on the porch. "Don't worry 'bout it, kid," she said, smiling fondly at her son, "I think she likes lame."

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Greg was about ready to shoot himself.

They'd gone to a cheesy Japanese steakhouse, which wasn't too bad…except that it hadn't just been him and Gabby. They'd tripled…triple, that's three couples…with all of her crazy friends from their acting class. 'Actors,' he thought, irritated, 'may as well count as three couples EACH for all the noise they make.' He conveniently forgot that, having the lead role in the school musical, he was technically an actor too.

The other two couples consisted of Tom, Allie and John-and-Ainsy. Tom Zuko was a shorter blond guy with a wide smile and a love for thirties-style outfits…down, or rather up, to the zoot suit-esque hat. Allie Calhoun, his date, was bold and flirtatious with gypsy-like dark brown hair that curled loosely to just past her shoulders. Most of the drama class called her 'Sexy Allie' though it was more because of her outgoing, likeable personality than her looks, (though they weren't bad either). John North and Ainsy Aberforth had been the 'hot couple' most of this year. Any individual personality they'd had to begin with had therefore somehow been molded into one single set of characteristics encompassing the both of them. John-and-Ainsy were bright and fun, but spent most of the time staring at each other, cuddling each other, and teasing and/or talking about each other.

Gabby was her usual self. She beamed at everyone, chattered incessantly, (though Greg had to admit she never talked over anybody, always made sure others took part in the conversation, and listened when she wasn't speaking), and generally had a good time. She artfully steered discussion away from John-and-Ainsy's back-and-forth compliments, and had everyone talking about movies, music, and, to Greg's irritation, the musical. While he believed that NO straight man enjoyed Abba, or at least admitted to it, had personally not thought 'Rocky Horror Picture Show' worth all the fuss of dressing up, and wasn't particularly interested in the trailers for that space film coming out this summer, (though he had really enjoyed 'American Graffiti'), he would have preferred continued talk about those subjects than to be hassled into quoting lines from the musical he'd been practicing FOR THE PAST MONTH AND A HALF!

By the end of dinner, his brain was pounding and he wished he had swiped some of the brandy his mom kept in the medicine cabinet in case of emergencies. After they paid their bill, Gabby tipped the waitress an extravagant 25, (her mother was a waitress, and she was adamant about compensating good service towards rowdy teenagers with a large gratuity) and they packed themselves back into the car and headed for the dance.

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"From the way you've avoided dancing-or even leaving your chair-for the entirety of the dance, people will think you've got a bum leg."

Greg glanced up as Gabby smiled brightly at him and sat down in the chair next to him. "All the songs so far have been crap."

"True enough," she said, "It's a school dance; it goes with the territory. Still fun to dance to."

"I can't dance."

"You dance fine in rehearsal."

"I don't like dancing," he growled, irritated with her for pressing.

"Then why come to a dance?" she said, still fixing him with that humor-filled grin. That slightly smug, triumphant look was just enough to tick him off.

"I didn't want to come to the dance in the first place!" he hissed at her. "And the fact that I was nagged into it by a nosy, noisy chatterbox who won't leave well enough alone does NOT change that fact in the slightest!"

It wiped the grin off her face, but it didn't make him feel good.

Gabby rose, and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find the words. Instead, she nodded curtly and walked off. Greg stared after her, not sure what had just happened. He'd known her for two months now. Though she was generally liked, you couldn't chatter incessantly, be in advanced placement classes, and sing show tunes in the hallways and not be teased and ragged on in high school. He'd witnessed many small acts of unprovoked cruelty directed at her and had never even seen her flinch.

But he could swear he'd seen a tear trickling down her cheek just then.

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He found her in a dark hallway just outside the gymnasium doors, but far enough away that there was no chance of a random passerby noticing the slim girl cradling her knees in her arms and softly singing to herself. Her head rested wearily against the wall behind her, her eyes closed, and though she wasn't crying, he could see she had been. He supposed she found the song bitterly ironic, and was surprised how much it hurt to hear something normally so cheerful sung with the hushed, harsh sound of someone who'd recently been crying.

I could have danced all night,

I could have danced all night,

And still have begged for more…

He took a deep breath. He hadn't meant it. He really hadn't. Now he had to deal with this.

He hated apologizing.

"Women are irrational, that's all there is to that! Their heads are full of cotton, hay, and rags. They're nothing but exasperating, irritating, vacillating, calculating, agitating, maddening and infuriating hags!" he said, conversationally, and rose his eyebrows at her when her eyes shot open.

"You forgot emotional," she snapped bitterly.

"That's not part of the script."

"It becomes a part of it when you throw someone's insecurities in their face until they're a sopping headache-y crying mess."

"I know your head aches; I know you're tired; I know your nerves are as raw as meat in a butcher's window. But think what you're trying to accomplish. Think what you're dealing with."

She threw her arms up in disgust, popping to her feet, more mad now than upset. "I'm dealing with an insufferable head case who won't stop quoting his own lines at me and is without a doubt the RUDEST person I've met!"

"The question is not whether I've treated you rudely but whether you've ever heard me treat anyone else better."

She glared at him. Then, shakily, she started to laugh. When she finally calmed down, she looked at him and shook her head. "You are unbelievable you know that? Completely unbelievable."

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry, ok? I just find this whole dance, and you, extremely overwhelming."

She giggled a bit. "I guess I can see that. I don't…try to be irritating."

He blew out a disgusted breath. "You aren't. I'm just an unsociable misanthrope. Always have been, always will be. Just like Higgins I guess."

"High schools are nefarious for type-casting," she agreed.

"I imagine you're wishing you went for Freddy Einsford-Hill instead? I'm sure Charlie would have danced all night with you."

"He would be the smarter choice. But Eliza returns to Higgins at the end, and somehow I still only want to dance with you."

Greg looked at his feet. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to deal with this girl. She was so…nice. He didn't understand why she would possibly waste all that time on him. He wasn't nice at all.

But he supposed he could try. After all, he did agree to be her Homecoming date.

"Would you like to dance, Gabby?"

She took his hand and smiled at him. "Yeah."

A/N: Who is Gabby Clemons? Why are we writing a story where House's love interest is not Allison Cameron? Why is my author's note comprised entirely of questions so far? I will answer two questions and leave the other unanswered. It's comprised of questions because I want it to be. Cameron can not possibly be more than three years old at this time, and may not even be born yet, to tell the truth. Besides which, everyone is entitled to a high school sweetheart that doesn't last beyond but is still meaningful. And who is she? READ YOU PYG AND FIND OUT!