A/N: I've had this and the previous chapter for a while, I apologize. Hopefully this will make some sense. It has really taken a mind of it's own and now I have to get control of it again, for the next chapter. The song, Minnie the Moocher is credited to the Band From T.V. cover, lyrics aren't hard to find.

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Fundraising. It can be split into several other forms. Fund and Raising, thus meaning the raising of funds. However, the word 'Fun' can also be gotten out of the word. But in no sense can it's meaning be taken as 'fun raising'. Never have I been to a fundraiser that was even remotely a good waste of my time. Not that I'd really be doing a whole lot with my time anyway.

But that's not the point. I'm stuck here at the hospital fundraiser, being bored out of my mind, being able to do nothing enjoyable but play poker and look at Cuddy's fun bags or amazing ass in her gorgeous red and black gown. She defiantly looks sexy, Spanish style.

By now, of course, I am pretty drunk. Not that that's a really bad thing, cause everyone else here is drunk too. Cuddy's had several of her martinis, Wilson must be feeling down, cause he's got a cosmos like Amber used to drink. I'm sticking with the usual, a scotch or sometimes bourbon.

Chase isn't here, he's at his cousin's wedding in Australia. He didn't take Cameron, because she's sipping on a Margarita, and I'm intrigued. Foreman and Thirteen came as a couple. Thirteen is of course looking gorgeous in gold, Foreman defiantly got lucky. Taub actually brought his wife, I'm impressed; they're busy chatting with Foreteen.

I'm playing poker with Cuddy, Wilson, and Cameron. Cameron is beating us all out. Wilson is dead already, and Cuddy and I'll are fighting it out. It really is a deadly game. I'm watching intently as the game goes on, playing when I need to and thinking about the intriguing things that I've noticed about my coworkers so far. And I'm dead bored.

The new donor is asking to be dealt in. I refrain from saying anything rash cause Cuddy really hammered me for the pills getting mixed up thing. I don't want any more clinic hours, and I'm too tired and drunk to make much of this right now.

I look up from my drink just in time to see the new donor, Mr. I'm one rich ass dude, ask Cuddy to dance. And now I'm just drunk enough to let my feelings get the better of me. Well, alcohol induced feelings. At least that's what I want everyone to think. I'm one jealous ass right now, and Cuddy deserves a better dancing partner than Mr. Rich Ass Donor.

I secretly took some methadone earlier today, and it wore off a while ago, thank God (or I wouldn't be downing bourbon and scotch). But the effects are lasting and I feel pretty good. What's one dance?

I don't wait to long for the song to change, they had started in the middle of a slow boring song. They're about to start dancing to this spicy, Spanish song when I walk up. Something like Smooth.

" 'Scuse me, I've got a lady to dance with," And god can she dance. The Song's got good tempo, and it's not too fast for my leg. I can handle it. Cuddy is surprised, I can tell, and she knows that I can tell. I also know that I'm going to either be out some clinic hours, or in deeper. I twirl her in time to the beat, we're chest to rack. Her cheek is brushing mine. I know that I'm making someone else into a jealous bastard right now, even more jealous than I was.

I haven't danced in years, not like this. But then again, my leg hasn't felt this good in a long time. I'm not even limping. I'm dancing like I used to. And I loved to dance. I took Ballroom lessons once. It made my dad pretty mad, he was kinda weirded out. My mom loved it, she had the same passion for dance.

The song has changed, but I'm not letting her go. It's one of my favorites, and I'll really be able to get into it. Moondance, the Michael Bublé version, is as good as my dancing gets. The Spanish was her thing, but with this I can really lead her. And she's glowing. I sneak a glance at Mr. Rich Ass Donor. He's red, and mad, a cripple dances better than he does.

I've got her closer, and she's getting hot, whether its embarrassment, or attraction I don't know, or care. As we swing out, I can tell that she's smiling, having fun. And the song is ending, slow and close. We're facing away, and I give her kiss on her cheek. She pulls away, a little. She thinks I'm too drunk to have all my inhibitions.

"One more dance, it's Fever, "and I pull her back in, and she complies.

God, is he really that drunk? He's kissed me, and I'm wondering what, if anything, my position dictates that I do in this situation. But he's looking at me in that way, and I know it's not the alcohol. He actually wants to dance with me. And he's good. Better than Mr. Rocheré.

The song has ended, and it really was a good song to dance to, he's got that style down pat. Another more Latin style song comes on. Another Michael Bublé, I'm guessing. And House knows that I like that Latin tempo, so we just keep dancing.

We're close again, and it's almost intimate. Wilson is watching us with his little knowing smirk, and I'm wondering who it's meant for. Maybe it's both of us. House defiantly told Wilson about our kiss, and Wilson told me about House's Itch.

Summer Wind comes on and House stops dancing. He takes me by the hand and leading me over to a table. He pulls out a chair for me, pushing it in as I sit down. He's getting us drinks, not either of our usual. He's getting us wine. The good stuff too. Wilson meant that smirk for House. He brings me the wine, and then excuses himself.

Wilson is coming over to me, and I smile, a little.

"House has quite the thing for you tonight, how drunk is he?"

The last part was for my benefit, and his. He's not going to give his friend away. "Wilson, he's not that drunk, he's jealous, and …" I don't finish, Wilson does.

"In love," He raises his eyebrows at me. "Isn't it a fickle thing? You and I know well what it's like, and tomorrow, it'll be just like it always is,"

"He kissed me,"

"What?"

Wilson is surprised, defiantly surprised. "He kissed me,"

"Right here in front of everyone? He kissed you? Just like that?"

I nod my head, and give Wilson my 'I know 'look. "You should go, he'll be coming back," Wilson just nods and leaves, just as House comes back, sitting down at the table and pouring us both a glass of red wine.

Music was still playing and he just sat looking at me, saying nothing. He was going to make me start the conversation. And I have no idea what to say.

She had no idea what to say. I don't really either. It's better if I don't say anything, I really don't feel like screwing this up. I wonder if I even can. I just sit looking at her with my ice blue eyes and I know she can't not meet my gaze. Her eyes are huge, a grey-blue. I want to drown in them. I think. That coming out of my head is just a little drunk sounding.

I can't think of a word to say. I'm going to do what I do every time. "Goodnight," I say. And I stand up, without so much as touching my glass. I grab my cane and walk towards the door, I open the door, and I walk out to the dying sounds of the band playing Come Fly With Me. I can only hope that I haven't ruined it, that she would have done the same thing. But I know that I ruined it. I'll always ruin it.

I need to negate everything. And now I know why. I negate everything because it's what I know. I can say it, but I can't say what I feel, only what I want others to think I feel. Why? I have no idea. I lost to Mr. Rich Ass Donor. He'll be all over Cuddy by now. I can believe I lost, willingly, against my will. A nice scotch on the rocks would be nice right about now. I need to drown, and I can't do it in Cuddy's eyes, or in her cleavage.

I can't believe what I'm doing right now. I've turned around and gone back in. The back entrance. The band is taking a break and I can just see the rented Grand Piano out of the corner of my eye. I walk over as quietly as I can to the beautiful Steinway.

The keys are a beautiful ivory and I sit down and begin to play some non-descript little tune. I've played it before, when I should have been at Cuddy's baby naming ceremony. I've entitled it Serenade for Elizavetra, or Cuddy's Serenade for short. No one really takes notice of the fact that the band isn't back yet.

It's time to step it up a little, make an impression. The music filters out and then -

"This is the story of Minnie the Moocher
She was a red hot hoochie-koocher
She was the roughest, toughest frail
But Minnie had a heart as biiiig as wha-a-le."

The piano interlude rang out clearly in the now silent room, and I could feel all eyes on me in confusion.

"Minnie messed around with a bloke named Smoky
She loved him though he was cokey
He took her down to china t own
And he showed her how to kick the gong around,"

I can see Cuddy and Wilson staring at me in wonder/horror and the rest of the hospital, either looking disgruntled/disgusted or enjoying my performance; some couples began to dance, I'm just having fun.

"Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you so
Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you so"

I'm looking at Cuddy as I say the last part and I'm not sure what she's thinking right now, as I sing to her, and the rest of the party-goers, but specifically her, Lisa Cuddy.

"She had a dream about the King of Sweden
He gave her things that she was needin'
He gave her a home built of gold and steel
A diamond car with platinum wheels"

Pretty much most couples are dancing, and Wilson's took the liberty of dancing with Cuddy. The band is back and knows the song, now, they're playing along with me and I can tell that they're having more fun now.

"Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you so
Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you so"

"Come blow your horn for me, daddy"

The chorus girl interjects her line, and is looking at me as if she'd like to be sitting on top of the piano singing at me rather than with me. The sax player is good, and I take a break during his solo. Singing and playing energetically takes a lot. I give a little intro into the next chorus as the sax fades.

"He gave his townhouse and racing horses
Each meal she ate was a dozen courses
Had a million dollars worth of nickels and dimes
She sat around and counted them a million times"

I have eyes only for Cuddy, and she can see that, so does Wilson, but I can tell that the other people around me are surprised that I'd 'open up' as much as I am by playing my heart out, to Cuddy, on the piano.

"Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you so
Hidey-hi hidey-ho
Told you before that I love you soooo"

I take my piano solo, and jazz it up as much as I dare. My eyes are now locked on the moving figure of Cuddy. Cameron does a take. She looks at me and follows my eyes…and understands my goal – Cuddy.

"Hidey-hidey-hi! (hidey-hidey-hi!)
Hodey-hodey-ho! (Hodey-hodey-ho!)
Heydee-heydee-hey! (Heydee-heydee-hey!)
Hidey-hidey-hi! (Hidey-hidey-hi!)"

The people are really getting into it now, and echoing me with the band, who is sweating up a storm, and not one person is frowning, except for Mr. Rich Ass Donor Guy.

"WhoooaaaaaAh! (WhoooaaaaaAh!)
Yeah yeah yeah! (Yeah yeah yeah!)
Hee-hee-hee! (Hee-hee-hee)
Hidey-hidey-hi! (Hidey-hidey-hi!)"

Now I'm feeling good, they even got a little crazy with me. I'll jazz it up and bring it out at a fade and maybe I'll have made my point.

"Hidey-hi hidey-ho (Hidey-hi hidey-ho)
told you before that I love you so (Told you before that I love you so)
Hidey-hi hidey-ho (Hidey-hi hidey-ho)
Told you before that I love you so (Told you before that I love you so)

Told you befo-ore I lo-uve you sooo."

Everything has faded out as the last tones of the piano play as I sing the last line to Cuddy. She's blushing. Badly. I've made my point. Now, it's time to go home. I can still hear the clapping as I leave the building.

It feels wrong, being clean, being sober. I haven't even toughed my Vicodin, or my scotch on the rocks. I'm just sitting on the floor of my bathroom. I don't know why. It seems lately that I've been the man with few answers and more questions. I'm thinking that maybe something's actually wrong with me.

But there's always something that isn't right. And sitting here, being clean and sober, that's beginning to way heavy on my mind. I always push it away, and I want to push it away right now. But I've told myself not to. If I hadn't I'd be unconscious on the floor right now, instead of painfully aware of my discomfort, with myself, my situation, and my physical pain. Is that a bad thing?

For someone who avoids pain and confrontation, well, yes obviously. There is obviously something wrong with me. I'm about to get up, maybe for some coffee. But that isn't happening anytime soon, because, I know, just as I stand up that I've made a big mistake. Pain is searing in my head at this moment, and eventually everything goes hazy and…

"You're late," she's fuming at me, madder than usual.

"Sorry, late night last night, as you obviously know,"

"What do you mean, House?"

"The fundraiser…it still continued after I left, right?" I stare at her quizzically, and she stares back.

"House…what fundraiser?"

I don't even bother answering and I walk away. She's right, it never happened. No fundraiser. At least there wasn't last night. But there is a huge bump on my head, and I woke up on the floor of my bathroom this morning, an untouched scotch and an unopened container of Vicodin sitting on the counter. Something happened. What, I'm not sure. And that's when the whispering starts. First I hear it in my right ear, then another voice in the left.

"Come on House, are loosing it? Step it up, make worth while. Now about that patient?" says the seductive catlike purr in my right ear. Her eyes are huge, blue, clear, with long black lashes beating down on them. Her legs really do go all the way up to Canada. Her shoulder length hair is sweeping across her face. Amber…

"Pick up another puzzle House, you need it, you to get away from it all, away from everything, from the memories. What about that patient? Is it really that rare disease that you're so eager to prove your theory on? Figure it out House, cause I think your wrong, what about a calcium deficiency, or iron build up in the blood stream?" the soft masculine voice, low and harshly familiar sounds in the left ear. Kutner… It seems that I'm never alone, not even in my own head.

One half of me tells my body to turn back, to go to Cuddy, to be scared that they're back, back from death. But the other half, the dominant half, turns me away, throws the thought out of my mind.

"What about iron buildup coupled with calcium deficiency?"

"But that throws out your cool theory,"

"This is cooler, Taub,"

What was that? Amber…

"Right House, but don't exclude it,"

Kutner…

"It could mean something, more, later, if you forget, it'll be gone,"

Somehow I know that they aren't talking about the patient.

My head is searing this morning, and again I wake up, startled about my dream. Why would I see Amber and Kutner? More importantly, why didn't last night almost not being real not scare me as much as it should have? If last night hadn't been real I might as well give up on my pursuit of the devil woman. She really is one evil and cunning woman, and I wonder if she takes it seriously when I tell that it's a massive and I mean massive turn on.

I feel like I have a colossal hangover, and I want to stay here at home, almost as much as I want to go to work and maybe kiss Cuddy once more, maybe tell her that I played Minnie the Moocher just for her. Maybe go to the house of the Rich Ass Donor Guy and give him what's what.

But I know what's going to happen. I'm going to go into work and act as if nothing's happened, unless she gives me the go ahead, which won't happen because she'll wait for me to give the go ahead, or unless I talk with Wilson, cause he'll fill me in on what she said last night.

So I'll struggle to get up and get into semi-respectable clothes and hobble to work. It's worth it, damn that gorgeous devil woman.

"Hidey-hi hidey-ho (Hidey-hi hidey-ho)
told you before that I love you so (Told you before that I love you so)
Hidey-hi hidey-ho (Hidey-hi hidey-ho)
Told you before that I love you so (Told you before that I love you so)

Told you befo-ore I lo-uve you sooo."

He's looking right at me as he sings out the last line of the song. The band has died out, and his voice and the piano ring out clear in the silent room. Certain people are looking at me, silently, questioningly, but everyone else bursts into applause for House.

Wilson has his arm around my waist, in a friendly, I'm-just-a –friend- and -nothing -more -because –my- best -friend -will -be -all –over- me-if -I –even- let -a -stray -thought –pass sort of way. It's kind of sweet. He smiles and lets go of me and walks over to the bar for a drink. He's taken a seat; he won't be back any time soon.

My eyes wander the fundraiser's company for the crippled doctor, the star of the night, to those who don't know him well enough to tell that he was up to something.

I finally catch sight of him, moving laboriously through the crowd and towards the door; he's leaving again. I try and follow him, but Cameron had caught up with me.

"Doctor Cuddy, what was House…"

She trails off as I falter when House makes it out the door. She follows my eyes over to the door swinging closed on the dark night outside of the Lobby. Cameron looks at me piteously, before just walking away. I really don't think I'm that sad. At least I hope not.

"Goodnight House,"

"You really shouldn't have left, not tonight, you actually gained ground on Cuddy, you're just chicken, right?"

I look to my right at the figure that had appeared in my passenger seat.

Amber…

Shit. No wonder I was worried. Somehow, she's back. And she's not going away anytime soon. Cuddy will have to wait. This is such a great time for me to start seeing dead people.

"Hello Cutthroat Bitch," I say, and when Amber smiles I can't help but notice how sinister she looks.