Title: Dr. House and Ally McBeal? Objection, Your Honour!

Author: Rippertish

Chapter 2: Dinner Date Disasters

Ally McBeal was trying her hardest to focus on her date, Dennis—the financial consultant who thought describing stock market trends was the height of romantic conversation. Across from her, Dennis was talking animatedly about investment portfolios, punctuating each sentence with an enthusiastic gesture or a motivational quote.

"…and that's why diversification is like building a fortress around your heart," Dennis said grinning proudly. "You get it, right?"

Ally forced a tight smile and nodded. "Absolutely. Fortresses."

She took a sip of her wine, trying to keep her eyes from glazing over. It wasn't that Dennis was unpleasant—no, unpleasant would have at least been memorable. He was simply… intense. The kind of intensity that required a strong drink and a second glass ready on standby. She was starting to regret letting Renee set her up with "a stable, financially responsible guy who talks about stocks."

Just as Dennis was getting into a passionate explanation of tax benefits, the restaurant's door swung open, and Ally caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking in. She blinked, her stomach sinking slightly as Dr. Gregory House, leaning on his cane, sauntered in alone. He looked around the room as if he owned it, his sharp eyes landing on Ally almost immediately. He quirked an eyebrow, smirking as if he'd just caught her with her hand stuck in the cookie jar.

Ally tried to ignore him, but the smirk was there, lingering in her peripheral vision. Dennis droned on about risk management, oblivious to her increasing distraction.

"…so you really want to hedge your bets," Dennis continued earnestly. "Otherwise, you're just asking for a downturn."

From his nearby table, House glanced at the pair and raised an eyebrow. It wasn't hard to piece together; the stiff posture, forced small talk, and overly polite smiles practically screamed "first date" to him.

House made an exaggerated show of boredom, rolling his eyes and following it up with a dramatically mocked yawn. Ally pursed her lips the way she often did when trying to keep her composure. She was doing her best to ignore him, but House's not-so-subtle gestures were making it nearly impossible.

Dennis, still oblivious, leaned forward. "So, what do you think about long-term versus short-term bonds?" he asked.

"I think…" Ally started, glancing helplessly towards the restrooms, "…I need to excuse myself for a moment."

"Oh," Dennis said, looking surprised. "Sure. Take your time."

Ally stood up, trying to maintain a calm façade as she walked briskly towards the bathroom. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, leaning her back against the nearest stall door from the outside with a sigh. She closed her eyes for a moment, then started gently knocking the back of her head against the door, muttering under her breath.

"Why do I do this to myself?" she groaned quietly. "Stable and responsible, she said. It'll be fun, she said. This is punishment. Literal punishment…"

She banged her head one last time, trying to shake off the frustration. When she opened her eyes, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Dr. Gregory House stood a few feet away, leaning casually on his cane with an amused look on his face.

"What are you doing in here?!" Ally yelped, her voice more panicked than she intended.

House raised an eyebrow. "Having a heart-to-heart with the door?"

"No!" Ally snapped, her face turning pink. "You're in the women's restroom!"

House glanced around, as if just noticing the sign. "Oh, really?" he drawled. "Seems I've been effectively re-educated by your office's unisex policy. Very progressive."

Ally blinked, momentarily speechless. Of course, he'd find a way to justify being exactly where he wasn't supposed to be. She let out a huff of exasperation and crossed her arms.

"You really shouldn't be in here," she muttered. "But then again, boundaries don't seem to be your strong suit, do they?"

House glanced around theatrically and pointed at a small window with his cane. "I don't think you can actually escape through that window. But hey, if your date goes any worse, maybe it's worth a shot."

In her mind, Ally calmly opened the window, grabbed House by the collar, and unceremoniously shoved him through it. There was a satisfying WHOOSH followed by a faint THUD as he landed outside.

House tilted his head, unfazed.

"You know, on a date, you should never look like you're trying too hard. It's like with a muscle—too much effort and something eventually snaps."

"Muscle?" Ally repeated, feeling she was being roped into a conversation she wasn't eager to have.

"Sure," House said nonchalantly. "The heart's just a muscle, after all. And like any other muscle, you don't want to strain it by investing too much in the wrong exercise—unless you enjoy dealing with the fallout of overexertion. And let's be honest, your date out there sounds like a treadmill on the highest setting."

Ally opened her mouth to respond but found herself caught between incredulity and annoyance. He was making this conversation sound like a cardiac rehab session.

"Is there a reason you're here?" she asked, her voice tight.

"I'm just observing. I mean, you're stuck in here banging your head against the wall—clearly, the date's a roaring success," House replied dryly.

"Thank you, for the diagnosis," Ally muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

House leaned on his cane, still smirking. "If you wanted excitement, you should have come with me."

"What?" Ally shot back, blinking in confusion.

"Dinner," House said, as if stating something obvious. "You, me, somewhere with less debate on tax brackets and more actual conversation."

Tax brackets? House had hit the mark so precisely, it felt like he'd overheard every dull moment of her date.

"Actual conversation?" she echoed, snapping back to the matter at hand, stunned by his bluntness.

House shrugged, his tone casual. "Or, if you prefer, we could skip the foreplay and get right to the cross-examination." He offered suggestively, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Ally felt her face flush. "Over your dead body!" she snapped, trying not to sound too rattled.

House straightened up, pretending to think. "Not a big fan of necrophilia, but hey, whatever fuels your fantasies."

The word 'fantasies' lingered, and suddenly, she was picturing herself in her office, on top of him, both sprawled over her desk. The hard wood pressed against her knees as she pinned him down, his smirk still intact. Her fingers hovered near his collar, with a growing urge to strangle him, but he didn't resist, just raised an eyebrow as if daring her to keep going.

She felt a surprising thrill in holding him there, hit by a wave of heat.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head sharply, trying to dispel the thought. A blush crept up her neck, betraying the unexpected enjoyment that had accompanied it.

Ally's hands clenched into fists, and she glared at him, fighting the urge to smack him. She'd lost count of how many times she'd smacked him in her vivid imagination. They were standing close now, and she could feel her pulse quickening out of a mix of anger and a disconcerting heat she didn't want to acknowledge.

Just then, the door creaked open, and an elderly woman entered the bathroom, stopping dead in her tracks as she saw House standing there. Her eyes widened, and she glanced between them, clearly taken aback.

He turned to face her, giving the woman a casual nod. "Medical emergency," he said seriously, as if it explained everything. "She's suffering from an acute case of poor taste in men."

The woman blinked in confusion. "Oh... um... well."

House leaned on his cane and motioned to Ally. "I think we're stabilised now. No need to call in the defibrillator."

He gave Ally a final smirk, then turned and limped casually out of the bathroom, leaving her standing there, fuming and mortified. She wanted to yell, to protest, but all she could do was stand there and watch him leave, his words echoing in her head.

The woman looked at Ally with a warm smile. "Oh, doctors are so caring these days, aren't they, dear?" she said sweetly, before disappearing into one of the stalls.

Ally sighed, pressing her head against the door for a moment before straightening up.

As she left the restroom, she muttered under her breath, "'Great at dealing with difficult personalities', right, Richard? Sure, just give me the juggling chainsaws." Bracing herself, she headed back to finish her disastrous date—with a side order of Dr. Snarky House.

End of chapter 2