Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Embarrassingly long since my last update... RL... AAAAHHHH... blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. I won't bore you all with the details presently... my time is limited since I don't currently have internet at home. $$$... yeah. Not so much of that right now. Anywho... here ya go. More coming sooner than later, hopefully... but you know me. I promise nothing.

Oh, but I will say this... I do have a tumblr now! Look me up at jj-lockd :-D

Shout-outs to my chapter 12 reviewers for their awesome feedback... IHeartHouseCuddy, Abby, HuddyGirl, and OldSFan.

And could I get a few more on this one? Pretty please? You would make my life right now! 3

Chapter 13- Don't Forget the Lyrics

"I hate you, House," Wilson grumbled, still slumped over in his chair.

"Oh, of course you don't. Not really. Admit it… you would be so bored without me around to spice up this mind-numbing existence that you refer to as a life."

"Bored… maybe. But would I have a more reasonable blood pressure? For sure."

"Aw, come on babe… do it for me. It'll be fun," Amber encouraged sweetly, sliding an arm around his waist. "I really love that song."

"You… like Barry Manilow?" her boyfriend wondered suspiciously.

"That song, yes. My parents are big fans, I grew up with it," she smiled.

Wilson sighed. He was really putty in her hands, just as much as in House's. "Alright. For you, gorgeous," he announced in his sappy alcohol-laden state, taking her face in his hands and giving her an affectionate kiss for good measure.

When Wilson had gotten up to make his way to the stage, House leaned into Amber and asked, "You don't really like that song, do you?"

"God, no."

"Or your parents?"

She laughed with a slightly evil glint in her eye. "My parents wouldn't be caught dead listening to Barry Manilow. If you couldn't hear it on the classical station, it wasn't played in our house."

House looked at Amber curiously for a moment. "You really enjoy messing with his head, don't you?"

"Like you don't!" she countered indignantly.

"I know I do… but I also know what my motives are. I'd never really try to hurt him. On purpose," House responded with an uncharacteristic transparency that was undoubtedly fueled by his impressive liquor intake. Still standing on the other side of him, Cuddy's expression registered a degree of surprise at his candor, and especially with someone like Amber. She had always suspected that he maintained a kind of convoluted sense of protectiveness when it came to his best friend, however misguided or absent it may have appeared at times. Any further conversation was quickly interrupted by the sound of said best friend's atypically inarticulate speech booming through the microphone onstage.

Over the intro to "Copacabana," Wilson announced, "In spite of what one Mr. Gregory House may think, the only reason I'm up here is because my stunningly beautiful girlfriend asked me to sing. This one's for you, Red," he added with a look that was entirely too sappy for her liking. Now it was Amber's turn to plop her forehead down on the table in embarrassment.

"That was sappy enough to make a Maple tree puke," House taunted, having moved to take the seat across from her. Cuddy joined him almost immediately, loudly draining the remaining Fishbowl she held one hand and elbowing him with her other arm. She sent him a slightly reprimanding look for good measure as she sat down.

"Shut up, House," Amber groaned.

"Your little spectacle of false supportiveness kind of backfired on you, didn't it? Now we all have to suffer through four whole minutes of Barry Manilow."

"Oh, yeah. Because this was all my idea."

"It might as well have been. He's right… he probably wouldn't have gone up there on my say-so alone. You sealed the deal with your Girlfriend seal of approval," House explained logically. "But just look at him," he gestured up to the stage, and Amber grudgingly raised her eyes to where her boyfriend stood. Wilson performed completely uninhibited thanks to both his recent infusion of liquid courage and the ego boost she had provided, happily serenading his heart out to a now forced-smiling Amber. "The drinking games have turned him into the happy-go-lucky village idiot."

Chase and Cameron had plopped down at the neighboring table shortly after Wilson started singing so that they could have a front show for the fun, as well.

"You know… this song is actually really depressing if you pay attention to the words," the blond doctor observed as Wilson started into the verse about the showgirl Lola's descent into drunken insanity.

"But disturbingly upbeat at the same time," Kutner added from his spot nearby with Thirteen and Taub. Wilson's earlier suavability with the crown had not been deterred by his cups, and the crowd remaining in Beasley's at that late hour showed their appreciation through varying degrees of tipsiness. After a rousing interpretation of the disco portion of "Copacabana" that had the establishment's patrons clapping along and either bouncing in their seats or dancing near their tables, Wilson took a well-earned bow and left the stage with a decidedly more pleasant expression than he had worn upon taking it.

"Great job, baby," Amber purred somewhat disingenuously, embracing her boyfriend when he rejoined the table. Readily accepting her affection at face value, the other doctors in their group did their best to congratulate him on his efforts without laughing in his face.

Little else was said on the topic of the oncologist's Barry Manilow impersonation, however, once the D.J. with no apparent end to his energy used the speakers to break through the crowd's remerging conversations. "And now, my friends, we've had a special request from one of our very popular doctors who performed earlier this evening… which I am obviously more than happy to oblige. Even though he has yet to come over here and transact any of his karaoke business in person," he chided House lightly, to which the man himself just cracked a haughty smile. "But before I invite him up on stage, I have been asked to read the following statement." Cuddy raised a surprised eyebrow in House's direction at this addendum to the request she had personally given the D.J. along with "Copacabana," at House's insistence. His own version of a gleeful expression held, though, awaiting what he was sure would be a thoroughly gratifying reaction from his boss.

"And I quote," began the D.J., " 'Dear Mr. D.J., if a mind-numbingly hot brunette with an especially pleasing derrière should approach you at some point later this evening and ask you to play Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper, you should actually play Baby Got Back by the Sir Mix-A-Lot. Please read this aloud before you play the song so that said brunette, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, knows that I had this planned hours ago, and that an adorable Australian guy with great hair slipped this note to you when he came up to request Midnight Train to Georgia But seriously, Mr. D.J. Turn the record on… I want to rap about the best ass I've ever seen on a pushy hospital administrator.' And it's signed, 'As sincerely as I'll ever be about anything, Dr. Gregory House.' "