Disclaimer: I don't own House, but I'd be happy to share with the people who do.

A/N: This is the last chapter of my first fanfic ever. Thanks again to the reviewers; you've made this more fun than I thought it would be. Now that I know the truth…well, I may have found a better way to spend department meetings.

OOOO

On the day of the gala, Greg House received no less than three visits from Lisa Cuddy and five from James Wilson. Cuddy used her first visit to ask House why Cameron wasn't at work that day. She got no response. On the second visit, she wanted to know if he had dug his tux out of hiding. He growled at her. On the third visit, she opened her mouth and he threw his Magic Eight Ball at her. She did not return.

Wilson, who was much better at dealing with House (perhaps because he had better reflexes), used his first visit to try to be a good friend and simply ask how House was doing after Thursday's fiasco. House gestured rudely. On the second visit, he checked to see if House wanted lunch – "Bite me" was his answer. The next two visits, Wilson simply looked at House and laughed. On the fifth visit, he was surprised to see that House had barely moved and was still pushing buttons on his Gameboy. Wilson just said, "Man, you've got it bad, " and walked away.

House sighed for what felt like the four hundredth time that week and stood up to go home. A tux. A prom queen. God help him.

OOOO

Allison Cameron, on the other hand, had had an absolutely fun day. As she walked into the ballroom in Princeton where the gala was being held, she felt great. Loaded for bear. Top of the world. Nauseous.

This really, really wasn't her style. She had spent a good portion of her life fighting to avoid moments like this. There was actually a stupid staircase that she had to descend to the party. She supposed some women dreamed about a moment like this. Not her. The only staircase she had ever dreamed about was… well, she had never dreamed about a staircase. Who the hell dreamed about staircases? Who in their right mind would actually want to try to float down an enormous staircase while a room full of their colleagues and rich charity-supporting types watched?

Deep breath. Okay, focus on the fun of the day. Using the emergency credit card to pamper herself at a pricy spa; using the same credit card to purchase the dress, the accessories, the shoes…the same damned shoes she was teetering on at that very moment and which would no doubt cause her to fall down these stupid stairs. Deeper breath. Positive thoughts.

"Are you waiting for someone to announce you? There don't seem to be any footmen around."

Allison turned, about to let fly with a nasty comment. And saw James Wilson smiling at her.

"Sorry about that. Thought a House-like comment might bring you back to earth."

"Thanks, I think." She focus on him. "Looking pretty spiffy, there, Dr. Wilson." She smiled. He was in a perfectly tailored tux and perfectly shined shoes. He looked like an ad for a men's formal wear shop.

"Thanks, although I think that I'm being upstaged a bit. Where the hell did you find that dress?" was what he said. What he was thinking was, Greg, my friend, you are in a lot of trouble.

"We prom queens have our secrets." She smiled serenely and batted her eyelashes at him.

He laughed, "Well, your majesty, let me walk down these stairs with you. Chase's date wiped out three steps down. Wouldn't want to see the same thing happen to you."

When they reached the foot of the stairs, he let go of her elbow. "So as the resident prom queen, are you going to spend the evening simpering and smiling prettily?" He looked at her with a harder question in his eyes.

She understood. "No, lucky for us, this prom queen also happens to be the valedictorian. I'll be spending the evening convincing a billionaire to hand over a few hundred million." She looked down at her very expensive shoes. Hopefully, she thought.

He nodded. "And in the process…?" She looked back up.

"And in the process, if I should happen to bring a certain doctor to his knees, that would just be dandy." She grinned and winked at him.

As she turn to leave him, he stopped her. "He's pretty far down there already, you know."

She didn't respond to that. She just continued on her way to the bar.

OOOO

How stupidly clichéd could this entire evening be? Here he was in a tux (well, sort of, no tie but his shirt was tucked in), sitting by himself at a table directly across from that ridiculous staircase that was not cane-friendly, watching his best friend escort the beautiful girl into the party. It was almost as bad as those teen movies that were on cable every other hour. Of course the worse part of it was that he was a forty-five year old man who by all accounts was pretty intelligent, yet he had gotten himself into this mess.

He had already tried to leave, but Cuddy had stopped him with a few threats to his anatomy. She mentioned the oil again, too. He had snarked about fetishes that she needed to deal with, and she had called him a word that he would need to look up when he got home. Wilson had sidled up to him and led him to the table where he had been sitting for several minutes now. "Behave," was the last thing his friend had said.

And now, if it weren't bad enough, headed directly for him was Cuddy herself with Donald O'Bryan and a woman whom House could only assume was his wife. He stood up (his mother really had tried with him), and attempted to work up a smile. He could think of a few dozen other things he would rather be doing than meeting with the billionaire bastard again, but he supposed that since he was there he might as well see how this played out. He wondered when Cameron would show up to do her thing, whatever that would be.

Donald O'Bryan never got the chance to introduce his wife to House. She did it herself, which for some reason surprised him. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Dr. House."

House heard Cuddy groan quietly.

"Well, I suppose that might not be a good thing," House replied, looking at her husband.

"No, I suppose not, but my husband rarely has good things to say about anyone." Cuddy let out one of those polite, yet pathetic sounding laughs. "Where is the rest of your team?"

He was biting his tongue to keep from saying that it wasn't his turn to babysit, when Foreman and Chase walked up, minus their dates. Chase, who had grown up dealing with scenarios like this, took the lead and smoothly introduced himself and Foreman. James Wilson, minus his wife, scooted up next and was disgustingly polite as well.

House seriously wanted to get the hell out of this mess. He didn't want to stand there and suck up to these people. If these people were going to give the hospital money, then they should just do it and quit jerking everyone around. He moved a bit to the side. Maybe if he moved slowly enough, he could eventually leave and no one would notice.

"Don't even think you're going to get out of here," said Wilson.

"Oh, hell. Leave me alone."

"Shut up, the show's about to start." Wilson nodded to their left at a calmly approaching Allison Cameron.

As Allison moved toward the group, she reminded herself that she had a card up her sleeve that House knew nothing about. Yes, she also reminded herself that she may be the last hope for the hospital's relationship with the O'Bryans, after all, she was still a conscientious and too-caring person. But in the seconds that it took her to walk toward her colleagues, she was enjoying House's reaction to her a little too much to be concerned about the money. He really should blink. That wasn't good for his eyes.

She had a genuine smile on her face when she looked away from him and instead at Mrs. O'Bryan. She held out her hand, "Mrs. O'Bryan! It's so good to see you again."

"Dr. Cameron! Donald, this is the young woman I was telling you about. Dr. Cameron this is my husband, Donald O'Bryan."

What the hell? House looked at Wilson, who was glued to the unfolding scene. He looked at Cuddy who was smiling and ignoring him. He was even desperate enough for an explanation to look at Foreman and Chase, but Chase appeared oblivious and Foreman just shrugged at him.

After a some pleasantries, Donald O'Bryan offered Cameron his arm and led her to the dance floor. "I'd really like to talk to you Dr. Cameron. Get your views on the hospital's needs."

"I'd be delighted." And she walked away with him.

Chase, who had had ballroom manners instilled in him from the crib, invited Mrs. O'Bryan to dance. The other four doctors sank down into chairs around the table.

"What just happened here?" House asked Wilson.

"Don't you know what just happened here, Dr. House?" interrupted Cuddy, suddenly a little nervous. "I would think you should know damn well what a member of your department…"

"Get off the dominatrix kick for a second and don't interrupt me." House looked back at Wilson. "What has she done?"

"Pretty obvious, I think."

"Yep," agreed Foreman. "She has succeeded where we failed."

Cuddy jumped back in. "What are you talking about?" She was getting a little red in the face.

House ignored her. He watched Cameron and O'Bryan dancing with an intense look.

Wilson pacified Cuddy. "Don't worry about it. I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that we are going to get the money."

"But…"

"House is just surprised to see that social skills really do count for something occasionally. Let's go get a drink. I think you could use one." He led her away.

Foreman, who was less likely than most people to practice self-preservation, looked at his boss. "Are you going to explain what has been going on for the past two days?"

"No, and if you ask me again, I'll make sure you get every clinic case that begins with the words 'explosive' or 'infected' for a month." He was still watching the dancers.

"Hmm. Well, that's okay. I'll just ask Cameron; she always spills." He notice how intensely House was staring at the couple, who were still talking and dancing. "Anyone ever tell you that you're an idiot?"

"Not without losing their job."

Eric nodded. "Guess I'll go find my date then." He stood and walked behind House. He patted him on the shoulder and added, "I wouldn't stay out too late. I hear Cameron's got you signed up for clinic hours really early Monday."

OOOO

Wilson had been right. At some point in the evening – it really doesn't matter when – Donald and Catherine O'Bryan joined Lisa Cuddy and a few board member on the stage where Mrs. O'Bryan announced that the O'Bryan Charitable Giving Foundation would be presenting the hospital with an obscene amount of money. She hadn't actually used that word, but that's what the PPTH grapevine called it Monday morning.

When the announcement was over and the applause had died down, Cuddy breathed for the first time in weeks and headed straight for a shot of some top shelf liquor. People who had been fearing for their jobs also relaxed, including the ducklings, who had each secretly been updating their CVs.

House had even relaxed a bit, helped, of course, by his dear friend, Vicodin. He stayed in the back of the room and watched people dance and talk. Actually, he watched Cameron dance and talk She was definitely the belle of the ball (where had that come from?) having danced with every man there – or at least it seemed like it.

House tore his eyes away from her to watch Jim fighting with his wife. Nothing new there. Wouldn't be a party unless Julie got pissy. Of course, it wouldn't be a party unless Jim pissed Julie off first. While he was musing on his friend's marital woes, he missed Cameron leaving the dance floor.

He did not miss the bottle of champagne that clunked down in front of him or the two glasses that followed or the immunologist who had put them there.

He looked over as she reached down to pop her shoes off. Not the most ladylike pose she had ever struck, but then at this point in the evening she really didn't care.

"Could you please pour while I try to revive my feet?"

Confused, but not unhappily, he reached for the bottle. "You always wear heels, those shouldn't bother you."

"I always wear two inch heels. These," she held up a pair of spiky sea green sandals that matched her dress, "are four inches. Much different. Much more pain."

"Much more stupid, if you ask me." He handed her a glass.

"I didn't. Besides, we can't all wear black Nikes with our formal wear." She took in his tux, which consisted of the traditional pants, shirt, and jacket but was missing the tie. The shirt had come untucked and the neck of a black t-shirt was showing through the top.

"True, but we can't all be Wilson either."

"Would you want to be him right now? Did you see the way Julie dragged him out of here?"

No response necessary. Everyone had seen that. The two sat there for a few minutes in silence, drinking champagne.

"We got the money." She started.

"Yep."

"So, what was the point?" This question was the reason she had brought over the champagne. Liquid courage.

"Well, without the money, we would be out of jobs, then who would be around to cure sick people? It could be another plague. Typhoid even."

She sighed. She should have gone with the whiskey. "No, what was the point of all the crap you put me through?"

He kept his eyes on the glass in front of him. "Would you believe that I let my mouth run away from me?"

"Definitely, but that doesn't answer my question."

Silence.

She didn't try to fill it. She just waited.

Then, "You need to stand up for yourself, Allison. You need to fight to get what you want because if you don't, you are never going to reach the levels you could in this field. You have the brains, but not the balls."

"Well, I won't argue with that, but what you're saying, Greg, is that I have room for improvement."

"What? Yes, of course you do. You're too nice, too willing to back down. It pisses me off when I have watch you act like you don't know what you're doing or like you're some naïve first year med student who has never seen yucky stuff." His voice had gotten progressively louder and people were keeping far away from their table.

"So by goading me and generally treating me like crap, you are doing me a favor."

"I guess that's one way of putting it." He shrugged, but had a vague sense of unease. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"I see." She paused. "You're trying to fix me." She looked directly at him on the last two syllables.

Bam! That sense of unease was no longer vague. It was full-blown, squirming discomfort.

"Boy, you planned that one well, didn't you?" He rooted around in his pockets for his pill bottle.

"Nope, you handed it to me all by yourself." She noticed that his bottle was empty. "Strange, though, don't you think?"

"That I'm still sitting here. Yes, I have to say so." He tossed the bottle onto the table where it rolled over and stopped against the champagne.

"No, I think it's strange that two doctors would both have some pathological need to fix other people. God, what must we be thinking?" Her gaze held steady on him.

"If you're going to throw my words back in my face, at least have the decency to remember that I accused you of attaching yourself to people who need to be fixed. I haven't done that."

"Haven't you?"

Silence. Quite a long stretch of silence.

Time for a change of topic. "Did you recognize Mrs. O'Bryan from the internet?"

"Mmm-hmm. Saw her in the cafeteria during my break from the clinic. Ambushed her." Allison looked at the bottle of champagne and decided not to have anymore. She was confused enough.

"Impressed her, you mean." He paused. "We wouldn't have gotten the money unless you had done that."

"I don't know about that. Her husband can't stand you, but he doesn't really make the decisions when it…" She stopped. He was glaring at her. "What?"

Still glaring.

"Oh, fine. I am the sole reason the hospital does not have to shut down. If not for me, we would all be standing in the unemployment line come Monday morning. I am brilliant and cunning and know how to use my tiara to its full advantage."

"Better." He poured her more champagne. She didn't stop him.

"So, where is this tiara?"

"In a box in my parent's basement. Why?"

"Where's your valedictory medal?" She looked surprised. "Wilson told me," he explained.

"Oh. Um… same box, I think. Why? Do you need proof?"

"No, I need more fodder for my fantasies."

She had nothing to say, but her face was suddenly crimson.

"One final question."

"Okay…"

"What is your opinion of tropical, preferably deserted, islands?"

She cleared her throat. "Would I need to bring the tiara or the medal?"

"Nope. Not unless you wanted to." He grinned at her.

"Then I could definitely get into them."

"Excellent."

OOOO

On Monday morning there was a bottle of cooking oil on House's desk. The sticky note attached to it said, in Lisa Cuddy's handwriting,

I don't know what you were up to on Friday, but I do know that I have a case of this with your name on it. Just give me a reason. Please.