Hello Huddy Nation: Technically, this story should be a one-shot, but I haven't had enough time to finish it. There's a slight chance I'll be able to write late tonight. If not, I may not get to Part 2 until—gasp!—Monday.

That being said, I know people like to have something new to read over the weekend. So here it is. Also, please don't freak out, Cuddy fans. Always consider your source. xo, atd

"So it's all settled," Cuddy said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "My staff is really looking forward to this."

She was in a coffee house on the Upper West Side, sitting across the table from the glamorous Dr. Monica Barston, a woman just famous enough that New Yorkers were working hard to pretend not to recognize her.

Barston had recently written a book called Yes You Can! On the Power of Positive Healing For Both You and Your Doctor and she was going to be giving a lecture at PPTH on Thursday. It was something of a big deal. Barston's book had been on The New York Times nonfiction best-seller list for over four months—and while she hadn't quite made it to Oprah, she had recently appeared on The View.

In truth, Cuddy wasn't completely sure why Barston had agreed to speak at a hospital as small as Princeton Plainsboro in the first place. But it was a real feather in her cap. The board was positively thrilled. They were rolling out the red carpet for Barston: A talk to the hospital staff during the day, then a VIP dinner that night.

Cuddy kind of thought the book was bullshit—it basically argued that the doctor and the patient could work as partners in positive visualization and healing. It was the kind of New Agey book that House openly mocked. Luckily, he hadn't attended a lecture since the time he tried to set up that old college foe of his.

"I'm particularly looking forward to meeting your famous Dr. House," Monica said.

Cuddy practically did a spit-take with her latte.

"Actually, he never comes to these things," she said, apologetically.

"Really? Not even for a New York Times bestselling author?" Monica said, with a smirk.

She was very pretty, in a fussed over sort of way. Everything about her—from her perfectly highlighted dirty blonde hair, to her perfectly tailored suits and her perfectly knotted silk scarves—seemed luxe.

Cuddy wrinkled her nose.

"House is not easily impressed."

"Half the reason I agreed to speak at a hospital as undistinguished—I mean, um, as small—as Princeton Plainsboro was the chance to meet Dr. House," Monica sniffed. "I know his methods are diametrically opposed to mine. I was hoping to go toe-to-toe."

"I'll ask. But I don't want you to get your hopes up. He's a bit of a loner."

"When you ask," Monica said breezily. "Be sure to show him my picture."

#####

"Not happening," House said, folding his arms like a stubborn child refusing to take his medicine.

"She asked for you specifically."

"They all do," he said.

"Her appearance is a big deal to the hospital—and to me."

"And utterly meaningless to me," House said.

"You're really not going to budge on this?"

"Have you ever known me to budge on this sort of thing—or anything for that matter?"

"And I suppose it's not even worth my time to attempt to negotiate with you?"

"Let's see," House said musingly. "No clinic duty for six. . . years. And a $500,000 dollar raise."

Cuddy scowled at him. He scowled back.

Then she turned to leave.

"God forbid you could ever just do me a favor," she said on her way out the door.

"I wouldn't want to set an unrealistic precedent!" House shouted after her.

######

A few hours later, Wilson was in House's office, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

"All set for the big Monica Barston talk tomorrow?" he said.

"You're going to that thing?" House said, in disgust.

"Going? I'm arriving early to get a good seat. And I got Cuddy to reserve me a spot at the VIP dinner."

House narrowed his eyes.

"Why? Don't tell me you actually like her moronic book."

"Couldn't care less about the book. But I'm dying to meet the author."

"Why?"

Wilson looked at House incredulously.

"Because she's gorgeous," he said.

"She is?"

"How can you not know what she looks like? She was on The View!"

By now, House was busily Googling her image.

"Ay caramba," he said, when he saw her.

"I told you," Wilson said.

"She looks like a dirty, dirty girl," House added, approvingly.

Wilson peered over his shoulder, looked at the picture. She was smiling demurely at the camera.

"She looks like a nice, conservative lady to me."

"Oh, she is definitely business in the front, party in the sack," House said. "I know the type."

He continued to scan the photos.

"You better save me a seat, Wilson."

"But no hitting on her," Wilson sputtered. "I saw her first."

######

"Why didn't you show me her picture?" House said, limping purposefully into Cuddy's office.

"Whose picture?" Cuddy said. But of course she knew.

"Dr. Monica Barston. If you were really trying to convince me to go, you would've shown me her photo."

"I assumed you already knew what she looked like," Cuddy said, defensively. "She's kind of famous."

"Yes, because I spend all my free time watching The View and trolling the self-help aisles at the local book store."

"So now you're coming to the lecture?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," House said cheerfully. "And there was some talk of a VIP dinner?"

Cuddy clicked her tongue in mock disappointment.

"Sadly, only 14 seats at the table and they're all taken."

"But Wilson said your plus-one had to cancel—if that's what they're calling Male Escorts these days."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. She had been planning on taking Sheldon Levy, a nice guy she'd met on a dating site for educated professionals. But he had cancelled on her two days ago, due to a family emergency. (God, Wilson seriously could not keep his mouth shut.)

"You want to be my plus one?" she said, skeptically.

"Whatever Carlos the male gigolo ..."

"Sheldon, the orthodontist," Cuddy said.

"Whatever Sheldon was going to do for you, I'm sure I can do better," House said, with a smirk.

"He was going to pick me up. Be on time. Act like a gentleman."

"Child's play," House said. "And after dinner?"

"He was going to drop me off."

"Is he gay?" House said.

"Very funny, House."

"Consider me your official neutered orthodontist," House said.

"You're sure about this?" Cuddy said.

"Sure as Sheldon."

Cuddy folded her arms.

"Okay. But behave yourself. At the lecture and the dinner."

"I will be a model employee," House said. "And a bona fide dream date."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

#######

It was standing room only at the lecture hall for Monica's talk.

She was, Cuddy had to admit, an engaging speaker. She talked about the brain-body connection and how, even the most compassionate healers sometimes forgot about the power of positive visualization. "Together, as a team with our patients, we can promote wellness," she said.

"It's one thing for the patient to visualize themselves cancer-free," she continued, as Cameron busily scribbled notes from the audience. "It's another for the doctor to visualize it as well. If the doctor doesn't believe, the patient won't either."

This was the sort of thing that usually made House burst into peals of derisive laughter—or at least start heckling. Instead, he sat right up front, next to Wilson, pretending to be rapt.

Monica seemed to recognize him from the start, because she kept directing her comments toward him during the talk.

He returned her gaze, and, after the speech, joined the staff in giving her a standing ovation.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break," she muttered under her breath.

"Pick you up at 6:45?" House said to Cuddy, as he strode toward Dr. Barston, who was being swarmed by admirers hoping to get an autographed copy of her book.

Barston stopped signing when she saw House, warmly shook his hand, whispered something in his ear.

"I'm very interested in having you clarify your point about patient-doctor scrapbooking," Cuddy heard House say.

#####

He was, miraculously, on time to pick Cuddy up. And instead of honking rudely from the street, as she'd expected, he came to the door.

She assessed his appearance: He was wearing a dark grey suit and a red tie. It was virtually unprecedented.

"Wow, you must really like this woman," Cuddy said, straightening his tie, almost on instinct.

House looked down at her ministrations.

"What makes you so sure I wore it for her and not you?" he said, mischievously.

"Because you see me everyday—and you can't even be bothered to iron your shirt, let alone put on a suit and tie."

"Just trying to fulfill my role as arm candy. Speaking of which, you look ravishing tonight."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, suppressing a blush.

"And whose attention are you trying to get this evening?" House said, leadingly.

"I. . .always try to look good," Cuddy replied.

"My point precisely," House said, opening the car door for her.

"Or so you're suggesting I dress the way I do to get your attention?" Cuddy snorted, once he had settled in behind the steering wheel.

"If the push-up bra fits. . ."

"But I don't need to dress nicely to get your attention, House. You'd be making lewd comments about me if I wore a potato sack."

"True. But then again, you'd manage to find a way to give the potato sack cleavage."

She shook her head, laughed.

"I was embarrassed for you earlier, by the way," she said.

"For moi?"

"Yes, the way you were hanging all over Monica Barston. Acting like you actually agreed with everything she said. It was a truly nauseating display."

"I'm certainly not the first man to pretend to agree with a woman to get into her. . .good graces," House said.

"I'm just not used to you being such a hypocrite. You usually say what you think, consequences be damned."

"And you're always giving me grief about that," House countered.

"So I finally found the one thing that will make you behave, huh?" Cuddy teased.

"I think we both know I can be very obedient under the right conditions," he said, side-eyeing her.

Cuddy looked down at her hands. Leave it to House to reference their one hookup when he was on his way to try to seduce another woman.

They had arrived at the restaurant.

House quickly limped over and got the door for her. Then he took her arm.

"To the ballroom, m'lady," he said.

She smiled, impressed.

"So this is what it's like to date Gregory House," she said.

"If this were a real date, we'd be having a lot more fun by now," he said.

They made eye contact. And for a second, something almost sincere coursed between them. Then they both snapped out of it.

"Try not to arch your back and hiss at Monica too conspicuously tonight," he said.

"She's a lovely woman and I have nothing but admiration for her," Cuddy said, unconvincingly.

"Now who's being a hypocrite?" he said with a laugh.

######

The restaurant had seated them in a private dining room in the back. Most of the dinner party had already arrived, including Wilson, who was sitting next to Monica, hanging on her every word, looking completely besotted.

House was about to sit down next to Cuddy on the opposite end of the table when Monica spotted him.

"Oh, Dr. House, come sit with me!" she said. "I really want to finish our conversation from earlier." Then she turned to Wilson. "You don't mind scooting over a bit, do you?"

Wilson frowned slightly, but recovered.

"I'm always happy to make room for Dr. House," he said, with false cheer.

"It would be my distinct honor to sit beside you," House said, glancing apologetically at Cuddy. She rolled her eyes.

When he sat, Monica said—technically to House, but theatrically so the whole table could hear—"Let's finally take the gloves off, Dr. House. I know you can't stand my methods. Let me have it."

Again, House glanced at Cuddy. She gave a knowing smile.

"I think. . ." he hesitated for a second.

Cuddy shook her head in disappointment, as if to say, "you wuss."

"I think your book is utter fantasy," House said loudly. "It should be filed next to The Chronicles of Narnia in the bookstore."

And he gave Cuddy a somewhat triumphant look.

"Finally!" Monica said. "Go on."

"Good vibes don't heal patients," House said. "Science does. Medicine. Chemistry."

"But surely you believe in the brain-body connection," Monica said.

"Do I believe in the placebo effect?" House said. "In some cases, yes. But all the positive visualization in the world isn't going to save a patient with Stage 4 lung cancer."

"But it can't hurt."

"Maybe it can hurt if the doctor is so busy doodling rainbows and unicorns with his patients, he forgets to cure them."

The entire table—mostly board members and donors—was listening to their conversation. It was sure a hell of a lot more entertaining than talking about the latest stock report or golf score.

"There was a study," Monica started.

"Oh, here we go. . ." House said.

"Ten patients, two different doctors. One doctor actively engaged in positive visualization with his patients. One doctor didn't. Guess who cured more patients?"

"The better doctor," House said. "Also, probably the one with less sick patients."

"They had analogous cases. And the same medical training."

"Because every doctor with the same degree has the same intellect and every patient responds to treatment in the exact same way."

"I've often found with my patients. . ." Wilson started, but Monica interrupted him. Her eyes were flashing.

"Have you ever had any kind of meaningful relationship with a patient, Dr. House?'

"Meaningful relationships with patients is much more Dr. Wilson's speed," House said. "And by meaningful, I mean. . ."

"Have you ever held a patient's hand? Consoled them? Prayed for them?"

"I have meaningfully saved their lives," House said. "Many times. They always seem to forgive me for not holding their hands."

"It sounds like you don't like your patients very much," Monica said.

"They're my patients. Not my BFFs," House said.

And on and on they went like this, with Monica citing studies from her book and House contradicting and mocking them. Still, Cuddy couldn't help but to notice that, instead of being put off by House's arrogance, Monica seemed to relish it. She leaned closer and closer into him as they debated, and eventually the rest of the table went back to their own discussions, including Wilson, who finally gave up trying to join the conversation.

When the dinner finally ended, everyone got up.

"Dr. House, it's been a blast sparring with you. I really want to give you a signed copy of my book. Care to join me for a drink back at the hotel?" Monica said.

Cuddy stared at her, dumbfounded. The gall of this woman. She didn't seem to even care that she was arranging a booty call in front of the entire table.

"I'd love to, but I can't," House said. "I'm Dr. Cuddy's chauffeur tonight."

"She's a big girl. I'm sure she can find another way to get home," Monica said.

"I can take you home," Wilson said to Cuddy, glumly.

"There, it's settled!" Monica said, taking House's arm.

"Gimme a second," House said. And he walked up to Cuddy, pulled her aside.

"You okay with this?" he asked, softly.

He was actually being sweet, but she found herself filled with a kind of inchoate rage toward him.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she hissed. "You're getting what you wanted, right?"

"I said I'd drive you home. If you want me to. . ."

"After hearing you spout your misanthropic views all night, I'd just as soon get a ride home with Wilson," she spat.

He squinted at her.

"Fine!" he said.

"Fine," she said back.

And he walked over to Dr. Monica Barston and helped her on with her coat.

######