The overhead fluorescents flicker slightly as you and House walk in through the ER entrance, both of you looking very unlike you just came from home.

You in a fitted black dress, heels clicking confidently beside him. Your lipstick still fresh, your perfume still warm in the air between you. House in a blazer (no tie, of course), shirt slightly rumpled, but undeniably... dressed for something not hospital-related.

Your pager had buzzed halfway through dessert. Both of yours did. And after a shared look and a grumbled sigh, he paid the bill, grabbed the car keys, and got back into work mode — almost.

Because House is still smirking. “Foreman’s going to pop a blood vessel.”

And sure enough, as the elevator doors open on diagnostics, Foreman looks up from his folder — sees your dress, House’s uncharacteristic jacket, the too-close way you both walk in side by side — and freezes. “...Where were you two?”

House doesn’t miss a beat. “Church.”

You suppress a snort, brushing past to check the board. You feel his eyes on the back of your legs the whole time. “You wore heels to a consult?”

“She wears heels for me.” He leans on his cane, smug and slow “Tonight was a... pre-diagnosis diagnostic.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Careful, you’re flirting again.”

“I’d never. I’m a professional.”

The other interns filter in slowly. Kutner raises his brows. Taub smirks. Thirteen gives you a once-over and offers a knowing smile.

And the look on House’s face says it clearly: he liked being seen with you. Liked the quiet ownership in the way Foreman looked between you. Liked that no one had to ask whose date you were.