So it was possible there were three slots left, but Amber wouldn't bank on it. Eric-- "Dr. Foreman"--'s salary had to come from somewhere, and where else but the existing positions in the Diagnostics Department? Cuddy was hardly wild about House's employee situation as it was, she wouldn't expand his budget; give him an inch, and he’d take the entire hospital down with him.

Three had become two. Damn it.

Amber's musings came to a quick end at House's words. Indiscriminately killing patients? Their last patient died because of Thirteen's gross incompetence, which must be part of what House was referring to. But his statement implied things about Eric-- Foreman-- as well. Was House distorting history, as he often did? Or had Foreman been inept?

When House passed on his commands, Amber gave a plastic smile, determined to not let her displeasure show. Professional, that was what she'd be, to the very last. Mechanically she rose, as if her movements were dictated by remote-control, and stuck her hands into her pocket, where no one could see her clench them. She strode to the lower exit, the fastest way to the testing room. Foreman could catch up with her, if he wanted to. If he didn't, she'd be happy to run the methacholine challenge herself and get all the credit for the results.