They could make the elevators bigger; three adults, one of them in a wheelchair, didn't leave much breathing space. Amber took a backwards step towards the wall as Eric wheeled in the patient and stuck to her ground, stubbornly refusing to move an inch. They were close; if she just raised her hand, she'd be resting her palm against his shoulder. Disconcerting, to think how a couple of days ago this wouldn't have been close enough.
And then Amber wished she could be all on the other side of the planet, after the bucket of ice water Eric dumped over her head. A glare flashed through her face, and if it didn't stay any longer, it was for the patient's benefit. She forced herself to settle for a cool stare.
Still. He might have a point. House could very well recognize their ideas: even if she hadn't known Eric for more than a week, she could tell that calling out neurological symptoms was typical of him. But-- "Wrong is wrong," she whispered. "And if I'm right, it doesn't matter how I got the answer, does it? As long as I deliver." Oh, she'd said too much. He was half-doctor, half-spy, and she still didn't know whose word mattered most, House or Cuddy's. Personal grudges took a backseat to kissing ass. "What I mean is," she qualified, "if we can reach the right result together, that's what matters most, for the patient."
Speaking of the patient, he had his own bucket of ice water to pour. Amber stiffened. No ragging at the patient, either. That'd get reported to Cuddy, for sure. And from the sound of it, he was speaking from experience-- if she could tease a memory out of him, they could get more medical information, or even improve his amnesia. "Yeah? Manipulation hasn’t always worked for you?”
no subject
And then Amber wished she could be all on the other side of the planet, after the bucket of ice water Eric dumped over her head. A glare flashed through her face, and if it didn't stay any longer, it was for the patient's benefit. She forced herself to settle for a cool stare.
Still. He might have a point. House could very well recognize their ideas: even if she hadn't known Eric for more than a week, she could tell that calling out neurological symptoms was typical of him. But-- "Wrong is wrong," she whispered. "And if I'm right, it doesn't matter how I got the answer, does it? As long as I deliver." Oh, she'd said too much. He was half-doctor, half-spy, and she still didn't know whose word mattered most, House or Cuddy's. Personal grudges took a backseat to kissing ass. "What I mean is," she qualified, "if we can reach the right result together, that's what matters most, for the patient."
Speaking of the patient, he had his own bucket of ice water to pour. Amber stiffened. No ragging at the patient, either. That'd get reported to Cuddy, for sure. And from the sound of it, he was speaking from experience-- if she could tease a memory out of him, they could get more medical information, or even improve his amnesia. "Yeah? Manipulation hasn’t always worked for you?”