"Being right only matters if it helps you reach your goal," Amber argued, "which it usually does." She really should just let this fight go; what could she hope to accomplish by digging in her teeth? Even if she could make Eric see eye-to-eye with her, there was no reason to, since his opinion on her approach to life didn’t matter one bit. And she had everything to lose by pissing him off. But she couldn't hold back. She had to make him understand she wasn't wrong or crazy. It rankled her, the thought of him walking away with the view of her as a cutthroat bitch, just like everyone else.

Oh, god, would he take to calling her CTB? Amber's gaze hardened, her grip on the mouse tightening. The nickname was annoying, coming from everyone else. She could bear it, with some pride, even, because she'd do what she had to, no matter what other people thought of her. She'd just-- she'd liked Eric. He'd brimmed with confidence, touched her just right, and smiled fit to make her head spin. She'd felt good with him. Vulnerable. She'd have preferred it if he didn't take to looking at her with the same contempt as everyone else. But if earning his distaste was inevitable... well, it was only one more hurdle to success. She'd deal.

If nothing else, he was right about one thing: this was pointless. "Yeah," she sighed. This test, this conversation, their past, none of it brought any good. She'd antagonized Eric and House would blame them for the patient's lack of reaction.

"How much more do you need to torture me?" Their patient cried out. "My foot's tingling and my stomach's killing me! Do I need to drop dead before you can diagnose me?"

Amber's eyebrows rose. It wasn't a normal reaction, but it was definitely a new set of symptoms. House would be pleased after all.