Amber shot up when the patient fell. Having new symptoms was great, but she didn't want him to get worse. Was he alright? Had he another respiratory attack, or had he fallen because of his abdominal pain? His eyes were fluttering, so at least he was conscious. She'd have gone at once to help him, but Eric was already halfway there, and someone needed to save the mostly-useless test results.
That done, she pulled out her cell phone as she walked to the doors, holding them open for Eric and their patient. "Already on it." Amber's gaze flicked down to their John Doe, analyzing him the best she could as they strode through the hallways. He was pale, sweaty, and breathing shallowly-- though that could've been from the jogging.
"How are you now?" Amber asked.
"Happier than a clam," he growled.
"Does your stomach still hurt? Are your feet numb?"
"Oh, god, yes," he moaned, leaning forward all the more. Amber eyed Eric, quickening her pace. She didn't ask anymore questions and their patient lapsed into silence, even his groans subsiding. The pain seemed to come in short, intense bursts. What would cause that, together with all the other symptoms? Amber wracked her brain; nothing, far as she knew. But "nothing" wasn't a good enough answer. She needed to have something, by the time she next saw House.
Caught up in her train of thought, Eric's words took her by surprise. It took her a moment to process what he said, the notion of winning by not being right was so alien to her. "Would you have won, if you'd been wrong?" she asked, mostly to be contrary, but also because she needed to know. She welcomed any and all strategies to success, including her one-night stand's cautionary tales.
no subject
That done, she pulled out her cell phone as she walked to the doors, holding them open for Eric and their patient. "Already on it." Amber's gaze flicked down to their John Doe, analyzing him the best she could as they strode through the hallways. He was pale, sweaty, and breathing shallowly-- though that could've been from the jogging.
"How are you now?" Amber asked.
"Happier than a clam," he growled.
"Does your stomach still hurt? Are your feet numb?"
"Oh, god, yes," he moaned, leaning forward all the more. Amber eyed Eric, quickening her pace. She didn't ask anymore questions and their patient lapsed into silence, even his groans subsiding. The pain seemed to come in short, intense bursts. What would cause that, together with all the other symptoms? Amber wracked her brain; nothing, far as she knew. But "nothing" wasn't a good enough answer. She needed to have something, by the time she next saw House.
Caught up in her train of thought, Eric's words took her by surprise. It took her a moment to process what he said, the notion of winning by not being right was so alien to her. "Would you have won, if you'd been wrong?" she asked, mostly to be contrary, but also because she needed to know. She welcomed any and all strategies to success, including her one-night stand's cautionary tales.