The cat was out of the bag and meowing its existence to everyone. "This is absolutely shocking," House sounded like he’d just read on some stupid tabloid cover how a girl had slept with her twin sister's clone. "Was it the during the methacholine challenge? Our jogging amnesiac and all the lab instruments were just too hot for you to resist? Cuddy will be so disappointed her brand new set of eyes and ears were misbehaving on their very first day."
Amber flared up from the inside, like a sudden fire passing through her organs. How crazy; a few days ago she'd wanted the world to see her with her amazing catch of a date. Now she was blushing at the amusement they were all getting at her expense. How had she become the butt of the joke?
But she could turn a profit from this. If entertainment was what House wanted, then she'd delivered. And she could dish out even more.
With only a quick, almost apologetic, glance to Foreman, Amber flipped her hair. “We met on Thursday," she stated simply. "And slept together. It--" There were so many things she could say about their night. How they'd danced, how she'd melted in his arms, how she would've done him then and there. How he'd undone her with a few words: so fucking gorgeous. How alarmed he'd been when she tried to penetrate him, and how he'd let himself trust her. How good that'd been, for the both of them.
Amber looked at Eric again. He looked worse than when he'd realized where she'd meant to slip her fingers, angry and humiliated and scared. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kiss and tell, not even for this job. He'd trusted her, and she wouldn't ever make him regret that. Their night, anything they could've had together, was spoiled by the twist of fate that they both worked for House, but she wouldn't tarnish what they'd had. "It was a coincidence," Amber concluded. "We didn't know we were working in the same department."
She heard a snicker-- Kutner?-- and Thirteen was smirking in a way Amber had never seen. She could've made Eric the center of the laughter by throwing out embarrassing tidbits about him, but Amber felt this better this way. No one here might believe she had any kind of morals, but it was true. She did.
House mimed wiping his eyes, but if he had any tears to clear away, it’d be of mirth. "To a romantic like me," his voice dramatically welled with emotion, "there's no such thing as 'coincidence.' You were meant to meet!”
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Amber flared up from the inside, like a sudden fire passing through her organs. How crazy; a few days ago she'd wanted the world to see her with her amazing catch of a date. Now she was blushing at the amusement they were all getting at her expense. How had she become the butt of the joke?
But she could turn a profit from this. If entertainment was what House wanted, then she'd delivered. And she could dish out even more.
With only a quick, almost apologetic, glance to Foreman, Amber flipped her hair. “We met on Thursday," she stated simply. "And slept together. It--" There were so many things she could say about their night. How they'd danced, how she'd melted in his arms, how she would've done him then and there. How he'd undone her with a few words: so fucking gorgeous. How alarmed he'd been when she tried to penetrate him, and how he'd let himself trust her. How good that'd been, for the both of them.
Amber looked at Eric again. He looked worse than when he'd realized where she'd meant to slip her fingers, angry and humiliated and scared. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kiss and tell, not even for this job. He'd trusted her, and she wouldn't ever make him regret that. Their night, anything they could've had together, was spoiled by the twist of fate that they both worked for House, but she wouldn't tarnish what they'd had. "It was a coincidence," Amber concluded. "We didn't know we were working in the same department."
She heard a snicker-- Kutner?-- and Thirteen was smirking in a way Amber had never seen. She could've made Eric the center of the laughter by throwing out embarrassing tidbits about him, but Amber felt this better this way. No one here might believe she had any kind of morals, but it was true. She did.
House mimed wiping his eyes, but if he had any tears to clear away, it’d be of mirth. "To a romantic like me," his voice dramatically welled with emotion, "there's no such thing as 'coincidence.' You were meant to meet!”