"Good boy," Amber said, appeased by Eric's quick, if mildly flippant, promise. "Try to find something that'll really do her in, like being weak to sunlight or wood stakes." And that's when she realized: she wouldn't be alone in House's game anymore. She'd been fighting it out single-handedly, and that had been fine, that's how she'd always done it. Amber fought alone, and she fought viciously. She'd never needed anyone else's help. Everyone else had only gotten in the way.

If Eric was willing to stay by her side, then... she'd have no idea what that'd be like. Her mother and others had told her she'd get further by cooperating with people, but she'd found them more hindrance than help, so she'd skipped team playing. Would Eric be any good to her, in the competition?

Amber breathed in sharply with Eric's kiss, not surprised by it, but perhaps not ready for the intimacy, not when she was reevaluating what being together meant. It'd be a whole new way of living. God, what if he were the one to need a favor, support in defying one of House's daredevil stunts on a patient? That was how group work went, wasn't it, mutual aid?

And Eric smiled at her, looking at her as if she were cast in silver. "Of course I will," Amber replied, feeling the strength of metal within. "There was never any question of that."

If nothing else, it'd be good to have someone there who didn’t hate her every fiber.

Amber was thoughtful as they walked. She barely noticed the restaurant’s subdued blues, contrasted by a wall of cherry red in the back. Eric’s arm around her waist was an anchor, keeping her from drifting away on a sea of ruminations.

“Here,” she told the maitre d’, picking a table besides a wall. “What’s the best wine you have in the house?” When he’d told her, Amber snorted. “That’s your best? Well, bring it anyway, we don’t want to do any worse.”