alwaysright | October 30, 2007

For the rest of the afternoon, Foreman found himself chuckling at odd moments. He'd be in the middle of the monstrous pile of paperwork, his back cramping from leaning over, his eyes aching, and all of a sudden he'd realize he was grinning like an idiot. He'd glance up, glad that there wasn't anyone to catch him at it, and think of Amber suffering horribly down in the clinic, and shake his head before going back to work. She'd be tired after a long day, and if her reaction to the usual run of mild complaints was anything like his, she'd be too tired to do much tonight other than go home and collapse. Foreman could spare some compassion then: he'd offer to cook, or at least, to order something in. Hell, even massage her feet if she wanted. The fact that he was going with her--that she'd invited him again, and that he already had all the things he'd need waiting in his car--buoyed him up, even when the stack of consult requests only seemed to get stupider the deeper he delved into them.

By twenty to five, Foreman had sent form letter replies to as many idiot doctors as he could without losing his faith in humanity. He'd go down and let the candidates off early, be magnanimous for as long as he could afford to be. He needed to ingratiate himself with them somehow, even if was only by knocking fifteen minutes off their drudgery. Cuddy could hardly complain: she'd been underusing six of the most talented doctors in the hospital for most of the day, and, Foreman knew--since they had to be sharing Cameron and Chase's old salaries among them--for a pittance. House was a bastard, but days like this were ones Cuddy probably counted as a win in their perpetual battle.

Foreman turned of the computer, turned off the lights, and grabbed his coat. He wouldn't bother with his briefcase tonight; he wasn't planning on sucking up to Cuddy any more than he'd be compromising with House. If he'd gotten his own office and his own staff like he'd asked for, then she could think about making him stay late trudging through House's paperwork.

He arrived in the clinic five minutes later. The first person he saw was Brennan, who only gave him a mildly disgruntled stare when Foreman gave him permission to go. He snorted, but he seemed glad enough to go and tell the others that they were off the hook.

Foreman checked the board to see which exam room Amber was in with her last patient, and, leaving his coat at the nurses' station, he went and knocked on the door. He was already sure that everyone in the whole hospital was well aware of what was going on between him and Amber. That didn't mean that he had to confirm all their suspicions--but he could also take a few liberties that he might not have if they were still being 'discreet'. Feeling pleased with himself, he opened it just enough to stick his head in and said, with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Dr. Volakis, could I have a word with you?"

Threaded | Flat

Amber sat cross-legged on the stool, reviewing who she'd seen that day. The list wasn't as long as it could've been; normally she whipped through the patients, trying to beat her personal records for getting people in and out. (Her highest and lowest scores varied wildly, but only because the ultimate factor in how long each visit took were the patients themselves, and Amber couldn't control who walked into the clinic on a given day.)

But since she was going to spend the whole day in the clinic, together with five other doctors, Amber paced herself more slowly. She took the time to listen to her patients for more than just their symptoms, as doctors should. For the most part all she heard was irrelevant data and gossip, like what classes that college boy was taking, but one teenager made an off-hand comment about hand tremors; answers to follow up questions suggested that she probably had a thyroid disorder. Amber sent the poor girl off to an endocrinologist. She might've missed that, if she'd been rushing through the long waiting line.

Clinic hours weren't nearly as terrible when not run through them like a frat kid downing booze to get drunk as fast possible. While she wouldn't want to spend every day of the rest of her life doing diagnosing pedestrian head colds and imaginary health issues, as a way to take a near-break and chat with random strangers, it was actually pleasant.

She could get through at least one more patient today, two, if she hurried. She wouldn't. Which was why, when an impatient jerk opened the door, Amber snapped at them. As satisfied as she was with her day's work, it irked her that anyone would mess with her schedule. "I'll get to you, just wait a se-- oh." Amber straightened up as much as she could on the metal-and-plastic stool. She smiled; if Eric were serious, he wouldn't have called her that. It was good to see him, like flopping face-first onto a bed after walking for hours. "Of course, Dr. Foreman. Need a consult?" She got to her feet, leaving the folders on the seat and stalking towards him, eyes narrowing. "Or perhaps you're in need of an examination?" It’d been a while since she’d last used doctor-themed flirtations; trite as they were, she wanted to try them out on Eric.

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