Amber narrowed her eyes, frowning lightly; even before House spoke she knew that her attack had been poorly chosen. He just looked too happy, like whenever he'd left a trap and the time had come to collect the reward. She'd failed to hit a spot sensitive enough to throw him back-- then again, her hands were tied. It was a tricky equilibrium, protecting herself but not being so aggressive as to make him fire her. And she'd lost this round.
I'm just glad he could love again. Amber held back a jolt. Yes, she'd lost this round indeed. If it was true or not-- and how could she know, with House-- the fact was that he'd found a weakness of hers. He wouldn't forget, either. She could look forward to more insinuations about Eric's past loves. Right in front of the others, too. Then everyone would know how much that upset her.
It was a lie, or an exaggeration. It had to be. If anyone had left the hospital-- which meant she'd have been a coworker, if she existed, and, jeez, couldn't Eric expand his dating pool-- Amber would've heard about that. The juiciest tales made their way round to even the newest staff. Amber couldn't let herself believe any of this, not until she had the chance to ask Eric himself.
And House, the asshole, didn't even give her the chance to reply. He left with the last word, that trash about her being the rebound. No—that couldn’t be true either, she'd have noticed something like that, like she had the other things bothering Eric, like his work, his brother. But, alone in the room, suddenly quiet after the thud of the door, Amber looked down at her lap. Her hands had curled into themselves of their own accord, tight and hard. Why would she know? What did she really know about Eric?
And then she flushed, hot and angry and furious. Let herself rise to her feet, energy flooding her veins; almost kicked a chair, but didn't, on the off chance that House had his ear to the door, listening in. It was a close call, though. Amber wanted to hit, to smash. She settled for running a hand through her hair, pulling slightly. Fuck. It was happening again. She was making a fool of herself. Over a boy. Forget whether or not Eric had relationships in the past, if he'd loved anyone before-- that was practically a given-- Amber had just very nearly sabotaged her standing in the game. Maybe House had enjoyed this session, and being able to amuse him was probably important in lasting to the final round-- but he couldn't have been impressed. He’d cut her once her wretchedness stopped making him laugh. It was like fucking him: being the joke might get his interest, but it wasn't what counted.
She'd known it this morning, and now she knew it more than ever: being with Eric was making her stupid. Not being able to decide what happened in the bed was nothing compared to the agony of not being able to control her feelings, her actions, her expressions. A week ago, House wouldn't have been able to get to her like this.
Still hot all over, Amber gathered her things. Standing her and seething with impotent rage would do her no good. She'd fucked up, but she'd show House. She'd win. If he wanted a case, she'd get him one. Even if she had to spend all day asking every doctor, nurse, and flunky for a secret mystery patient.
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I'm just glad he could love again. Amber held back a jolt. Yes, she'd lost this round indeed. If it was true or not-- and how could she know, with House-- the fact was that he'd found a weakness of hers. He wouldn't forget, either. She could look forward to more insinuations about Eric's past loves. Right in front of the others, too. Then everyone would know how much that upset her.
It was a lie, or an exaggeration. It had to be. If anyone had left the hospital-- which meant she'd have been a coworker, if she existed, and, jeez, couldn't Eric expand his dating pool-- Amber would've heard about that. The juiciest tales made their way round to even the newest staff. Amber couldn't let herself believe any of this, not until she had the chance to ask Eric himself.
And House, the asshole, didn't even give her the chance to reply. He left with the last word, that trash about her being the rebound. No—that couldn’t be true either, she'd have noticed something like that, like she had the other things bothering Eric, like his work, his brother. But, alone in the room, suddenly quiet after the thud of the door, Amber looked down at her lap. Her hands had curled into themselves of their own accord, tight and hard. Why would she know? What did she really know about Eric?
And then she flushed, hot and angry and furious. Let herself rise to her feet, energy flooding her veins; almost kicked a chair, but didn't, on the off chance that House had his ear to the door, listening in. It was a close call, though. Amber wanted to hit, to smash. She settled for running a hand through her hair, pulling slightly. Fuck. It was happening again. She was making a fool of herself. Over a boy. Forget whether or not Eric had relationships in the past, if he'd loved anyone before-- that was practically a given-- Amber had just very nearly sabotaged her standing in the game. Maybe House had enjoyed this session, and being able to amuse him was probably important in lasting to the final round-- but he couldn't have been impressed. He’d cut her once her wretchedness stopped making him laugh. It was like fucking him: being the joke might get his interest, but it wasn't what counted.
She'd known it this morning, and now she knew it more than ever: being with Eric was making her stupid. Not being able to decide what happened in the bed was nothing compared to the agony of not being able to control her feelings, her actions, her expressions. A week ago, House wouldn't have been able to get to her like this.
Still hot all over, Amber gathered her things. Standing her and seething with impotent rage would do her no good. She'd fucked up, but she'd show House. She'd win. If he wanted a case, she'd get him one. Even if she had to spend all day asking every doctor, nurse, and flunky for a secret mystery patient.