Bacon, eggs and toast was too heavy a breakfast for her; most mornings, even on the weekend, she made do with light fare that kept her going until a heavier lunch. She'd loaded up on last night's dinner and was still satisfied by it; toast would've been enough for now. Not that she'd have any this morning, it seemed. "Is the toaster broken?" Amber asked, eyeing the pale, lukewarm slices.
The coffee was good, though, and the first sip was what she imagined religious experiences were like: soul-changing, light-bringing. Only then did she feel the pull of hunger and, since it was steaming hot right in front of her, Amber dug into the omelet. It was pretty good. She ate slowly, taking in the thick richness of flavor. "Not bad," she said, then teased: "I’ll keep you at least another week." Then again, he could've burned water and she wouldn't have let him go. The cooking thing was just an unexpected and very, very welcome bonus.
Spending most of her weekends alone or at work, Amber didn't quite know what most people did. She heard, saw hints-- going out during the day seemed popular, for shopping or movies. She'd seen a lot of patients come in with sports injuries and you-shouldn't-have-tried-that-at-home accidents. (The father of three who'd come in covered in day-glow paint and glitter had been a spectacular example. She still didn’t know how the glitter had ended up even there.) As for night life, Amber knew that part well: the dance clubs, the bars-- not that she'd take Eric out to pick up one-night stands. Amber smirked into another sip of coffee.
So she was pleasantly surprised to hear that Eric spent his free time in pretty much the same way. (House's accusation of 'boring' echoed in her mind, but he could shove it.) "You sure? Because I'll beat your ass," Amber shot back, her automatic reply to any challenge. Sports might not be her specialty, but she knew a thing or two about throwing a ball and even more about playing dirty.
no subject
The coffee was good, though, and the first sip was what she imagined religious experiences were like: soul-changing, light-bringing. Only then did she feel the pull of hunger and, since it was steaming hot right in front of her, Amber dug into the omelet. It was pretty good. She ate slowly, taking in the thick richness of flavor. "Not bad," she said, then teased: "I’ll keep you at least another week." Then again, he could've burned water and she wouldn't have let him go. The cooking thing was just an unexpected and very, very welcome bonus.
Spending most of her weekends alone or at work, Amber didn't quite know what most people did. She heard, saw hints-- going out during the day seemed popular, for shopping or movies. She'd seen a lot of patients come in with sports injuries and you-shouldn't-have-tried-that-at-home accidents. (The father of three who'd come in covered in day-glow paint and glitter had been a spectacular example. She still didn’t know how the glitter had ended up even there.) As for night life, Amber knew that part well: the dance clubs, the bars-- not that she'd take Eric out to pick up one-night stands. Amber smirked into another sip of coffee.
So she was pleasantly surprised to hear that Eric spent his free time in pretty much the same way. (House's accusation of 'boring' echoed in her mind, but he could shove it.) "You sure? Because I'll beat your ass," Amber shot back, her automatic reply to any challenge. Sports might not be her specialty, but she knew a thing or two about throwing a ball and even more about playing dirty.