alwaysright | November 5, 2007

November 5, 2007 - Morning

Lonely: that was Amber's first drowsy feeling to waking up alone. It was still dark and her alarm hadn't gone off. She'd woken up this way countless times, perhaps most of her life, and yet it felt wrong not having someone in here with her. Someone to make muffled but satisfied sounds as she climbed onto them, kissing and being held back. She missed Eric and it hadn't even been more than half a day since they'd parted.

Despite how keenly she felt his absence, Amber couldn't help smiling into her pillow. She'd become conditioned to having him in her bed. The space seemed pointlessly immense without him hogging half of it. Well, there was an easy solution: get him in here soon. Luring him back shouldn't be a problem; Amber could think of half a dozen ways to convince him and that was without trying.

The only reason he wasn't there as she stretched, working out the lasting soreness from their basketball game, was because they both had lives to get back to; Amber had house chores, as probably did Eric, and her reading wouldn't get done through sheer wishing. If it weren't for that, Amber would've been happy to spend another weekend afternoon with him, even after all the ups-and-downs on Saturday.

Still, she'd see him today at work. That was reason enough to make her spring out of bed earlier, so as to pretty herself up all the more. Eric would notice and appreciate her effort; it'd make up for how disgustingly casual she'd been around him this weekend.

The fact that she'd worn his Colombia hoodie to bed... what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Her mom had called Sunday, pointedly asking if she should expect only Amber or plus one for Thanksgiving. "Just me, mom."

"Hmmm?" she'd intoned, judgment and curiosity rolled into a single package. Amber just hoped there wasn't a dash of hope mixed in there. "Broke up already?"

"No," Amber replied with more vehemence than necessary, thinking back on how instantly tense Eric had become at the mere mention of the visit. With his mother's disease, his brother's imprisonment, and his dad's who-knew-what, it might actually be because it was too hard for him to face anyone's family and not because he was scared to meet hers specifically. "It's barely been a week. We're still getting to know each other."

"A few days ago it sounded like you were about to marry him, has it cooled off already? Are you bored with the sex?"

It was the bit about marriage that made Amber sputter softly. Yeah, keeping Eric away was the wisest course of action. "Everything is fine, mom. We're still together and, no, not bored with the sex." There definitely was nothing wrong with their sex life-- in fact, the very opposite. For all that Amber fretted that they were drying up into a drought, Saturday night had been sweetly intimate, in an orgasm-filled way, and Sunday morning they'd tried out the lazy morning sex she'd been anticipating so much. Turned out it was every bit as delicious as she'd imagined.

Aside from that and having to hear her mom describe in minute detail her Thanksgiving plans (arranging rides to pick up her brothers at the airport, finding accommodation for non-immediate family members, shopping for the cheapest yet best food, and on and on and on), Amber's Sunday had been pretty quiet. Just her, her journals, and an endless supply of coffee.

Monday Amber took the time to blow-dry her hair and apply a more careful, if still absolutely professional, layer of makeup than she usually bothered to for work. It made her feel good all morning long, through breakfast and the drive. But as she stepped into the parking lot, the same way she'd started so many other days at PPTH, reluctance overcame her. Things were different here. It'd been so easy to forget once Friday rolled around and they'd fled the hospital, but she had bigger things to think about than "them." She had a career, a purpose. He had his. His partially consisted of keeping her under control; hers, stomping all over him as the occasion called.

It'd keep their sex lives interesting, Amber mused as she shut her car door.

It wasn't just how different their relationship had to be, though. There were other people to consider as well. House, who needed to keep his nose in his own business; her pathetic colleagues, who already looked at her askew for sleeping with the pseudo-boss; and who knew who else decided they had the right to an opinion about her personal life. Ignoring them all would have to do as a policy, Amber decided; that and hunt down anyone who dared try to make her miserable.

Despite the extra time she'd spent in the bathroom and her unhurried breakfast, Amber still arrived before anyone else. A nice change of pace, compared to the previous week. Content, Amber chose an aisle seat in one of the middle rows and settled down with a more recent edition of JNEN.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The difference between waking up with morning wood on Sunday, and in the same condition Monday, was that on Sunday Foreman's hard-on had already been nestled against the roundness of Amber's ass, his hand only had to slide up a few inches to cup her breast, and his soft breathing against her shoulder had turned into a gentle, open-mouthed kiss without so much as a thought. Today all he had was his own hand sneaking into his shorts before he'd fully woken up. When he blinked his eyes open, Foreman grunted, impatient with his own horniness. He was getting used to regular sex again, and it was as if his default state was turned on, probably from dreaming that he'd wake up next to her again. He didn't even want to indulge, without Amber; it just wasn't the same.

His dick wasn't listening to any comparisons, though. When Foreman knocked the covers off and made it into his shower, with the hot spray hitting his shoulders and the smell of soap in his nostrils, the memory of what Amber had done in the gym's shower came roaring back. A quick beat-off wouldn't make him late, and as long as he got to picture her on her knees, her knowing eyes meeting his while she closed her lips around his cock.

Foreman was nearly grinning when he got out of the shower. He shaved carefully, and tugged the cuffs of his suit jacket into place when he dressed, giving himself a satisfied look in the mirror as he did. Work or not, nothing was going to go wrong today. He ate quickly and poured his coffee into a travel mug for the drive to the hospital. House would be in late, of course. And the candidates would be assembling in the lecture theatre, like this was still med school. Last week, Foreman would have left them to it, content to get some work done until it seemed likely that House might actually show up. And yet today he found himself heading for the theatre, hardly remembering to go by the office and shuck his coat.

Outside the theatre's door, Foreman stopped and found himself smiling again. Amber was alone, early--well, so was he; they hadn't distracted each other this morning--and reading a journal, her legs crossed, lightly biting her lower lip as she concentrated. He opened the door, knowing the sound would catch her attention, and then jerked his head at the corridor, inviting her to sneak out into the hall for a minute, his smile still irrepressibly on his lips.

Amber looked up at the sound, wondering which one of her obnoxious workmates had just entered. Answer: none of them. Her smile was automatic, as was her accompanying brightening in mood. Just seeing him, unexpectedly, was like a very good dream come true. Eric kept a hand on the door, maintaining it open as he indicated the hallway with his head. Either he was inefficiently working out a crick or his neck or he was wordlessly asking her to leave the room with him.

Her expression fell as her happiness faded into hesitation. Sure she was crazy about Eric, yeah she'd missed him as much as she would've her daily rush of caffeine, but they were at work. The rules were different here. It was one thing to hurry out flirting on a Friday evening, another to indulge their very obvious attraction to one another on a Monday morning. Everyone knew but that wasn't the point. If they kept things professional in front of everyone else, people would stop caring and find juicier gossip; if they put on a show, tongues would wag. Eagerly. This wasn't (only) about getting hired by House-- Amber's pride wouldn’t allow making a lovesick fool of herself. If they went out into the corridor, other staff members would catch sight of them making eyes at one another; if they stayed in the theater, one of the others would come in.

So Amber did rise, clasping her hands together over her waist, and she did take a few steps towards him; but she didn't cross more than half the distance separating them. "Kissing, making out, and fucking will have to wait until after work," she told him firmly. “Casual conversations are okay, as long as they’re not too personal.”

The way Amber's face lit up when she saw him made Foreman sure that she'd sneak out into the hall, if only for a minute. He'd missed her this morning. Even something as casual as a kiss would hold him throughout the length of the workday, and the hall wasn't even the main entrance to the theatre--nobody was going to see. Amber got up, but she stopped before getting close.

Foreman raised his eyebrows, a surprised chuckle bubbling up. "There's nobody here," he said, as cajoling as possible, before he realized that she wasn't kidding. It wasn't like he'd wanted to get naked. A kiss was all he'd been after. Foreman glanced around the lecture theatre as if he might have missed the crowd rushing in, but no, it was still deserted, and likely to remain so for at least another twenty minutes. The others had pretty much learned that punctuality wasn't ever something House was going to demand of them, and it wasn't like the janitors or the nurses were going to butt in on House's territory. He'd pissed off too many support staff over the years for that to happen.

Maybe he had let his eagerness at seeing Amber overcome his sense of propriety. He pulled back his smile and tried to shrug it off. They'd still have after work, with no prying eyes. She was right. He was the one who wanted to keep their business their own. He'd lost his head for a minute. With a sigh, he nodded. Although he didn't think they'd manage much casual conversation, either. When was their conversation ever casual? He abandoned the door, letting it fall shut, and headed for the desk, where he ditched his briefcase. Leaning back against the corner of the desk, he crossed his arms and watched her, that damn smile still twitching at his lips. "How was your weekend?" he asked, trying to sound as ironic as possible.

"Doesn't matter," Amber affirmed. "They could walk in on us." Better not to start up bad habits, anyway-- in a way, she already had, calling Eric into the changing room when she'd wanted to talk to him last week, and taunting him Friday evening with her strut to the elevator. Having set the precedence, it was up to her to break it.

(And from previous experience, Amber knew she'd never be satisfied with just a kiss or a hug or a flirtatious chat—she shouldn’t tempt herself into even considering the possibility of finding an unoccupied room.)

Satisfied that Eric accepted her limits so quickly, Amber returned to her seat, crossing her legs once more and opening up to the page where she'd left off. Back to synucleinopathies.

Or so it would've been, hadn't Eric started up yet another conversation. Finishing the sentence she'd started, Amber looked up again impatiently. He was interrupting her train of thought. But for all her annoyance that he wasn't letting her focus on what could be the key information to a future diagnosis, it was impossible to resist his cheerfulness. He was so cute this way and-- better-- Amber knew it was because of her. Flattering. And hadn't she dressed up for him? Holding back the smile tugging at her lips, Amber played with the tips of her hair. "Okay," she answered. "Met up with this guy, had some fun with him. Caught up on my reading, too."

Tilting his head as Amber went back to her journal as if he wasn't in the room, Foreman pressed his lips together in exasperation. She'd clearly said casual conversation was on the 'acceptable' list, but now it seemed like acknowledging his presence was a little too much to ask. The miffed look on her face when she looked up dissolved when he raised his eyebrows expectantly. Sure, had some fun, as well as a handful of wrenching conversations that he still wasn't sure he'd recovered from. "Oh, your reading," Foreman said. "Sounds important."

He wasn't going to drag out the conversation if her reading was that much more important than he was. Foreman let out his breath and went around to sit at the desk, opening his briefcase and pulling out his newspaper. He never came unprepared for long sessions of waiting anymore. Though it would still be nice if he could talk to his girlfriend instead of reading the headlines and forgetting them five seconds later. Around the edge of the paper, Foreman eyed Amber, letting his glance linger on the shape of her calf, letting his ogling wander up to the hem of her skirt. He wouldn't check her out when they were actually on a case, so he might as well get his fill now.

Eric dove into his own reading, the newspaper rustling as he opened it up. That worked for her. Nice, that they both preferred to spend the few minutes before the day started discreetly, each immersed in their text. This common activity was a connection between them; they really did make a good pair, if they liked to pass the time in the same way. Content, Amber let herself sink into the words once more, decisively underlining key phrases and terms.

Not only did he get no response to his half-joking jab about Amber rating her journals as highly as she did everything they done together on Saturday, she went right back to it as if she really did feel that way. Not as a tease, not because she was trying to wind him up, but just because she was happy to immerse herself in--Foreman craned his head to see the title--the JNEN. Well, at least she had good taste in journals, even if she apparently preferred neurology to neurologists. He couldn't see well enough to check if it was an issue he'd read, or one he'd contributed to, so it wasn't like that would work for a conversational opener either. And in the next few minutes, they'd be interrupted, and there would go any chance to say something even remotely personal for the rest of the day.

Vaguely annoyed, Foreman checked his watch. Yeah, quarter to nine. And with House not likely to come in until ten, he was probably going to end up sitting here with all of the candidates like he had on Friday. Plus, he and Amber studiously ignoring each other wasn't going to stop gossip. Everyone would be quick to assume that they'd come in to work together. Even if they weren't actively making out, the assumption would be that they had been mere moments before the doors had opened. Foreman didn't like the implication; if he'd actually gotten a good-morning kiss, he wouldn't feel nearly so grumpy about the fact that people were going to assume he had.

Sitting here was only irritating him further; so was the fact that they hadn't had a case since the middle of last week, and the boredom was beginning to tell on all of them. There was no reason they needed to wait on House's convenience. Foreman might only have lip-service authority, but if somebody found an interesting case that had cropped up over the weekend, he could at least force House to listen as the fellows presented them. And--

He grinned quickly. Gifts weren't easy to give to Amber; she didn't appreciate the more traditional sort and not showing himself to be a pompous ass was always a consideration. But this, he thought she'd like. "Hey," he said, slapping the paper down on the desk. "Have you had a chance to check around for interesting patients?" Seemed like she hadn't; she was pretty well ensconced with her reading. "I'm gonna send everybody out to bring back something to present. The best you can find. You get a head start for being here first."

Again Eric interrupted her; annoyed to have her concentration broken for what felt like the umpteenth time this morning, Amber turned her eyes to him without moving her face. How had he gotten through med school with such a short attention span? Or high school, for that matter?

"No," she said. "I just got here." Wasn't that obvious? Last week she'd looked around, but as of Friday afternoon, all cases in the hospital were distinctly of the horse category and therefore not for them. Amber meant to go searching soon, but she liked to be in the lecture theater when nine o'clock rolled around: sometimes House was punctual and, even if he didn't show his face, it was a chance to scope out the others and see how they were doing. Part of competition was knowing your adversary's state.

So when Eric told her how to do her job, resentment uncoiled in Amber. She uncrossed her legs, straightening her back and looked down through her not at him at his desk. Like she needed his permission to go running around. His supervision role should not include mandating what she did and when. He was so excited about his decision, too, as if bossing her around was a joy; or, worse, maybe he thought he was doing her a favor, giving her the head start. How fucking patronizing. She wasn't against his help in the workplace, if it were useful. Did he think her that incompetent? "Thanks," she said coolly, rising. "I'll go find something for show-and-tell." Picking up her journal and pen-- she didn't put petty theft past the others-- Amber clicked down the steps and towards the exit.

Baffled, Foreman slumped back in his chair, when Amber only threw a cold look at him. He knew she'd just gotten here. Her reading couldn't possibly be more important than finding an actual case, even if Foreman himself didn't rate. Wasn't that why she was here? For the fun of finding something unusual and getting brownie points from House for proving she knew what she was doing? He tipped his head and watched her askance as she came down the stairs towards him. Instead of the happiness she'd shown when she walked in, he was pretty sure that her expression now meant that he was in the doghouse. For what, he had no clue.

"Aren't you tired of sitting around waiting for something to turn up?" he asked. A good case wasn't just going to drop into their laps. There had been times when he was working with Chase and Cameron when they'd circled Admitting like sharks, so bored out of their minds that anything out of the ordinary would've made them jump on it.

Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Usually that was the way he handled it when his girlfriend was pissed at him for no reason he could see. And it usually blew over when he handled it like that. But Amber looked at him like he'd just insulted her instead of given her a chance to look good and get them all a patient to work on.

Not even run the errand he'd sent her on he'd let her do without an interruption; on the ground level, Amber stopped to address his question, journal tucked under her arm. "Not yet-- like I said, I just got here. But if you're bored, you should go looking yourself." With that, Amber strode out, the double doors creaking as she pushed them open.

A bit of reading to start off the week, what was wrong with that? Okay, maybe she should've sprinted round the hospital to get first dibs on all potential cases; did her work performance suck, was that what he was telling to tell her? Amber cringed to herself. It'd suck if she sucked. For all she knew, the others were already here, proactively seeking patients. No, she couldn't let them beat her; Eric had done her a favor, reminding her to be her best. She'd thank him later, the next time they met up-- in words, anyway. A more physical demonstration of her gratitude could happen after work.

But, taking action didn't do much good when there was nothing to be found. Chit-chatting with the nurse (Mehta) heading the Admissions desk got her complete access to the files, but everyone had depressingly routine issues.

Amber then swung by the ER. Cameron was there, grey under her eyes; she must be at the end of a shift. Had she gotten stuck with the beginning-of-week graveyard hours or had she chosen to be there when no one else felt like it? "Want a case?" Cameron asked curtly as if she'd read Amber's mind and couldn't bother with the formalities. "Here." She quickly looked over a pile and thrust a folder at Amber. "No one knows what's wrong with her."

Amber opened up the file: rash and fever in a twenty-month-old. "Are you sure it's not's roseola, chicken pox, coxsackie--"

"No red spots, bumps, or blisters-- I said we don't know what's wrong with her, not that we hadn't checked the usual suspects. Do you want the case or not?"

"I'll read it over." She did so, then snapped the file closed. The symptoms were vague at best and might amount to nothing more than a diaper rash mixed with a fever, but it was better than nothing. It'd give them something to examine. Though, depending on the nature of the discussion, she wouldn't bother mentioning her ‘discovery-- there was no honor, value, or point in being shot down.

Annoyed at herself for not having found a winner of a patient, Amber returned to the classroom. She’d been out a while, but maybe the others had already tried their luck and come back before her.

Seeing Amber get in such a snit over a simple offer, Foreman thought about taking it back, telling her fine, go read instead, but before he could, she'd already swept out of the room. Her parting shot wasn't much of a suggestion. In House's absence, he really was in charge, and somebody should be directing the candidates to get some work done. They might be sharing two people's salaries between them, but that didn't give them license to sit around all day and pretend that they were the best of the best just because they worked for House.

He sat down at the desk again and flattened out his newspaper. Without the distraction of Amber's legs (or Amber's indifference), he retained far more of what he read. Brennan was the next candidate to get in, then Taub and Kutner on his heels, then Thirteen, and finally Cole, excusing his lateness because of his kid. Foreman sent them all off, not quite phrasing his request as an order, and letting them assume that he was acting in House's place if they wanted to. Brennan and Cole both looked unimpressed, Taub was clearly skeptical, but Thirteen accepted the task with equanimity, and Kutner looked like Foreman had just given him a birthday present shaped like a bike in wrapping paper.

The tolerable side of it was, once they were all dispatched, Foreman could sit back and feel like he was accomplishing something, even without moving from his seat. Maybe House had the right idea about "minions" after all. Foreman ducked out just long enough to get some coffee from upstairs, and then came back down to turn from the front section to business, hoping that at least one of them would find something House would find tolerable.

Amber swung the door open, eyes sweeping the room to take note of the situation. No one but Eric, his newspaper, and a coffee. Part of her was pleased to be alone with him again, even if they couldn't get personal in public; another part was exasperated at how it was okay for him to kick back and relax. Life must sure be good when you send off others to do the work.

Raising her folder like a hard-won prize, Amber marched forward and handed it to him. "Most interesting one of the pack," she declared. ‘Though not by much,’ she didn’t add. Standing over him, she waited for him to read the file. She should thank him for reminding her that she was in a competitive environment and that every effort counted. But had that really been what he'd been doing? Or was it a power trip, sending his girl to do his bidding, getting back at her for all the times she'd controlled what they did in bed?

Amber didn't want to believe that of him. Not of her giving Eric. But it was hard, especially when it seemed all he'd done this morning was tell people what to do. "It was a good idea," she got out with difficulty, like riding a bike uphill. "Looking for new cases."

Which was when the door at the top of the stairs banged open, revealing a grinning Kutner. "Woah, didn't mean to interrupt," he said, jogging down the steps. "Stopped by oncology and found a guy who might not have cancer." If he'd found a more interesting case than hers, Amber would personally kill and burry him.

Foreman sat up straight when Amber came back in. Having had a chance to relax with the newspaper and a coffee, he was feeling better about the prospect of the whole work week ahead of them, and he smiled when she held up a chart. "Great," he said, taking the folder and opening it up. He raised his eyebrows, impressed, and glanced up to Amber to let her know it, before he went back to reading in more depth. The kid was in the ER, and Cameron wouldn't have passed the case on if there wasn't something worth looking for. He nodded, checking off in his mind all the common causes of the symptoms and seeing that they'd already been accounted for. Fevers in children that young could be idiopathic, of course, but Amber had been right to bring this in. "This could definitely be something."

He hadn't been expecting Amber to admit it had been a good idea, not after how brusquely she'd stalked out and let the door close before he'd finished asking what her problem with the assignment was. Now that she had, he wasn't sure how to respond, so he settled for handing her the folder back. "I hope so," he said, offering her a warm look. He did want her to succeed, even if he wouldn't be able to give her more than a headstart or an occasional hint if he didn't want to compromise his own position.

That had to be the moment when Kutner barged in. Exasperated, Foreman let his eye contact with Amber drop. All his effort not to get caught alone with her and that's exactly what happened, even when it was innocent. "Give me your chart," he said, holding out his hand and waiting for Kutner to bound down the steps and slap it into his palm.

"Sorry," Kutner said, his grin showing that he wasn't sorry at all. "I figured first one back might win the race. Should've known better."

"It's not a race. We're actually looking for patients to treat," Foreman said. The point of going looking wasn't so that they could show off, it was so that they could identify patients that might actually need their help. He gave the case notes a superficial look, enough to see that there were at least a few anomalies. "Fine, you can present this when House gets here."

It was easy to return Eric's goodwill, stiffness relaxing away. Not as if Amber wanted to be at odds with him. He was doing his job, or what he thought his job entailed. There might still be some kinks to resolve, boundaries to draw, but they'd figure those out as they came; she didn’t need to think the worst of him during the process. Amber accepted her folder back, careful to not let their fingers brush. Improved mood or not, they still had an image to maintain.

And they'd be a long time in repairing it, judging from the way Kutner insinuated preferential treatment. Amber whipped away like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "There's nothing to interrupt."

"Uh-huh," Kutner said agreeably as she passed him by.

The others trickled in, none of them remarking at or even hinting at her relationship with Eric. More evidence that the further away they stayed from one another, the less gossip there’d be. Journal open, this time Amber barely saw the words, her peripheral vision keeping track of her adversaries and Eric’s reactions to the cases they brought in. None of them seemed especially inspired, which was a comfort to Amber. Maybe House would like her case best of all; Eric had certainly found hers intriguing. Or if House wasn’t in the mood to think, he’d diss them all equally and she wouldn’t stand out.

Brennan came in last, distracted like he was thinking more about dinner than work. Why did he bother? He didn’t want the job. Once he’d passed his suggestion along, Amber shifted in her seat. If she weren’t fucking Eric—and if everyone didn’t know it—she’d tell him to call House and pass on the cases (or just hers because it was the best of all, whatever). But the others would see it as favoritism… oh, screw it, she’d see to it that most, if not all, of them would get fired. “Are you going to call House?” she asked loudly, leaning forward.

It wasn't as if Foreman was trying to judge, but from what he could see, Amber's case really was the best of a dull lot. None of the candidates had NICU or pediatric specialties, so House--if he could be convinced to see reason--might actually wanting them treating an infant, where abnormal test results could be a function of age as much as condition. Brennan, when he finally came in with the last one, leaned over and muttered, "She's a drag racer. And she came here because of House."

"Doesn't mean he'll take it," Foreman said. By the time House showed up, the girl would probably be hydrated, and her symptoms would've disappeared just as quickly. Brennan's pick was the worst one, but of course House would take the car into account, Foreman had no doubt of that.

Mulling over the various cases, Foreman was just about to get out his cell and find out where in hell House had gotten to, when Amber piped up suggesting the exact damn thing. Foreman shot her an annoyed look. If he called House on her suggestion, everyone in the room would think it was because she'd asked, not because it was a good idea. Another twenty seconds and he'd have had House answering his phone, entirely on Foreman's initiative and authority. If he did the exact same thing now, he'd look like Amber had him even more whipped than he already knew he was. In the bedroom, he didn't care. On the job, it mattered. "And give him a chance to ignore us all morning?" he said. House coming in on his own initiative might be hard to predict, but it was more likely than him showing his face when Foreman asked him to.

He took his phone out, though, and let out an irked breath. Despite what he'd said, he'd rather do this the straightforward way, but Amber had tied his hands into playing this like one of House's games. He dialed Wilson's office, and when he answered, Foreman said briefly, "Tell him we've got a girl race car driver who asked for him specifically."

"Dragster," Brennan corrected.

Foreman glared at him--the kind of car didn't really matter, as long as it was shiny enough to catch House's magpie interest.

"He's already stolen my lunch, so he's around somewhere," Wilson said, with a certain bland resignation. "I'll pass on the message."

"Okay, thanks," Foreman said. He flipped his phone closed, tucked it into his pocket, and pointedly went back to his newspaper.

Oh, so he could tell her what to do but she couldn't ask a question. Of course, what had she been thinking, daring to defy his authority. Amber didn't hide a frown, narrowing her eyes at him. If she didn't chew him out here and now, it was because she didn't want this fight to come with an audience. As it was, she had to mutter "What're you looking at" towards Thirteen, who'd smirked as if she understood exactly what was going on and had the right to show her amusement. No wonder coworker dating was discouraged, it made an absolute mess of things.

Because Eric spoke into the phone his words didn't travel crystal-clear, but Amber was pretty sure he'd said 'tell him.' Who was he talking to? Was there yet another person in the power structure? Amber wanted to be the one who told House things, it was direct access to the top of the pyramid. Middle-men garbled the message.

She couldn't believe he'd showed off Brennan's "coolest job" patient. Disgusted, Amber tilted back, tapping her fingers against the desk’s cool plastic. She'd seen that file at Admissions and tossed it aside; it had to be heatstroke. But okay, if the coolness factor was what won the day, next time she’d be sure to pick a stripper.

And then Eric hung up and went back to his reading without saying a word. What, were they supposed to just sit around silently and wait for whatever came next? That's what they'd been doing before Eric came in with his three-years-of-experience and I’m-better-than-you superiority. What had Cuddy been thinking hiring him back? He hadn't brought in any useful contributions. "Is he coming?" Amber asked pointedly, not caring if he'd already thought her brazen or demanding. Not like his opinion mattered to House. And if he was going to make a fuss over a couple of questions, he needed to learn how to be a better boss now.

Foreman could feel their eyes on him. Probably Amber's more than the rest of them. They were all judging him--his ability to get shit done, to make a difference in their daily routine now that he was here. He concentrated on the paper, projecting an air of unconcern. If he looked weak, or hesitant, they'd all pin him with not only a largely imaginary authority, they'd also expect him to be useless whenever he had to make a decision.

He looked up skeptically when Amber questioned him again. Christ, this was first-rate hypocrisy. She didn't want him to judge her methods at work, even when it involved torturing her colleagues as much as she could, but she wanted to undermine his methods in front of everybody? If she had a problem, she could bring it to him privately. In fact, she had more room and reason to do that than any of them. If she wanted to see a change, she could tell him, it wasn't like he wouldn't consider her suggestion if it was reasonable. This public attack just looked bad, for both of them, as if it was a quarrel they'd brought in from their personal life.

There was no easy answer. Foreman wasn't interested in getting caught up in a petty power struggle when he was clearly in charge. Fortunately, he didn't have to. In what felt like the first bit of perfect timing Foreman had ever gotten out of House's dramatics, the door at the bottom of the lecture theatre crashed open under the shove of House's cane-tip.

"Yeah," Foreman said, raising his eyebrows as if he'd orchestrated that entire event, "I'd say he is."

House walked in, glaring around at all of them as if he suspected them of covertly plotting his death (not far off in some cases, Foreman assumed). "Wilson said you might have something interesting," he said. "First person to be boring after he raised my hopes is fired. Go."

Amber was glad when House came in right after her question; she couldn't have asked for a better answer. Eric wasn't some mistake of a hiring decision, he really could pull in results. He'd just proven he knew how to manipulate House; she'd listen to more of his advice from now on.

But she didn't dare offer up her case, not after a threat like that. Who'd be dumb enough to risk House in a bad mood--

"I found this guy in the oncology ward," Kutner said eagerly. Of course. "His AFP--"

"Rule of thumb," House said, dumping a black container onto the desk. "If it's been through oncology, Wilson's already whined at me to do his job. If you're talking about the guy with the heightened AFP but the tip-top liver and testicles, seen that, said no. Next."

Next? Just like that? "Thirty-year-old accountant with chronic exhaustion--" Taub started.

"Probably has no life and working too much." He opened up the container of-- spaghetti?-- as if he'd just made a medically-sound diagnosis. "If he's still tired in April, he can come back and help me with my taxes."

This was so unfair. "Aren't you going to fire him?" Amber blurted, looking quickly back and forth between him and Kutner. "You said--"

House's glance was scathing, but she withstood it; all she'd done was call him on his promise. "It's too early to be literal. Though maybe I really do mean it when I say, if your case is boring, you're gone."

One of these days she'd learn to keep her mouth shut. "Twenty-month-old--"

"That can't be the race car driver," House complained. "Don't tell me you lured me here under false pretenses, Foreman."

Foreman settled back with a sigh once House took over the meeting. He liked being in charge, sure, but not when House was ready to squelch any original idea he had. Which he probably would, out of spite if nothing else. It took a good bit of resignation to stop caring about which case House would pick after Foreman had managed to gather the possibilities and present them on a silver platter. Besides, he assumed that if he looked liked he favoured Amber's patient, House wouldn't just say no, he'd taunt them and then say no.

He hardly expected House to follow through on his threat. The only thing that made sense would be for House to fire the ones who messed up in terms of the medicine--not medicine the way responsible doctors practiced it, but in House's terms. Not being gung-ho enough, or not sticking to an idea long enough to see it through. Unless, of course, that was the moment when House required flexibility. The requirements would change as quickly as House's moods. It would be the ones who learned to read him best who'd survive the cut.

When Amber spoke up, Foreman stared at her before cutting his eyes back at House, trying not to be obvious. Didn't she get that? Challenging House when there was no reason to was pointless. Did she really think he'd abide by something he'd probably said as a joke? Kutner had certainly acted like it hadn't been serious, and the others were jumping in with their cases too. Foreman didn't know if Amber would look over at him, but he shook his head minutely, encouraging her not to ask questions that would piss House off. Her patient was the best one--that should be all she needed. When House shot her down without even hearing a single symptom, Foreman glared at him.

"I lured you here to listen to your candidates present their cases. Something you haven't done. You can have the race car driver when you've listened to the others." Foreman sent Brennan a meaningful glance. House would already like his case the best. Foreman just wanted him to shut up until everybody had a chance to catch House's interest. Amber had had her chance; he couldn't jump in--yet--to try and save her. She probably wouldn't appreciate it if he did. It was a level playing field or nothing.

Like he'd figured, House pouted and flapped his mouth in a silent blah-blah-blah, but his only objection was to make a lewd gesture with the sausage he'd forked out of Wilson's stolen lunch.

Thirteen took the hint. "Sixty-eight year old male non-smoker--"

"Can't you let the man die in peace?" House said. "He's done with this world and you want to drag him back among the living."

"Female college student," Cole started.

"Did she ever get top billing on Girls Gone Wild?" House asked. Cole shook his head, eyes wide. "Then I don't care."

Now was Foreman's moment to try and salvage this mess. "You don't care because you haven't listened to a single symptom. You want to treat speed racer because she has a fast car, not because you're interested in her case. When we discharge her because she's not that sick, you're going to want one of the others again." That was the best reassurance he could manage, and in the end, it was for all of them, not just Amber.

"Not that sick?" House challenged, jabbing in Eric’s direction with his fork. "How would you know, we haven't examined her case yet. I refuse to let her walk out of here when she needs our help. Tell me about this poor, poor girl."

Amber hated that her case had been walked all over-- partially because Eric had advertised the dragster and blinded House to all other options-- but at this point, she was just glad to still have her job. She'd spoken out of turn enough this morning. No more.

Brennan shrugged like he really didn't care whose case got picked. Probably didn't. Slacker. "She had a seizure after a race and couldn't process visual and audio information. Before that, she had a perfect bill of health."

"Why, that sounds very serious," House said in an especially tragic tone as he chewed on a mouthful of whatever. "I'm so glad you brought her to us."

Patience, Amber told herself. He was the best diagnostician on this coast, and possibly the whole country. It was worth the occasional bouts of assholeness. The trick was to wait out these periods and reap the reward of the moments of brilliance.

The backdoor swung open and Amber twisted her neck to look back: it was a guy in a suit. Someone with a special request? God if one more person tried to get in her way, she'd scream.

"Dr. House, please come with me."

House raised his eyebrows. "I only fall for that line when it comes from young, provocatively dressed women. No offense."

His stride was assured and unhurried as if he knew the exact method and timing to gain what he wanted. Must be a powerful guy. "If you'll just step outside with me, I have some information I think you'll find interesting."

House eyed him before downing another bite of sausage and getting up. Damn of course he'd be distracted from the shiny car by something completely unrelated. "All of you, come up with theories for our racer; I want her filled with gratitude when I cure her."

Everyone watched silently as the door closed behind them. "Um, what just happened?" Taub asked.

"They wouldn't kidnap him, right?" Kutner asked.

While everyone was distracted, Amber looked at Eric, trying to read from his face if he knew what was going on.

"She's dehydrated," Foreman said. He didn't care if it sounded like he was dismissing Brennan's case. He was. "She overheated during the race. After she's been on fluids for a few hours, she'll be fine."

"Foreman, are you trying to convince me that a drag racer is boring? I should fire you."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "You can't. And if you want to run a dozen pointless tests on the girl who needs a few glasses of juice, you can. If you're interested in actual medicine--"

"Right! I pick the first one." House was about to needle him even further when the doors opened and a guy in a suit appeared, asking to speak with him privately.

Unimpressed, Foreman watched, eyebrows raised, as House got dragged out of the room by the guy in a suit. Frankly, Foreman didn't give a shit who he was or what he wanted with House. It suited him just fine to have House out of the way, even for a few minutes. "All right, if any of you have theories that are more interesting than dehydration, now's the time to come up with them," he said, ignoring their questions. He didn't have the answers, and they didn't matter. Speaking to House 'privately' meant private for the two minutes they'd be out of the room, and then House would come back in and shoot off his mouth just to prove he could. The candidates could have their curiosity satisfied then.

Ignoring their questions, he stood up and wrote the symptoms on the blackboard. Textbook heatstroke. "Come on, people, a few theories." Even if their ideas were completely untenable, it might help convince House to take on a real case.

"Hereditary brain disorder," Brennan suggested. At least he was involved in the damn case, and that would encourage the others to top him.

Foreman had dragged three (stupid) suggestions out of them by the time House came back in. House looked at the list Foreman had drawn on the board and sniffed. Foreman could feel the boredom radiating off him. Despite Foreman's best efforts, House knew it was heatstroke. He was about as intrigued as when Cuddy told him there were patients waiting for him in the clinic. "Right, I'll leave those tests to you guys then. Since I don't think even you could kill a patient with IV fluids." He started up the stairs. "See you after my secret invitation-only poker tournament. Foreman, you're in charge until I get back."

Foreman stared at House's back. It sounded like a backhanded compliment at best, but at least House was following the chain of command. Which, in this case, meant dumping him with a case that wasn't a case, while he ditched work again. With perfect confidence, he said, "I know," before House left the room, for the satisfaction of seeing House's annoyed look over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

Eric must think that being a boss meant not communicating, because he ignored the questions-- Taub's and Kutner's explicit ones and the look she'd shot him-- as if he hadn't noticed them. Amber expected to be batted around by House, but Eric, she knew he knew better. A simple 'don't know, don't care,' would've been enough, or, 'House gets picked up by mysterious men all the time.' She didn't understand why he didn't say at least that.

He asked for alternative theories, but Amber sat back, watching the others throw out leaps of the imagination like fish desperately mouthing the water's surface for food up above. Even before Brennan came in with this wanna-be mystery Amber had written it off as heatstroke, but could she say so? No, because Eric already had. If she supported his diagnosis, she'd look like a thoughtless suck-up-- both to the other contestants and to Eric himself. Hands primly over her knees, Amber hid her impatience as she waited the farce of a diagnostics session to end.

A whole lot of good Eric's idea of finding patients had done. He'd complained of being bored and now they were demeaning themselves with first-year medicine.

When House returned, so did the silence; even Cole stopped tapping his foot to listen in. House's answer was about as unhelpful as Eric's lack of one, though; the only thing it proved was that he wasn't being taken by brute force.

Oh, well. It didn't matter. He was out of sight and Eric was wearing the crown, now. How much would her performance matter, under him? The results were pretty much a given, so no chance there of coming up with a brilliant idea and tell House later how smart she'd been. As for doing tests, no brownie points in that. In other words, there was nothing for her to do. This was worse than this morning; at least then she could read.

"Should we go run the tests?" Brennan asked. Yeah, he'd be the one excited to work this case.

Foreman immediately felt more settled, easier in his skin, once House was gone. If he was going to delegate his responsibilities, then Foreman could actually run this case, stupid as it was, with his own style. Give the candidates a taste of what a real department functioned like. He didn't doubt that they knew, but a refresher after a month of House's insanity could only be helpful. House's world might be a nice place to visit, but in the end, they all had to live with a few realities.

"I'll do the history with Brennan," he said. He wasn't about to have them run any tests if further investigation only showed that heatstroke was the right answer. An MRI to stay on the safe side would be a good plan, though. "The rest of you, follow up on the cases you brought. Even if we're not directly involved, we can offer a consult if necessary. We'll meet--" He glanced around the lecture theatre, which had always smelled vaguely like feet, and was way too much like a classroom for any truly professional work to get done. "In forty-five minutes, in the Diagnostics conference room." It wouldn't be the first time they'd worked there, but the change in atmosphere might help his authority, too. Foreman wasn't above trying any technique that had a chance of making him look good.

Amber nodded appreciatively at Eric’s instructions. In the past, when there were more doctors than tests to run, House had set them off to twirl their hair, waiting. It'd be good to do actual work and who knew, maybe once they'd proven it wasn't heatstroke, she'd have found out enough about Natalie-- the infant with a fever and rash-- to make a stronger argument in favor of her case.

She found Natalie's mother biting her nails down to the quick in the waiting room outside the ER. Her blonde hair was stringed together into clumps, which could've been because she was too busy taking care of her daughter to take care of herself, but given the hollow curve of her cheeks, Amber suspected it was more than just recent self-negligence. She was a young mother, barely twenty, and with a marriage on the rocks. Amber found a nurse and sent her to run exams to check for vitamin deficiency; if Natalie wasn't being fed right, that'd make her vulnerable to a whole host of problems.

With the promise that she'd be paged with the results of the exam, Amber felt light as she strode through the corridors, boosted by the confidence of having done something significant. Made her feel smart and good to think of something before anyone else had.

Her mood dampened, however, to come back to the Diagnostics department and find only Thirteen, reading yet another novel. Amber smiled cloyingly; faking niceness might still come in handy. "Hi."

Thirteen raised her eyebrows for a very long moment before replying with, "Hi-- but don't feel obligated to make small talk."

"No, not at all," Amber said, injecting sincerity into her voice. "I've felt very close to you since our last conversation. I hope you know that." Close in the way that she'd wanted to kick Thirteen for getting her to spill so much personal information; it was supposed to have been the other way round.

Thirteen snorted. "Sure."

Tough audience, as usual. Amber sat beside her, clasping her hands over the table. "No, really. It helped to talk to someone about-- you know." She wasn't going to humiliate herself again by going on about Eric-- even if her conversation with Thirteen had, in its own but infinitesimally way, helped. It’d made her less angry.

The edge of Thirteen's mouth quirked and it annoyed Amber. "I'm glad it's still working out between you two."

Of course she wasn't glad and it was none of her business. But Amber kept up the sugary sweetness. "Me too." Now was a good time to switch subjects; she'd have liked to start with 'are you gay, is that what you’re hiding?' or, 'tell me your weaknesses,' but that might be a little too abrupt, so Amber plugged on with the friendliness. "How's your case going?"

"He's old," Thirteen said with a tinge of irony.

“C’mon,” Amber scooted over, enough to just not get into Thirteen’s space. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.” And so they discussed symptoms and the likelihood of Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, Alzheimer’s, and Thyroid disorders. Not once did Thirteen try to check her out, which weakened the argument of her being gay—then again, talking about dementia wasn’t sexually appealing.

Amber managed to drag out the conversation long enough so that by the time it was her turn to talk about her patient, Kutner and Cole came back. Cole was quiet, but Kutner couldn’t stop talking, which meant she herself didn’t have to. Not that there was anything about Natalie that Amber couldn’t have shared with Thirteen; it was just the principle of the matter. She’d revealed enough about herself, for the level of confidence she’d received so far. If Thirteen wanted more, she’d have to start giving up herself.

The patient stared at him suspiciously when he arrived. Practically the first thing out of her mouth was, "Where's Dr. House?" After three years, though, Foreman was used to dealing with that, so he smiled tightly. "I'm Dr. Foreman, I work with Dr. House. He's not in today, but we'll be keeping in contact with him about your symptoms." From there, he ran through the standard history questions and watched Brennan carefully as he did the physical exam. Nothing was turning up, which was what he expected, but Foreman did know better than to leave things at what was expected. He'd already set up an appointment with the MRI, even if it did make him look cautious. Better to be cautious than to have another dead patient on his conscience.

The minute they left the room, Brennan was on him about the girl's deep tendon reflex. Foreman suppressed the desire to roll his eyes--a good supervisor doesn't show what he thinks of his subordinates' stupid suggestions--but he also shouldn't have to repeat himself that the reflex looked fine to him, and he was the one who counted. Brennan had a smarmy look on his face as if he knew better. He was going to run over Foreman's head the minute he could, Foreman could tell. They were all like that. They knew they didn't have to impress him, and so they didn't care about his opinion. Well, they'd just have to learn differently today. Foreman would treat them with as much respect as possible, but not when they were doing their best to get ahead at the expense of the medicine.

By the time they got back to Diagnostics, the others had already taken up their spots around the table. Foreman took the dry-erase marker from the tray under the whiteboard and stood at the head of the table. Brennan lurked in the background, doing his best impression of a pouty kid. "Our patient had a normal history and exam, and she's gone for a CT and MRI now. When we get the results back, I'll get in touch with House and let him know where we're at." They could trust him to follow the chain of command, but also, Foreman wanted them to know that there was no point in going behind his back; he was going to report in as soon as there was anything to report. He wasn't about to let himself get scooped. "In the meantime, is there anything we can do for the other patients?" If there was anything immediate they could offer, Foreman didn't mind farming out the complete excess of doctors he had around to those causes. As long as the departments the patients were in didn't mind the help, he had no problem providing it.

"Oncology is doing fine with my guy," Kutner said, apparently not perturbed by the fact that his case hadn't turned out as interestingly as he'd hoped. "They did another set of labs, and they think they have it under control."

Cole grimaced, but he was the next to come clean. "Tox screen came back on my patient," he said. "Looks like it was drug interactions. Ecstasy and alcohol."

"Great." Foreman turned to the others. He wanted them to feel like they could bring interesting cases to the table, but that it wasn't the end of the world if a patient could actually be cured.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject