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.
no subject
"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.