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."