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."