Despite his anger, Foreman knew the only thing he could do to hang on to his very fragile control of the situation was to keep his cool. He might feel like his chest was being squeezed in a vise, but he wasn't going to show it. Who the hell was he angry at? Amber, just for arguing her case? In her position, he would have done the same thing. It was the others, with their badly-hidden mockery, who deserved to be told off. He let them all have a chance to argue one side or the other, while he swallowed down his fury. "Exactly," he said, answering Thirteen. "And steroids would compromise her immune system. If it's MS, the treatment for lupus will make her worse."

"And you think you're right," Brennan said. "Again. After you were wrong twice before."

Foreman slapped the test results down on the conference table. Brennan's weaselly face was the perfect target for his anger. He was getting closer and closer to kicking Brennan out of his differential sessions. "It doesn't matter," he said. "If I'm wrong and the interferon's not effective, lupus is slow enough that we'll have time to switch. Meanwhile, we can get better information, do more tests. Keep an eye on her kidney function. Now, if we're finished arguing, I'll go tell them myself." That would prevent them from doing an end-run around his treatment decision. At this rate, he wouldn't put it past them to hang a banana bag instead of interferon, just to spite him. Foreman stared around the room and then pulled the door open, heading for the elevators.