For the first time, they listened to Eric for orders. Amber had no idea what had motivated the others into obedience-- Brennan's example?-- but for herself, she couldn't afford anymore mistakes. Not now. She didn't want risks; her heart plummeted at the thought.

Working in diagnostics, House-style, gave the opportunity for great glory; it also meant greater fuck-ups.

They'd been assigned three basic assignments. Kutner volunteered immediately to go out for confirmation (and though he tried to hide it, Amber caught the glint in his eye; probably ecstatic about hitting the racetrack) and Thirteen quickly said she'd go with.

"I'll run the blood cultures," Amber got in before anyone else could snap up that task. She wouldn't have to see Casey for more than a few minutes, as opposed to spending hours with her, waiting for her paralysis to progress.

"Sure, leave us with all the fun," Taub muttered, but his opinion didn't matter. He left with Cole, and Kutner and Thirteen had long since exited.

Only she and Eric remained. The room was startlingly quiet. Messy, too, coffee mugs strewn across the table together with open reference books and pages of annotations. The room felt like an incomplete thought. The whiteboard loomed over the table, casting a long shadow from the day's last light.

She had to work. She knew that. But it was just the two of them-- Amber drew in a long breath, rubbing her face. Getting up should be easy; she never hesitated when there was something to be done. But defeat wasn't usually this clear before her, more than just a theoretical possibility. The tests might confirm botulism. And then—but she'd deal when and if that happened.

"Why did you kick Brennan out?" Amber asked, voice reflecting just how drained was. "He didn't step out of line any more than I did."