Foreman watched them file out of the room. Amber didn't go with them. God, he knew he wasn't ready to tell her just how much what she'd done had felt like a kick in the stomach. He was too tired to try ordering her out, either. He pulled out the chair he'd been leaning on and slumped down into it, resting his elbows on the table and hunching forward, his fingers interlocked. The piles of test results and casenotes on the table blurred in front of him. The overhead lights glared off the glass tabletop, and a glance showed that it was already dark out. Where had the day gone?
He lifted his head when Amber spoke. She sounded tired--well, why not? Foreman felt like he'd been pushing a boulder uphill all day, only to watch it roll back down. Her question twisted his gut, anxiety burning like acid through his stomach lining. Would she like it better if he kicked her out too? Brennan had been publicly defiant from the moment Foreman had taken charge. He'd exacerbated House's little cut-throat world, made everyone think they could go off in whatever direction they wanted. Gotten in their way with Casey and her father. As soon as Brennan had left the conference room, the others had fallen into line. But Amber had been just as insubordinate, and worse, sneaky. "I trusted you," Foreman said, which was no answer. His throat tried to close up on him, but Foreman pressed his lips together and stared out the windows, not meeting Amber's eyes, forcing down the helpless feeling that he was fucking up. Cuddy might keep House on no matter how many patients he killed. She'd already made it more than clear that she wouldn't do the same for him.
"Rerun the ANA and the sed rate, and get a lumbar puncture to run her CSF for MS markers," he said. "Get Taub to help if you want." Amber wanted them to keep it professional. Foreman damn well agreed. Even if they weren't in front of any patients or nurses, he wasn't going to get into an argument he couldn't solve here.
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He lifted his head when Amber spoke. She sounded tired--well, why not? Foreman felt like he'd been pushing a boulder uphill all day, only to watch it roll back down. Her question twisted his gut, anxiety burning like acid through his stomach lining. Would she like it better if he kicked her out too? Brennan had been publicly defiant from the moment Foreman had taken charge. He'd exacerbated House's little cut-throat world, made everyone think they could go off in whatever direction they wanted. Gotten in their way with Casey and her father. As soon as Brennan had left the conference room, the others had fallen into line. But Amber had been just as insubordinate, and worse, sneaky. "I trusted you," Foreman said, which was no answer. His throat tried to close up on him, but Foreman pressed his lips together and stared out the windows, not meeting Amber's eyes, forcing down the helpless feeling that he was fucking up. Cuddy might keep House on no matter how many patients he killed. She'd already made it more than clear that she wouldn't do the same for him.
"Rerun the ANA and the sed rate, and get a lumbar puncture to run her CSF for MS markers," he said. "Get Taub to help if you want." Amber wanted them to keep it professional. Foreman damn well agreed. Even if they weren't in front of any patients or nurses, he wasn't going to get into an argument he couldn't solve here.