alwaysright | November 5, 2007

November 5, 2007 - Morning

Lonely: that was Amber's first drowsy feeling to waking up alone. It was still dark and her alarm hadn't gone off. She'd woken up this way countless times, perhaps most of her life, and yet it felt wrong not having someone in here with her. Someone to make muffled but satisfied sounds as she climbed onto them, kissing and being held back. She missed Eric and it hadn't even been more than half a day since they'd parted.

Despite how keenly she felt his absence, Amber couldn't help smiling into her pillow. She'd become conditioned to having him in her bed. The space seemed pointlessly immense without him hogging half of it. Well, there was an easy solution: get him in here soon. Luring him back shouldn't be a problem; Amber could think of half a dozen ways to convince him and that was without trying.

The only reason he wasn't there as she stretched, working out the lasting soreness from their basketball game, was because they both had lives to get back to; Amber had house chores, as probably did Eric, and her reading wouldn't get done through sheer wishing. If it weren't for that, Amber would've been happy to spend another weekend afternoon with him, even after all the ups-and-downs on Saturday.

Still, she'd see him today at work. That was reason enough to make her spring out of bed earlier, so as to pretty herself up all the more. Eric would notice and appreciate her effort; it'd make up for how disgustingly casual she'd been around him this weekend.

The fact that she'd worn his Colombia hoodie to bed... what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Her mom had called Sunday, pointedly asking if she should expect only Amber or plus one for Thanksgiving. "Just me, mom."

"Hmmm?" she'd intoned, judgment and curiosity rolled into a single package. Amber just hoped there wasn't a dash of hope mixed in there. "Broke up already?"

"No," Amber replied with more vehemence than necessary, thinking back on how instantly tense Eric had become at the mere mention of the visit. With his mother's disease, his brother's imprisonment, and his dad's who-knew-what, it might actually be because it was too hard for him to face anyone's family and not because he was scared to meet hers specifically. "It's barely been a week. We're still getting to know each other."

"A few days ago it sounded like you were about to marry him, has it cooled off already? Are you bored with the sex?"

It was the bit about marriage that made Amber sputter softly. Yeah, keeping Eric away was the wisest course of action. "Everything is fine, mom. We're still together and, no, not bored with the sex." There definitely was nothing wrong with their sex life-- in fact, the very opposite. For all that Amber fretted that they were drying up into a drought, Saturday night had been sweetly intimate, in an orgasm-filled way, and Sunday morning they'd tried out the lazy morning sex she'd been anticipating so much. Turned out it was every bit as delicious as she'd imagined.

Aside from that and having to hear her mom describe in minute detail her Thanksgiving plans (arranging rides to pick up her brothers at the airport, finding accommodation for non-immediate family members, shopping for the cheapest yet best food, and on and on and on), Amber's Sunday had been pretty quiet. Just her, her journals, and an endless supply of coffee.

Monday Amber took the time to blow-dry her hair and apply a more careful, if still absolutely professional, layer of makeup than she usually bothered to for work. It made her feel good all morning long, through breakfast and the drive. But as she stepped into the parking lot, the same way she'd started so many other days at PPTH, reluctance overcame her. Things were different here. It'd been so easy to forget once Friday rolled around and they'd fled the hospital, but she had bigger things to think about than "them." She had a career, a purpose. He had his. His partially consisted of keeping her under control; hers, stomping all over him as the occasion called.

It'd keep their sex lives interesting, Amber mused as she shut her car door.

It wasn't just how different their relationship had to be, though. There were other people to consider as well. House, who needed to keep his nose in his own business; her pathetic colleagues, who already looked at her askew for sleeping with the pseudo-boss; and who knew who else decided they had the right to an opinion about her personal life. Ignoring them all would have to do as a policy, Amber decided; that and hunt down anyone who dared try to make her miserable.

Despite the extra time she'd spent in the bathroom and her unhurried breakfast, Amber still arrived before anyone else. A nice change of pace, compared to the previous week. Content, Amber chose an aisle seat in one of the middle rows and settled down with a more recent edition of JNEN.

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Eric must think that being a boss meant not communicating, because he ignored the questions-- Taub's and Kutner's explicit ones and the look she'd shot him-- as if he hadn't noticed them. Amber expected to be batted around by House, but Eric, she knew he knew better. A simple 'don't know, don't care,' would've been enough, or, 'House gets picked up by mysterious men all the time.' She didn't understand why he didn't say at least that.

He asked for alternative theories, but Amber sat back, watching the others throw out leaps of the imagination like fish desperately mouthing the water's surface for food up above. Even before Brennan came in with this wanna-be mystery Amber had written it off as heatstroke, but could she say so? No, because Eric already had. If she supported his diagnosis, she'd look like a thoughtless suck-up-- both to the other contestants and to Eric himself. Hands primly over her knees, Amber hid her impatience as she waited the farce of a diagnostics session to end.

A whole lot of good Eric's idea of finding patients had done. He'd complained of being bored and now they were demeaning themselves with first-year medicine.

When House returned, so did the silence; even Cole stopped tapping his foot to listen in. House's answer was about as unhelpful as Eric's lack of one, though; the only thing it proved was that he wasn't being taken by brute force.

Oh, well. It didn't matter. He was out of sight and Eric was wearing the crown, now. How much would her performance matter, under him? The results were pretty much a given, so no chance there of coming up with a brilliant idea and tell House later how smart she'd been. As for doing tests, no brownie points in that. In other words, there was nothing for her to do. This was worse than this morning; at least then she could read.

"Should we go run the tests?" Brennan asked. Yeah, he'd be the one excited to work this case.

Foreman immediately felt more settled, easier in his skin, once House was gone. If he was going to delegate his responsibilities, then Foreman could actually run this case, stupid as it was, with his own style. Give the candidates a taste of what a real department functioned like. He didn't doubt that they knew, but a refresher after a month of House's insanity could only be helpful. House's world might be a nice place to visit, but in the end, they all had to live with a few realities.

"I'll do the history with Brennan," he said. He wasn't about to have them run any tests if further investigation only showed that heatstroke was the right answer. An MRI to stay on the safe side would be a good plan, though. "The rest of you, follow up on the cases you brought. Even if we're not directly involved, we can offer a consult if necessary. We'll meet--" He glanced around the lecture theatre, which had always smelled vaguely like feet, and was way too much like a classroom for any truly professional work to get done. "In forty-five minutes, in the Diagnostics conference room." It wouldn't be the first time they'd worked there, but the change in atmosphere might help his authority, too. Foreman wasn't above trying any technique that had a chance of making him look good.

Amber nodded appreciatively at Eric’s instructions. In the past, when there were more doctors than tests to run, House had set them off to twirl their hair, waiting. It'd be good to do actual work and who knew, maybe once they'd proven it wasn't heatstroke, she'd have found out enough about Natalie-- the infant with a fever and rash-- to make a stronger argument in favor of her case.

She found Natalie's mother biting her nails down to the quick in the waiting room outside the ER. Her blonde hair was stringed together into clumps, which could've been because she was too busy taking care of her daughter to take care of herself, but given the hollow curve of her cheeks, Amber suspected it was more than just recent self-negligence. She was a young mother, barely twenty, and with a marriage on the rocks. Amber found a nurse and sent her to run exams to check for vitamin deficiency; if Natalie wasn't being fed right, that'd make her vulnerable to a whole host of problems.

With the promise that she'd be paged with the results of the exam, Amber felt light as she strode through the corridors, boosted by the confidence of having done something significant. Made her feel smart and good to think of something before anyone else had.

Her mood dampened, however, to come back to the Diagnostics department and find only Thirteen, reading yet another novel. Amber smiled cloyingly; faking niceness might still come in handy. "Hi."

Thirteen raised her eyebrows for a very long moment before replying with, "Hi-- but don't feel obligated to make small talk."

"No, not at all," Amber said, injecting sincerity into her voice. "I've felt very close to you since our last conversation. I hope you know that." Close in the way that she'd wanted to kick Thirteen for getting her to spill so much personal information; it was supposed to have been the other way round.

Thirteen snorted. "Sure."

Tough audience, as usual. Amber sat beside her, clasping her hands over the table. "No, really. It helped to talk to someone about-- you know." She wasn't going to humiliate herself again by going on about Eric-- even if her conversation with Thirteen had, in its own but infinitesimally way, helped. It’d made her less angry.

The edge of Thirteen's mouth quirked and it annoyed Amber. "I'm glad it's still working out between you two."

Of course she wasn't glad and it was none of her business. But Amber kept up the sugary sweetness. "Me too." Now was a good time to switch subjects; she'd have liked to start with 'are you gay, is that what you’re hiding?' or, 'tell me your weaknesses,' but that might be a little too abrupt, so Amber plugged on with the friendliness. "How's your case going?"

"He's old," Thirteen said with a tinge of irony.

“C’mon,” Amber scooted over, enough to just not get into Thirteen’s space. “I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.” And so they discussed symptoms and the likelihood of Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, Alzheimer’s, and Thyroid disorders. Not once did Thirteen try to check her out, which weakened the argument of her being gay—then again, talking about dementia wasn’t sexually appealing.

Amber managed to drag out the conversation long enough so that by the time it was her turn to talk about her patient, Kutner and Cole came back. Cole was quiet, but Kutner couldn’t stop talking, which meant she herself didn’t have to. Not that there was anything about Natalie that Amber couldn’t have shared with Thirteen; it was just the principle of the matter. She’d revealed enough about herself, for the level of confidence she’d received so far. If Thirteen wanted more, she’d have to start giving up herself.

The patient stared at him suspiciously when he arrived. Practically the first thing out of her mouth was, "Where's Dr. House?" After three years, though, Foreman was used to dealing with that, so he smiled tightly. "I'm Dr. Foreman, I work with Dr. House. He's not in today, but we'll be keeping in contact with him about your symptoms." From there, he ran through the standard history questions and watched Brennan carefully as he did the physical exam. Nothing was turning up, which was what he expected, but Foreman did know better than to leave things at what was expected. He'd already set up an appointment with the MRI, even if it did make him look cautious. Better to be cautious than to have another dead patient on his conscience.

The minute they left the room, Brennan was on him about the girl's deep tendon reflex. Foreman suppressed the desire to roll his eyes--a good supervisor doesn't show what he thinks of his subordinates' stupid suggestions--but he also shouldn't have to repeat himself that the reflex looked fine to him, and he was the one who counted. Brennan had a smarmy look on his face as if he knew better. He was going to run over Foreman's head the minute he could, Foreman could tell. They were all like that. They knew they didn't have to impress him, and so they didn't care about his opinion. Well, they'd just have to learn differently today. Foreman would treat them with as much respect as possible, but not when they were doing their best to get ahead at the expense of the medicine.

By the time they got back to Diagnostics, the others had already taken up their spots around the table. Foreman took the dry-erase marker from the tray under the whiteboard and stood at the head of the table. Brennan lurked in the background, doing his best impression of a pouty kid. "Our patient had a normal history and exam, and she's gone for a CT and MRI now. When we get the results back, I'll get in touch with House and let him know where we're at." They could trust him to follow the chain of command, but also, Foreman wanted them to know that there was no point in going behind his back; he was going to report in as soon as there was anything to report. He wasn't about to let himself get scooped. "In the meantime, is there anything we can do for the other patients?" If there was anything immediate they could offer, Foreman didn't mind farming out the complete excess of doctors he had around to those causes. As long as the departments the patients were in didn't mind the help, he had no problem providing it.

"Oncology is doing fine with my guy," Kutner said, apparently not perturbed by the fact that his case hadn't turned out as interestingly as he'd hoped. "They did another set of labs, and they think they have it under control."

Cole grimaced, but he was the next to come clean. "Tox screen came back on my patient," he said. "Looks like it was drug interactions. Ecstasy and alcohol."

"Great." Foreman turned to the others. He wanted them to feel like they could bring interesting cases to the table, but that it wasn't the end of the world if a patient could actually be cured.

"My guy probably has depression, so I sent him off for a psych consult," Taub said.

Amber tapped her thumb against the glass table. She'd been proud of what she'd done, but now it seemed everyone had more or less gone through the same steps-- listened to the patient history and herded them towards the appropriate department. Not at all impressive. The hospital didn't need a specialized wing for this.

She didn't seem to be the only bored one. Cole listened diligently as if it were a moral duty, and Kutner seemed genuinely intrigued, but Thirteen had long ago tuned out and started staring at the window. Taub seemed to stay awake only by the power of his hand supporting his chin and Brennan kept fidgeting like he was waiting for the chance to jump up-- either he was disappointed his case really did lack substance or he had to go to the bathroom.

Having them find their own mini-cases and follow up on them individually was efficient, Amber did grant that much. But it wasn't as... exciting as having a real challenge under House. It was like clinic duty with fewer patients and a more dignified title.

Still, if they were going through this, Amber would do her part and do it well. Having heard everyone's case so far, including Thirteen's, she straightened out her shoulders and raised her chin to speak with full clarity and certainty. "My patient is probably suffering from malnutrition, so I'm running the tests for that. I'm sure the results will help me narrow down what she has."

Looking straight at Eric as she delivered her report, a part of Amber wanted to smile-- it was so strange negotiating her personal feelings and professional stance.

A moment of silence followed with everyone glancing at Thirteen expectantly. "Oh, is it my turn?" She asked. "I--"

A phone call came in. "Dr. Foreman?" A voice Amber did not recognize asked. "Your patient just had a seizure, in the MRI."

"Still think the weakened reflex means nothing?" Brennan asked.

Foreman let out a breath as the candidates described their cases, keeping his face neutral even when part of him wanted to grin at Amber's proud head-tilt when she described the steps she'd taken. Like he'd thought, her patient was the most interesting of the bunch, even if that didn't mean much when they were all reasonably straight-forward. When the phone rang, Foreman flipped it on speakerphone, expecting House to call and either mock them, or--well, mocking them seemed like his most likely course of action. As soon as the MRI technician answered, though, and said the word seizure, Foreman picked up the receiver and demanded, "Any other changes?"

"Yes, she has a vertical nystagmus."

"Okay. When she's stable, get her back to her room. Thanks." Foreman hung up the phone, and stared Brennan down. "I think it was a good idea that I ordered the MRI to be certain. Now that we have something to go on, we can work with that." He wrote 'nystagmus' on the board under seizure, and for Brennan's sake, he added the areflexia, careful not to smear the writing with the heel of his hand as he did. These people thought in terms that the sicker the patient was, the better. They'd be better doctors if they waited for the facts instead of chasing down unnecessary diagnoses. Foreman turned around to ask for suggestions. He was still miffed with himself that he'd dismissed something that had turned out to be serious, but he hadn't discharged her before getting some test results; he was learning, too. He didn't have to tell them that, though.

Areflexia-- since when did the patient have a weakened reflex, why hadn't Eric mentioned that?-- and vertical nystagmus? The areflexia was strange, given that she'd just completed a race before the first seizure, but it could be the progression of a disease. This could get really serious—where was House? Before it hadn't mattered if he'd left, but now they might need him.

Amber was still trying to piece together what causes of areflexia would also bring seizures and nystagmus when Thirteen piped up, "How about Miller-Fisher?"

That was a good idea and it certainly explained the rapid progression of the patient’s (Amber wish she’d remembered her name) condition, even if it seemed too fast. Why hadn't Amber thought of it? What wasn't hers she had to tear down. "They said weakened reflex, not missing. And seizures aren’t one of the main symptoms." Thirteen shot her a sharp look, but this wasn’t holding-hands time; it was war.

She'd hoped that while speaking to think of a better explanation-- without that, Thirteen's suggestion would win out-- but nothing came to her. And then Kutner spoke up, "I'm with the Miller-Fisher school of thought. It fits with her loss of senses before the first seizure."

Thirteen was apparently capable of coming out of her daydream when the case had something interesting to recommend it. Her idea fit, but Foreman nodded at Amber--every theory needed to be tested against what they knew, not just assumed to be true. "Sounds likely," he said, when Kutner had spoken. "We'll need to start her on plasmapheresis." He pointed to Kutner and Thirteen. "You can go explain that to her and get it set up." To Taub, Cole, and Amber, he said, "Start testing her for it. If you want to look for any unusual levels while you're at it, go ahead. Brennan, since you already know her father, try to get more of a history, see if there's anything else we haven't heard about. I'm going to update House."

Delegating wasn't actually that hard. Congratulating himself, Foreman took one last look at the whiteboard before heading into House's office. He sat behind the desk and picked up the phone, trying House's cell. After a few rings, he was switched over to House's voicemail. Of course. Foreman rolled his eyes, but he gave a quick summary of what they'd found and what they were doing, and then let the receiver fall into the cradle.

Eric went with Thirteen's imperfect idea, but that was her fault, for failing to pitch a better one. It was also a lot of doctors to send off; testing meant a lumbar puncture and/or a nerve conduction study, both of which needed the patient to be in the room when it happened, as did the family history and the plasmapheresis. But it was also a good strategy: Amber was definitely included in the action without seeming to have been singled out by her maybe-boyfriend. And as long as Amber was present, she could bully the others into letting her do what she wanted and how she wanted it.

Everyone rose simultaneously and filed out towards the same direction like a pack of animals. "We'll need a lumbar puncture and a NCS," Amber said.

"Seriously?" Cole asked. "We should do only a NCS, it's not as invasive as a lumbar puncture."

"And it's not conclusive, so we'll need the CFS analysis to confirm," Amber argued.

But, as it turned out, neither would happen.

While Taub and Cole went off to book the NCS, Amber waited by the patient's room, ready to take her once Kutner and Thirteen had explained what was going to happen next. On the way over Amber picked up a copy of the case file; Casey Alfonso was her name but that and a few irrelevant history facts aside, there was no new information.

Amber looked up from her reading and saw through the glass wall that Casey was yelling, face very obviously red even from this distance. That couldn't be good. Amber crossed her arms, ready to judge and admonish Kutner and Thirteen as they walked out. "What did you do?"

"What did we do?" Kutner asked angrily. "You mean what did Foreman do. She kept saying he'd insisted it was heatstroke and now she won't believe anything we say."

Jaw fallen, Amber looked over to Thirteen; she nodded in confirmation. "She wants House," she said grimly.

"Well, we don't have House!" Amber said. This was so unprofessional, their top-billing doctor out of commission and the other one freaking their patient out. How were they supposed to get anything done if their supposed boss messed everything up? God, how embarrassing, she’d expected better of Eric.

"Yeah, we noticed," Kutner said.

"I'll talk to E-- Foreman," Amber decided; if he’d caused this wrong then he'd fix it. He could apologize or something. It wasn't until she'd spoken, though, and that the other two gave her meaningful looks that she realized how it sounded. "What, just because I'm sleeping with him I can't talk to him?"

Thirteen's smirk was infuriating. "I didn't say anything."

Between the annoyance that the patient wouldn't budge and being caught tangling her personal life with work, Amber stormed into the Diagnostics office. There Eric was, looking so calm and content like everything was running according to plan. Hah. "She's refusing treatment and tests," Amber snapped. "Because you told her it was definitely heatstroke and now she won't believe anything we say. She wants House.”

Foreman probably should have spent any time he gained by having the candidates do the busy work by catching up on House's paperwork and organizing the bureaucratic nightmare that Diagnostics had become. Instead, he turned on House's computer and started researching. As long as he was in charge, he'd have to prove that he deserved it. The fellows would never believe it, no matter that he'd been doing the job they were all hoping to get hired for since he'd gotten out of his residency. That meant any suggestion they came up with, he had to be on top of. Foreman tested himself, trying to come up with ideas that fit the symptoms along with ones that didn't, so that he could shoot wrong ideas down and praise the worthwhile ones, all while appearing to have the information at his fingertips. When he'd had his own team, he'd worked too hard on teaching. With this group, he didn't feel the need to do that. Putting them in their place was more important to start. Once they respected him, he could let them get the best of him occasionally without worrying that he'd lose any consideration from them through one doubtful move.

He turned when Amber stalked into the office like a vengeful spirit. "What's up? New symptom?" he asked, dropping some of his formality since Amber was alone.

It was worse than he'd thought. A new symptom, he'd been prepared for. Non-compliance--maybe he should have seen that coming, too. Foreman slumped back in House's chair. "I told her it was most likely heatstroke," he said. "Now we know it isn't. Thirteen and Kutner were supposed to explain that." He'd always had the job before of convincing patients that whatever treatment House ordered, even if it was the fifth wrong one in as many hours, was definitely the right one at that moment. If Thirteen and Kutner couldn't manage that, it was on them to learn. This wasn't his fault.

"They did explain-- and then she had a screaming fit." Amber had seen that much; she hadn't heard the conversation but she'd witnessed Kutner and Thirteen talk to patients enough to assume they hadn't been unreasonable. Then again, she couldn't be sure. Why hadn't she herself gone in to do the explaining? It wasn't as if she usually trusted the others. Oh, that's right, because Eric didn't delegate that task to her. She should've ignored his orders and marched straight into Casey's room.

Amber blew out a puff of air, half-sighing and crossing her arms. Wherever the blame laid-- and part of it was partially on Eric, for not having talked to the patient well in the first round or for delegating badly-- the damage had been done and needed to be fixed. They couldn't just let Casey lie there and ignore her problem, not when her symptoms had worsened so quickly. "Anyway, she's adamant about not wanting us near her. We won't be able to do any tests or start the plasmapheresis as long as she's like this."

She eyed the phone on the desk. "Have you talked to House yet? We could get him to come back or talk to her over the phone. While Amber didn't like running to the nearest parent figure crying for help, now that the case was serious they might really need him, more for his brain than his gentle bedside manner. Plus, now that this had become a real case, he ought to be around to evaluate their performances.

Foreman frowned, resting his elbows on the desk and staring down at his fists before he looked up at Amber. "He's not answering his phone. Which is typical. When he doesn't want to be reached, he doesn't make it easy." He shook his head and pushed to his feet. The others weren't in the conference room. Apparently Amber had decided to talk to him on her own, and he wondered if the others knew, and what they thought about that. Amber seemed frustrated, but not at him. That was a good sign.

"We still need to do it, whether she wants us near her or not." He twisted his lips, thinking through what he'd said to Casey before. House wasn't going to swoop in and rescue them. They were on their own, whether the candidates realized it yet or not. House didn't care. He never did. Their patient--she didn't know that. She wanted a doctor who was right, but maybe all she needed to hear was that she had a doctor who cared; the fact that they were probably right followed from that. "Come on," he said. "We've got to convince her."

"Seriously?" Amber pulled out her cell phone and speed dialed; soon there was the soft purr against her ear but no one picked up, not even after three, four, ten rings. She tucked her phone back into her lab coat pocket, worried. "Do you think he's at home? I could go and drag him back here." She smirked. "Or if there's a nearby bar that's open in the morning, I could check there." That option seemed far more likely. Though there was that guy to take into consideration-- who was he and where had he taken House? For all they knew, he was still on hospital grounds.

She was distracted from her thoughts of seeking House out when Eric proposed a far more efficient plan. Amber grinned, eager to do something. Who knew, maybe by the time they'd convinced Casey, got her on the drugs, and ran the tests, House would return to smooth sailing. She very much liked the idea of telling House that she had been vital in getting Casey to cooperate. "I'm with you," she said and led the way, pushing the hallway door open. Amber tried not to think about how this is what she should’ve done when Kutner and Thirteen came up to her in defeat, instead of taking the excuse to rant at Eric. Better late than never.

"There's no point if he doesn't want to be found." Foreman stared at Amber, exasperated, as she immediately took out her phone and dialed House. "If he doesn't want to hear from me, I doubt he wants to hear from any of us," he said. Whether or not House resented having him around, he'd left Foreman in charge. That meant, at the very least, that he'd resent being interrupted, whether he was at a high-stakes poker game, getting himself drunk, or flying a black ops mission with the Green Berets. He wasn't taking calls. Foreman resented the fact that Amber didn't believe that--didn't believe him. Anyway, wasn't he good enough? He'd determined a path of action and as far as they knew it was the right one. Did she think that if House came in he'd sweet-talk the patient into agreeing? He was more likely to call them all incompetent and send them back in to make her have the tests and get the treatments, by tricking her if necessary.

Foreman followed Amber out into the hall, thinking about that. Tricking her wouldn't work, when she knew that they wanted to test her and treat her; telling her it was for something different when all he'd prescribed for the heatstroke was fluids wouldn't work. "I'm not going to handle this like House," he said. The candidates would get to know that. But Foreman wanted Amber to know it. She seemed to worship the ground House walked on even when he wasn't there to walk on it. Foreman respected her work; so far, he hadn't seen much evidence that she even believed he knew what he was doing. Sure, she'd done what he asked, but she acted like it had been a terrible imposition. Apologizing for that later helped, but he still didn't feel like she was obeying him because he was in charge. She was doing it to pass the time until House miraculously turned up.

"No offense, Eric, but I don't think he likes you very much. He might be happier hearing from one of us." Not herself, Amber noted ruefully. Thirteen, maybe. But she wouldn't push her into House’s arms-- not until the patient reached critical status, anyway.

But since House was out of reach, working together to treat Casey was the next best thing. Eric had screwed up with her in the first round, raising her expectations high for the diagnosis they hadn't confirmed, and if he’d messed up once he could easily do it again. But because he had misled Casey, he might be the only one to get her to listen again.

His comment surprised her. "I didn't think you would." What would House do, anyway? Come up with a better diagnosis than Miller-Fisher, to start with. Then he'd insult the patient copiously, both to her face and not. Eric hadn't done the former and the latter was not his style, as far as Amber knew. When they’d worked with the Mirror Syndrome patient, Eric had made a point of being polite, even when he’d gone on his rants complaining about the quality of the medical attention, mimicking Amber. Huh. Now there was food for thought. When she made her own complaints and Eric listened patiently, was he humoring her in the same way? "And the patient-cruelty tactic works only with House."

The elevator was straight ahead, but Amber turned, going for the stairwell. It'd be faster. "You should apologize to her, tell her you were wrong."

Frustration was starting to build up. Amber dismissed what he was trying to tell her. Not only that Foreman had different methods, but that his might actually have some merit, no matter what she thought about how good House was. "Being cruel to the patient shouldn't work for anybody," he said, following her into the stairwell. House might make it work, but only because Cuddy was willing to fund his legal fees when he pissed somebody off. House didn't know about or care about half the malpractice suits filed against him. Most of them were settled before they got far, since House's methods proved to be "necessary" to save his patients' lives. But Foreman didn't believe that. It could be done without pissing people off, and he planned to show that.

"I know," he said shortly, irked by Amber's advice. He'd meant to apologize, and he would. He'd be sincere about it, too. But that didn't mean he enjoyed being in the wrong, or having to admit it. If Amber was in his position, she wouldn't be so blithe about tossing off an I'm wrong and I'm sorry.

When they came out on the ground floor, Foreman headed for Casey's room, finding Thirteen and Kutner huddled around the nurses' station with Taub, all of them apparently waiting for him to show up. It felt like they were all waiting for him to fix his mess. Not exactly a great feeling. Foreman wanted them to show initiative, although he knew he would've been pissed off if they'd tried to usurp his authority, too. Not their fault, he reminded himself. Humbling himself didn't come easily, but when it was true, and necessary, he'd do what he had to. "Where's Brennan?" he asked.

"In there," Kutner said. "She didn't seem to mind him."

Great. Foreman exhaled, getting control of himself. "Fine," he said. "I'll go and talk to her."

"It shouldn't," Amber conceded, "But it does for House." Should and shouldn't didn't matter as long as it came to results. Amber herself had never tried... much intentional cruelty towards patients, but that was because up until now she'd have been fired if she hadn't given them golden treatment. Were those standards also different under House? Might be interesting to try and find out. If it yielded good results, House would be pleased.

Quickly Amber went up the stairs, hand along the railing. Their footsteps and voices echoed. "Good," she replied. They were on the same page. Amber loved it when that happened, it meant they'd definitely follow her way. And if Eric was going to be the good guy, apologizing and admitting to faults, she could play the bad cop, if they needed her to.

Amber couldn't tell if her wanna-be colleagues looked at her more with contempt or relief. Whichever way didn't matter, of course. She didn't care what they thought. She loved her job and that's all she needed-- and now she had Eric, too.

Following him-- he had said "we"-- Amber tried to walk with confidence and poise. First impressions mattered. Sliding the glass door open, she saw that Casey was lying down in a small mound of pillows, covered in sweat and her hair wet at the roots. Face to Brennan, her expression was tired, a layer of wariness coming over her when she spotted Eric. Amber nodded at Casey and at her father. "Hello, I'm Dr. Volakis and this--"

"I remember him," Casey said coldly. “That’s Mr. Know It All.”

Foreman didn't think much of Brennan insinuating himself with the family, so that he could take credit for picking out a symptom. He'd get credit, of course, when House came back, but if Brennan worked to convince the family that he was the only doctor they could trust, then the team's efforts would have to run through him at every point. Great for him, playing the game. Not so great for Foreman, or for actually getting anything done for the patient. He couldn't say anything, though, until he could get Brennan out of the patient's room. And that wasn't why he was here now.

He bridled at Casey's description of him. He knew more than she did; he was the doctor. Tone it down, he thought. He hated that it was part of a script that he'd learned from Wilson, but it did work. He took the doctor's stool from the corner and sat down at Casey's bedside, facing her and her father equally, keeping his shoulders relaxed. Amber was standing behind him, and it felt like she was waiting with bated breath for him to humiliate himself too. Maybe he was wrong. But Christ, did she have to follow him in here and watch him when he was at his worst? He would have liked to keep up the facade that he knew what the hell he was doing, for her at least. That wasn't likely either, since they worked together, unless he thought he could be right all the time. Dammit, why couldn't it have been heatstroke?

"I understand why you don't want us treating you," he said. "And that's my fault. A doctor's not supposed to admit when he's wrong, but that's what I'm doing. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dismissed what you were telling me. But I need you to know, you're still in very serious condition. We think we know what's happening, and it could be very dangerous if you don't let us confirm it. We need to start plasmapheresis and do the tests to make sure it's Miller-Fisher."

Amber hung back, letting Eric do what he'd promised he would. The fear flashed through her that presence was extraneous and maybe even damaging: the person who'd made Casey lose her trust was here, trying to regain her confidence, and Brennan was an-already friendly face that could encourage her to accept their opinions. Amber clasped her hands behind her back, chin still up high. Right now she was useless, but it'd be worse to turn her back and in a moment might have what to do. So Amber watched quietly and closely.

It was a good apology. Eric lowered himself to be at the same level as Casey-- an important psychological trick-- and clearly admitted to fault. His words did risk facilitating a malpractice suit, especially with the father as a witness, but they'd handle that as it came. For now the important thing was to get Casey better, and for that they had to get her to cooperate.

Casey slowly turned her head right and left while Eric spoke; was she having difficulty concentrating? Her hands clenched and let go of the sheets repeatedly and, from the movements on the other side of the bed, she kept flexing her toes. Was she in pain? Amber hid a frown; once Casey consented to be treated once more, she’d be asking questions.

"What do you know, Mr. Know It All," Casey muttered, her eyelids drooping.

"Case? Hon, are you okay?" The father asked nervously. Okay, if he thought she was acting funny, then it was a pretty good sign that something was wrong.

"It's Mr. Know It All," Case said, voice so low it was hard to make out.

Foreman frowned as Casey rolled her head away from him. Her face was flushed, more than it had been earlier, and she was definitely sweating. Fever. His concern about how he looked diminished, and then disappeared entirely when Casey started mumbling out the same phrase over again.

"It's fine," her father said. "Do whatever you need to do, she's getting sicker!"

Foreman stood up and shook his head. As soon as he touched Casey's hand, it confirmed what the monitor already said--she had a temperature, and it was climbing. Not being able to recognize the situation or remember what had happened meant delirium. "We can't," he said, and included Brennan and Amber in his glance. "Fever and delirium don't fit with Miller-Fisher." He frowned--had Brennan smirked at him? For being wrong again, no doubt. "I'm ordering anti-pyretics. Mr. Alfonso, we're going to have to find out what she has, and that will mean more tests."

Alfonso nodded. "Yeah, whatever...whatever you need to do."

At least that was one problem dealt with. Foreman opened the door and started out, staring at Brennan until he left first. "Get everyone back up to the conference room," he told Amber.

Amber was nodding before Eric finished his thought; definitely fever and delirium. She should've caught on to that earlier-- pay more attention to the patients, Amber kicked herself. They kept repeating that mistake with Casey, always assuming they knew what was going on and ignoring what was right in front of them.

"Okay," Amber replied, though honestly, she didn’t know why Eric couldn’t tell them himself. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said to Alfonso in that confident, assuring tone she’d developed over the years. “Let us know if her condition changes.”

The others weren't at the nurse's station anymore; good, it sucked to have a flock of doctors gawking around like hungry chickens. Made them all look like incompetent idiots.

Once she'd walked a few meters away from the room and gotten out of sight from Casey and her father, Amber paged the others with only a brief message alerting them that there were new symptoms and to return to the conference room. Hey, she wasn't going to help them out by saying what the symptoms were; she’d keep that head start to herself (and Brennan). The messages sent, Amber got her cell phone out and speed dialed again; maybe now House would be more in the mood to hear from them.

While Amber gathered the others, Foreman turned on Brennan and cornered him outside the room. "I don't need you getting in the way of this case," he said.

"I'm not," Brennan spat back. "In fact, I'm the only one who seems to be doing anything."

"That's because you have them convinced that they shouldn't be allowing tests!"

"It's not surprising that they trust me more than they do you," Brennan said. "At least I'm listening to what she's saying."

"That's great," Foreman gritted out. "But it won't help if they trust you and won't let the rest of the team treat her."

"Treat her for the wrong thing!" Brennan returned.

Foreman glared at him, clenching his jaw against what he wanted to say. "Let's get back upstairs," he said, and turned to follow after Amber, not really caring if Brennan kept up with him.

When he found her, Amber's head was bent as she held her phone to her ear. Looked like whoever it was wasn't answering--Foreman let out a short, disgusted sigh. House. Again. Who else? Foreman walked up behind her and leaned in. "He's not going to hire you just because you call him the most," he pointed out, tired of the whole damn world's insistence that he wasn't good enough.

On edge, waiting for the dialing to end and to finally hear words, Amber jumped when a voice sounded from behind her ear, louder and stronger than anything that could've come through the phone. "Geez! Eric!" she exclaimed once she'd gotten past the surprise and identified who it was.

It took her another second to process his words; she made a face. "Oh, this is only about me getting hired, is it. I'm sure you know exactly what Casey has. You don't need any help." Yeah, in a perfect world they wouldn't need House, but the fact was that after two false diagnoses they still had no idea what she had and they could use every genius brain within reach. Eric could be as annoyed with her as he liked, but they couldn’t leave everything up to him.

Pointedly staring at him, Amber let the dial ring a few more times before hanging up and putting the phone back into her pocket. She walked towards the stair well again, going quickly; they had to act fast. "Wasn't Brennan with you?" she asked, half-wondering, but thinking more about Casey's symptoms and a unifying explanation.

Foreman backed off when Amber startled, hearing his voice. He was going to apologize for surprising her, but her sarcasm made him feel even more defensive than he already had. "Yeah, it'd be great if he was here," he said, his voice edged with his own impatience. "But he's not, and he obviously doesn't want to be called." House wasn't a magician. He was almost always eventually right. That was a track record Foreman was fine with. They'd figure this out too, whether House was around or not. It was just a matter of getting all the symptoms on the table and testing from there.

"He's upset that I want him to work with the team," Foreman said, shaking his head and dismissing Brennan from his thoughts. If he didn't keep up, Foreman wasn't going to hunt him down and drag him to a differential session. He took the stairs two at a time, wanting to get to the conference room before everyone else had gathered, so he wouldn't look like he'd been caught standing around with his mouth hanging open when their patient brought out another new symptom. "Look, when House is around, I'm all for listening to what he says," he said. "But since I'm in charge, is a little support too much to ask for?"

"I don't care," Amber retorted hotly. "We need him and I'm not going to stare at the phone like some teenager waiting for the guy she likes to call back." If at some point there was a lull in the case, while they waited for the exam results to come out or for a treatment to take effect, she might even make a home visit and bang on his door. House'd appreciate her tenacity.

"Why would he be?" Amber asked. She hated working with the team, but that was because she couldn't stand their guts and wanted them all fired. Brennan didn't have that same competitive streak, as far as she knew; at most he wasn't as motivated by the work.

Eric was bounding up the stairs like this was a basketball court and he was back in his ripped shirt and sneakers. Amber darted up quickly, refusing to be left behind, but still annoyed; she couldn't do more than one step a time in her heels, and going this fast she'd work up a sweat. He was still steps ahead of her and growing further and further away.

"Support?" she echoed. What, did he want her to parrot his opinions during the diagnosis session? No way. Never. He shouldn't even wish that. "Support how?" He’d better explain quickly; sorting this out with him was distracting her from thinking about Casey. Amber wouldn’t get any advantage out of knowing the symptoms before the others if she didn’t get the chance to think.

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