Foreman glanced at Amber's face, making sure that she was amused by her own story, before he allowed himself to laugh. "Sure it wasn't on purpose? Sounds like the perfect opportunity." He grinned to show he was teasing, before taking another drink of wine. He doubted she'd manufacture an accident that would benefit the whole class, so the story was probably genuine.
He had his own humiliating stories, but Amber moved on before he could pick one--a less damaging one--to tell. She couldn't know that her questions hit him right where he was most sensitive, especially tonight. "Neurology," he said. Everything before the last four months was more than worth boasting about, but if he talked about working for House, Amber would probably ask him more about it, or share her own horror stories--it was rare that anyone in the hospital escaped some sort of backlash from House, even if it was just a brief encounter. If she was in Radiology, then she'd have her day disrupted more than most, simply because House believed that when he needed imaging equipment, the rest of the hospital should be honoured to get in line behind him. "I want to do more research, more writing," he said. When he'd signed on at Mercy, Schaffer had hinted that there might be opportunities in the future to work on major trials. Even if the opportunity had vanished, it still counted as a dream. "I've published a few things. Actually induced hypothermic cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old to find a clot in her amygdala." If Amber tracked down the article--and Foreman was sure she could, and probably would--then she'd know he'd worked for House. But by then, either they'd have had their night and moved on, or else they'd know each other better, maybe enough that Foreman wouldn't mind telling her what he was really doing at Princeton-Plainsboro, supervising House and all his deluded fellowship candidates.
To distract himself, he took her hand again, slipping his fingers under hers and rubbing the back of her knuckles. He could feel the wine warming him. That, or Amber's closeness. Enough that he didn't mind being a bit more honest than he usually was on a first date--not that he ever lied, but it just made sense to show only his good side when making an impression. "I was having a hell of a night," he said. "Lucky you needed an umbrella."
no subject
He had his own humiliating stories, but Amber moved on before he could pick one--a less damaging one--to tell. She couldn't know that her questions hit him right where he was most sensitive, especially tonight. "Neurology," he said. Everything before the last four months was more than worth boasting about, but if he talked about working for House, Amber would probably ask him more about it, or share her own horror stories--it was rare that anyone in the hospital escaped some sort of backlash from House, even if it was just a brief encounter. If she was in Radiology, then she'd have her day disrupted more than most, simply because House believed that when he needed imaging equipment, the rest of the hospital should be honoured to get in line behind him. "I want to do more research, more writing," he said. When he'd signed on at Mercy, Schaffer had hinted that there might be opportunities in the future to work on major trials. Even if the opportunity had vanished, it still counted as a dream. "I've published a few things. Actually induced hypothermic cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old to find a clot in her amygdala." If Amber tracked down the article--and Foreman was sure she could, and probably would--then she'd know he'd worked for House. But by then, either they'd have had their night and moved on, or else they'd know each other better, maybe enough that Foreman wouldn't mind telling her what he was really doing at Princeton-Plainsboro, supervising House and all his deluded fellowship candidates.
To distract himself, he took her hand again, slipping his fingers under hers and rubbing the back of her knuckles. He could feel the wine warming him. That, or Amber's closeness. Enough that he didn't mind being a bit more honest than he usually was on a first date--not that he ever lied, but it just made sense to show only his good side when making an impression. "I was having a hell of a night," he said. "Lucky you needed an umbrella."