Foreman got caught behind a slow-moving patient for long enough that he thought Amber might disappear before he caught up. It would be easy for her not to hear him or to deliberately ignore him. Her glance caught his for a second and she turned away. Foreman deked around a wheelchair so that he could speed up again; he wasn't going to let her get rid of him that easily. When he finally reached her side, she had her elbows drawn in to her sides, her head bent, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown as she concentrated on the phone. Foreman sighed impatiently, but at least she hadn't gone so far as to run from him entirely. He could let her finish her phone call, probably to Security: with House, a cover story was never enough.

A large group of medical students was striding toward them, with Dr. Singh at their head, calling out questions for grand rounds. They'd be surrounded pretty quickly and probably Amber's call would be shouted down if they did. Foreman opened the nearest door and glanced in. The room was empty, but the bed was rumpled, and the chart on the door indicated that a Mrs Lowachee had been taken for imagining tests. Foreman touched Amber on the elbow and indicated the room. They'd have space and time to talk. With the blinds shut, no one would know.

Of course, Amber might still leave him in the dust. The day had barely started and their case was over. Beyond the follow-up treatment, the fellows would probably be relegated to clinic duty again. Amber could probably sneak out of the hospital entirely instead of facing anyone--facing him. Foreman gave her a silent, pleading look, hoping she'd accept his offer, even if it was only long enough for her to thoroughly tell him off. If they were over...he didn't want to consider it, but he had to know, before he could put it behind him.