Monday, November 12

[g_house]

House was disgruntled.

He didn't like being disgruntled. He'd rather be pissed off, or disgusted with somebody's stupidity, or even casually bored. Or, unsettling everyone's expectations about his stunted emotional life, happy as a clam in mud. Disgruntled was a stupid emotion, most of all because he couldn't do much about it.

All week, all weekend he'd waited for a sign that Samira Terzi had any intention of following through on his--admittedly rusty--flirtations. Okay, outright propositions. Well, she hadn't slapped him or kneed him in the balls. She'd smiled, even joked back. He'd almost thought he'd find her waiting outside the hospital ready to give his position a try. One or both. Really, either way he could hardly lose. Giving her a spot on the team would certainly lift the scenery quotient. And there'd be plenty of opportunities to close the deal if she was hanging on his every word and learning from the master.

But she didn't show. And House couldn't stop looking for her. He wasn't a moron; he didn't expect her. But he kept turning around to check over his shoulder anyway, and it was...

Disgruntling.

Monday rolled around with nothing interesting on the radar. (Wilson getting drunk and bowling a 300 game he couldn't remember the next day was becoming disgustingly familiar. House had stolen the trophy for his own collection of things Wilson had won that House obviously deserved more.) The case last week with the kid getting his surgery was old news. If House didn't keep Cuddy hopping with some kind of crisis his team was involved in, he'd probably have to work, which was a sad prospect for any Monday, but even worse today.

He was limping towards the clinic entrance, his shoulder already burning from his quick, rolling pace as he kept his weight off his leg, when he twisted into a double-take and nearly faceplanted on the wet sidewalk. Foreman. And the Bitch.

Canoodling, of course. Looking like quite the pair of lovebirds. They were standing near Foreman's car, foreheads pressed together, the hint of a man-eating smile just visible on the Bitch's face as they pulled out of a kiss. She looked like she'd forgotten everything else in the world. Like she'd forgotten being the best. Forgotten the game.

Forgotten House.

It was about time to show that he hadn't forgotten them. Oh, he'd left them alone last week, put up with the drip, drip, drip of sappiness in his differentials, ignored the little not-actually-invisible-to-the-rest-of-the-world smiles they'd had plastered on their faces, but that had been because he'd been biding his time. And it looked like Monday morning should come with with a rude awakening for somebody else besides him.

House altered his path slightly and headed for the doctors' lounge. An ambush in the locker room was just what the doctor ordered.

Comments

[amber_v]

"Later," Amber murmured, cupping Eric's face for one last brush of their lips, more a reminder of their time together and a tease for what was to come than a proper kiss. They were both smiling and it was hard, but not impossible, to look away from his steadfast, shining gaze. They'd ended up spending the weekend together so it wasn't as if she hadn't gotten her share of his company (at the cost of her readings-- she was getting further and further behind). Just. They'd had fun and now Amber had to shift gears for an entirely different kind of love, this time for her work.

Having parted from Eric, Amber walked quickly through the hospital corridors with her typical single-minded determination. Perhaps she was behind on her studying, but on the other hand, she felt happier, more confident. Her joy wasn't precious like it had been in those earlier day with Eric, a bubble ready to pop at the first hint of sharpness. This was more like gold, solid and durable.

And as far as House went, wasn't it all a question of confidence? She already had the training and she was born with the smarts for this job. All she had to do was have her opinions and fight for them tooth and nail. That'd be easier than ever, even with Dr. Foreman on the side to disapprove of her medical decisions. By the end of the year, she'd be a full-fledged employee. With a smirk and visions of victory, Amber pushed into the locker room.

[g_house]

House's timing was perfect. When he heard the swing of the locker room door followed by the purposeful click of heels, he jaunted around the the shower block and leaned against the row of lockers, casually twirling his cane. That black widow smile was still playing around the corners of her mouth, and she looked about as focused on her job as one of his doctors as a fairy princess daydreaming that some day her sucker would come.

About time she was disabused of that notion. House could be magnaminous; he'd save her from Foreman even after she'd disregarded his warnings about getting involved in the first place. "If I'd known Foreman was that good a kisser, I would've used him to tame Cameron instead of Chase," he said loudly, meanly hoping to startle the hell out of her. "A course of antibiotics might help with that jungle fever."

[amber_v]

One moment Amber was thinking of the day ahead of her, the next, House popped up in her path like a creature in a haunted mansion. At most she was startled; other people used the locker room, so she half-expected to run into someone. It was a bit stranger to have a guy here, much less House, but whatever, that was how he rolled. Amber just shifted her grin into a promising smirk. "Morning, House," she said easily, striding with the same purpose as before towards her locker.

Of course, even if she was saying good morning like it was perfectly natural for him to ambush her-- which, actually, it being him, it was-- he had to be here for a reason. To fuck with her, probably. Or to pull an unexpected stunt to see how she reacted, learning more about how she ticked. It could also be as simple as getting rid of a bad mood; he was doing tricks with his cane, like a kid playing with a new toy, but there was an underlying anger to his tone.

She'd barely had the time to zip through her combination code before he fired off his first shots. Amber could tell he was aiming to hurt her, bringing up Eric and his sex life, but he missed the mark so completely she almost frowned in confusion. She was the jealous type, yes, and House did know that, but why would she be upset about some sick plan he'd never tried out on Eric? Just more typical House stuff, trying to knock her down. She simply wouldn't let him. Not like last time. With that in mind, the second insinuation didn't bother her either. She opened her locker, the door creaking like it always did. "But if I get cured, how can I pass it on to you?" she asked sweetly, throwing the taunting on to him. It was a bit true, too; she did mean to find him a good lay.

[g_house]

With a frown, House sat back on his heels. The Bitch had barely flinched. Her greeting wasn't even fakely sweet, a sign that she knew they were both playing the same game; she meant it. Or as close as cutthroat ever got. She was happy because she was happy, not because she needed to get the better of him. House gripped the handle of his cane, stopping its spin, and then pointed the tip at her. Her little quip didn't even have the zing of her usual efforts. Made no sense. He wasn't interested in finding out how Foreman tamed the shrew. Cuddy already had him ear-marked to play the vole in question, and House wasn't about to get fucked straight--as it were--by anybody. It was just disappointing to see that Amber Volakis was that easy after all.

"Black's not my colour," he said, dismissively, and then went on the attack, to the much more interesting side of this very domestic fluff-fest. "I'm disappointed," he said, pouting the way mothers did when they thought they couldn't get away with being angry. "I went to all that work to give you a nickname. But you're not that cut-throat anymore, are you? You're too happy to be good."

[amber_v]

Perhaps it was only because of the fight they'd nearly had, about how welcome Eric would feel at her family's Thanksgiving table, that Amber flinched. Black's not my color. Again her choice was being questioned, waved aside. Eric was being dismissed in those few words. Black isn't my color. House didn't even bother to mock her choice in men because it was simply that beneath him. It was a new kind of anger to Amber and she didn't even know what to do with it, beyond frown disapprovingly at House, hand curling over the locket's metal edge.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Amber said bluntly and without an ounce of self-recrimination, using the force of her previous anger. She was shrugging off her winter coat and hanging it, ready to slip on her lab coat. "But just because I'm happy doesn't mean I've changed. I'll still get you your results. You can keep calling me that, and I could even pretend to hate it." What did she care what the others called her? And the way House was putting it, 'cut-throat' was a compliment; better yet, because she really hadn't changed. She was still the one who got things done.

Amber peered into the mirror, checking quickly. Kissing Eric had smudged her lipstick a bit and it'd be better to fix that, but she wasn't going to primp herself up in front of him. She wouldn't show House the work it took to look as good as she did. "Tell you what, if I'm anything but the best, then you can chew me out." Challenging House could backfire on her, with his ever-moving goalposts, but then again, it could work in her favor. House liked a fight. That was why he was here. And she was the best. Amber smiled at him, confident and cynical.

[g_house]

House set his cane down and leaned on it, a smirk touching his lips when he saw Amber twitch. So she was happy, but all was not perfect in paradise. If he couldn't get to her through the job--and that was like a knife-twist, whether he showed it or not; the job was supposed to be fucking everything, and if even Amber could be swayed from that, then he wasn't doing his job well enough--then he'd just get to her another way. There was always another way. He was guessing, taking stabs in the dark, but this was why he kicked ass at poker. He'd seen her tell and he could change directions on a dime.

"He does have a bit of a chip on his shoulder," House said meditatively, ignoring Amber's boast altogether. "Of course, I've known that ever since I hired him for his record and he found out I didn't mean his GPA." He shook his head, the pout coming on stronger now, really getting into the deep, terrible sadness he felt about all the pain in the world that poor Eric Foreman had to deal with. Just imagine, people pushing him to be good. And he was good, unimaginative but good, not that he needed House to tell him that. All those people pushing had eventually convinced him that he was God's gift to the medical profession. Wasn't that the point? House nodded at Amber, revelling in the method acting, taking the part to heart. He was a an unfortunately rejected mentor-figure to Foreman, willing to share his white man's burden with Amber, since of course she'd understand where he was coming from sooner than she'd ever see Foreman open up his heart to her. "I'm sure he's never made a point of it with you," he said. "Foreman wouldn't let something so petty come between you if he really cared."

[amber_v]

House, of course, wouldn't focus on the important parts of what she'd said, about how she'd kick ass and take names in their department; it wasn't news, but sometimes it seemed that what House least cared about was the quality of their work. Instead he'd picked up on her disquiet at his remark about Eric's blackness, laying on thick his over-caring act, and he was just about the last person Amber wanted to discuss this with.

Amber shut her locker door with a solid clack, not quite slamming it. "No," she said, loud, insistent. "He hasn't." He hadn't, not really. Not with her precisely. He'd basically accused her family of being racist, without ever having met them, but he hadn't said anything about her, and the only reason the subject came up was that he'd been invited to their home. And he'd been right in that it was going to be awkward, and maybe it was a commentary on her-- how had he known it'd been awkward? he'd guessed from her own attitude?-- or maybe he did have a chip on his shoulder the size of Virginia, assuming he’d be looked down upon wherever he went.

No. Fuck this. She was Amber Volakis and she did not get bogged down by stupid insecurities like this. She was better than this shit. Amber whirled to face him, hands on her hips. "What do you want, House?" She'd wipe that self-satisfied grin off his mug. "Insider information about me and Eric? Yes I know he was caught for stealing, yes we've talked about him being black, and yes I love him." Amber narrowed her eyes, determined, and took a couple of steps towards him, raising her chin. "Happy? Or maybe you just want a fight and see me upset. Would that be good enough for you? I told you, House, I'm the best, and I'll give you whatever the fuck it is you want." Going into the offensive flooded her with thrilled excitement, like she’d just pressed down hard on the accelerator.

[g_house]

Oh, this was just too precious. Amber was standing up for Foreman. Pretending he hadn't been a stuffed shirt to her. As if House didn't know that Foreman was a condescending jerk to everyone, and that was on a good day. Thirteen had admitted Amber and Foreman fought while he was gone. A desultory follow-up with the other candidates had confirmed it, although no one had been interested in spilling the juiciest of the details. The best he'd gotten was out of Kutner, who'd quite innocently mentioned that Foreman had thought for a while the patient had MS, when the chart clearly showed treatment for lupus in Amber's distinctive handwriting. That couldn't have been a pretty sight. House almost regretted not hanging around with a bucket of popcorn. Whether over race or medicine, Foreman's pride would be the problem, if Amber didn't suck him dry and lay her eggs in him first.

Letting Amber rant about just how happy she was--as if true happiness didn't need any defense at all--House considered the effect of a patronizing pat to her shoulder, but resisted with the knowledge that he'd probably pull back a bloody stump. He had enough mobility issues as it was. "You'll give me what I want, but not Foreman," he said, raising his eyebrows in innocent inquiry. Amber was ready to go, the locker door shoved closed, her dander up, anger sparking in her eyes. Not a bad sight; he could almost see what Foreman saw in her. "You'd dig up corpses for me, but you wouldn't treat a patient for a disease the tests pointed to if Foreman asked." He shook his head in not-quite-honest confusion. "Which one of us are you fucking, again?"

[amber_v]

It didn't even faze him, her pointing out that he was basically looking for blood. She breathed in deep and fast through her nose, staying calm but planning how to strike back. Amber wouldn't let House keep taking pieces of her like a roast on the table. She had no more reason to stay but leaving would be running away, so she staked her territory. She was tall as it was and with her heels, House didn't have much height on her; it was easy to stare at his level. He was cocky and smug; let's see how long that lasted.

He couldn't get to her or Eric if she was on the offensive.

"You don't know what I'd do for him," Amber said quickly, dismissing the issue. The question of Casey's treatment was already resolved with the person who actually mattered; House could be curious and dig into the files as much as he liked, but he couldn't affect her opinion or feelings. If he wanted her to feel guilt for not supporting Eric, it wouldn't work; she was too focused on her anger, hot and controllable. The last time they'd fought, he'd humiliated her, bringing up Eric's previous and fair-weather loves and then thoroughly rejecting her flirting. What would hurt him? "Eric," Amber answered, her grin sharp and cruel. "You had your chance."

But that wouldn't be enough to hurt House; he'd already made it clear that he could care less about fucking her. Drawing this line would, at most, give him a moment's pause. What mattered to him? Control. He wanted to put her in her place, to make her worry about her relationship to Eric; he wanted, even, to undermine Eric through her. Amber wouldn't let that happen. The answer was to show House his weakness, and that-- that meant making him fear his power as their boss. "Face it, House, you don't control our lives." Amber said it baldly, going so fast she didn't have the time to remember her real goal, of being his underling.

[g_house]

"I don't need to. I know what you wouldn't do for him." House gripped his cane a shade tighter, his palm sweating lightly, although he showed nothing but indifference to Amber's approach. She was deflecting; on the defensive. Answering his playful question with nothing but the obvious. Oh, right, he'd had his chance to have his penis bitten off by the finest specimen of vagina dentata to ever cross his path. Not really his loss. Foreman was probably a eunuch by now.

As for this little argument--Amber wasn't really worth it. House didn't deny that she could give him results. He'd yet to see if she could put the case in front of everything, and that included her little fling with Foreman. It also included ahead of her own ambitions. The moment hadn't come to test that theory yet. Maybe it wouldn't. As long as it didn't, House was content to have her around, but if she pushed him, he was more than willing to fire her for no better reason than because she pushed him. The urge to casually drop a "you're fired" in the face of Amber's spirited defense was strong, but no, he'd rather see it play out during a case. Whatever Cuddy thought, he was picking the best minions possible. His methods were sound.

Foreman was the one who was in his way. Whatever mockery of control Foreman had over him--not much, since he could be distracted by sour mayonaise--it was the only thorn in House's side that prevented him from playing completely how he wanted. House stopped short as the realization struck him. He'd thought he'd run out of gamepieces to play, but...Amber said it, not him. He did have control over their lives, he just hadn't seen it until now. Holding Amber's job over Foreman's head might not have worked before, but if it was love--oh, he was going to have fun. If Foreman gave in to the blackmail, he'd have trouble with Amber, who'd hate him for helping her; if he didn't, House would fire his girlfriend and put him through hell that way, even if his leverage was gone. Perfect.

"Right," he said. "Forgot about that. Not like I'm your boss or anything." With a sharkish grin, he shouldered past her and headed out of the locker room.

[amber_v]

Once the words were out loud and said, it struck Amber that she may have gone too far; she half-expected House to break into a gleeful sneer and fire her. What was it with her, that she couldn't control what she said? Blurting out that she loved Eric (not to mention all the other tidbits she'd thrown at him in the heat of the moment), telling off her boss.... Amber had always been one to speak her mind, but she'd learned to be cautious, too. Seemed like she was unlearning that lesson. She gritted her teeth as if to put a leash on herself; she'd go no further, baited or not.

House didn't sneer, or smile; he just frowned, eyes going unfocused in that way he did when they were in a middle of a diagnosis he'd deigned to participate in. He was processing. Amber found herself crossing her arms, nervous, tempted to start tapping her foot. She wouldn't let him fire her-- she'd find a way around it, if he did. Kutner came back from the other side and she could too; she was better, she was.

All she got was, Not like I'm your boss or anything and him knocking into her shoulder as he strode out. Amber's arms dropped to either side of her as she sighed and looked up at the ceiling, annoyed. What had just happened? Nothing she said seemed to really affect House; so much for hurting him. If anything, he seemed ultimately pleased by what she'd said. It wasn't worth even trying. What good could come of it, anyway? She'd seen how trigger-happy House was when it came to firing, that first day on the job. She wasn't sure if goading him right back was the right answer. Maybe later she could ask Eric what he thought, since he had more experience with House; it’d hurt her pride, needing help, but she was always willing to get information wherever possible.

Once she heard the door swing shut, Amber opened up her locker again. Might as well reapply her makeup now and feel at least better prepared physical for whatever was coming.