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."