Before she left Jimmy Quidd's room, Amber made sure there were no traces of the tears she'd allowed herself to shed after Quidd drifted back to sleep. She checked her watch: House would be long gone by now, and she didn't care if she saw anyone else. At least that's what she'd thought until she turned the corner and saw James Wilson waiting for the elevator.
She considered turning around and taking the stairs, but she'd never been one to walk away from a challenge, real or self-imposed. She wouldn't give Wilson the opportunity to report back any sign of weakness to House. They'd probably already had a good laugh over her breakdown in the lecture hall.
She tilted her chin up and strode up beside him, daring him to offer her false sympathy, or worse, real pity. But there was only polite friendliness in the slight smile he greeted her with.
"How is he?" he asked, and she realized he must have walked past Quidd's room and seen her.
"He'll live. I'm not sure what that means to the future of the music industry."
"It takes all tastes." The smile broadened, revealing a dimple. "I hope someone had the foresight to shatter that record."
Amber wondered if he even knew House's final decision. The last she'd heard, House and Wilson had been arguing about one of Wilson's patients. They squabbled constantly, when they weren't acting like truant schoolboys. "You might like his earlier work. Kutner called it folky." She tried not to smile at the thought of Kutner, forever letting his mouth run before his brain.
"I'm more of a jazz man, myself," Wilson replied as the elevator doors opened. He gestured for her to precede him. "Except for that atonal crap House likes to torture me with." He stepped to the far side of the car, gifting her with space. "I'm sorry things didn't work out," he said carefully. "For what it's worth, I think you would have made a good member of the team."
She was surprised to discover that it was worth more than she would have thought. But Wilson was a department head and, rumour had it, one of the few people Cuddy sought out for advice. "Well, if you hear of any more fellowships with misanthropic geniuses, don't let me know."
"I'm afraid those only come up when the moon is in Sagittarius and the sun is in Aries, or House loses his mind, but I understand that RWJ in Hamilton is looking for a diagnostic radiologist. I'd be happy to give you a reference."
She looked suspiciously at him. "Are you just trying to clean up his messes? Because I don't need your help. I kept my options open at my previous job." The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to House's friend or to face further reminders of how she'd failed.
"It has nothing to do with House," Wilson replied mildly. "I thought of you immediately when I heard about the opening, but I didn't think you'd be interested. If that changes, you know how to get in touch with me."
She knew how to get in touch with Robert Wood Johnson as well. Whatever job she took next would be on her own merits, not the recommendation of someone with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and lousy taste in friends. But there was no reason to burn any more bridges than she had to, so she forced herself to smile politely. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."
Wilson just nodded and had the courtesy -- or the sense -- not to push it any further. He leaned against the elevator wall and watched the numbers diminish above the door.
Amber took the opportunity to observe him unabashedly. Where House was all sharp-angled scruff and challenging, disapproving glares, Wilson was smooth-skinned and soft, sardonic smiles. She wasn't fooled for a moment. Anyone who was friends with House had to have a bulletproof ego and a well-developed tolerance of ass-hattery. It was her experience that any man that could take it, could dish it out as well.
It was only the second time they'd been alone together. After House had conducted his experiment with electricity, Wilson had sought her out to thank her for restarting House's heart. She'd appreciated it not for the sincerity, but for the implication that he was in her debt. The RWJ suggestion was obviously just his way of clearing that debt.
On that occasion, he'd been polite but distracted, the crease between his eyebrows deepened in concern for House. The worry line was smoothed out now, but he still looked exhausted. House had that effect on people. An oncology practice could only intensify it. Amber found herself almost feeling sorry for Wilson.
They reached the ground floor before Wilson spoke again. "Just because he didn't choose you, doesn't mean you failed," he said.
She stiffened. "Nobody asked your opinion," she snapped, grateful when the elevator doors opened. She strode away, not expecting him to follow. People didn't pursue her once she'd dismissed them.
But he caught up to her at the door when she stepped aside to let an elderly woman pass by. "I didn't think you were the type of person who believed in waiting for someone to ask your opinion."
"No, but I'm the type of person who has absolutely no interest in hearing yours. I don't need your pity and I don't need your platitudes." She pushed open the door, hoping it would slam back on his face, but he stayed stubbornly behind her. "I don't need anything."
He matched her stride for stride and she couldn't help noticing that they were evenly paired, nearly the same height. "Maybe not. But I bet you could use a friend."
Her gait broke, like a trotter pushed too hard, and she spun to face him before he could notice. "Right. You want to be my friend. Your friend just fired me. Sounds like the perfect basis for a relationship." She could feel the tears threatening again, and her cheeks flushed with humiliation. "Just leave me alone. This part of my life is dead. I'm not going to stick around to sniff at the corpse." She whirled away and stepped off the curb to cross over to the parking lot.
He grabbed her arm and held her back as a car sped past. "Come with me," he said and started walking towards campus. When she didn't move, he turned around and gave her another one of those crooked smiles that almost made her want to smile back. "I'll buy you a coffee. It won't do much for your nerves, but it will warm you up."
It was only then that she realized she was shaking.
All her life, Amber had acted with purpose. She planned and schemed and made sure she got what she wanted, one way or another. She never did anything, whether helpful or hurtful, without a reason. But she had no idea why she was sitting across from James Wilson at a campus coffee shop, sipping a latte.
"So do you take all House's cast-offs out for coffee? That must be hard on your wallet." She'd meant it to sound sarcastic, but she couldn't quite maintain the needed note of anger.
"Believe me, it would be the least expensive aspect of my friendship with House."
She knew from the hospital grapevine that Wilson's accounts had been frozen and his DEA license suspended last year because of House. She'd seen House cadge money out of Wilson, forcing him to buy his lunch or finance his latest whim. And yet Wilson sounded more amused than annoyed. "Why do you put up with him?"
"Why do we put up with anyone? You have to decide if the good outweighs the bad." He grinned. "Sometimes the bad makes me want to run screaming, but there's always more than enough good to draw me back."
Brilliant mind aside, Amber couldn't see anything that would make someone want to spend time voluntarily with Gregory House. She knew the skepticism must have shown on her face, because he shook his head.
"He called you Cutthroat Bitch. Is that all there is to you?"
Amber thought of everything she'd done to get the fellowship, the sabotage and dirty tricks that made the White House Plumbers look like choirboys. The other candidates had hated her, but that hadn't mattered as long as she came out on top. But in the end, it had been for nothing. "There isn't anything else," she said and looked down, pressing her lips together, because just once she wanted there to be something more.
"I don't believe that," Wilson said softly. "You wouldn't be crying if there was nothing else."
She lifted her head and stared at him in surprise. It had been a long time since any one had looked past the surface. But when he passed her a napkin, she was reminded that he was a witness to her weakness and she lashed out reflexively. "What's your problem?" she demanded. "Do you get off on other people's pain? Is that why you hang around House?"
Wilson just chuckled. "If you want to out-insult House, you're going to have to try a little harder than that. Would you like me to give you a list of topics to work on?"
She blinked, not knowing how to respond to someone who didn't fight back, but didn't back down. "I think maybe I'd like to have a conversation that doesn't revolve around scoring points off the other person."
Wilson signaled for the waitress to refill his cup. "I've heard about those before. How do they go?"
Amber had no idea. She had never been good at small talk and wasn't interested in improving. "What did you mean when you said I hadn't failed? I didn't get the fellowship. How can that not be a failure?" There was no room for second best in her philosophy.
"There are plenty of prestigious fellowships out there, most of which don't include the possibility of jail time." Wilson stirred sugar into his coffee, took a sip, and added some more. "You might have wanted the job, but you didn't need it."
That was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. It was no wonder House ignored most of what Wilson said. "And the others did?"
"Taub needs a place to start over. Kutner needs a boss who understands how he thinks." He smirked and the resemblance to House was disturbing. "And who won't care when he blows up equipment."
"What about Thirteen?" It stung most that House would have picked Thirteen over her.
"Thirteen needs to be challenged. You don't need any of that. House doesn't waste his time on people who don't need him. It's why he fired Chase, let Cameron go, but only made a token protest when Foreman came back."
If Wilson considered that a token protest she was almost glad she wouldn't be around to see House in outright rebellion. "Why does he keep you around then?"
Wilson laughed, but it was bittersweet, like his coffee. "House says I need to be needed."
That explained why Wilson stuck around, but not why someone as antisocial as House fed into that need. She had seen House seek out Wilson's company, time after time, heading straight from a successful diagnosis to Wilson's office, bursting to spread the news of his latest genius. But sitting in Wilson's company, with no expectations and nothing to prove, she began to understand. There was something soothing in his presence, something unflappable about his composure that she longed to flap.
"Why are you smiling?" he asked, but with pleasure, not suspicion.
Because you made me, she wanted to say, but she was afraid of sounding ridiculous. "Everybody needs to be needed for something," she said instead. "But I bet he still made it sound like a crime."
"Sometimes it is," he said. He didn't elaborate, but his expression closed off and Amber knew if she pushed, he'd withdraw altogether.
She realized she didn't want to lose that tentative connection; she didn't even mind if it kept her connected to House as well. "He told me that I played the game better than anybody else," she mused, "but I had to learn how to lose. And now I have. Maybe that's all I needed to learn from him."
"Learning never ends," he intoned, and it took a moment for her to see the laughter in his eyes. "Only the lessons change."
"What could you teach me?" she challenged, leaning towards him.
He met the challenge with a smile. "How about a lesson in redemption? I've got two tickets to A Christmas Carol at the McCarter on Friday."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm Scrooge?"
"What? N-no," he stammered. "It's their annual holiday show. And it's been getting great reviews. I just thought..."
It was no wonder House loved to humiliate Wilson. He was adorable when he was embarrassed. "Maybe you should take House. He'd make a great Scrooge."
Wilson wrinkled his nose. "House thinks the only reason a man goes to the theatre is if he's hoping to see his companion naked. So you'd be doing me a favour, really. If I take Cuddy to another play his head will explode."
That didn't sound like something she'd want to discourage, but she found that she didn't like the idea of Wilson taking Cuddy to a play either. "Does that mean you want to see me naked?" she teased. It was too easy a point to let pass.
But she'd forgotten that Wilson sparred with House on a daily basis. "Well, not at the theatre. It is a family show, and I wouldn't want to distract the actors," he replied, eyes wide and innocent.
An hour ago she had been crying in a drug addict's hospital room, as low as she'd ever been in her life. Now she was laughing with the best friend of the man who'd fired her. Maybe there was some kind of cosmic balance in the universe, a boon for every disappointment.
"Friday, then. I'll meet you at the theatre." She could temper aggression with caution for now. More than House's head would explode if he saw her with Wilson. But offers of friendship -- and the possibility of something more -- were as rare and valuable as a prestigious fellowship. She wasn't about to let House take another opportunity away from her.
Life was a series of games. Next time, she wouldn't lose.