Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they're the amazing creations of David Shore
Amber Volakis never needed anyone. She thrived on her own ambition, sharp enough to cut through obstacles and confident enough to never doubt herself. Gregory House, however, was the immovable object to her unstoppable force. She hated him, or at least she told herself she did.
But there was a moment—just one—where she saw beyond the sarcasm and caustic remarks. And in that moment, she found herself caught in a tangle of emotions she couldn't escape.
Chapter 1
Amber stormed into House's office late one afternoon, tossing a folder onto his desk. "You missed the obvious," she said, her voice sharp.
House didn't look up from his GameBoy. "No, I ignored the obvious. That's what makes me better than you."
Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Then explain how your brilliant theory about the patient's autoimmune condition magically resolves with an antibiotic that wasn't even prescribed until I pushed for it."
He smirked, eyes still on his game. "Sometimes idiots get lucky. Even broken clocks, etc., etc."
Amber rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."
"And yet you're still here," he shot back, finally looking up, his blue eyes piercing.
She faltered, something in his gaze unnerving her. "I'm here because I care about the patient, not because I want your approval."
House leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. "Sure you do, C.B. Sure you do."
CHAPTER 2
Amber didn't know when her feelings shifted. At first, it was nothing more than reluctant admiration for House's genius. But soon, she began noticing things she wished she hadn't—the way his wit masked a deep loneliness, the rare moments when his cynicism gave way to something vulnerable.
It was maddening.
One evening, she watched him from across the conference room, his fingers drumming against the edge of the whiteboard as he worked through a diagnosis. Wilson sat beside her, jotting down notes. He glanced over and smiled, his warm, easy affection filling her with guilt.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," Wilson said. "Just... glad you're here."
She smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her gaze drifted back to House, who caught her staring. His expression was unreadable, but the faint lift of his eyebrow made her look away, cheeks burning.
CHAPTER 3
It happened one night after an especially brutal case. The patient had died despite their best efforts, and Amber found herself lingering in House's office long after Wilson had left.
"I don't know how you do it," she said, breaking the silence.
"Do what?" House asked, not looking up from his bottle of Vicodin.
"Deal with... everything. The losses, the mistakes. Doesn't it ever get to you?"
House snorted. "You think I have some deep well of inner strength? Newsflash: I don't. I'm just better at pretending it doesn't matter."
Amber hesitated, then took a step closer. "But it does matter. I can see it. You act like you don't care, but you do."
House finally looked at her, his expression guarded. "What's your point?"
Her heart raced. She hadn't planned for this, hadn't even realized she'd been holding these feelings in until they were on the verge of spilling out.
"I think... I think I care about you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
House's gaze hardened. "Don't."
"What?"
"Don't do this," he said sharply. "You're with Wilson. He's a nice guy, a good guy. The kind of guy you can build a life with. Me? I'm... not that guy."
"I don't care," Amber said, her voice rising. "You don't get to tell me how to feel."
"No," House said coldly. "But I do get to tell you that you're wasting your time. Whatever you think you see in me, it's not real."
Amber blinked back tears, her fists clenching at her sides. "You're such a coward."
House shrugged, his face impassive. "Better a coward than a homewrecker. Go home, Amber. This little... whatever this is? It's not worth it."
CHAPTER 4
Amber barely spoke to House over the next few weeks. She focused all her energy on Wilson, throwing herself into their relationship with a ferocity that bordered on desperation.
"Everything okay?" Wilson asked one evening as they sat on the couch.
"Of course," Amber said, plastering on a bright smile.
"You've seemed... distracted lately," he pressed.
Amber leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm fine. Just work."
But as Wilson pulled her into his arms, Amber's thoughts drifted to House. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something vital had been left unresolved.
CHAPTER 5
Amber saw House in the hallway a few days later. He was leaning against his cane, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"Volakis," he said, nodding as she passed.
"House," she replied, her tone cool.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in that instant, she saw something flicker in his gaze—regret, maybe, or something close to it. But before she could say anything, he turned away, disappearing into his office.
Amber stood there for a long moment, then squared her shoulders and walked on.
EPILOGUE
Amber learned to wear a mask, just like House. She laughed at Wilson's jokes, attended hospital galas on his arm, and played the role of the devoted girlfriend.
But late at night, when the world was quiet and Wilson was asleep beside her, she allowed herself to feel the weight of what she'd lost—or perhaps, what she'd never truly had.
House remained the same—sarcastic, brilliant, and untouchable. But every so often, when he passed Amber in the halls or caught her laughing with Wilson, he felt the faintest pang of something he couldn't quite name.
They never spoke of it again. Their unspoken connection lingered like a shadow, a quiet reminder of the paths they didn't take.
Amber stayed with Wilson, and House stayed alone.
Because some wounds never heal.
END...
[I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS STORY, PLS LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD ADD/CHANGE ANY PART OF THIS, TY]