29 October 2007 - Evening

[amber_v]

Amber refused to spend the weekend moping. Friday night, when she got back home, frozen and light-headed from the cosmopolitan she'd practically inhaled, she just stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed. She'd been running low on sleep, from days of solving a case and then staying up all night fucking Eric, so she went out quickly.

Saturday morning came with a low-level headache. But she plowed on anyway; an idle moment could lead to reminiscing and regretting what hadn't ever come to be, and Amber wouldn't put up with self-pity. There was plenty to do: laundry she'd been meaning to get around to for embarrassingly long, grocery shopping to replenish her emptying shelves, and a more thorough cleaning of the areas of her apartment she'd normally ignore. Chores kept her thankfully busy all day.

She'd hoped House would page her with a case that couldn't wait until Monday. That'd keep her mind off melodramatic woes. However, no urgent message of a diagnostic emergency came in to save her from her thoughts.

Sunday was worse. With her apartment spotless and all errands she could imagine done, Amber was taskless. Normally she’d appreciate a free moment to read or watch TV, but… it seemed too lonely, whiling away her time in her apartment. She took with her a number of medical journals—leaving behind any related to neurology—and spent a few hours at a café. Though she was still alone, at least she was surrounded by chatter.

By the time Monday rolled around, Amber hadn’t let herself indulge in thinking about Eric, even though her brain hadn’t cooperated. Eric might’ve been surprised to discover he’d become a pink elephant: he was a banned subject, but she couldn’t help remembering him. Everything seemed to lead back to him, even the soap bars she’d picked up at the supermarket (he’d had the same scent, after they’d showered together).

Amber walked into the classroom with a heavy heart. Normally she loved her work, with its constant promise of new challenges to conquer, but-- he’d be there. And—she just had to act cool. That was all. She was sure he’d do the same. He’d have no reason to tell everyone what had happened—unless he wanted House to fire her. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? Or maybe he would. It wouldn’t be out of line, from what she knew of him. If he was willing to string her along for a weekend just for his own fun, why wouldn’t he drop a few words that’d get rid of the unpleasant presence of an “ex”?

She sat primly in the center of the front row, not talking to any of the others. They made no effort to talk with her, either. Fortunately, House came in almost on time; he seemed unusually focused, introducing their new case as soon as he came in.

Listening carefully to every word out of House’s mouth, Amber wondered when Eric would come in.

Comments

[eric_foreman]

Foreman had a miserable weekend. Instead of going home with Amber--following up the kisses and touches they'd stolen in the middle of the bar, building on the connection they'd had on Thursday night--he'd come home to his dark apartment, tossed his keys onto his kitchen counter, and had absolutely nothing to occupy his attention for the rest of the night. He'd stopped drinking after only three beers, and paid his half of the bill, leaving a good tip. It would have been stupid to stay longer, humiliated and crying into his beer. He wasn't going to be an idiot about this. He'd known it couldn't last between him and Amber. He didn't have any right to be upset that it had ended sooner than it needed to. Amber's last words--that he was less trustworthy than House--still rang in his ears, stinging him with guilt.

He'd spent the summer perfecting his ability to ignore the fact that he felt like a failure. When he couldn't get his mind off his career, he'd gone to the gym and worked out until the physical ache was stronger than the repetitive thoughts. He tried that again, but Amber kept popping back up in his mind--how she looked naked, or sleeping, or grinning up at him as she prepared to whip his ass at mini-golf. It shouldn't be this difficult to forget her. Foreman had had more than enough practice at pushing distractions aside. Focusing on his career demanded it. He just needed to try harder.

Monday came--finally--and Foreman dressed his best, as if he hadn't already landed this job. He drove in to work and parked in his usual spot, and that alone felt like he'd spiralled back around, going in circles and not getting anywhere. He refused to show it when he arrived in Cuddy's office. She dismissed her assistant and led the way to one of the lecture halls, showing him the chart of House's latest patient as they went. "House has six possibilities left," she said. "Part of your job will be to encourage him to fire them sooner rather than later." She rolled her eyes. "Don't tell him that, or he'll take it as license to keep them all for another month. The budget's already screaming."

Foreman nodded, but his attention wasn't on Cuddy. He wondered if Amber's weekend had been as dismal as his. What she'd look like. He doubted she'd acknowledge him at all. Haughty and proud and distant. He'd have to do the same, not show even by a flicker of his expression that he knew her. He pulled his thoughts back to the case. As soon as they walked into the lecture theatre, his eyes went automatically to Amber--Christ, he wasn't going to think about whether she was paler than he remembered--and he had to yank his attention back to the symptoms on the board. He had to focus on the case. "Laryngospasm," he said, interrupting House with his theory.