alwaysright | October 29, 2007

October 29, 2007 - Evening

Nothing around here works the way it's supposed to work.

Of everything their John Doe--Robert Elliot--had said when Foreman had been with him, that was what rang the most true. It was stupid to think that talking with a patient with Giovianni's syndrome could change anything, least of all how he saw himself. The guy wasn't psychic; he was only picking up on the cues that Foreman had dropped inadvertently. Changing because of that was worse than stupid. It would imply that not only was Foreman ignorant about his own feelings and what he wanted, but also that he was spineless enough to act differently because of a stranger's neurological disorder. Foreman made his own choices. He wasn't looking for any advice, whether it was his own reflected back at him or not.

After the day's humiliation, Foreman had been more sure than ever that Princeton wasn't the right place for him. Less than an hour later, Chase had come up to him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and laughingly asked if it was true.

Foreman fixed him with a furious stare. "I didn't know she worked here. And I didn't have to beg her every day for weeks."

Chase, far from being offended, just grinned wider. "Once a week. Anyway, I heard Amber was the one calling the shots."

Foreman didn't bother pointing out that Cameron walked all over Chase on a daily basis. "I have to run a biopsy," he said, turning to walk away, his shoulders hunched as he pushed his fists into his pockets.

"She seems like just your type!" Chase called after him. "Did you ever consider lightening up and enjoying yourselves?"

Fat chance of that. Not with the whole hospital in on the joke and watching. For what it was worth, Foreman didn't have to work with Amber directly for the rest of the day. Both of them were too busy running cultures and keeping the patient alive. Foreman let House do whatever crazy thing entered his mind. He didn't have any illusions about being able to stop him today, and Foreman was more interested in keeping his head down. In thinking about how to get away.

But when House sidled up to him with a job offer from Mount Zion, Foreman's first thought wasn't to jump at the opportunity. It wasn't even to suspect that House was having him on, dangling the possibility with every intention of yanking it away the second Foreman seemed likely to believe it was real.

His first thought had been, I can't go yet.

That had surprised him more than anything, made him stop and frown once he'd finally shaken House off. After having his affairs aired in the middle of a differential like a choice piece of gossip he couldn't believe that there was any reason not to take up the job hunt again. Farther afield, where the hospitals wouldn't have heard of him, or had their diagnostics cases redirected to Princeton-Plainsboro, so that they'd only know House by his reputation, not by personal experience. Maybe as far away as California; Foreman still had contacts there.

But he didn't want to go.

Partly it was the medicine. He'd felt in the thick of it again today. Working against the clock to solve a case. Challenged, following the clues from one to the next. He'd always loved that, even if he hadn't been happy working for House. But partly, Foreman knew, it was Amber, and he didn't know what do about that. He'd been shot down enough, rejected enough, that he should want to stay away from her just to avoid any more scenes like this morning's. Even so, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering what she really felt and whether the attitude she'd shown in front of House was all there was.

Well, it didn't matter. He wasn't going to ask. Once the case was solved, all Foreman wanted to do was gather his things and escape. It was late, and dark, and he headed for the doors slowly, already knowing he wouldn't have the same luck he'd had on Thursday. Nothing worked out the way it should.

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Foreman sobered a bit at Amber's mention of the police. The manager could very well have called the police on them. If the restaurant had been any busier. If someone else had wanted to use the bathroom, or if anyone had been seated closer to their table and had complained. Getting kicked out was probably the lightest punishment possible. And 'a few times'--what did that mean? Casual fucks, or something like this? Foreman couldn't say, even to himself, what 'like this' was, but he had a sudden urge to ask leading questions until he'd figured out a bit more about Amber's history, how many men there had been, how many serious boyfriends. What the competition was like. He took a drink of the wine Amber had poured to distract himself.

"Her?" Foreman spared another glance for the woman across the room. "No." She wasn't unattractive, but she was nothing special, especially considering the comparison. Not his type. Foreman could usually get a knockout in one way or another. But Amber's implication wasn't lost on him, and for no reason, other than brainstem instinct, Foreman's mind leaped to Thirteen. The three of them, Amber smirking at him as she lowered her head to suck on Thirteen's nipple, while both of them were draped over him, their hands exploring. It was a hell of a fantasy. Foreman's mouth curved in a smirk he tried to hide. Knowing how Amber felt about Thirteen, he'd be suicidal to even suggest it. He didn't need to have his ass handed to him for the second time tonight. It was an image he wouldn't soon forget, though, even if his dick couldn't so much at twitch at the idea right now. Hell, maybe he was wrong; maybe Amber would bring up the idea, and ask for his input. He couldn't really rule anything out, after the nights they'd had so far.

He barely held back his chuckle when Amber slyly sent the waiter away. Subtle wasn't her flavour of choice. He took a bite of his kebab--the meat was tough and chewy, but he supposed that was his own fault, and he finally managed to swallow. "We're going to be banned from this place," he said, but he still couldn't bring himself to regret it. He tipped his head back, considering Amber slowly. "What's the wildest thing you've done?" he asked.

Eric's grin could be only be described as lurid. That, or as lewd-- or any other number of synonyms indicating sex-filled, really. She could very well imagine what was running through his mind. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking," Amber drawled. "It might not be of her, but it's of someone. Like I said, all you men are the same." It was clearer than ever that threesomes appealed to him, but she still wouldn’t be suggesting anything of the sort. And if he asked—well, just how mercilessly she’d shoot down that notion depended on his approach to the question.

They’d reheated her chicken, and though she wouldn’t grant it any awards of the year, it tasted as good as it smelled: excellent, and precisely what she wanted. Nothing like working up an appetite to make you appreciate food with all due respect. It was sharp and spicy, just as she liked it; her earlier remarks hadn’t been only innuendo.

“For all we know, they can’t wait for us to come back. I bet we’ve been the best entertainment they’ve seen in weeks. And if they do kick us out, there’s plenty of other fish in Princeton-Plainsboro.”

His question required a great deal more consideration, though. Amber chewed more carefully than needed, her gaze roaming around the room as she dove into her memories. There were a lot of possibilities, for ‘wildest’: multiple sex partners, sex in inappropriate (and usually public) places, assorted difficult positions, taping--

But none of it, she was starting to realize, was as crazy as what she was doing right now. Sitting across from Eric. Having dinner with him, opening herself up even more. This was a high-risk investment, in so many ways. Sure she could angle to manipulate House to fall on her side, but who said he'd be persuaded? And that, Amber thought as her stomach tightened pleasantly just by looking back at Eric, might be the simplest part.

“Streaking across my college campus,” Amber eventually decided. It’d been the most blatant bit of law-breaking she’d ever attempted—though not necessarily the worst crime she’d committed. “I guess I was never as wild as when I was a co-ed.” Her eyebrows went up. “Your turn.”

Amber's eyes became a paler blue when she was thoughtful, her profile softer when she looked around the room, not directly challenging. Foreman took full advantage to watch her--he couldn't keep his eyes off her, and he knew that once they were back at work, he'd be even less able to pretend nothing was happening. They'd share thoughts with a glance, and he'd be looking to Amber to check her reaction to whatever egregious thing House said. To an extent, he'd had that with Chase and Cameron: the three of them had shared their disbelief and outrage when House's back was turned, not that it stopped him from knowing exactly when they were groaning silently at him. Coming back had left Foreman without that sort of ally in the differentials, but he had Amber now...maybe. It was easy for him to think that they'd share something when they were at work, but it might just as easily become a situation like in the bathroom at the end, when Amber had slipped free of him and changed the subject. And it might be discretion, but it might also be distance. Foreman wasn't sure. There was no point getting ahead of himself, though, and leaping to conclusions.

He laughed quietly at Amber's story. That must have been amazing, seeing her sprint naked through a crowd, her breasts bouncing, the sight of her long legs and her ass as she bolted away. "It can't be my turn yet. You didn't finish the story." He raised his eyebrows and took another bite, then pointed his fork at her, trying to guess. "It wasn't for a sports team, was it? I'm going to guess you had a cause." Nothing would make him pay more attention than a slogan helpfully written in makeup across Amber's skin as she ran past.

Relenting finally, he thought about what he'd done in his life that counted as wild. The nagging feeling that he was boring--Christ, it was the wrong word, but it was the one that kept popping up in his mind. Damn House, anyway. That he was conservative, or that he liked his life the way it was, wasn't a problem, but it didn't make for that many good stories. If he'd been out of control as a teenager, he'd been a real prig in medical school. He'd kept to himself and studied. He'd earned his arrogance. But he'd been boring.

Foreman pressed his lips together and frowned in concentration. The wildest thing in his life had been Marcus. By the time Foreman was seventeen, Marcus at fourteen hadn't been quite such a pest. That was before he'd gone too far, when he'd just been a stupid kid like Foreman had been. He could have imagined, then, that Marcus would grow out of it, like he had. It was his last year of high school and Marcus's first, and it had been fun enough to have a kid brother that he could rag on a bit in front of his friends. "I dared my brother to a race," he said, wondering even as he spoke why he was talking about Marcus--it would only bring more questions, eventually. "I had this little motorcycle. A Honda XL. My dad wanted me to learn something practical like mechanics. And Marcus was always asking for rides. I told him he could have it if he could get a better time than me down our main road." It had only been a few miles, and a pretty deserted street after ten at night. Safe enough for Marcus to try out the bike, which didn't have that much power to start with. But he'd done better than Foreman had ever expected--he must have been practicing when Foreman's back was turned. "I got up to nearly sixty. At the last minute, a car turned in front of me, and I had to ditch the bike. I could've killed myself. I sprained my wrist landing, but my friends all thought it was a cool crash."

"Football doesn't deserve my naked ass," Amber noted. With feigned modesty, "There isn't much of a story to tell. It was my first semester, and some of the sororities made their new girls streak across the greens. It seemed like fun, so I joined in." There'd been a begging-of-year fair, and she'd run straight through it. While she saw little of the reaction, everything blurring by as she pumped her legs, the sounds had been more than enough reward. Shrieks, incredulous laughter, hoots. Amber grinned. "I’d been right: was fun."

But, like earlier in the evening, Eric managed to hit a singularly somber note, unpredictable given the melody up until then. Though his reminiscence wasn’t out of tune, entirely misplaced in their conversation, it caught Amber off-guard. His question had, she'd thought, wanted a sexual escapade as an answer; she'd delivered along those lines, and expected the same of him. The tale of daring his brother to dangerous sport and nearly maiming himself felt like an entirely different category of "wild," not to mention more intimate. Lingering, haunting memories were harder to part with than boast-worthy feats.

As Eric recounted the incident, Amber wiped her mouth with her napkin, listening carefully and thinking hard. This memory definitely hung over Eric; she'd have to be blind and deaf not to realize that. His voice dipped when he mentioned his brother, his eyes glancing downward for a second. Guilt from the risk he'd put his brother through, or from something else?

Forgetting her reheated, and once more cooling, food, Amber slid her hand over the table, reaching out for him in more than one sense. She'd been-- and was-- scared of her outburst, but that didn't seem to matter. Not now. Not in face of Eric's troubled demeanor. "You must've been terrified." Amber suddenly remembered all the teenagers injured by stupid stunts she'd seen over the years, shocked not just by the damage they'd sustained but also by the comprehension of their treacherous vulnerability. Yes. Of course Eric had been one of them. He was too-- proper, not to have experienced this. Amber shuddered, suddenly imagining how it must've been, the sudden lights, his muscles swerving of their own accord, acting on instinct. Without a second’s thought, her hand inched closer towards him. "How about your brother? How did he take it?" Knowing not-quite-men, she was willing to bet he'd also thought the crash was 'cool.'

Foreman gave himself a mental shake after telling the story. Coming out with a memory like that was part of how he knew that his relationship with Amber was different. He was different when he was with her. Marcus didn't enter his mind most of the time, and when he did, Foreman pushed the thoughts aside just as quickly. Marcus had had more than enough chances, and Foreman had made the decision not to give him any more. So why the hell was he bringing him up? He'd done it before, too, when they were mini-golfing. Amber seemed to invite confidences; the way she met his eyes made him feel like what he was saying was the only thing in the world.

Still, he didn't want to hash out his entire family history. He glanced down and saw Amber's hand, close to his but not pushing, not presuming. That felt good, better than it should, and he relaxed slightly. He covered her hand with his, stroking the side with his thumb. He couldn't help a quick laugh at Amber's question. "He thought I'd done it just to get us in trouble," he said. Marcus had seen it as the most supremely unfair thing in a very unfair life. Eric got to have the bike in the first place, and Eric had a midnight curfew two hours later than his, and Eric was the favourite--that was Marcus's whole refrain, from about thirteen onwards. Foreman had to admit, from a distance, it would have to seem that way. "Mom banned motorcycles, and he didn't get it after all. He said he'd beaten me because I didn't finish the race." And, because it hadn't been entirely heartless, he added, "After he saw me get up."

Fuck, this was a depressing topic. Why did he have to drag them down into them all the time? He smiled at Amber, trying to make less of it. "I'd rather hear about how you were in a sorority," he said. "Any other interesting pledge stories?"

Amber warmed when Eric mirrored her motion, linking their hands together. This was nice. Close, but not too much. Just right. Maybe they were on the same page again. Feeling-- snug, somehow, with relief and anticipation (over what?), Amber sipped more of her wine. It went down easy, but came back up make her head spin. Okay, maybe she shouldn't have anymore. Good thing Eric was driving. "I'd be amazed if the bike survived the crash-- and if he obeyed the ban." Aided by her tipsiness, her words flowed freely. "But I bet you'd have sworn off, with or without your mom's decision."

He'd mentioned his brother before, hadn't he? When they'd been playing mini-golf. Amber pushed back her more unpleasant memories of that evening to earlier, when they’d still been flirting and exchanging casually tidbits about themselves. If she remembered correctly, Eric had made a point of beating his younger brother at the same game. There seemed to be a repeating theme of competitiveness; Amber wondered if they still tried to out-do each other. She certainly did, with her own brothers. Or had Eric mellowed into a more benevolent elder sibling? Did they even keep in touch? If this- whatever it was- lasted, she might even meet him. Maybe it was the wine, but such an eventuality seemed only natural. Rubbing her thumb against his palm, slow, affectionately, she asked: “What does your brother do now?”

She'd been so involved in Eric's story it took her a moment to recall what sorority he could be referring to. "Ah, not quite," Amber corrected, smirking at the thought of her as a Greek. "I said the new girls were hazing, not that I was one of them. I don’t do groups; I don’t play well with others.”

The slow stroke of Amber's thumb across his palm had started off by relaxing him, but when she asked more about Marcus, it felt like too much, like it trapped him into answering. He took his hand back in order to pick up his napkin and wipe his mouth. He pushed his plate away and then sat back from the table slightly. "I don't know," he said, hoping that would close the subject, or at least that Amber would see that he didn't want to talk about it. It was true enough: he knew where Marcus was, but he had no idea what he was doing, how he was doing, and he didn't care. Let Dad keep on worrying about Marcus. Foreman was finished.

It took an effort to concentrate on Amber's story, but it did help. The clench of his muscles eased, and he breathed out slowly. Yeah, he could imagine that groups weren't Amber's thing--she'd belong as much as, and no more than, it suited her. And she was proud of it. She'd bestow the gift of her presence on whoever was worthy for the moment, but there was always going to be a higher goal, something she was focused on. Foreman respected the hell out of that. Admired her. He leaned forward, wanting to touch her, not sure how after he'd drawn away a minute before. He didn't know how to say what he wanted without it being too much. Trying to remind himself that they'd met less than a week ago didn't help, it only made the feeling of being trapped come back, leaving him edgy. He wanted to ask her a thousand more questions, about college, about the friends she'd had--there must have been some--about her family; he vaguely remembered that she'd said she had brothers. But anything he asked, Amber would turn around on him, and he wasn't ready for that kind of reciprocity.

He reached for Amber's hand again, holding it open so that he could trace the lines of her palm lightly, watching his fingertips as he did. "I want to take you home with me tonight," he said, finally looking up to meet her eyes, his voice low and husky. It was the only way he could think to let her in without going so far as to answer her questions--not now, anyway. Not yet.

That would be a 'no' to meeting the brother, then-- and, for once, not because of her. She'd met family before, but that was in high school, where everyone had known each other for years, and you didn't need to go through flaming hoops of courtship to know someone's parents. Or, for that matter, to run into them at fundraisers, the supermarket, school ceremonies... oh, she'd known some of the parents of the boys she'd slept with, alright.

Amber was more curious than ever about this brother of Eric's. Keeping close family ties would be part and parcel of the perfect man persona he had going, and if he didn't know-- or claim to know-- what his sibling was up to, there had to be a serious piece of history behind that. But he clearly didn't want to talk about it, and she wouldn't push; he wouldn't say anymore even if she did.

Eric's curt reply, I don't know, his near bolting away like a horse frightened by thunder, these all conveyed the message loud and clear: his brother was one touchy subject. It wasn't about her, Amber understood. It still stung a little, though, through the haze of the wine.

But she plowed on, not letting the new sign of just how under her skin he'd gotten bother her, telling him about her Free Agent status with plenty of enthusiasm. Before long she'd brought him back from that dark brink, and he took her hand again.

"Want more already?" Amber asked, playing with his fingers with her own. She brushed her fingertips against his, stroked his index with her thumb. Truth be told, she was still buzzing from her latest orgasms, flooded with endorphins and the occasional pleasurable surge. She could go home that night fully sated. A second-- or was that third?-- round was hardly needed. Amber might not even be up for it; it'd been an emotional roller coaster of a day, starting with their fights, and the public sex, and more fights, and sex again-- and they had work tomorrow.

And yet. The thought of wrapping herself around him, tight and possessive and complete, like she couldn't have before this audience, of riding him slow and deliberate, it welcomed her. Take him in full, in so many meanings of the phrase. Even if they didn’t do more than kiss and hug, the thought of falling asleep besides Eric appealed far too much to her. "And I want you to," her mouth quirked. "Ready to go?"

A small smile turned up the corners of Foreman's mouth as Amber playfully returned his light touches and explorations. They could both name all the muscles and bones and tendons involved, but right now that list didn't seem to account for how powerful the caresses were. Foreman lifted his eyes at Amber's response, wondering if she was serious. He didn't need more sex, but if she was interested, it wasn't like he was stupid enough to turn her down. Amber's voice was soft, though, without the incipient, sly teasing that meant she wanted to toy with him, torture him, and then satisfy him completely. He contented himself with a grin. They'd go back to his place, and see where that led. Warm, close, comfortable, the sort of small kisses and touches that they were indulging in now, might lead somewhere, slower and deeper than the frantic roughhouse in the bathroom. But if they slept instead, then that could be just as satisfying as sex could be. It was rare enough to get a full night's sleep working for House, and even better to have Amber pressed next to him, still there in the morning.

Foreman nodded to her question, and managed to catch their waiter passing a moment later to bring them the cheque. The cash he'd raked in from Chase's bet would go to a good cause. Foreman didn't bother counting out the total exactly. As far as he was concerned, the waiter, and the restaurant for that matter, had earned a pretty hefty tip for not threatening them with legal action. Leaving the money on the table, he stood up and pulled on his jacket. He picked up Amber's coat next. Probably he should content himself with handing it to her. He knew by now how she felt about chivalrous gestures. But Foreman still wanted to show her that it wasn't simply a matter of being some sort of gentleman. It was another chance to touch her, in a way no one in public could object to. He held up the coat and quirked an eyebrow at her, letting her know that he'd anticipated her objection and he was doing it anyway.

Normally Amber would object to her date paying for her half of the meal, but she'd already agreed to let him treat her. Given the fact he'd gotten that money partially thanks to her job performance-- good yet not enough to outrank the others significantly-- it was more than fair he shared the bounty. Though, wrinkling her nose when Eric didn't wait for the change, he shouldn't have shared that bounty so generously with the staff. It bothered her, like rain on a planned outing, to not get his (and therefore her) money's worth. It wouldn't be wise to aggravate the waiter, though, not when he could report them to a superior or the police, so she left the crisp bills undisturbed.

More chivalry awaited her, with Eric taking her coat and holding it up, eyebrow raised expectantly. God, was he still doing that? "You know, if you're doing that just to get laid, it's pointless." Though Amber tried to sound stern, she couldn't help an amused twitch of her mouth, oddly flattered. Any other guy, and it'd just be annoying and trite. But this wasn't any other guy. This was Eric, showering her with attention. "You've already got me bagged, to mix my metaphors."

With a regal chin raise, to remind him and let everyone else know she could dress herself without aid, Amber slipped into the sleeves her coat, the material rustling as she did so. From there, it was just a step backwards to stand beside him, the perfect place for her to wrap an arm around his back, fingers grazing lightly as she did so. Winking, "Here's the last, G-rated show of the evening."

Foreman couldn't help a quick laugh at Amber's assumption that he was helping her with her coat in order to get her into bed. That would be not only pointless, but counterproductive. It was more a way of saying thank you, or of sharing how she'd made him feel, without getting caught up in the stupid sentiment of words. "Maybe I'm showing off," he said, to put it in terms she'd accept. Despite what he'd been telling himself, the whole restaurant had to know what they'd done, it had been so blatant. With the danger of being caught past, Foreman was indulging himself in feeling smug, and proud, that he'd had a better evening than any of them. That he was the one who was allowed to draw Amber close and take her home.

With her heels, Amber was an inch or two taller than he was. Most of the women he'd dated were smaller, short enough that they could lean their heads against his shoulder when he wrapped an arm around them. The protective urge that came over him so easily then was missing, but Foreman knew Amber wouldn't miss it--would resent it, if he showed it. He found that he didn't have to shorten his stride to match hers, either. Amber's walk was as determined as she was. When they got to the doors, Foreman didn't try to open it for her.

Outside, the air was colder than when they'd arrived, making the idea of getting to his apartment and curling up in bed together all the more attractive. Foreman didn't want to let Amber go for long enough to walk around the car and get in. He gave her a squeeze and then let go, unlocking the doors with his key, and starting the engine and the seat warmers as soon as he got in. He frowned, though, as he realized it wasn't simply a matter of driving home. Both of them had to be at work tomorrow, bright and early, and Foreman didn't want to wake up early. Better to get the logistics figured out tonight. "Did you need to get anything for tomorrow?" he asked. He had extra toothbrushes and other toiletries, and several bottles of shampoo, hair conditioner, even a blowdryer that Wendy had left behind at his place and never shown up to collect. But Amber would need clothes, and anything else personal. Unfortunately it worked both ways: if they stayed at her place, Foreman would still have to go home to get a clean suit and his shaving gear.

"I can get behind that." Amber dimpled; the more she thought of Eric’s rereading of chivalry, the better it sounded. Him fussing over her coat was a way of showing off: she got to boast she had him draped all over her, and he got to wordlessly declare who was letting him give her royal queen treatment. And even if she considered having someone else dress her ridiculous, others wished for that practice; good, they could envy her all the more. "Even if it is the Victorian equivalent of PDA."

She drew the line at having doors opened for her, though. And, perhaps having read her mind, Eric didn't reach out for the restaurant door, or the car's. Though-- mind reading! Next she'd be thinking they were born for each other, or calling them soul mates. Was that what relationships did, wrap otherwise rational people around goofy, cheesy clichés?

Amber shivered when Eric parted to go over to his side and clambered quickly into her seat. Having just kicked in, heaters hadn't warmed the car, but at least she'd be protected from the wind. She reached out for his thigh-- not for the warmth, not to be sexy, but simply because she wanted to touch him. Their next destination was too long a wait to hold back.

"Actually, yeah, I do," she said, surprise bleeding into her voice. She'd forgotten that small practical matter. Apparently to the cliché list she could add, 'forgetting reality.' "Unless you have clothes at home that fit and look good on me."

Amber's hand on his thigh brought a smile to Foreman's face, but he didn't acknowledge it until he'd pulled out of the parking space. Once he'd started driving he let his hand fall on top of hers, not making a big deal out of it. Damn, it was easy to fall into this sense of easiness with her, as if they didn't have the same things standing in their way that had been there ever since Friday. Foreman didn't want to start brooding about it, but the fact was that he was still her supervisor, that House would still be over-invested in the two of them being together, picking away until he found a way to drive them apart. House wouldn't care if he did manage to break them up--he'd only want to make sure it was possible--but by the time he figured out how it could be done, he'd probably have ruined the relationship with his goddamn curiosity.

Well, Foreman wasn't interested in letting that happen. "Maybe one of my ties," he said, and then turned to leer at Amber. "And nothing else." He doubted they'd get to work on time if Amber chose that outfit. One of his silk ties--a blue one, to match her eyes--resting between her breasts. He'd take his time getting her out of it, too. He shook his head, teasing her by letting her see just how much he enjoyed that mental image.

The only thing he wasn't sure about was offering to let Amber leave some stuff at his place. Wendy had asked, about a month after they started seeing each other, and Foreman had agreed, of course. It was simpler, less of a hassle, for him as well as her. But that was different. It had been further into their relationship, when they were seeing enough of each other that it made sense. He and Amber had only just started going out. It was the first time she'd see his apartment, and who the hell knew where they'd be next week, let alone tomorrow? He wasn't going to make assumptions like that.

The restaurant was closer to Amber's place than it was to the hospital, and Foreman mostly remembered the way. Her address wasn't too hard to find, and soon he was pulling up in front of her building.

"As long as it's striped," Amber said, voice lilting with the joke. "Polka dots make my hips look fat." She replied to his leer with an eyebrow raise; from the look of it, the fatness of her thighs was the last thing on his mind. As it should be. What was he imagining? She could ask, but, shoulders raising for a second with sudden excitement, she thought of how much more fun it'd be to find out on the spot, nabbing one of his ties. "I'm sure whichever we pick, House will find my outfit very fetching."

With the unbuckling of her seatbelt and a quick lean over, Amber could claim Eric's lips once more, taking just long enough to press a feather-light kiss on him. She smiled wide. His eyes, brown and shimmering in the lights, were so much prettier up-close. His hand was already in hers, and she squeezed it. "I'll be back soon."

Amber jostled up the stairs, the toes of her shoes scuttling against the gravel and her hands running over the freezing metal banister. Once inside, she found one of the spare overnight bags she kept around for those overnighters at the hospital. Her current job gave her more all-nighters than her previous work, but such long hours were hardly new to her. Zipping around the apartment, she soon collected all she needed: change of clothes, a pair of sandals, makeup kit, shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, and, with a moment's hesitation, something to sleep in. When was the last time she hadn't slept in the nude, with someone next to her in bed? Amber couldn't even remember.

Fortunately, she caught sight of herself in the mirror before heading back out. Just look at her hair! It was a wonder Eric hadn’t already run screaming. A brush solved that, though, and when she went back out, she verified that he hadn’t fled, screaming or not. She shook her head at the thought; as unimaginably wonderful dating Eric made her feel, it was also digging up some awful insecurities. She did tease (herself more than him), though, as she sat back in the car and shut the door close. “Still here?”

A surge of anger came over Foreman when Amber casually mentioned House seeing her in nothing but one of his ties. He hid it as best he could, letting Amber lean over and kiss him quickly, but he was glad she jumped out of the car as quickly as she had, before he said something stupid. It was a joke. House wasn't ever going to see her like that. If Foreman could help it, no one would, but somehow the idea of House even having the faintest hint of it was worse. Foreman wasn't interested in sharing. Not only Amber, but any stories about their sex life. If House came up to him with a sly smirk on his face, repeating anything Foreman and Amber had done together, Foreman was sure he wouldn't be able to keep his cool.

He gripped the steering wheel and breathed out slowly. He was an idiot. He shook his head, pushing away the flash of jealousy. Where the hell did that come from? It'd been four days, Jesus. And, yeah, it might make sense to be jealous of other guys. Amber's past was still a mystery, except that she seemed to have a bountiful supply of things they could do beyond the ordinary. House, though, Foreman realized, was the only person that Amber talked about impressing on a daily basis. Not some forgotten boyfriend, but someone right now whose opinion meant everything to her. And as Amber herself had said, House would hire for looks. For who he was attracted to. Foreman had heard about House's method of choosing the candidates he wanted to keep, bestowing a mark of his favour on them. Amber's peony, that first night. That had been House's stamp of approval, and Amber hadn't let go of it for longer than a few minutes all night. She'd kept coming back to it, stroking the petals, always aware of it. Foreman hadn't seen it when he'd come into her place, but he'd had other things on his mind at that point. He didn't doubt that she'd kept it, somewhere.

Fuck. Instead of calming down, he was getting more wound up. Over something so moronic. He knew it wasn't true. Amber was interested in the job. In beating the other candidates and proving she was the best. Impressing House was the only way to win, so of course she wanted to. If Foreman thought Amber was attracted to him, or that he should feel threatened by House in any sense whatsoever, he'd clearly lost touch with reality. He needed to push this fucking thought out of his head and leave it at that.

Fortunately, Amber took a few minutes, and Foreman closed his eyes, trying his damnedest not to brood. When Amber opened the door again, carrying a bag, Foreman took a breath. "Yeah," he said, and smiled quickly. Amber was coming home with him. He needed to get the fuck over himself. He turned on the ignition again and started driving. "If we don't get a case tomorrow, we might be able to duck out early," he said. He promised himself he wasn't listening for how Amber would react to playing hooky from House's boot camp.

Amber threw her bag to the back seat, not wanting to carry its weight in her lap during the trip. It landed with a soft thump. "Good." Amber mirrored his smile, foolishly, so foolishly happy that he seemed just as glad to be here as she was. That sheer fact sent a burst of glee through her, as strong as the pleasure of diving into a cool pool on a hot day.

She was such a goner.

Eric's next comment wasn't quite as welcome, though. "You know I can't. What if House walks in five to six, waving around a new case, and I'm not there?" She'd been about to reach out for his thigh again, but she held her hand back; it'd look like she was trying to cajole or convince him, if she did. And Eric really should know. He knew what was at risk, and what not being there for House's convenience would mean.

"Speaking of which," Amber started, shifting, her skirt rubbing against the seat's leather. They might as well get this out of the way, the sooner the better. Last thing they needed was to walk into the hospital tomorrow without a joint battle plan. "I think we shouldn't try to hide that we're seeing each other again. Sure, we'll have to put up with House's, and everyone else's, curiosity, but the less of a big deal we make of it, the sooner they'll loose interest."

Amber watched for Eric's reaction carefully. From all the advice he'd spouted about impressing House, she knew he'd have his own approach to the guy who never took his nose from out other people's business. And his opinion might make sense this time, unlike that being wrong stuff. At any rate, they had to settle on the same strategy, lest their division bring on their downfall.

Foreman sighed. He couldn't really have expected Amber to leave early with him. He knew what it was like to be at House's beck and call. He'd had his share of nights when all he'd wanted was to go home, but he'd forced himself to stay even when the patient appeared stable. There had been stretches of thirty-six hours or longer that he'd spent blinking himself awake while running gels in the lab, just because House wasn't satisfied with their current diagnosis. It was a demanding job. A job, and that was all. Amber hadn't even been hired yet, so she had even less leeway to slack off. Still, Foreman felt like Chase must have, when Cameron put House first. Not that Amber had ever shown the slightest interest in House, the way Cameron used to a few years ago. Nevertheless, Foreman knew he'd always come second. Coming second to Amber's job--he really couldn't fault that; he put his career first too. But coming second to House rankled.

Pressing his lips together, he mulled over Amber's plan to be open about their relationship. He nodded slightly, but it wasn't quite an agreement. "House can't stand it when people are happy around him," he said, still trying to figure out in his own mind what the best strategy would be. "He'll be a real bastard about it. You should have seen him when Chase and Cameron got together." He frowned more fiercely. He'd managed to miss the two of them getting together entirely at first, which had made him feel like an idiot when it finally came out. In retrospect, every word out of House's mouth had been a test. A few snide comments, an observation about Cameron working her way through the department, another about whether Chase could be loyal. He'd been poking at them, looking for weak spots. Cameron and Chase had done their best to rise above it, but House knew--hell, they all knew--that those jabs had hit their mark more often than not. Sown doubts. Started fights, even if not immediately in House's presence. It had worked, so House had kept it up.

Amber was studying him like Foreman might have some sort of insight, but really, he knew he was more susceptible to House's insults than he showed. Foreman exhaled, concentrating on the road again. Without looking, he reached for Amber's hand and put it back where it had been, on his thigh. He didn't know which of them he was trying to comfort with the gesture. "I don't want to hide," he said quietly. "But House won't lose interest." Fucker. "And even if we ignore him..." He squeezed Amber's hand. He didn't want to think it, but it was so damn obvious. If House didn't want them to be happy, to stay together, then he'd only have to say one thing to end it. An ultimatum to Amber: Foreman or your job. And she'd disappear like it had never happened. You understand, Eric. You know I can't afford to lose this job.

Yeah, he understood. He wasn't that important. His chest burned, anger tightening in bands around his sternum until his lungs hurt. There was no point in finishing his sentence and showing Amber the choice she'd be making in the end. House always won, and Foreman got fucked over. Nothing new there.

Amber mulled over what Eric said, adding the new data to her mental whiteboard. The problem: their boss would sooner or later find out they were together, and once he did, he would make them miserable until they split apart or she got fired for some bogus reason like insubordination. All because House couldn't let go of what didn't make sense to him, tearing apart the layers until he reached the center of the truth. Including happiness—and happiness might not survive the tearing.

Rather than let it rest on his thigh, Amber's hand latched onto Eric's, fingers twining. Already his hand felt so familiar, the startling thinness of his digits, the sharpness of his articulations. How raised the tendons along the back of his hand ran. Knowing what to expect, it didn't make him boring, like Amber always thought having the same partner would be. It just made him dear. It made her want to come back, always, because she knew she loved how her hand fit in his.

Amber wanted Eric. And she always got what she set her sights on.

"We'll ignore him," Amber said, her tone brooking argument. "If he tries to mess with us, we'll know what he's doing, and so it won't work. Cameron and Chase are still together, right?" She threw him a grin, wanting so badly to wipe off that look of imminent destruction off Eric's face. If he walked around like the storm was already over them, House really would do them in before the blink of an eye. "And if it's House's misery that's the problem, we could make him happy. Set him up with someone."

"Yeah, they are." Foreman couldn't help the skeptical tone in his voice. Chase seemed happy when Foreman talked to him, but Foreman wasn't so sure that there wasn't some undercurrent of tension between him and Cameron that he wasn't sharing. Amber's point stood, though, except for the fact that Chase and Cameron had both left the department to get away from House's meddling. Well, Chase had been fired, but it amounted to the same thing.

Foreman didn't know what he expected Amber to say to his predictions--they were all pretty pessimistic, and he didn't trust that she'd take his part instead of House's. But the idea of setting House up with someone was completely out of left field. He laughed out loud, forgetting his anger completely. "Like who?" he asked. He knew House was capable of a relationship--hell, he'd seen all the soap opera drama when Stacy Warner had been working in the legal department--but that didn't mean that he and Amber could conspire to set House up on blind dates. "Do you hate someone so badly you'd throw her under that bus?"

He couldn't stop chuckling at the idea. House in love. House going googly-eyed and sighing over sunsets and singing in the mornings when he walked into the office. "I don't think we can make House happy. Trust me, Wilson and Cuddy have been trying for years, and he's only gotten worse." He grinned across at Amber, squeezing her hand again. "Did you have a devious plan to make it happen?"

There, he'd laughed. Muscles Amber hadn't realized she'd been clenching relaxed, and she eased against the leather, into Eric's hold. "Don't know yet," she said, cupping her chin with her free hand. "I do have an idea of his type, from who he didn't fire. And there's always someone who likes a good bit of abuse in their love life, I'm sure we could find a volunteer somewhere. That's what they invented Craig's List for, the hopeless cases."

The more she spoke, the more convinced she grew. Yes. This could work. If they could get House laid and, better yet, laid regularly, then he'd be all the more lenient with any love-doves in his deparment. House's lover(s) didn't have to last forever, just long enough for the hiring game to end, with her as a winner. Then her relationship with Eric wouldn't be so vulnerable... if they were still together by then.

"Give me some time." Amber squeezed Eric's hand, growing restless with new excitement. "I'll come up with a brilliant, fool-proof plan, better than anything Wilson or Cuddy have tried." A good place to start, actually, would be by asking them about House's past, see what they had already attempted (and failed over). If she made it clear that it was for House's own good... Cuddy might not believe her, already convinced Amber was a soulless opportunity-hunter, but Wilson, they'd talked after House's faked suicide. He'd been discreetly grateful that she'd saved House' life. He'd listen to her, and he might be desperate enough for his best friend's wellbeing that he'd spill the beans. Yes, he would.

But tomorrow. Those battles she'd fight tomorrow. For now, enjoying the spoils of future victories was all she wanted. Amber looked back out the window, to see if she could guess where they were headed. She fully expected Eric to live in a good, if not the best, part of town.

Foreman was more than happy to laugh at Amber's plotting, since he didn't see it coming to anything, but he wasn't going to keep his doubts to himself. "House likes being miserable. The last time he was attracted to a woman, she was married, and she'd already dumped him once." It explained why House tried to break up the people around him. Why he believed he could never be happy. "If you try to mess with that, he won't thank you." Analyzing House's love life wasn't what interested Foreman at the moment, though. Amber could torture him tomorrow with visions of happiness. Foreman was far more concerned with making sure Amber's first impression of his apartment was favourable. Fortunately, he'd cleaned on Friday, and everything was ready for guests; he even had food and fresh coffee grounds. He wanted to make it look like it was effortless, even though there could be weeks that went by when he only ate at the hospital because he couldn't get away.

He took the last few turns into his neighbourhood. Fortunately, when he'd moved he'd sublet his apartment, and it had still been available when he came back. It had been shitty moving twice in less than a few months, but at least he hadn't had to worry about finding a place, or knowing where to put his stuff. The neighbourhood was a nice once. Foreman liked having little shops that were open all night not far from his building, because he came home needing groceries at odd hours. The street itself had an oak tree out front that perfectly shaded his living room, giving a good view but some privacy as well. He pulled in to his regular parking space and turned off the engine. "Let House take care of himself," he said. He'd prefer it if House wasn't the subject of conversation when they went inside, and he stroked his thumb over Amber's hand for a moment, hoping she'd agree. "He's a grownup, he can make his own decisions." Foreman got out of the car and headed for the door, unlocking it and waiting for Amber to join him.

"He would make it difficult," Amber said. Her thumb, already so near her mouth, glided between her front teeth, and she bit lightly. She still thought she could get House to be happy, for a little while. Long enough. And if not that, then interested in someone else, conveniently diverting attention from her own affairs.

But she'd find someone. Not herself, because even if she was House's type, the point here was to let her be with Eric peacefully. He wanted into Thirteen's suspenders just as much, if not more, but Amber wouldn't let it be her, either; she wouldn't feed him anymore reasons to hire her. Cuddy? Maybe. Or would someone not from the hospital be better?

Amber recognized a request for a change in subject when she saw one-- and maybe fear to mess up a worse situation into something catastrophic. If it ain't broke, don't fix it? With House threatening to break what she wanted, no way she wouldn't be pulling out a monkey wrench and screwdriver. "Can he take care of himself?" She didn't press her ideas, though; she'd let them simmer first, then share them once they were ready for the feasting.

She stepped out, admiring the surroundings. Her expectations had proven right: Eric lived in a quiet neighborhood, with carefully-tended apartments and shops. There were even some green touches, trees and shrubs. Amber was no country girl, but she liked dabs of plant-life in her cities. "Nice place," Amber complimented, hooking her arm around Eric's at the door. Soon, she wouldn’t have to feel him through multiple coats; she could delight in his bared skin as much as she liked. As curious as she was to see his home, Amber suspected she wouldn’t see much of it, not tonight—they had so little time, and so much to do. Her grip tightened with anticipation; she was here for the man, after all, and not the space.

Frankly, Foreman didn't care if House could take care of himself. It wasn't Foreman's business. Interfering in problems that weren't his concern would get him in trouble, which he didn't need more of. Despite the fact that House was a pain in his ass, and a medical practitioning nightmare, Foreman--reluctantly, occasionally--liked him, but that didn't give him the right to mess with whatever sort of self-destruction House threw himself into. He didn't have the right and so he didn't have the responsibility. If House messed himself up, which Foreman had seen plenty of times, Foreman only cared about making sure House was well enough to work. If he wasn't, Foreman had no problem first trying to patch him up, and second giving way to Cuddy's authority, such as it was. He'd help when House needed it, but he wasn't going to go out of his way to get knotted up in House's problems or his life. So he was glad enough that Amber seemed willing to drop the subject, even if her last question meant that she hadn't stopped thinking about it.

He breathed easier when they went inside, Amber's arm linked in his, her bag over her other shoulder. Finally they could get away from the subject of House, what he'd do when he saw them together. When the elevator came, Foreman pushed the button for the fourth floor. "Not exactly the penthouse suite," he said, but with a hint of pride. He liked being above his neighbours, where he didn't have to listen to their clomping footsteps all the time, and the apartment itself was roomy. He liked high quality, good brand names, and a quiet sense of style, and he didn't mind paying to get that. He unlocked the door and let Amber go in first, watching her expression, certain that she'd be impressed.

"Nice," Amber said, taking in brown-orange walls, the mahogany furniture. All was neat and tidy, unlived in, almost; she wasn't sure if that was because he'd just moved in, or because he was used to spending most of his life at work. Hopefully she’d find out, with time. A quick glance forward revealed a huge flat screen and what she was must be the rest of a complete entertainment system. The scattered paintings were abstract, generic, inoffensive.

It was as if Eric had taken the image he wanted for himself and projected it over his apartment.

Amber dipped her head, grinning. She knew, thankfully, better than to believe this illusion. She'd gotten glimpses of other Erics: how he caved when scared, how his eyes flashed when pissed. How hard he could hold her, overcome with passion.

Those Erics were so much more fascinating than any idealized version.

"Nice," Amber repeated her earlier compliment. She twirled to face him, looking down because of her heels; his expression was so smug, like a cat surveying its domain from the highest perch. She took hold of his coat lapels, pulling him in closer. From here she could smell the sweat they’d worked up to earlier, and the memory made her smile. "But I'm here for the man, not the apartment."

If the desire she’d felt in the restaurant had been a roaring fire, it was now an ember, making her want him beside her. With her. And he finally could be, in the privacy of his home. She wouldn’t hold back. Amber tipped her head, sighing with a breath that went straight to her abdomen, and brushed her face against his, her mouth skirting the edge of his lips. His stubble tickled, made her shiver. “God,” she whispered, and it had to be the wine that had loosened her tongue so, “you have no idea how much I like you.”

Foreman followed Amber's gaze around the apartment, checking to make sure everything was in its place. The one room that tended to get untidy was his bedroom, strewn with workout clothes, papers, journals he'd been reading, CDs for the player on the table by the window. He'd cleaned recently enough that it shouldn't embarrass him, anyway.

Amber's bland compliment didn't fool him for a second. Coupled with her smirk, Foreman knew right away that he'd missed the mark. Compared to her place, he could see why. It was a space it was easy to feel at home in, warmer than his was, inviting. Foreman liked keeping his place neat, wanted a certain standard in the furniture and decorations he bought, but he knew he wasn't around to enjoy them much. But it was still important to him. Not so important that he didn't understand where Amber's laughter was coming from. Amber took hold of his coat and reeled him in, and Foreman stepped forward willingly, his hands finding her hips. He tipped his head to meet her eyes; his were half-closed, lazy with the pleasure of simply standing close to her. "You don't like it," he said, with a playful pout, pretending to be offended.

He inhaled quickly when Amber's next words reached his ears. She was so near, he was breathing in her perfume, the scent of her hair. Her skin was warm, and Foreman didn't quite kiss her; getting close and holding himself back was tantalizing. Her murmur was nearly too quiet to hear, but it reverberated through Foreman's body, the feelings it evoked more than the sound. He couldn't think, couldn't quite breathe. Answering seemed, for a long second, out of his reach. "I know," he finally whispered back, nuzzling nearer, still withholding a kiss for the time being. "Amber..." He slipped his hands up to the front of her coat, undoing it slowly, revealing her blouse inch by inch. He looked down, concentrating on the steady, deliberate motions of his fingers. "You don't have the same objection to me helping you get this off, do you?"

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