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 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?"

"Sure I like it," she teased, fingers curling over his lapels until the material bunched in her hands, taunting herself by not holding on to what she wanted. "It's a royal palace, worthy of a king." What more did he want? It was just an apartment.

Amber hummed, new surges of arousal running through her at his proximity, his attention. And then she stopped cold, stone as Eric kept on touching and kissing her like he hadn't just awkwardly shrugged off her confession. I know. I know? She'd bared her heart and that was all she got, a paused I know? It was with growing heaviness as she watched him undo her coat, his every movement making her sink further.

Over ten years of people telling her she was too cynical, of watching other couples and wondering that maybe she had been too hasty in writing off relationships, she'd finally found a guy she thought cared, and he proved her suspicions true. It all came down to the same thing. His question confirmed it. "Is this just about sex?" Amber's voice betrayed her, cracking halfway through the sentence, undermining the strength she'd tried to underline it with.

And to think she’d thought of risking her job.

She wouldn't make a big deal out of this. She wouldn't. She just wanted to know, now, that what he wanted was to get laid. That was okay. Nothing wrong with that. It was what she herself had looked for so far, what she'd had in mind when she first flirted with him, before he was Eric, before one look from him made her mood do a one-eighty. It was okay. Amber could get through this, tonight; she had to, to show him she hadn't been so stupid to think there'd been anything more to them. Though, at this moment, lump rising in her throat, Amber had no idea how she'd get through hours of faking. But she would. Somehow.

Later she'd puzzle how she'd so deeply misunderstood-- again-- his intentions. Later. For now, Amber stared into Eric's eyes, determined to hear his affirmation, or cowardly evasions, with dignity.

Foreman's head jerked up the second Amber spoke. "No," he said, the word jerked from his lips before he had a chance to think about it or call it back. The break in her voice cut through his heart. He stopped opening her coat, his hands freezing as if she'd accused him of forcing himself on her. Foreman swallowed, searching her expression. Amber was pale, and she seemed suddenly fragile, like crystal that could shatter at a touch. He'd said I know and then he'd choked on the rest of what he'd meant. I have no idea. I have no fucking clue. And it scares the shit out of me. Christ, his voice would be breaking next, as if he'd suddenly regressed to high school. Like he couldn't even manage to tell a girl he liked her. Fucking pathetic. He couldn't admit that he hadn't done this in years, dated someone that he felt this much for, so quickly. All that kept repeating in his mind was Five days. Less than a week. There was no way Amber could have done this to him, like he'd lost his choice to do anything but want her, want to be with her. And now with two words he'd fucked up. He'd thought Amber would leave him the second House said jump through the hoop, but why wait for that when he could ruin it himself?

"I wanted to ignore you today," he said, forcing his voice into a low, steady register. He could barely keep himself from tearing his eyes away from Amber's, look anywhere else. It would be safer, if she couldn't see him, couldn't judge whether he was being honest. Her haughty stare was a front, he could see that now, and his stomach clenched, knowing he'd hurt her into building up those walls again, but so fast that they were imperfect, and he could see the cracks. "I wanted to act like I'd never met you. But every time I tried, you... I couldn't stop." Foreman's eyebrows drew together. God, this had to sound like he was a lovesick teenager. There was no way Amber wanted to hear him getting sentimental, acting like a complete sop. Christ, he'd be writing awful poetry next, or calling her by a cutesy pet name. He felt like an idiot, but he wasn't going to let his throat close up on these words. His heart was hammering so loudly he wondered if Amber could hear it. "I can't forget you. I want you here." Foreman pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. He couldn't escape from what he was saying; he didn't want Amber to, either. "Here. Not just in bed."

Barely breathing, her heart stuttering from the lack of oxygen, Amber steeled herself for the worst. No. She hadn't thought it possible, but she stiffened more; Eric was going to deny what he wanted. A liar through and through. At least his face had the decency of spilling the truth, crumbled with guilt.

If he wasn't going to come clear with her, then she saw no reason to keep faking. They didn’t both have to lie through their teeth. Amber's hands fell from his lapels and already she was calculating how to get a cab, whether to wait here or outside.

But before she could further develop the escape scenario, Eric expanded, haltingly, on that "no." That same hesitation which had so alarmed her pulled her back in, and she listened attentively, needing to hear what came next. Her hands ceased their fall midway his chest and once more she gripped his coat, the cloth bundled up in her fists.

It was as if his words were walking circles in a forest and she was losing her way following them, going deeper and deeper into the woods. There was nothing definite about what Eric said, just that he couldn't stay away; that could mean anything. He could have a fixation on her legs, for all she knew. But the earnestness of his gaze, and how suffered the sentences came out, it was as if he wanted to open up and had no idea how. Whatever he meant but couldn’t express fully, the more he spoke, the redder Amber flushed, flattered by what might be the truth, embarrassed that she had made a big deal out of what was nothing.

Worried, too, that she was misreading him again.

She exhaled sharply with the hug, her arms flying up, out of her control, to hold him back just as tightly. "Dr. Eric Foreman," she intoned into his ear, and god, the scent of him, up-close like this addled her brain all the more, "if you're lying, I will rip your ball off." She squeezed him harder, rested her head against his shoulder. If it were possible, she'd will him to cast no more problems, so that she close the distance and kiss his throat, lick the salt of skin; so that things could be as they should.

Foreman couldn't tell at first if what he was saying was having any effect on Amber at all. She seemed not to be listening at all--holding herself away from him, as if she was depending on not hearing him in order to stay safe. Her fists against his chest were shaking, but Foreman couldn't have said whether that was because of Amber or himself. He was saying everything wrong, he had to be. Maybe what she'd wanted to hear was that he wasn't demanding more than sex, that she didn't have to worry or feel guilty when she ended this. It would explain the casual way she'd treated him in the restaurant bathroom, and even the blithe way she'd assumed, tonight, that they could just start over, as if that didn't meant something. He'd told her then that he didn't want to play. If she was going to discard him without a thought, then she should have done it then, before he'd thrown away his dignity in the restaurant, getting so carried away in public. When she was the first one to look away, her cheeks flushed red, he was sure he was going to lose her. He'd said the wrong thing, wanted the wrong thing. He wasn't in control. He was a fucking follower, trailing after her, after all. She'd shove him back and slam the door behind her, disappearing.

Instead, Amber threw her arms around his shoulders. Foreman heard her threat, but it sounded shaky, as if she was on as uncertain ground as he was. "Just one?" he teased, but his voice was unsteady. Was she trying to tell him that she wanted this? For it to mean more? He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, burying his nose in her hair. Her warm scent was already familiar, but muffled by all the layers between them. He wanted to hold her like this, closer, and just forget that either of them had said anything. That's what he'd wanted when he'd asked her back here. To have her away from the damn world, where he didn't have to worry about anyone watching. Only the two of them, without the landslide weight of expectations and doubts. He rubbed Amber's back, massaging as best he could through her coat. Her kiss against his throat was hot, soft, and slow, and Foreman shivered. "This matters," he said. Warmth flowed through him, expanding his chest and easing the tension in his muscles. He turned his head to meet Amber's mouth. Gently, he kissed her, not insisting, but tasting her top lip, and then the bottom, and then the corner of her mouth. Exploring, as if everything depended on his delicacy, on not overstepping his bounds. "I promise."

"Just one," Amber confirmed, words muffled because her face was buried in his neck. "The other one will remind you what you lost, and what you could still lose." With the next woman, anyway. If she had to rip off one, she wouldn't stick around long enough to find reason to tear off ball number two.

Amber pressed into him, to be as close as possible, to breathe the same air as him. Eric’s coat buttons dug into her, as would his belt buckle would, she was sure, if only there was less between them, and she was being more a fool than ever, if that fact bothered her for more than the mere physical inconvenience. Eric’s hands massaged her back, and she straightened her shoulders, welcoming that touch. She closed her eyes. Yes. Yes.

She'd have to take his word for it, that 'this' mattered to him. But the slow, gentle way he kissed her, soft as if she were a dandelion whose seeds he didn't dare scatter with his breath, it was easy to believe. Her eyes opened up again. "Yeah," she said, her lips brushing against his cheek. "It does." She then covered his mouth with her own, opening it slightly, just reveling in the feel of him. His lips were dry, perhaps from kissing her so much. It felt the right thing to do, to run her tongue lightly against them, a small way to mark herself on him. "So," she said, and she almost laughed, realizing how what she was about to say would sound. "Not to sound like a hypocrite, but where's the bedroom?" Her eyelids lowered, her tone deepened. "I want you." Need, really; she hadn't been sure, earlier, if she was up for another round, but with Eric in her arms and this whirlwind of emotion, all of her craved him. Her body strummed with desire. For him. And not in a quick, up-against-the-wall way, acting more out of horniness than anything else. “Slow,” she kissed him, hands sliding down to his sides and tightening over him, “and deep.” Her tongued slipped past his lips, seeking his.

Amber's attempt at intimidation made Foreman's lips twitch into a smile. He'd never expected to hear her sound so young. The power and assurance were stripped away from what she was saying, so that only the words themselves were left. He didn't doubt that she'd go through with it, if she felt she had to. If she was hurt--if he hurt her. Foreman inhaled deeply. He'd promised, he'd taken on that responsibility. Usually he tried to avoid commitments, because of what they meant. He didn't break one lightly, and so he didn't promise just anything. Tonight, with Amber's arms holding to him tightly, as if she was searching for some sense of stability, made him realize that in some ways she wasn't as strong as she seemed. If she could show him that, he could let himself open up, too.

When she deepened the kiss, Foreman followed her lead. Compared to the rough, hasty urgency earlier, it was nearly a revelation. He'd been so fucking hot before, he hadn't stopped to think. By the time Amber had cornered him in the bathroom the last thing on his mind had been why, or what it meant, or what it could be. Now he could let his feelings guide him, rather than his dick. The flick of Amber's tongue across his lips tingled, and Foreman moved forward, not to press, but to answer her. Simply to have time. Long moments to meet her tongue, lick his way into her mouth, feeling his breathing quicken through his nose.

He grinned when Amber asked where the bedroom was. "I won't think less of you," he said, a warm thread of amusement in his voice, but it was true. He felt like he'd just had a good workout, his muscles humming with an almost achy warmth, but his pulse was quick, waking him up and leaving him alert, eager. God, she could turn him on with nothing more than her voice. Her promises. When she kissed him again, Foreman let out a groan into her mouth, pushing a little harder. He let go of her long enough to shrug out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor in the entryway. He reached for Amber's, undid the last button, and brushed it off her shoulders. "Down the hall," he said. "I'll show you."

That felt like a promise, too. He might not have been able to tell Amber at every moment what he meant, what he wanted, but Foreman was certain that he could show her. He took her hand and led the way, until they were standing near the center of his bedroom. The blinds were drawn, so Foreman reached for the light, flicking it on. "I want to see you," he said, and moved close again, kissing her at the same time that he slipped his hands under her shirt, meaning to push it up, away.

This—kisses, undressing, fucking-- Amber understood. Dominated. She knew what to do, how to do it, and when. It was familiar-- fun-- terrain, and Amber eagerly lost herself in those old, yet never boring, rites. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself. So determined to throw herself into the act, Amber barely took in Eric's room and his comment about wanting to see her.

With sex, the goal was simple: get everyone off. She could do that.

There was the shedding battle, to see who would get naked first; of course Eric sided with stripping her, and Amber fought back with the cunning ploy of unbuttoning his suit and pushing it off him. It fell to the floor with a rustle, though she didn't hear it, occupied with kissing Eric back, gasping softly as his fingertips encountered her bare skin.

His touch was so hot it burned her, through her surface and deeper, deeper. Amber sucked harder on Eric’s lip, pressing her tongue out together with a moan. They'd just fucked, no more than a few hours ago, and already she was this turned on, this needy. She knew why. They’d— in the hallway, they’d done something, talking, coming to terms, or simply making each other all the more confused. Whatever it was, it’d affected her physically, and she wouldn’t let herself think about it, not now. The last thing she wanted was to become so namby-pamby sensitive again. Now was about wanting, giving.

“You make me so hot,” Amber whispered, vehement. That was safe, nothing she hadn’t said before. Trailing her mouth down his chin was old business, too, pausing to nibble his jaw line. Still—even if she’d done this countless times, smelling Eric as she did so, tasting his sweat, it made her dizzier. She set to undo his shirt buttons, too, to ground herself.

Fingers trailing over Amber's stomach, Foreman was determined to study her by touch, reading Braille in the heat of her skin, the tone of her muscles. He felt them quiver, tense and relax with Amber's breathing. The silk of her top brushed the backs of his knuckles. He'd meant to push her shirt off right away, uncover her, so that he could spend the same unhurried time admiring every inch of her, his hands and mouth following where his eyes led him. As soon as he'd formed that intention, though, Amber distracted him, kissing him fiercely. Her hands were busy, pushing his suit coat off, moving to his shoulders and then back to his throat to start on his shirt buttons. His tie was already hanging loose. He was falling behind, while Amber moved with the same single-minded determination that had caught him off-guard so many times already. He had to catch up.

But Amber's words wiped away whatever he'd meant to do. It wasn't the first time she'd said something like that. I'm here for the man. You have no idea how much I like you. You make me so hot. Self-satisfaction roared through Foreman, making him far more than smug. Like he'd won a victory. Pride and heat, clenching low in his stomach, and the desire to prove to her that he could do more than that. She was going too fast, for all she'd told him she wanted this slow. Foreman inhaled quickly, realizing that. Amber would have him hard and desperate all too soon if he didn't fight for what she said she'd wanted. He took his hands from under her shirt and lifted them to her arms, his fingers circling her wrists. "So let me," he said, meeting her eyes for a moment. It was nearly a taunt. He was stronger than she was, and his grip, while not tight, would be hard for her to break. Pulling Amber's hands away from his shirt, hanging half-open now, Foreman raised an eyebrow to...ask her if this was all right, or to tease her by holding her still, he didn't know himself which. "Amber. Let me." He leaned in and kissed her again. Too lightly, slowing the pace, then moving lower. He tasted her throat, lingering, open-mouthed kisses guiding him from her jaw to her pulse point, then down to the notch at the base of her throat. God, she was right. So hot, burning against his lips. Foreman nosed aside the neckline of her shirt to follow the line of her collarbone, sucking hard and then teasing with just the tip of his tongue. Her skin was flushed pink, and Foreman wanted to follow that blush as far as it went. Amber was beautiful naked, but she was all the more provocative when he couldn't see everything, when he teased himself as much as her by leaving her clothes in place.

Trying to hold her back, was he. Defiance flashed within Amber, like lightning striking ground. These emotional entanglements might be new to her, but physical restraints, she'd dealt with those before.

"Let you what?" she asked, all coyness. Striking up her competitive spirit seemed to be the motivation she needed to snap her out of her uncharacteristic, and frankly, annoying, insecurity. It brought herself back to an Amber she knew and enjoyed. It felt good, liking running and laughing against the wind, to be herself again. "Tell me, Eric," she teased, just as she rotated her wrists and slid them from his grip, freeing herself.

But she could tell what he wanted, his every languid motion crying it out loud and clear. She embraced his head and, moaning, let him. Let him kiss her slow and careful, let him adore her and her body. More importantly, she let herself relish every sensation, discovering worlds of pleasure in the mere brush of his nose against her throat. Her heart thudded, loud and all-encompassing, the sound of a time-ancient drum beat.

Her fingers ran over his head, taking in the rough texture of his almost-baldness. It was so different from her own long, straight hair. More intriguing, too. Amber played, skirting the smooth skin behind his ears before caressing the crown of his head, pressing softly. If lingering was what he craved, then lingering she’d give to him. She tilted her face so as to lay her lips against his forehead, fingertips hovering down to the nape of his neck. Amber let her nails graze over the area, wondering if she’d find a sensitive spot. She hoped so. She wanted to drive him crazy.

Foreman should have been surprised at how easily Amber broke his hold, but instead, it felt completely natural. Of course she'd slip free of any attempt of his to control her. She'd probably fight even harder if he'd gripped her tightly. God, he could imagine her delight if he ever tried seriously to restrain her. She'd use everything, every trick, writhing away from him, rubbing against him, to distract him or slip away, if he tried anything of the sort. Foreman had played at tying up bed partners before--finally, something he'd actually done--but it had never felt real, only like a game. With Amber, he was certain, it would feel real. Fighting him off energized her, Foreman could hear it in her voice, and he grinned against her shoulder. "Let me touch you," he murmured. She already was, but he wanted more. She wasn't rushing now. Foreman could feel her matching his pace, starting to explore the way he was. Her fingertips brushed over his head, behind his ears, making him breathe in sharply. Her fingernails skimmed lines of electricity down the back of his neck. Shivers tightened to goosebumps across his chest and down his arms. His breathing picked up, nearly panting now, feeling like, no matter how slowly he went, it would always be a race until Amber drove him out of his skull with desire.

"Let me tease you." That, Amber was less likely to allow, and Foreman glanced up at her, smirking in challenge. Under her shirt, his palm traced a line up the center of her stomach to the clasp of her bra, opening it with a twist of his fingers. Brushing the cups aside with his palms, Foreman returned to kissing her, this time dragging his tongue over the sheer fabric of her shirt, until he'd found her nipple through the material. Foreman's breath caught. His cock was already firmer, fuller, from the sight, from the sound of Amber's breathing. "God, I want you," he said, his voice harsh and low. Wetted by his tongue, her shirt clung to the curve of her breast, outlining the tight peak of her nipple. Foreman bent to lick it, spiralling around her areola before closing his mouth on her nipple and sucking lightly, tongue teasing. With his hand, he reached up to find her other breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple and finding it hard, too. Quickly, he pinched it, a sharp contrast to the soft suction of his mouth. He raised his head, then, watching for her reaction, and said quietly, "Tell me what you want."

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