October 29, 2007 - Evening

[eric_foreman]

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.

Comments

[amber_v]

“Okay,” she said, since there wasn’t anything else she could say. “I just need to get my bag.” Amber had much to mull over as she sluggishly walked out of the room. Her legs were rubbery, needing time to recover from the kneeling before returning to full usage. She left Eric on the bed. He probably needed a moment, too. To gather himself emotionally, maybe to take care of his neglected hard-on. That was part of the reason why she'd gone to shower, to let him do whatever he had to. She wondered how she'd find him, when she returned-- somewhat sated, or still frustrated?

Either way, she knew he'd be surly. Eric hadn't liked the rejection one bit; he hadn't even tried to hide his disappointment. Amber preferred it that way. She was glad he hadn't given her false platitudes. It'd have only made her feel more guilty. When she came back, he'd be at least a little less prickly, and they'd still spend the night together. At least that.

She could go back. It'd be easy enough, to squat next to him and fist his dick until he came. Watch him as he finally found release, see that moment of ecstasy come and go on his face. Take satisfaction in whatever sounds he made. She half-wished she'd done so; but sitting on him, denied the answers she'd wanted, it was if someone had flicked a switch in her. Amber was turned off and no quantity of longing otherwise would get her back on. Not tonight. And so she padded to the living room and picked up the bag that she’d unceremoniously dumped by the front door. It seemed like a million years ago, walking in and having eyes only for him. She'd wanted him so-- and that's where things had gotten so mixed up, wasn't it? Too excited, she’d gotten ahead of herself.

Bag in hand, Amber went to the bathroom. If she weren't so confused, she'd have taken note of the cleanliness. Admired Eric's organization. As it was, she didn't care. She turned on all the lights she could find and opened her trove of possessions on the sink. Eric had offered her his products, but since she had her own with her, she'd use them. Not only were they bought tailored for herself, but it'd be good to put her hands on something familiar. Not alien, like his apartment was starting to feel.

That tired old, habit of rubbing and washing her makeup away helped slow her heart and breathing down. By the time she'd cleansed herself off, Amber almost felt like herself again. She’d be ready to face Eric soon, she was sure. Feet bare on the cold bathroom floor, she stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water.

At first, the water just felt good. Amber wasn’t thinking about what had and would happen, and the spray was strong over her face. She gave in to the sensation, her strain easing into relaxation. After a few minutes, she reached for the soap and, upon touching it, its scent made her think of Eric. Oh, god, how could she have fucked up so much? It was one mistake after the other. Telling him she liked him, and then overreacting to his vague reply. Going fast, then slowing down too much to match his pace. Obsessing over who decided what, and then being too proud to tell him what she didn’t want. The screeching halt. It’d be a wonder if he’d still want to put up with her after this night; sure he said she could stay, but that might be politeness. Ever the gentleman, not kicking the damsel out. And starting tomorrow, he’d just be one of her bosses.

Rubbing the soap over her arms and breasts, she thought back to what he’d just said. He’d asked her to trust him. Amber did. She wouldn’t have suggested they start over if she didn’t, wouldn’t have asked to sleep with him. It wasn’t a question of trust. Though, she had to admit, slipping a hand between her legs to wash away the stickiness clinging to her thighs and mound, it was hard to believe in him when he wouldn’t even tell her why he’d been angry. He said it wasn’t because of her, but what else could it have been? She had no clue.

That was it, she was tired of wondering and worrying. Amber washed her hair and rinsed off as quickly as she could, toweling herself with equal speed. She dressed herself in the short, thin-strapped nightgown she’d brought. It had seemed foolish, when she’d packed the bag, but now she was glad for the outfit, as well as the fresh thong.

There. Amber looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wet and her skin damp, but otherwise she was presentable. She turned around and opened the door, bracing herself for a still-mulish Eric.

[eric_foreman]

Foreman blew out of a breath of air, rolling his eyes at himself once Amber was out of the room. He was in no mood to masturbate, not after knowing how good it would feel to have Amber, all of her, as slowly and deeply as she'd promised. Not with his own sulky, rebellious feelings that had emerged as soon as Amber walked away from him, naked, perfect untouchable ass and all. But if he didn't do something, his dick would--literally--come between them once she was back. He didn't need to magnify his own embarrassment by poking Amber in the hip with his erection just because he wanted to be close to her. Even if it subsided, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't do something stupid when he was unconscious. He might even go as far as rubbing against her and ejaculating in his sleep. He wasn't a goddamn teenager, but it wasn't exactly farfetched, not as aroused as he'd gotten.

Besides, it was his own place, and it wasn't like Amber didn't know what condition she'd left him in. Impatiently, Foreman reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock. His dick twitched against his palm, and it felt good, but at the same time, muffled and mechanical. Just a jerkoff because he was horny. Nothing real. Foreman tugged himself, tighter and faster than he normally would. He was already close. Amber hadn't even touched him. Not since her hand on his thigh in the car. Resentment tried to build up, but Foreman deflected it into the quick rhythm of his hand, the twist of his fingers around the head of his cock. He bent one leg to place his foot flat against the bed so that he could push up and fuck his own fist. With his right hand, he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb along his scrotum. His breathing started hissing faster between his teeth. Even with his eyes shut, Foreman knew his face was scrunched into a scowl. It wasn't exactly pleasure, but he was getting the job done. He thought about Amber--in his shower, wet and slick with his soap, touching herself, lifting her face up to the spray.

It worked, for some definition of worked. With two harsh spasms, his orgasm washed over him, his dick spurting onto his hand and his stomach while he worked his hand furiously over his cock to wring out the last of the sensation. There wasn't much semen, and Foreman rolled to his side quickly to grab a kleenex. He wiped himself off and balled up the tissue, throwing it into the trash when he was done. The air smelled like sex--like Amber, his brain insisted; her sweat still mingled with his on his body--but it wasn't like he could hide what he'd done. Stubbornly, he didn't want to. It hadn't been much of an orgasm anyway, and it had been Amber's choice to opt out.

The shower was still running in the bathroom. Foreman got up long enough to turn off the light. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, dark blue silk, and then threw himself back down on the bed, interlocking his fingers behind his head. Physically, beating off had left him relaxed, but it hadn't done anything to help his thoughts. He set his jaw and reminded himself that he wouldn't be any better than any fucker who wouldn't listen to the word no if he acted like he'd been entitled to something. They'd already had sex once tonight. A week ago, single, he'd have thought that was more than enough. Foreman stared at the ceiling and forced out another breath. He had to get over himself, for fuck's sake. It wasn't Amber's fault. And, he knew, there would be other nights. She hadn't left.

A minute later, the door opened, and Amber stood framed in the light from the bathroom. Wearing something filmy, soft, that barely reached mid-thigh. Any other time, Foreman would wonder if it was for him. Not tonight, obviously, but she was still so beautiful. Foreman's muscles softened, although he didn't shift his position. "Hey," he said softly.

[amber_v]

Amber blinked at the darkness, her pupils contracted. The bathroom bulbs shed some light into the room, indicating its general form and furniture. Eric was only a dark shape on the bed; she couldn't make out his expression. But he greeted her tenderly, and Amber's rushing relief was tangible, as if a tight grip over her organs had just eased.

She hadn't realized until now how worried she'd been.

"Hey," Amber replied, echoing his tone as well as word-choice. She flicked the lights off and, now blind, walked slowly towards the bed. Her shin brushed against the bed frame when she'd guessed it would, and she then climbed in, knees first. From the mattress' tension she knew where Eric was and lowered herself next to him. If the soap had reminded her of him, now his scent was vivid and inescapable. Amber breathed in deep, drawn in by it, but wary as well. Her heart rate was rising again and she wasn't sure why. Was it arousal, her body unable to keep from responding sexually to his? Or perhaps it was just plain old dread that he wouldn't relax into her as she wrapped an arm around his torso, that he'd stiffen as she sank her head in the pillow besides his.

One thing she knew for sure, though. She felt in the relative coolness of his skin, the slackness of his muscles. "You took care of yourself. Good." Amber smiled. He might've been too proud, not wanting to bring himself off as if it were some kind of shame to masturbate, especially with a woman so near. But he must’ve come already, if he as this unwound. It was one less concern, that he wouldn't spend the night aching with blocked orgasm.

With her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she started to be able to make out details. The planes of his cheeks, the dip between his mouth and chin. Amber's lips parted. She wanted to kiss him. Not to get off, because she wouldn't. Just to hold him. Be with him. But she wanted to test his reaction, first, see if he was amenable to cuddling. "I had a good time tonight," she said, lightly stroking his sternum. "Even if things did get weird." Her nightgown and his sheets both were invitingly smooth, as was Eric’s heat. Amber felt well here. In good hands. If he took her sudden mood reversal this positively, maybe she really could trust him. Maybe he could handle her peculiarities. She’d screwed up big-time and yet he hadn’t turned away; that told her more than words ever could.

[eric_foreman]

Cautious, Foreman watched Amber approach him. He'd almost thought she'd tell him she was leaving after all, even if there was no evidence for that at all. But he wouldn't be surprised if he'd screwed up somehow, in her mind, when he wasn't even there. Her response, as quiet as his, quelled those thoughts, and let him relax further. The bed dipped, and Amber lay down beside him. The scent of her hair was familiar--her own, not the stuff he'd offered her. Foreman hadn't realized how much he'd cooled down until Amber touched him, her skin warm from the shower as she draped an arm over his chest. Foreman closed his eyes. He'd been trying to talk himself out of being pissed off, but it hadn't really worked--not like lying next to Amber did. Absorbing the heat of her skin and drinking in her presence. That she still wanted to be with him, even when he'd driven her away a few minutes ago.

Foreman felt Amber's smile against his shoulder when she praised him for jerking off. A laugh jolted out of him. He'd expected Amber to figure it out, but he hadn't expected commentary. Or, somehow, approval. He'd thought she'd be as discomfited by him masturbating as he'd been to do it. Should have known better. Amber probably would have enjoyed the show. With a grin, Foreman moved at last, taking his arm from behind his head and wrapping it around her shoulders, urging her closer, filling the empty space between them. Not that good, he thought, but he kept the thought back; it was passing, anyway.

"I did too," he said, his fingertips mirroring her strokes against her arm. Despite the times he'd felt like Amber wanted to toss him in the deep end of the pool to see if he'd sink or swim, Foreman felt like he was still flailing somewhere near the surface. This second chance had already been...better, he supposed. It hadn't been perfect. Or, by any sense of the word, easy. Looking back, it seemed like Thursday night had been the smoothest first date he'd ever had. Tonight, with all its stops and starts and uncomfortable moments, was more realistic, more honest. Most of the time, Foreman's relationships stayed perfect longer...but most of the time, he didn't worry about what screwing up would mean. With Amber, he did. "Why did they?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn't an accusation, and he hoped Amber could hear it wasn't meant to make her guilty. Shit, he'd never been curious about evaluating his own performance before; he hated to hear about his mistakes. But it was either that or fuck up again. Amber said it wasn't him, but Foreman knew that was a fiction that all women threw out when it really was, most definitively, him.

[amber_v]

He took her in, no questions asked, and Amber breathed in deep through her nose. She nuzzled his throat, rubbed her face against the side of his head. Her nose bumped over his ear, her mouth, his jaw. It made her glow, to touch him for no reason other than that it felt good.

Amber's smile widened when he laughed. It hadn't occurred to her to wish for them to look back on this with good humor, too tense with how she'd messed up and what the implications would be, but she was glad that they could. And so soon, too. She sidled up closer, flushing their bodies up together, hooking a leg over his. Eric had already shifted to support her neck with his arm, and Amber complied, resting her head on his shoulder. Wouldn't his arm get numb?

He'd enjoyed the evening. Or he said he had, at least. Amber wanted to believe him, both because she preferred it if he really had had a good time, and because she hoped she could count on him to be honest. The languid, almost thoughtful, brushes of his fingers against her arm lent his words credibility. He wouldn't be so affectionate if the evening had been a complete disaster.

Amber let out a breath. That was the billion-dollar question. What had happened? She spoke slowly, parsing out her thoughts. "You know when you eat ice cream too fast, and your brain freezes up? It was like that, I was starting to hurt." Eric was listening intently, perhaps wondering what his part in his had been. The whites of his eyes stood out in the darkness, punctuated by his huge pupils. "I wasn't comfortable," Amber admitted. "I was too sensitive for that much pleasure, I should've told you. I'm sorry." It hadn't been just the excess. It'd been everything since she met him. Falling for him so fast, worrying about how he felt about her. Her anger at the times he'd let her down, lying and humiliating her in public. It was how much she had to be leading and deciding, always. "And then you wouldn't tell me why you were angry." Amber bit her lip. This was the hardest part. "Everything was out of control." There. There it was, the confession that she couldn’t stand it when things weren’t exactly as she wanted. If she’d told him, it was only because he’d already figured it out: I want to know we won't have to stop if I'm on top. He might as well know the whole truth.

[eric_foreman]

The moment the question was out of his mouth, Foreman had second thoughts. Maybe it would be better not to know. If Amber was still here, then it couldn't be that big a deal. Next time they'd get it right, and he'd keep his mouth shut during sex, that was all.

He didn't know what to do with the fact that, in essence, Amber told him he'd been too good. He hadn't heard that before, and he didn't know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable with the idea. He liked to think he could read women well, and know how far he could go. With Amber, on one level she was constantly pushing him to go farther than he'd ever expected, and yet sometimes she could hang back even from kissing him. Foreman hated uncertainty; he knew what was right, what he wanted, and he usually went forward with no room for deviation. Amber was still a mystery, and Foreman didn't like the sense that he was hemming and hawing around her, shifting his weight but unable to make a decision and take a direction.

He tried not to jump in with explanations or questions, letting Amber finish. He'd been right, in a sense, that she couldn't let him take the initiative, impose what he wanted on her. That left him feeling powerless, too, and wondering if he'd always have to hold back himself in order to be careful of her. He could try, anyway. The important thing was that she'd told him. She'd trusted him. Foreman's heart thumped harder, and he wondered if Amber could hear it from where she was pressed against his chest. "Feels like that for me, too," he admitted, bending to speak against the top of her head, his lips pressed there in a kiss. He breathed softly. He still didn't want to admit what had passed through his mind. He hated being wrong, and on absolutely zero evidence, he knew he'd feel like an idiot telling her.

Maybe she felt that way, too. It seemed so, from the way she'd spoken. She'd apologized again, and he truly didn't want her to. He'd seen on her face the way she felt when she thought she'd made a bad choice, and he didn't want to put that look there. "Did you really want to know?" he said. He winced. "It's not...it was stupid."

[amber_v]

Eric didn’t like being out of control either. Or did he? He’d managed it better than her, so far. Their patient’s reading her as the dominant partner confirmed that he’d submitted to her—as if everything else hadn’t been evidence enough. She’d hit on him, she’d invited him for drinks, she’d taken him onto her turf—and so it had been, on and on. The times he’d broken from her expectations, Amber hadn’t taken it well. Either she’d walked out on him, like at the bar when he’d told her about how he worked for House, or she’d demanded satisfaction, following him until she’d gotten what she wanted.

“If you feel the same way, where does that leave us?” They couldn’t both rule. Maybe together they could find a solution. Maybe she'd never be as sensitive as she had been tonight; she'd never been unraveled like this before, why would she be again? At any rate, with Eric so gentle, Amber wasn't worried. If they wanted to stay together, then they'd figure something out, just like they would with all the other problems facing them. Unless he didn’t care to stay with her. But she was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

"I just told you I threw a temper tantrum because I wasn't Queen of the Universe, how’s that for stupid?" She did want— no, had to hear his explanation. Until then, Amber wouldn’t feel balanced, forever wondering why a good promise could be received so badly. If he didn’t believe that she would stop, or if he was angry at the implication that she wouldn’t have before that promise, Amber had to know. Any mistrust from him would hurt, but as long as she didn’t know what had bothered him, she couldn’t fix it. She might even commit the same wrong again, unwittingly. “Try me.” Alert, Amber watched for she could see of his reaction in the dark and prepared her senses to feel out what could be deciphered physically.

[eric_foreman]

"We're talking about it. We'll talk about it." Foreman moved his shoulders in as much of a shrug as he could manage. He didn't talk about anything, usually. Amber couldn't know how deep she'd already gotten. When Foreman felt like he couldn't handle a situation, he tended to turn inwards, isolate himself so that he could work through the problem. When the problem was with Amber, he wouldn't be able to do the same thing; he had a feeling she wouldn't take kindly to being shut out. In fact, that was part of the problem: she wouldn't let him escape when he needed to. Be alone. Be angry if he needed to. He'd been angry a lot during his life and he hated showing it. Frustration, annoyance, the obvious reaction when House insulted him, those were all easy to reveal. When he was so furious he felt out of control, he wasn't interested in seeing anyone's face. He didn't want anyone to know he couldn't handle himself, and even worse, be told that it was nothing but a temper tantrum, that he wasn't allowed to be truly angry. That was bullshit. He worked through his problems in his own damn time. And he didn't know if that would stop, or even if he'd want that to stop, if his problem was with Amber. Any relationship that got to the point where it was even an issue was one he cared about enough to let himself get that worked up. This matters. He'd said that, but it was more true than Amber knew. He wasn't about to admit that, no matter how much else he was blurting out about himself.

Amber tensed when she asked him to tell her even more. Foreman could feel it in her leg hooked over his, and in the shorter pauses between her breaths against his collarbone. She acted like she was straining to hear, when they'd both been nearly whispering in the dark and not missing a word. Foreman was glad, at least, that Amber wouldn't be able to make out his face; only the warmth of his skin if he flushed.

"When you told me to stop--" The first time, his mind supplied, with a wry twinge of sourness. "You were upset. I didn't know why. And I thought--" He paused to swallow, wondering if this would upset her or just leave him looking like a fool. "I thought you knew a guy who didn't stop." His breath puffed out, waiting for reaction. "I was angry at him," he said lamely, his jaw clenching again, although this time it wasn't fury at Amber's imaginary boyfriend, but bracing himself against Amber laughing at him for inventing the man entirely.

Foreman lifted a hand to his chest, finding Amber's, and twined their fingers together. That was the surface reason he was angry; it had been what had been passing through his mind right then. The idea that he couldn't trust Amber to stop--and not only during sex, but at any point: during an argument, or just when Foreman was feeling like shit--was still there, underneath. It was stupid, and he was stronger than that. Anyway, he wasn't going to doubt her without a reason. He pushed the idea away. He'd be a fucking coward to run away from the woman he was dating. It wasn't going to happen.

[amber_v]

"Talking is good." It was all she wanted. They could negotiate a solution, figure it out as they went. If he was willing to be patient, so was she. Amber was always determined to overcome her problems, and this was no exception.

"Was that it?" Amber laughed with relief. It had nothing to do with her. "Oh god, no, I've never let anyone do something to me I didn't want them to." Except for tonight. She propped herself up on her elbow, smiling warmly down at him, even if he couldn't see. It hadn't been about her. Not really. Thank goodness. One of her hands squeezed his back, the other lifted to his chin and traced it with her fingertips. "That was sweet of you. To get so angry at the thought." Unnecessary, too. One more facet of his gentlemanly behavior asserting itself to protect her in ways she didn't need. But she was starting to figure out that the chivalrous attitude was how he expressed affection. And no one-- outside of Amber's family-- would've really cared if she’d been mistreated. Her heart stuttered, that he’d been so affected.

"Eric." Amber didn't know how else to say this, so she'd have to use the words in her head, in her heart. "I really like you. And you don't have to reply to that, if you don't want to." Tonight’s events had given her a clue of just how much he cared about her, even if he was terrible at putting those feelings into words. "I'm new at this, I've never-- really had a long-term relationship." She closed her eyes. It had never mattered before, because after the first failures, she hadn’t wanted anyone. A partner seemed like one more anchor to sink her down. But now she felt the weight of her amateurism. Maybe she’d keep screwing up with Eric because she’d never used training wheels before, and now, inexperienced, she was trying to ride a two-wheeled bike. Uphill.

She lied back down, her head resting once more on his shoulder. Exhaustion suddenly washed over her. The whole day was taking its toll. If what happened before had been tiring, this conversation was downright draining. Discovering a limit and confessing to so-far hidden pieces of herself was wringing her out like staying awake for forty-eight hours never had. Despite all the things she wanted to talk about with Eric and the anxiety taking root in her stomach over how much she could still mess up, sleepiness was overtaking her. Amber kissed his cheek and tried to wrap the discussion up, for now. They could go over more later, when they weren’t so tired. When they weren’t so wary and worn down they whispered like field mice. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m starting to realize I’ve got a lot to learn. But I’m good at catching up.” Her eyes fluttered and her hand holding Eric’s relaxed. It’d feel so good to fall asleep here, with him besides her. Her breathing evened out, slow and steady.

[eric_foreman]

Sweet. Foreman grimaced. Worse than Amber laughing--which was bad enough--was her thinking that his concern was cute. He was glad to know he was wrong, but it hadn't been an unreasonable guess, just a wrong one. He could see the gleam of her eyes above him, but he didn't smile back. Right. In short, he'd been overzealous and ridiculous for thinking anything of the sort. Getting confirmation of that was almost worse than Amber asking him to stop, because obviously if he'd made a fool of himself then, she might have been willing to keep going. Idiot.

The light trace of her fingertips along his jaw felt at first like part of her patronizing response and Foreman tried to hold himself stiff, away from the comfort, but he stopped when Amber said his name. He nodded--didn't know how much she saw--when she repeated that she liked him. He wanted to say it back. Jesus, it was more than like, whether they'd known each other less than a week or not. But he was still miffed by her laughter, and he kept quiet, listening.

He'd had a few long-term relationships. If things had gone even slightly differently, he might still be with Claire. But they'd both been heavily recruited out of medical school, and she wouldn't move with him across the country when her dream internship was on the East Coast. They'd talked, even, about keeping up something long distance. Foreman thought Claire had known, even then, that he wouldn't manage to keep it up. He'd sent a card when she married. They'd even managed to trade sides of the country again--she lived in San Francisco now. And there had been other women, other times when he'd carried on for months without anything going wrong on the surface; but he, or they, had always eventually faced the fact that the reason was that there wasn't much between them below the surface.

Still, Foreman doubted a few long-term relationships put him in any better position than Amber to figure out how they were going to work out whatever was between them. He licked his lips, ready to tell her so, but her voice faded to a murmur. Foreman sighed. He'd leave it for tonight. Let her sleep, let himself recover from the wild changes in direction they'd gone through this evening. He pulled the covers over the two of them, easing Amber into a slightly more comfortable position, cushioned on his shoulder. "It's okay," he murmured, letting himself press close to her. "It'll be okay." She was probably already asleep. Exhausted, finding it easy to close his eyes and listen to Amber's even breathing, Foreman let himself follow her into sleep.