alwaysright | 30 October 2007

30 October 2007 - Morning

A harshly loud, repetitive noise tore Amber from her sleep. Her first conscious thought, after the firm decision to destroy whatever was making that racket, was of the terrible crick in her neck. God, that hurt. Had she fallen asleep on a couch at the hospital? No, not with the breathing next to her; more like she'd fallen asleep on someone.

Someone. Eric.

Amber jolted, eyes opening wide to the sight of an equally sleep-addled Eric. It all came back to her. Approaching him after work. Fucking at the restaurant. Fucking him here-- or not. Amber covered her hand with her mouth. Jesus Christ, just how stupid could she be? Panicking like that, what was wrong with her? And worse, so much worse, falling apart, getting vulnerable and telling Eric those, those-- those things. That she liked him so very much and that she was a control freak and that she'd learn. She’d apologized all over the place and basically begged him to be patient with her. She'd handed Eric a big bowl of crazy an expected him to eat it up with a giant spoon and smile. He'd probably want to dump it into the sink.

And she'd done this over a man who could get her fired.

It was like she'd drunk an entire vat of wine and gotten down with her loser, sensitive side. Yeah, that was what last night had been about. One long losing streak. When had she gotten so off her game? Most women, when they had a few too many, had sex a little more liberally than they would otherwise, lived life a little more intensely. Amber, she got weak. God.

But, shock-rigid muscles relaxing, she studied Eric. She couldn't help the affection that glowed in her when she saw his face, a bit befuddled and tired and so very him. Couldn't help the feeling that pulled her to him, wanting closeness. She couldn’t resist him. During the night she'd cuddled up to him, hugging him. No wonder her neck and back were killing her, she wasn't used to sleeping around another person. He smelled of his dried sweat and her shampoo. "Hey," she said tenderly, her hand reaching out. Their first morning together, she'd climbed and kissed him without hesitation, taking it for granted that he'd want her. Now, she gauged his reaction. Last night he'd made vague promises; now she got to see if they didn't crumble in the light of day.

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Rather than his alarm clock, it was the movement beside him that jolted Foreman awake. He wanted to keep his eyes closed and ignore the daylight seeping in through the window. His right arm hurt like hell, and he realized after a moment it was because he hadn't moved it or gotten much circulation all night. Squinting, he opened his eyes reluctantly. Almost before he realized it, he was grinning. Amber was hovering close to him, one side of her face red where she'd slept on a fold of the sheets, her hair flyaway and tangled. She managed to look completely disheveled and completely desirable in the same instant. His first instinct was to roll over, cover her and pin her down and kiss her, and his body tensed, ready to follow through, when he remembered that she wouldn't want him to. Instead, Foreman pressed his lips together to hold back a chuckle. "Morning," he answered her, and lifted his left hand--the only one that would still obey him--to trace the line of the pillow crease down her cheek, stroking her hair back from her face. "This is incredibly sexy," he teased.

Feeling satisfied, and, other than the rush of pins and needles down from his right shoulder, well-rested, Foreman relaxed and settled on his back. He slapped the alarm clock off and lifted his arms to stretch, extending his legs and twisting his torso as much as he could without leaving the warm nest they'd created in the sheets. The air was cool in his apartment, but he kept it that way knowing it would wake him up quickly. He wouldn't have much of a chance to get his full routine done in the time before they had to be out the door, but somehow, this morning, he couldn't make himself rush.

Eric's smile, pure and spontaneous, revitalized Amber. The morning was suddenly beautiful. She tried to scowl, though its effect was probably undermined by her hearty laugh. "What about you? You've got the breath of a bulldog."

Her heart swelled fit to burst, so glad that he wasn't taken aback by her previous night’s stupidities or her just-woke up appearance. This couldn't be good, hinging so much of her well-being on how he felt about her. She'd have to do something about that. Reassess, reign herself back to a greater state of self-reliance. Later. For now, they were happy together, and Eric, raising his arms, catching the morning light just so, was the very definition of sexy. Amber would take hold this perfect moment, live it out to its full potential.

She slid onto him, the silk of her nightdress and the covers whispering against her. Eric felt like his very own heat factory, the bed's production center. Taking his lead, Amber extended her muscles, stretching her arms, legs, torso against the hardness of his toned body. Loved to feel him, loved knowing that he was feeling every bit of her, too. The skirt of her dress rode up over her waist and his boxers rubbed against her thighs.

Judging from the morning’s clarity, they wouldn't have long in bed before having to get ready. Just because she was a little boy-crazy didn't mean she was willing to waltz into work late. House would fire her for sure if being with Eric affected her efficiency.

Just a few minutes. A few flawless minutes she could treasure for the rest of the day. “Give me a proper good morning greeting,” she prompted before dipping to kiss him, capturing his dry lower lip between hers. It was true, his breath did stink, but she still wished they had all the time in the world to lay here. Why couldn’t she have felt this way last night, willing and wanting? Whatever. They were here now. Amber gave herself in to the present, listening to the early morning traffic, feeling the brush of Eric’s eyelids. This second, it was wonderful.

Foreman raised his eyebrows, smugly pleased when Amber made the move he'd refrained from. The fact that he couldn't do it himself didn't sit well with him, but hell, she'd said she wanted to try something new, something long term. He didn't know if he believed her assurances, but the idea only made him feel more strongly about her. He wanted to work it out, as long as she'd stay. And she'd said she wanted to learn. With a promise like that, he'd hold himself back for now. Especially when Amber wasn't shy about kissing him, morning breath and all.

Foreman tipped his head back, meeting her lips and deepening the kiss, going as fast as she wanted. Lazily, he brought his hands down her back, holding her hips and then cupping his palms over her ass. Her nightdress had already risen up, and Foreman took full advantage. He hooked a finger under the edge of Amber's thong, slipping his fingertip back and forth under the elastic. "Good morning," he said, giving full reign to his self-satisfaction. "Thanks for giving my arm back." He squeezed her ass with his right hand, testing to see if he had full motor control back. "We may not have to amputate after all."

Oooh, tongue. Amber hadn't expected that. There, that wasn't at all bad. She wasn't a basket case who had to know every next step in the game, freezing up at every surprise. Her mouth opened further, taking him in; tongued him back deliberately, unhurried, luxuriating in each possible turn of pleasure. "Hmmmm." Amber smiled lazily around their kiss, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes. "That's better."

Her murmur threatened to deepen into a moan. She nuzzled the side of his throat, her hips already rolling lightly as he penetrated the layers of her clothing, feeling her up. God this felt good. Too good. Just with his hand on her ass she was electrified. A few more minutes of this hanky-panky and Amber would be so horny she wouldn't give a damn about job obligations. That wouldn't do.

"Unless you've invented a time machine that can warp time and space in our favor--" Amber started as she sat up, palming Eric's chest, not refraining from a few caresses as she brought her hands down to his taut and all-too-lickable abdomen. "We'll have to perform a surgery to separate us." She pouted. "Unfortunately." Who was the smartass who invented early work hours, and where could she punch him? House would probably be late, to boot. If he even bothered to show up.

"C'mon." Amber smacked Eric's ass, the sound louder than the force she'd hit him with. "Our demon overlord awaits us. We can finish this up later." If they were both willing to make it work between them, then they'd have at least one more night together-- and, if Amber's determination had its way, which it so often had, many, many more. There’d be plenty of time to properly enjoy each other, without the fuck-ups.

Foreman turned his head, inviting Amber's attentions along his neck. He didn't believe she was going to take this anywhere interesting, but it was becoming more difficult to convince his body of that, when he had his arms full of her, her warm weight pressing him down and rocking against him. Slow, morning-warm pleasure filled him, following Amber's kisses and the slide of her hands along his chest. He'd have to get out from under her before they had a repeat of last night. If Foreman was two minutes late, House would assume he'd know why. If they were both two minutes late, no one would even have to guess.

He grinned, wishing Amber hadn't sat up so that he could suck on her pouty lower lip. "So get off me," he said comfortably, since this was completely her fault and not his. He started to roll to his side, working his way out from under her, when her palm slapped against his ass. Through his shorts, it didn't even sting, but it surprised a "Hey!" out of him. Foreman rolled to his feet and mock-glared at Amber. "You sound pretty confident for someone who's going to be the slowest getting ready," he said, tamping down his amusement at issuing the challenge. Amber would want to race now, he was nearly certain, but he was also sure that it took him less time than it took her to get out the door in the morning. Raising an eyebrow, as if questioning her mettle as a competitor, Foreman hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and dropped them to the floor, before sauntering into the bathroom to start the shower.

"Beauty," Amber declared loftily, brushing her hair over her shoulder, "has its price. Tease me all you want, you won’t rush me!” It was true. To look halfway decent, you had to invest not just cash for the products, but the time to apply them. Appearances were a weapon in and of themselves-- look crappy, and no one would give you the time of day. Look good, and bear the wealth of smiles and small gestures of kindness from strangers. Look fabulous, and get almost anything you want. Amber wouldn't relinquish any means of reaching her goals, not when it required so little effort. And right now, her physical maintenance could mean everything; House could very well ax her for 'slovenness,' or for having 'substandard hygiene.' Or, that was, for not being primped up enough for his ogling needs.

Plus, she liked it when Eric couldn't take his eyes off her.

She bit her lip at what was as obvious a vain demonstration of beauty as her prettying herself up would be. Eric did like to show off his ass. Well, it was certainly an ass to bare to the world-- or to audiences of one, since he was so shy with his body in public.

Amber swung her legs over the bed and hurried to catch up with him. If last time was any indication, Eric didn't believe in shower privacy. And, good thing too, she thought as she saw herself in the mirror. Having slept with her hair wet, it now stuck up here, clumped there. "Make room for me, I need a shower too." Eyeing him, blatantly drinking in the sight of his full, naked, and fucking gorgeous form, she grinned. What a sacrifice it'd be, to wash with him. One she'd be happy to repeat over and over.

Foreman felt like even going into work and facing House couldn't possibly dent the good mood he was in. Last night had been far from perfect, and he still felt a twinge of annoyance that Amber couldn't have been this open and happy when he'd gone down on her--he'd never been with a woman who hadn't appreciated his willingness and even more, his enjoyment; it wasn't simply about repaying a blowjob for him like he knew it was for some guys--but sleep had gone a long way toward fixing his mood and his prospects. Hell, House hadn't broken them up yesterday when it had seemed most likely that Amber would toss him to the wolves for the sake of a fellowship. She'd said long term, she'd followed him and asked for a second chance. As far as Foreman was concerned, he'd won, and House could go dig into Thirteen's life if he wanted to indulge in meddling with his employees' lives.

He started the shower, setting it hot, and stepped inside. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Amber making a face at herself in the mirror. "You look amazing," he said, not teasing this time. She looked like she was his--like she'd spent the night in his bed, like she hadn't even hesitated before agreeing to stay over. "I don't need all that stuff, I like you like that." No one else would see her like this, a little less than perfect, less than totally put together. Foreman tipped his head up into the spray. He'd managed I like you, even if he'd hidden it inside a different compliment. He didn't need Amber evaluating his expression the second afterward. Eventually he'd manage it without sounding like an idiot, without turning away.

The water felt good, and Foreman gladly made room for Amber. He was big enough to block her from the spray, so he turned around and got her wet the easiest way he could, by wrapping his arms around her and sharing the water running down his chest. Holding her tight enough to stop her from getting away easily, at least not without a lot of the best kind of friction, he spoke quietly close to her ear. "Soap's on your side."

Amber flushed, caught in the act of criticizing herself. It was one thing to resemble one of the hairier Muppets, but it was quite another to be noticed worrying about it. If she'd seemed blasé about her just-woke up looks, she'd seem all the more confident. But now he'd seen that she wasn't pleased with herself, and it was just one more moment of weakness he'd borne witness to.

She took a deep breath. This was just one more step to not always having to be in control around him. She didn't have to be perfect. He'd just told her that he liked her this way. (A mess. He liked her as a mess. What did that mean?) It was a compliment. He liked her as she was. (But she wasn't a mess. She was Amber Volakis, and everything was always exactly as she wanted it.) They better never break up; otherwise, she'd have to bury him and all the blackmail pile he was gathering on her.

"Like it all you want," she replied flippantly, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't have seen her initial reaction, "but there's a whole world out there who won't think knots are amazing."

Stripping and entering the shower, it was hard to stay miffed with him as he wrapped him in his arms, folding her in. Amber could sense his affection and hers surged in response. "Is it?" She took the soap and turned, an easy task with the water making their skins so slippery, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His goofy happiness was irresistible. Amber glowed back at him, tipping her face to rub noses. His 'amazing' seemed so much sweeter, remembering it face to face. Under her careful direction, the soap glided across shoulders, his back and, squeezing her arms between them, his chest. With her blocking the spray, the suds dripped down him slowly, forming incandescent bubbles over his torso. She popped a particularly large one over his collar bone.

Foreman let out a light, slow exhale as Amber's hands slipped across his skin. When she got close like this, he couldn't help relaxing, tension he didn't even know he was carrying dissipating from his muscles, leaving him feeling lighter and loose. If she ever gave him a full massage, he'd probably fall asleep in the first minute. "We need to do this more often," he said, even his voice softened to a mumble by Amber's ministrations. "I'll set my clock earlier." He opened his eyes--wasn't sure when he'd closed them--when Amber poked the soap bubble on his chest, and he took her hands in his to steal the soap from her. He'd only needed a quick wash, soaping last night's sweat and semen off, scrubbing a bit under his arms and down his chest, but rinsing off and leaving Amber wouldn't be nearly as much fun. He started returning the favour, letting his eyes go wherever they liked, and following that path with soapy hands. He'd had this chance before, and he could remember the places where Amber had reacted the most. She carried tightness in her nape and along the vertebrae of her lower back. On bare feet, Amber's eyes were level with his, and Foreman kept stealing quick glances at her face, meeting her eyes as he circled his fingertips around the knots, kneading to loosen them. Amber kept his attention fully, so that the sound of the shower echoing off the tiles, and the minutes slipping away, were completely erased from his thoughts.

He sighed when there really was no excuse to keep 'washing' the same areas over again. He'd managed to catch enough of the spray that he wasn't covered in suds anymore. With a light, promising kiss, Foreman let go of Amber and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel to sling around his hips, and moved to the bathroom sink, getting out his shaving gel and razor. If they really were going to do this more often, it would help if they didn't have to stop at Amber's apartment after a late dinner or drinks or simply coming back from work. Foreman focused on his own face in the mirror, applying the gel and carefully starting to shave. He was getting ahead of himself, which was a risk. But if Amber agreed, it would be worth it. If she didn't...it didn't matter. It was a simple question. Foreman wouldn't read anything into it. No reason to get clingy over something that basic. With a quick glance at Amber, he nodded to himself. "You could leave your things here if you want," he said, as casually as possible, tilting his head to see a spot under his jaw.

For a moment Amber thought she'd have to hold him up, the way he swayed on his feet, supporting his weight on her. The little remaining strain in him ceded to her exploring fingertips; she had never felt him so relaxed.

Look at that. She'd barely done a thing, and he'd reacted so fully, so openly. Maybe she had no idea what to do in a relationship, but it seemed she was already a master at some of the skills. If it was all this easy, soon she'd be acing all the Significant Other tests. "Yeah," Ambrer agreed. They did need to do this more often and, just as important, with more time. Not rushed like they were two teenagers necking between classes.

Then it was her turn to close her eyes, mouth slightly agape. It was so peculiar, touching each like this, naked and wet and gentle, with the sexual element being so distant. Of course Amber tinged with arousal as Eric painstakingly washed her, but it seemed like such a minor element compared to this, this-- tenderness. She couldn't remember the last time she'd touched a partner, not even Eric, without sex looming in the horizon. And here they were, caressing each other for no greater purpose than the action itself.

It was over far too soon.

Amber stayed in the shower. Eric could get by with just a quick scrub, but she had her hair to take care of, running shampoo and conditioner through it. His suggestion surprised her; it hadn't even occurred to her that she'd take anything back. "That’s my plan," she answered. It'd be more convenient to leave it all here, for the next time-- surely soon—that she needed her basic daily materials. What did it mean, that she'd taken it for granted that she would, and that he’d thought he had to offer? At least they wanted the same thing.

She turned the water off and, dripping onto the tiles, found herself a towel. Amber dried herself off quickly, then wrapped the towel around herself. Looking into the reflection of Eric's eyes, she said, "If you get your stuff together now, we could go to my place right after work." Dinners in fancy restaurants and running from one apartment to another was too much waste, when all Amber wanted was more time with him.

Foreman stopped short, standing with his shoulders cocked after drawing the razor across his skin. Amber hadn't simply accepted his invitation; she'd assumed. She'd made her own plan without consulting him. Foreman rinsed off his razor and frowned at his reflection, the sight of the shaving gel prompting him to finish up. It bugged him. He'd offered casually because he didn't want to look like he'd thought too hard about it, but he'd expected her to accept in the same vein. Not making a big deal over it, but understanding that it was...a step. Foreman tossed his razor beside the sink. How the hell did he expect Amber to figure that out if he didn't tell her? God knew they didn't share any kind of telepathy. He grabbed his hand towel and wiped off the last traces of gel, and then rubbed on a hint of aftershave. At this point, there was no way to bring it up without sounding like he was retracting his offer. Hell, he'd gotten what he wanted. Except that the way Amber had presumed made him feel like his place wasn't his to offer, but hers to preempt when she wanted it, and his offer was immaterial. What he wanted--if he'd wanted something different--wouldn't have mattered.

It was the same thing as when he helped Amber with her coat or got the door for her. He did those things as a sort of gift, and Amber immediately wanted to examine the horse's teeth. Foreman wasn't allowed to be gallant, because Amber wasn't interested. She dismissed it, she didn't want it. She looked at him strangely when he tried to show her his regard, his affection. How he wanted to care wasn't important; he was only allowed to care in ways Amber found comfortable. Foreman wasn't trying to have things entirely his own way, but he chafed against the idea of giving up his own methods entirely.

Christ, he sounded like a sophomore girl, getting this tripped up over something so simple. They agreed. That was the end of it. Foreman pushed his discomfort aside. He didn't mind staying at Amber's place at all, especially not if it would give them some privacy. He'd had enough of public appearances--in their last two dates, they'd already had a fight in which Amber walked out on him and a crazy round of public sex. A night in would be safer. "Sounds perfect," he said.

Hanging on the back of his bedroom door was a suit he'd recently had dry-cleaned, still in its garment bag. That would do fine to take to Amber's. Foreman went to his closet and got out two shirts, one for today and one to hang on the hook with his suit. From the dresser, he grabbed a fresh pair of boxers and socks, and started getting dressed. Anything else he'd need was already in his trunk, in his gym bag. It was Tuesday--usually his pick-up game, when he could get off work early. Foreman grinned. Basketball didn't sound half as appealing as the prospect of simply relaxing with Amber. "Way better than playing three-on-three with a bunch of middle-aged guys who think they're still in high school," he said.

Leaving her stuff here, him getting ready to sleep over at her place-- they were thinking along the same lines. Amber liked that they were in harmony. Better yet, what they agreed over was spending more time together. It wasn't that she'd want to pass every second by his side, but she did like him and hadn't yet gotten her fill.

Though, rummaging through her bag to pull out her makeup kit, Amber reflected that they might not feel the same way by the end of the day. They had work to get through, and depending on what life and House threw at them, they might change their minds completely. Maybe House would vanish on them, and they'd be together the whole day in the classroom, becoming sick of each other. Maybe, crazily enough, they'd have a case that kept them in the hospital all night, leaving them without the chance to go back home.

Maybe they'd have another fight over how to do their jobs.

It started to come back to Amber as she rubbed on her lipstick, pursed her mouth. Diagnostics. Working for House. The competition. Her lips were brilliant red, glistening slightly. Who she'd been, seemed like such a distant existence, even if it had been as recent as yesterday. Last night and this morning she'd bared layers of herself she'd never known existed, of vulnerability and softness and caring so deeply it was like she was drowning but was too enamored with the water to fight her way back to air. It was as if she were a whole other person, and Amber couldn’t imagine how these two personalities were connected. Though, rubbing on her foundation and eye liner, she certainly looked the same. There it was, that face she'd been preparing for work everyday for years.

It wasn't just looks; she started to feel it too, as she hooked on her bra and put her arms through her black blouse's sleeves. She was the one who sank her teeth down and held on til whatever it was she wanted delivered itself to her. And she loved doing it. Amber loved fighting until her opponents fell, leaving her the victor. Loved being smarter, faster, prettier. Loved being vicious.

Just thinking about it made her heart pump with excitement. There were so many things she could do to knock down the competition: new ways to fuck with their minds, new weaknesses to uncover, new manipulations to try out.

The only problem was that Eric would be there.

Amber wasn't stupid. She knew Eric respected her determination and her strength; knew that those qualities had attracted him to her in those first few minutes. But she knew that he approved of neither of House's game nor of the tactics it took to win it. He'd been disgusted yesterday with her arguments on what to do and why; he might be even more repulsed if he saw what other tricks she pulled. And, for the first time in her life, Amber wasn't sure if someone's opinion didn't matter enough to make her act differently.

Disturbed, Amber rolled up her nylons and slipped on a blue-flowered print skirt. She heard Eric's remark through the open door and, eager to leave her disquieting thoughts on the backburner, she grinned. "I don't know, it sounds like an interesting date to me." It was a joke. Even if she'd been willing to share Eric, which she was not, she didn't want anyone else, least of all some strangers he played with. Once she'd slipped into her heels, she joined him in the bedroom and admired him in a fresh outfit. "I'm still deciding if that or naked is a better look for you," she nodded with a wink to his suit.

Her stomach tightened and she remembered physical practicalities. “Do you have anything to eat, or should we pick up our breakfast on the way there?”

Standing at the mirror, Foreman knotted his tie, getting back into the spirit of teasing Amber. She appeared over his shoulder, and Foreman didn't miss the way her gaze trailed down from his shoulders. He knew he shouldn't let himself get puffed up over her compliment, but he couldn't help it. Working out helped him dissipate a day's frustration, and he liked the results--he liked knowing he looked good. But it mattered more when Amber said it. Made him feel bigger, stronger. Which was ridiculous. He really was regressing back to high school, when all that mattered was who could shoot a three-pointer or run a football up the slot for a touchdown. He adjusted the knot one last time and turned back to Amber. "You'll have to come to one of my games," he said. "I'll play for the skins. You can decide then."

It didn't pass him by that she'd managed the same transformation as he had, but even better, since Foreman got the benefit of the view. "I already know what I prefer," he said, touching her elbow and leaning in close as if he might kiss her. Before he got near enough, he backed off. "Like this, of course."

Chuckling, he left the room, escaping any vengeance Amber wanted to take, and grabbed his coat from the closet. "I promise I could feed you," he said, "but we don't have time. There's a coffee place downstairs, though." He checked to make sure he had his keys, phone, and pager. God, he didn't want to go. He faced the door and set his shoulders. All the fun they'd had so far--and the fights too--he'd have to forget that while they were at work. He didn't know how Amber would take it, if he was less communicative, less open. Obviously he couldn't show favouritism, and if he did, House would take that as license to torture both of them more than he was going to anyway. "Ready?"

Amber's imagination flew to an outdoors basketball court, where she heard the skids of sneakers on pavement, the rubber slam of the ball. Best of all, she saw Eric running, feinting, jumping, his sweat-soaked torso glistening in the sun. Oh, he'd be unbearably arrogant too, a peacock splaying out his plumage, but it wouldn't make her want him any less. If she ever did go to watch, she'd research in advance possible private corners for them so that she wouldn't spontaneously combust from neglected sexual frustration. But all she let show of her reaction was a suggestive eyebrow raise. "If I don't choke on the testosterone, I'll let you know the verdict."

Mind already turned to erotic possibilities, Amber's gaze flicked down to Eric's lips as he leaned into her-- only to fall right into his trap. "Coward!” she exclaimed at him as he ducked out. If he'd had the balls to stick around a second longer, she'd have shown him a thing or two about the wrestling techniques she'd acquired from a childhood of three brothers. "Don't think I won't pay you back!"

She really would, ten times over. Later, when they didn't have work to get to. "And now you're going to make me go hungry," she said, picking up her clothes into a bundle she dumped into the bathroom. But her complaint was only a continuation of the teasing; she ate store-bought breakfasts (and lunches, and dinners) at work all the time. It was her reality. While she preferred to face the day and its challenges with a full stomach, she couldn’t always take the time to prepare a meal.

Amber finally joined him at the entrance, where she found her discarded coat and purse. "Ready." With them about to step out, each in their job attire, it struck Amber that they were leaving this cocoon of relative safety. She held a hand to his elbow, touching him perhaps for the last time in a few hours. "We never did decide on what to do at work." They had to reach a consensus before getting there. "I say that we should act professional, but if anyone asks, we'll tell them we're seeing each other and leave it at that."

About to ask how, exactly, Amber would get her revenge--she might not tell him, but even the evil gleam in her eye could be a turn-on--Foreman stilled at her suggestion to keep things low-key. It was hard to believe that she didn't know, or anticipate, that low-key was the polar opposite of what House would put them through, but it was a nice dream. He nodded and opened the door, bringing out his keys to lock up before they headed for the elevator. "We probably won't get a case today," he said. He hoped. Some weeks, House would celebrate by coming in at noon or later. Other weeks he'd walk in on the dot of nine and get absorbed by a new video game, or by making popping noises with his mouth and drumming on the table. There was never any way to tell in advance.

For the first time, Foreman wasn't frustrated by the fact that the only authority he could wield was Cuddy's name. He didn't have to worry about either his suggestions or Amber's taking precedence, or making a decision if the rest of the candidates had different ideas. If he were in charge, he'd have to evaluate Amber on her merits, and suffer the consequences personally if she wasn't right. It wasn't a position he wanted to find himself in. He liked her, too much to ever get into a direct supervisory role over her. He didn't want to tell her no, or worse, tell her no only to find out he'd been wrong to say it. The last thing he wanted was for her to show him up. House was actually providing a benefit to them by acting as a buffer. Foreman snorted at the thought that he'd have anything to thank House for when it came to his personal life. It was the last thing he'd tell him--if House found out, he'd probably arrange to have Foreman shoot Amber down.

And Foreman had never heard the answer to his question from last night...what she'd say if House was willing to hand her the job on a silver platter, if only Amber would use it to present Foreman's head to him first. He didn't want to know.

"Someday there's going to be a hospital willing to open a diagnostics department again," he said. Suddenly it seemed like a viable plan again, to take what he could from House and then move on. If Amber didn't get House's fellowship position, there'd be others. Foreman could still see himself as the head of a department, with Amber working nearby, if not with him directly. "Schaeffer at Mercy couldn't handle the fact that I was right." He'd thought so all month, all through his disastrous job interviews. He'd thought it and had no one who understood. Amber would; she knew what it meant to have a bit of ambition and get slapped down for it. Every win of hers had come at some cost. It was a relief to say it, finally, out loud.

Amber nodded, following him out the door and waiting as he locked up. There had been long periods between each case, and they’d had to find ways to while away the day all on their own.

Eric was silent as they walked to the elevator, so Amber thought he must be deliberating an answer to her proposal. Though she wouldn't have supported lying-- that wouldn't work in the long run-- she wanted to hear his ideas on how to mitigate the complications to their relationship. Amber would be damned if she'd let her prying boss or her uncharitable colleagues interfere with her love life, but she and Eric were tricky enough. They needn't invite new snags.

But all Eric presented her with was a snort and a non-sequitur. "Sure they will, especially with all the diagnosticians House is training. But that won't do us much good right now." At the moment they only had Princeton-Plainsboro, and even if another hospital opened a new diagnostics department, Amber wouldn't want to go. She had a lot to learn from House. And it was unlikely one would open close enough for Eric to stay in this same city. The thought of him moving away made her frown, which she tried to hide by turning her face away as she pressed the elevator button. She'd just found him, she couldn’t lose him this fast.

Her expression softened at the mention of Mercy. The way he kept bringing up, wary as if the subject were a thorn-filled branch that'd prick him if wielded wrong, made her aware of how much the firing had hurt him. "People can't stand it when someone else is right," Amber agreed. She knew that very well, from her own experiences. It had been one more reason for everyone to distance themselves from her. "But that doesn't mean we should stop being so." Her mouth quirked into a smile. "Right?"

Since he hadn't refuted her plan, she guessed that meant he couldn't think of a better one and would therefore follow her lead. Amber trusted him to not spill the intimate details, least of all because she had her own "dirt" on him. “We should find a new case, it'll distract him." She'd be seeking dates for House as well, but she refrained from telling Eric that. From his reaction last night, she was pretty sure he’d disapprove. What he didn’t know he couldn’t stop her from doing.

Foreman's determination rose with Amber's easy assurance that he'd get in trouble anywhere by being right. He nodded sharply. "Yeah." He felt more settled, even with that small bit of back-up. There were things Amber did that he wouldn't consider the best means to an end--no wonder she'd lasted this long in House's game--but he agreed with her on this point. The only way he'd ever managed to get ahead of everyone he'd ever worked with was to be right more than they were. To buckle down, stop complaining, and be better. It wasn't a strategy he'd want to drop. "And you're right." Foreman twisted his lips, bitter. "There's no point in reacting." For as long as possible, until House pricked them to it.

The elevator opened for them right away, and Foreman let Amber step on first, preoccupied with the idea of getting another case as fast as possible. "I'll ask Cameron," he said. She'd have access to the latest and goriest, two things that House was fond of. She also had a penchant for wanting to get House involved. Foreman would like it if nothing came from him, directly. Maybe Amber already knew, but Foreman supposed it didn't hurt, now, to let her in on the ways he, Chase, and Cameron had worked out for managing House. It backfired more than it worked, but usually House was so interested by the fact that they were trying to manipulate him that he took a case not on its merits, but to watch his fellows jump. "If I bring him something, he won't want to take it. If he gets it from Cameron, I can say it's pointless. He'll like that."

Amber stepped into the elevator, near Eric but not close enough to brush against any part of him. She wasn't avoiding him, exactly. More like getting ready for how they'd have to be, at the hospital. Taking a step back towards who she'd been before Eric.

"Is that how it is?" So House-- at least, according to Eric-- was still so resentful of the new Cuddy representative in his turf that he'd outright reject all his suggestions. Amber stored the knowledge for future reference; any detail could be the key to winning an essential moment. The better the understood how House worked, the more she could manipulate him for her needs. Not that it was easy to cheat the Master Game player. "That's a good idea." Cameron hadn't been keen on helping when Amber had sought her out during the Boys vs. Girls round, but if Eric thought he could get her help, she wouldn't say no. "I'll look around, too." Cuddy might have a special request, or a strange case might happen to walk into the clinic. And there was always a pile of requests that came in through the mail. Most she could solve immediately, but who knew, they might get lucky.

The elevator made its steady descent; within a few seconds they’d be on the ground floor. Then they really would be out in the world. Amber looked at Eric. She hadn't lied. He really did cut a fine figure in his suit, sharp and sure and perfect. If they weren't already involved, and if she'd happened to catch him like this, she'd have hit on him. But maybe she preferred him naked after all, because then he was hers.

She didn't know what would happen once they returned to their daily routine, but she did know how she'd be at work. Knew the kinds of things people would tell him. There was at least one thing she wanted him to hear from her own lips, if he hadn't yesterday, pursing his lips at the appropriateness of it. So she told him just as the elevator doors whisked open. "House and the others call me Cutthroat Bitch." Amber was casual, as if she were reporting some patient's stats.

If they could all keep out of House's way, that might be the best of all. At the very least, Foreman could tell the candidates to make themselves useful in the clinic. Cuddy was chronically understaffed, which was the only reason she dragged department heads down when usually, for everyone but House, they had more pressing business. In general terms, Foreman knew the extent of House's backlog of hours. Getting any of them worked wouldn't earn his goodwill, but it might lessen his sarcasm. "Yeah," he said. "House wants room to play games. He'll probably be happy with me running the department, as long as it's not in name." And as long as Foreman didn't try to get in the way of House's treatment decisions. Foreman didn't love paperwork, but if he cleaned up House's act, he could always bring that fact to Cuddy if he ever needed to.

He followed Amber out of the elevator, his mind already on the various ways he could make a point of organizing Diagnostics without going so far that House would take notice. Well, anything Foreman did, House would notice, but as long as he didn't feel like Foreman was stepping on his toes, he'd turn a blind eye. He stopped in the doorway and frowned at Amber's casual declaration. A second later, he pushed himself forward again, letting the door close, but his walk slowed as he headed for his car. "I can't stop that," he said, glancing at her and feeling completely at a loss.

He had no clue what Amber wanted him to say. House had been telling racist jokes from the day Foreman started work, gleeful as a little kid poking his brother to try and start a wrestling match. As if that was all it meant, some stupid childish scuffle, as if hearing that kind of shit day in and day out didn't matter. Foreman refused to react--at least, as much as he wanted to. Christ, there had been times when he'd nearly bitten his tongue in half not rising to the bait. What did Amber want? For him to console her because House was a bastard? She was cutthroat. Of course House would delight in telling her so to her face.

Tell her that being called a name was a terrible thing? She'd signed up for this crap. Not to mention, she'd already adopted more than enough of House's methods, happily pulling down everyone around her, plotting against the people she was supposed to work with. She'd admitted as much last night, tried to pull Foreman in to her schemes. He wanted her to win, yeah--he wanted her to get the job. He'd help her with that. But he didn't need to do it by approving of the way she exploited everyone's weaknesses. Being a good doctor should be all that counted.

And he was dreaming if he believed that. Being a good doctor was the bare minimum of House's standards. The rest: fuck everyone else, the answer was all that mattered. Foreman took out his keys to unlock the car doors. He couldn't help it if Amber's feelings were hurt. He'd love to protect her, and keep her shielded from their opinions, but he'd thought she loved making enemies. Loved shoving being right in their faces. "Isn't that how you play the game?" he asked--cautiously, but unable to completely hide his disdain that it was a game at all.

"I don't want you to do anything about it," Amber snapped, stung that he'd thought such a thing. "I'm not some tattletale kid running to the teacher; I can take care of myself." She strode more briskly from the building's entrance to the car, heels clacking louder against the pavement. This was her job, her passion, and she'd been doing it fantastically, without Eric and his arrogant, gallant self thinking that she needed protection. Did he not understand her at all?

Eric's expression was smoothed over, but by now Amber could read loud and clear the subtext in his politely blank faces. She saw his derision. “Exactly." Amber wrenched the door open, slammed it shut once she was inside. "That’s why I told you, so you'd know what you've gotten yourself into."

Fuck this. She’d been all worried how he’d see her, manipulating her way to the top, and if he’d turn away from her because of her viciousness. But if he already looked at her askew and judgmental, then she wouldn’t let him hold her back. If he couldn’t deal with her Machiavellian personality, then he couldn’t handle her, period. She'd dump his sorry ass and rid herself of his bullshit.

Amber had thought of going to Wilson first thing, to tell him how worried she was about House, and how much she wished she could help, in some way, to make his life a bit brighter. She’d milk Wilson for details on his best friend's love life, and from there find someone to throw in House's direction. But right now, incredulous that she’d ever let half-cocked Eric near much less in her, Amber didn’t much care to save their relationship.

She stared at Eric, cool and hard-set. Her only regret, if they broke up right now, was that she'd never be able to pay him back for the prank from just a few minutes ago, not in the same spirit. Any retribution would be seeped with punishing, not playful, revenge. And Amber didn’t believe in vengeance, in carrying grudges that only served to make her bitter.

"Then I don't know why you're telling me." Foreman would have found out eventually. Once House found out they were still together, he wouldn't hesitate to drop a bon mot like that in Foreman's ears. He was probably in for more mockery because he wasn't the dominant one in the relationship. Shit, he wasn't looking forward to it, but he'd take it, he'd bear it. Just like he'd stayed stoic under all of House's other insults. It looked like Foreman would be the one practicing the 'ignore it' policy. If Amber reacted this quickly and this much to anything someone said to her, it wouldn't be long before that plan blew up in their faces.

Exasperation coloured his sigh when Amber slammed the car door. Foreman swung into the driver's seat, trying not to tense up. He still didn't know what would have been the right answer. Hell, maybe there wasn't one, and never had been. "I like what I've gotten into," he said, low and hard, twisting to face her instead of turning the key in the ignition. She was angry, but Foreman could deal with that; he actually appreciated it. She wasn't sulking or hiding it. The second he screwed up--even if he didn't know how--she'd let him know. It made him feel easier in his own anger. "No, I don't know what that is, all the time. We barely know each other yet." He spread his hands, half-defensive. "You know what works for you. I don't want the same things." Not the same way. He had some fucking scruples. Maybe fewer than he should, after three years with House, but they were there. The sound of Matty's screams weren't going to leave him alone long enough to lose them, or the memory of Lupe, grey on a morgue slab. He was going to work his damnedest to make sure he held on to the lines he'd defined for himself, whether Amber was 'in charge' or not. "Do I have to approve of everything you do for this to work? I have a different opinion. I think I'm entitled to that."

He met her anger with an equivalent rage, his features distorting as he turned to her with just as much defiance as she. Matched in emotions, it only made Amber's blood boil hotter, willing and wanting to strike back equally hard.

But his response wasn't at all what she expected. Her mouth had opened before he spoke, ready to pounce back with a reply, but she shut it, any possible reply knocked out of her. That was the first time he'd ever said he liked her. Thrown as an accusation, yes, and with a "what" instead of a "you," but the meaning was the same. He'd said it in the face of their anger, not when they were kissing and hugging and affection was so much easier to feel and express. He'd said it knowing she wasn't going to change, that she had been and would keep on being a bitch.

Amber kept her eyes on him, but slinked into her seat, sliding down as her rigidity let up. When she fastened her seatbelt, it wasn't with the same force as she'd mistreated the car door. She breathed a little more regularly as he spilled his thoughts. Yeah, they hardly knew other. It was crazy how involved they'd gotten, with so little time together. They had a lot to learn. "Fuck no," Amber answered to his question. She'd never expected him to agree with her every opinion, just as she knew she wouldn't see eye to eye with him on all issues. She'd never again get behind that 'give House wrong answers' notion, for example. Eric could be stupid in that regard all he wanted, but she wouldn't imitate him. That was all.

Did she want him to never disapprove? Of course. When she did what she had to-- psych out the team players, find and stab into Thirteen's weaknesses-- Amber didn't want to have keep looking over her shoulder, concerned that this would be the straw that broke Eric's faith in her. Agonizing over his opinion would throw her off her game. But she wouldn't be worried, if he was okay with the principle of her strategies. "As long as I get to have mine, you can have all the opinions you want," Amber spat out. While she might not be on the verge of ditching him on the curb anymore, irritation still made her jitter. “Deal?”

Amber let him finish, even though she was glaring at him, her colour high and her eyes like steel. Foreman half-expected her to get out and slam the door behind her, even harder the second time. If she couldn't handle being out of control, did that mean she wouldn't take it from him just because he didn't agree with her? There had to be a limit to how much she could expect to control. Foreman didn't know if this was it, but he was sure he couldn't pretend to be enthusiastic when Amber talked about ruining the careers of the other candidates. He'd had his career dive-bombed by House, first when he was leaving in the spring and House was following after him, cancelling his interviews and calling up his potential employers with all the unflattering details of his recent cases. Later, simply because of the trail of jackassery House had left behind him during the course of his career. It had made him feel like shit, and it hadn't exactly made House his favourite person. Fuck, it had felt good to walk out on House even after he'd said that he needed Foreman.

That was the sort of bridge Amber was burning. Foreman didn't even know if she realized it, or if she cared. Maybe she wanted to be hated. There didn't seem to be much else to explain it, since she was good enough to win without fucking people over.

Did he have the self-control to keep his disagreement behind his teeth? Amber knew how he felt. If she wanted to know the reasons, then she could ask. He wasn't going to convince her differently, and he didn't know any of the other candidates well enough to say whether they deserved it or not. In the end, it wasn't his business or his conscience. Foreman nodded. "Fine," he said. He started the car and pulled on his seatbelt, then pulled out and headed for the hospital. They might just make it on time, but they'd have to skip coffee and settle for whatever breakfast they could get from the vending machines.

Still, he couldn't entirely keep his mind on the road. Would Amber ask him to celebrate with her when she'd pulled down her prey? Foreman wasn't sure he was up for that. He'd been disliked plenty, but never hated. Amber seemed to pursue it like a mission, and she was happier when it happened. It couldn't all be about winning. "You can control how they feel about you if you make them hate you," he said quietly, eyes on the traffic. And left unsaid: Don't try to make me hate you for the same reason.

Amber turned to the window while Eric pulled the car out to the street. She'd faced him before because anything else would be backing down, but since they were in the middle of a necessary pause, she'd look at the scenery. The grey buildings and scrawny trees were less likely to make her fly off the handle than Eric's continued scowl, the whiteness of his knuckles from clenching the wheel too tight.

She'd thought the argument was over. They'd reached a sort of consensus, that they could each see things their way. Amber thought it was a good verdict to reach, with both of them getting to stay who they were. No unrealistic expectations that they'd radically change personalities to fit the others' image of them.

If before her anger had been fire, Amber cooled to an icy fury. "Cute, but it's not like that." He'd better not start linking everything to what she'd said last night, making her every action about her control issues. If she were that obsessive, would she have let them take Eric's car? Would she hit on strangers and take them home? "Don't psychoanalyze if you don't know a thing about me. I don't make anyone hate me, I just let everyone know how I am. If they don't like it, big deal. I'm not going to pretend what I'm not." Amber threw Eric a pointed gaze. "I don't hide myself behind false niceties, opening doors just to make people like me." Amber knew that while in most fights returning an equivalent insult was good a tactic, it wasn't a good idea when talking to your partner. But it was a deeply-ingrained reaction, and she couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to.

Amber recognized this part of town and realized that they were too far from the hospital to get there on time. "We're going to be late, go faster," Amber insisted.

So he didn't know a thing about her. He'd been learning. What he'd said fit what he knew so far, and if Amber wanted to prove him wrong, she'd have to do a lot more than simply say so. Her response was true as far as it went, but Foreman was convinced that there was more to it.

His lips tightened immediately when she threw a jab at his courtesies. He squeezed the steering wheel to keep from lashing out. She didn't understand. She hadn't from the first. He could tell her he'd learned it from watching his parents together--from admiring, always, how his dad was with his mom, even now, when Foreman didn't care to visit; when he could barely stand to be in the same room as his mom for more than five minutes. She'd call him Marcus, or after his uncle Ray, thinking he was her brother. It hurt too damn much, and to see that his father was the same as ever, holding doors with the same slow, ponderous care that he'd always used, walking slower now to match her pace, smiling during the few times when she was lucid enough to see him with the same affection that she'd had all Foreman's life--Christ. What the hell was wrong with being polite? It had nothing to do with whether he was genuine or not. It was more genuine than Amber would ever even want to know.

"I'll get pulled over," he said tersely. Something else Amber probably didn't realize. Last night she'd bragged that she could get away with what she wanted. Shoplifting, public sex. All it took was explaining the situation in the right words, and the cops just went away. Foreman didn't know if Amber used sex or sympathy to get her way, but he was sure she didn't care which as long as it worked. He'd lived in fucking LA and knew better than to risk a traffic stop. "I don't get to cry my way out of a speeding ticket."

Why the hell was it like this when they left the bedroom? This morning in the shower all he'd wanted in the world was to get closer to her. To block the world out and just breathe, as long as Amber was standing with him. For the life of him, Foreman couldn't pinpoint the instant that had changed. Clenching his jaw, he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, even though it was anything but amused. "We don't even need House, do we?"

It felt good, like a storm breaking out after a week of threatening clouds, to watch Eric go from sullen to livid, his frown lines sharpening, all because of a few carefully chose words on her part. Amber watched the results of her win. The joy of a victory was ruined by the twisting in her gut, screaming at her that they was going to break.

If they broke-- if they couldn't even last a day together-- then they weren't meant to be. Amber turned sharply to the window, for the first time since they'd gotten in the car to hide her expression from him. She should've known. There was no way someone could care for her, once they saw the real her. Eric had liked her, sure, but out of context. Back in a day-to-day setting, he'd realized what she represented and was backing off as fast as his feet could carry him. Amber stared out at the cars that sped by but registered none of them, unseeing.

"Pity," Amber said hollowly, still not looking back at Eric. "It's an effective technique." It had spared her a few speeding tickets, low grades, high prices, and far too many other things to count or remember. And here he was, his cutting tone criticizing her calculative tears and all her other schemes.

She finally faced him again. Her fury and disappointment had shoved her off the board of emotions, and, hearing his bitter laughter, all Amber could feel was a blissful numbness. They were thinking the same thing again, but what a terrible thought. Amber's heart and throat throbbed. She wanted him still. Wanted him so much she hurt with the longing. But if he didn't, then what could she do? This wasn't a surly waiter or a building guard she could bully into doing what she wanted. If Eric decided he couldn't stand her, Do What It Takes Amber Volakis, then nothing short of a personality transplant would change his feelings. Not even the tears he’d censured would do any good. "I don't know, you tell me." As much as she hated it, their future was up to Eric; talk about not having control over the situation.

Mentally swearing at a yellow light, Foreman risked shooting through an intersection before the red. Amber might not think so but he was already driving faster than he normally did, slotting the car into holes in the traffic, which was thankfully light this close to nine o'clock. As far as he could tell she'd stopped paying attention to his driving entirely. She was staring out the passenger window, head tilted to nearly rest against the glass, lips downturned at the corners. She wasn't supposed to be this still, or speak so softly that Foreman barely heard her crack about wooing police officers. It didn't sound like she really believed it. In fact, if her tone hadn't been nearly monotone, Foreman suspected it would have been wavering.

He didn't think it was up to him. It seemed that nothing was, lately, least of all his own feelings which insisted on ambushing him at every turn. He didn't want to leave things in the same state they'd been last night when they'd left the hospital, and although House's knowing smirk was a factor in that, it was at the bottom of the list. Foreman went home every night to get away from House. He didn't want to feel that way about Amber, ever.

Shooting a sideways look at Amber, Foreman knew he couldn't let her walk into the hospital like this. Reserved, cut off and remote. "It's not up to me." He sighed and looked ahead again. They were nearly at the hospital. This conversation couldn't last much longer. Whether that was a good thing or not, he didn't know. He raised his eyebrows, as close to throwing up his hands at the situation as he could be while still gripping the steering wheel. "But if I can be right, I want to be right about you. I want to be right about us." His lips moved in something like a smile. "I never want to be right about House."

"It is up to you, partially." How sobering. Every step of the way, the future would depend on Eric. It was up to whether he wanted her or not. And Amber would never, ever be able to control that. She could fake herself, adopt attitudes she thought he'd like more, become whom he might like. But even then-- not that she would do that-- he might not be satisfied. Might up and leave and find someone else less complicated, less controversial. Someone who wouldn't stab him with problems at every turn, someone simple and safe to go home to. His feelings were absolutely out of her hands.

God, he was right. Making him hate her would be so much easier. Amber wouldn't have to deal with dreading the moment he realized he'd had enough, that she wasn't worth it.

He was trying to smooth over their fight, the verbal equivalent of kissing and making up. But even his pseudo-apology revealed the problem: he wanted to be right about her and them. That didn't mean he was. He might, as his statement implied, be wrong.

They were pulling up into the hospital parking lot. At least they were more or less on time; they'd be late by no more than a minute or two. Eric had done his part, driving aggressively, letting nothing get in his way. But what he'd done in traffic they couldn't do with each other.

"We need more time," Amber said, as devoid of feeling as before. She didn't dare let in any more emotion than that, she couldn't afford it, not now that they were about to go into public. They'd rushed into their relationship. When it'd been just a one-night stand, speed was no problem. But to be an actual couple, they needed to know who they were, didn't they. Finding out like this, in bits and pieces, flipping from hot to cold, she couldn't handle it. "We need to figure out if we really want this."

The hospital lot wasn't crowded. Foreman knew all the tricks for getting to his parking space in the least amount of time. Amber had only repeated what he'd tried to tell her in the first place. It wouldn't be fair for either one of them to act like the entire relationship was 'up to them'. He wasn't alone in this, or at least, he hoped like hell he wasn't. Amber's feelings counted too, no matter if she was doing her best to hide what those were. Compared to her vivacity when they were out, or alone, she'd retreated to the cool, collected queen, not letting a single emotion cross her face.

Letting out a defeated breath, Foreman pulled into his parking space. He checked his watch--they didn't have time to draw this out. It would be unprofessional, anyway. Leave their personal shit at the door and act through the day like nothing was going on. Fine. Amber wanted time. What else could he say to that? He'd tried to say as much and it felt like Amber had let his words slip past her without letting them touch her. His chest felt heavy, all those weights that had lifted when he'd first met Amber returning with a vengeance to tie him down, making it difficult to breathe, to walk, to hold up his head. "I do want this," he said quietly, shutting his car door firmly. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he walked away from her, into the hospital.

Eric retracted too, his anger no longer so sharply defined in his features, though anyone could see he was still bothered, sighing and hunched over like he had the world's worst backache. Well, they were human. Most people might not guess that he was fighting with his would-be girl.

House, on the other hand...

She was grateful Eric didn't insist they continue this now. Amber undid her seatbelt and, aware that they were surrounded by people who could spread gossip like dye in a cup of water, exited the car quietly, cooly. Walking as fast as she could without breaking into an undignified run, she went past Eric and tried not to reflect on the last thing he'd said to her. She couldn't face her personal life right now, not without damaging her professional one.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

30 October 2007 - Morning

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