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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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.

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30 October 2007 - Morning

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