Amber chucked her purse and winter coat onto the sofa. Her day hadn't improved any: after hitting all of the hospital's departments, she'd come out empty handed. Either one of the other game players had already been there (and found nothing), or there were no strangely ill patients to be collect. In the clinic there'd been one wailing kid baffling everyone, but turned out he'd swallowed a pen cap. No mystery of the week there. At least Amber had gotten in the workout she'd meant to, making up for yesterday's lost yoga class. She was vaguely sore all over, but that ache symbolized the one thing she'd accomplished correctly today. That, and turning off her hallway door light; it was her apartment building's convention for warning that trick-or-treaters would not be welcome. She was in no mood for brats, in costume or not.

Next off were her heels, though she took the effort of storing those away, together with the rest of her outfit. She hadn't seen Eric again. It was probably for the best. If Amber saw him now-- she didn't know how she'd react. Just thinking about him, and House's conversation, made her close her eyes, hand on the closet door. She'd want to know how much of what House implied-- and said-- about Eric was true. More than that, she'd want to not care. ( A little too late for that, though. )

Foreman hadn't seen Amber again on Wednesday. And instead of missing her, getting dopey and distracted by thinking about her, he got the questionable pleasure of stewing over every word House had said. How Foreman was only good when he was miserable. How demeaning they both knew the job was--where Foreman was nothing but a figurehead, where he only had a job at all because of Cuddy's sufferance.

Work was better than thinking about any of it, so work was what Foreman did. He plowed through House's mail, most of it consult requests, most of it solved with five-minute phone conversations. He checked the charting on House's patients, all of them scratched with a dozen or more doctor's signatures, all of them written too illegibly to make out. It was mostly guesswork, but at least the cases were interesting. Foreman found himself gauging himself against these so-called candidates of House's, and for the most part, his guesses were better, or at least as good as, theirs.

That, he didn't get done by five o'clock, but he wasn't about to make a late night of it. Why the hell should he push himself when everybody knew he was only there to stand accountable for the administrivia?

Foreman first went home, found a second sports bag, and filled it with his usual things. A change of clothes, workout gear, hygiene stuff--and then drove most of the way back to the hospital to go to the gym. It was out of his way after going home, but he needed the chance to move. Run until he was gasping and lightheaded, work his core until his muscles burned, add another ten pounds to the bench press, keep pushing until he was aching and exhausted and he'd exorcised House right out of his head. It left him sweaty and sore, but with his anger worked out, he felt like he could breathe again, and still be happy, no matter what fucking garbage House spewed at him.

Amber had been right--he needed this night alone just to deal with the fact that they'd probably be spending more time together in the future. Foreman grinned when he got home and saw Amber's shampoo and conditioner in his shower. She'd be back, and he'd leave some things at her place. After that...

Foreman went to bed with thoughts of 'after that' running through his mind. Already the bed felt emptier without Amber beside him, and it had only been a few nights they'd really spent together. Picturing her beside him left a warm thread of tugging at his breastbone, as if he could physically feel the fact that she was too far away tonight. Stupid, but. He'd promised he'd be thinking of her, and he was. Hand low on his belly, thumb rubbing idly against his stomach. Thinking of her was the easiest thing he'd done all day. Finally he had a chance when no thoughts of work or House could interrupt. Foreman was already nearly half-asleep, but he let the images flood his mind. Amber crying out when she came. The shiver she didn't even try to repress when he kissed his way down her body. Her hands, cradling him to her breast as he sucked and licked at her nipple.

It wasn't long before Foreman slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers. Rubbing himself lazily, he shifted, spread his legs, let more and more memories slide through his mind like physical things, like they had texture and weight and warmth. God. Yeah. Amber. So easy, thinking about her. Nothing to hold back, he could go the pace he wanted, but Foreman wanted it slow, so that he could focus on the conjured sight of Amber above him, her hair drifting over her shoulders, her hands palming his pecs as she rode him. Felt good, even if she wasn't here. None of that electric immediacy, but even in his mind she could make him so horny. Foreman panted lightly, pleasure building heavy and delicious in his balls, echoed in the long, squeezing strokes of his hand along his cock. Amber might ask him if he'd done this. If he'd really thought of her. Foreman could picture the exact shade of blue her eyes would darken to when he whispered that, yeah, he'd thought of her, jerked off for her, that he was--fuck--coming for her. His orgasm came on strong and shuddering, semen smearing between his knuckles and over his boxers. With a deep, humming sigh, Foreman groped for the tissues on the night stand and cleaned himself up. He could shower in the morning.

As easily as he'd drifted to sleep, Foreman woke up to his alarm. On time, for the first morning in too long. He even managed breakfast, though it wasn't more than toast and coffee--it was sitting down at his own dining table. It wasn't long before he was on his way to the hospital. As he was passing a convenience store, Foreman remembered what day it was and grinned. There wasn't much he could get for Amber--not much in the way he would get her, without making some big deal out of something that wasn't. But, yeah, he could do something.

Foreman headed for the lecture theatre when he got to the hospital. Cuddy had made it clear that he was to get involved in any case from the beginning. Foreman wouldn't be able to sit with Amber and talk with her, not with the other five watching, but it would still give him an opportunity to offer his gift. He headed in the doors at the bottom of the room. Everyone had more or less taken up their usual seats, and Foreman kept his face neutral to let them know that he wasn't going to be giving any orders this morning. As he passed Amber's seat, Foreman took the bag of sunflower seeds from his coat pocket and left them on her desk. With no more than a smile, he kept going, to the back of the theatre, where he settled himself with his newspaper, ready to wait for House.