Amber didn't know whether to be glad or humiliated at the sounds that indicated Eric's presence; there was no running, or even walking, to the door. Only a few careful steps and the rustle of covers. Maybe if the pulsing of her blood, augmented by her headache, weren't so loud in her ears, she'd hear his breathing. Would have an idea of what he was feeling, thinking.
She should be glad. She didn't know how she'd have faced him, tomorrow at work, if he'd fled the room and her. Angrily, probably, defying him all over again, getting back at him by throwing accusations and refusing any of his orders that hadn't come from House or Cuddy. This was better. They could still do-- something.
What had happened? She couldn't even say. Eric hadn't followed one of her commands, saying something about how he would, and implied that he didn't always feel "baby" about her, whatever the hell that meant. And that'd somehow made her angry and embarrassed. She didn't know why it had escalated that badly; she hadn't reacted so badly when Eric had lagged about stripping them.
Amber took a few solid gulps of air, which helped lessen her sobs. Good. A few more deep breaths and all that was left of her crying was a throbbing behind her eyes, some shaking, and a wet face. That last one she could take care of. She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, using the cotton that hadn't already been rubbed against her snot; thought thankfully of washing machines. Tomorrow she'd clean this up.
She then turned around and padded softly to where she'd heard Eric sit, her bare feet chill against the wood panels. As silly as she felt now to have pulled on the sweater, it kept her from shivering any more than she had to. But Eric's warmth, immediate and encompassing, would be such a better solution. She was glad he was here, tension-melting glad. She reached out to where the darkness more intense; her fingers brushed against his left shoulder. Let them curl around him, shy about getting any closer. He wanted to know what was wrong. How could she tell him, when she herself didn’t? When just thinking about it tied her stomach up in knots and threatened to bring the tears back? "Can-- can we talk about it later?" Amber asked. This wasn't a command. This wasn't a part of her winnings of the bet. She needed to know if Eric would be okay with her not telling him, right away. "I don't really want to talk about it right now." Even as stupid as she felt, Amber couldn't stop herself from bringing her left hand to his cheek, stroking. She couldn't believe he was still here; how dear he was. She might not be able to piece what had just happened in an order that made any kind of sense, but he had, at one point, said he cared. Called her “baby,” and, for crying out loud, “Amber honey.” How cheesy could he get? Her heart swelled. "I just want to hold you."
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She should be glad. She didn't know how she'd have faced him, tomorrow at work, if he'd fled the room and her. Angrily, probably, defying him all over again, getting back at him by throwing accusations and refusing any of his orders that hadn't come from House or Cuddy. This was better. They could still do-- something.
What had happened? She couldn't even say. Eric hadn't followed one of her commands, saying something about how he would, and implied that he didn't always feel "baby" about her, whatever the hell that meant. And that'd somehow made her angry and embarrassed. She didn't know why it had escalated that badly; she hadn't reacted so badly when Eric had lagged about stripping them.
Amber took a few solid gulps of air, which helped lessen her sobs. Good. A few more deep breaths and all that was left of her crying was a throbbing behind her eyes, some shaking, and a wet face. That last one she could take care of. She rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, using the cotton that hadn't already been rubbed against her snot; thought thankfully of washing machines. Tomorrow she'd clean this up.
She then turned around and padded softly to where she'd heard Eric sit, her bare feet chill against the wood panels. As silly as she felt now to have pulled on the sweater, it kept her from shivering any more than she had to. But Eric's warmth, immediate and encompassing, would be such a better solution. She was glad he was here, tension-melting glad. She reached out to where the darkness more intense; her fingers brushed against his left shoulder. Let them curl around him, shy about getting any closer. He wanted to know what was wrong. How could she tell him, when she herself didn’t? When just thinking about it tied her stomach up in knots and threatened to bring the tears back? "Can-- can we talk about it later?" Amber asked. This wasn't a command. This wasn't a part of her winnings of the bet. She needed to know if Eric would be okay with her not telling him, right away. "I don't really want to talk about it right now." Even as stupid as she felt, Amber couldn't stop herself from bringing her left hand to his cheek, stroking. She couldn't believe he was still here; how dear he was. She might not be able to piece what had just happened in an order that made any kind of sense, but he had, at one point, said he cared. Called her “baby,” and, for crying out loud, “Amber honey.” How cheesy could he get? Her heart swelled. "I just want to hold you."