alwaysright | October 30, 2007

October 30, 2007 - Evening

For the rest of the afternoon, Foreman found himself chuckling at odd moments. He'd be in the middle of the monstrous pile of paperwork, his back cramping from leaning over, his eyes aching, and all of a sudden he'd realize he was grinning like an idiot. He'd glance up, glad that there wasn't anyone to catch him at it, and think of Amber suffering horribly down in the clinic, and shake his head before going back to work. She'd be tired after a long day, and if her reaction to the usual run of mild complaints was anything like his, she'd be too tired to do much tonight other than go home and collapse. Foreman could spare some compassion then: he'd offer to cook, or at least, to order something in. Hell, even massage her feet if she wanted. The fact that he was going with her--that she'd invited him again, and that he already had all the things he'd need waiting in his car--buoyed him up, even when the stack of consult requests only seemed to get stupider the deeper he delved into them.

By twenty to five, Foreman had sent form letter replies to as many idiot doctors as he could without losing his faith in humanity. He'd go down and let the candidates off early, be magnanimous for as long as he could afford to be. He needed to ingratiate himself with them somehow, even if was only by knocking fifteen minutes off their drudgery. Cuddy could hardly complain: she'd been underusing six of the most talented doctors in the hospital for most of the day, and, Foreman knew--since they had to be sharing Cameron and Chase's old salaries among them--for a pittance. House was a bastard, but days like this were ones Cuddy probably counted as a win in their perpetual battle.

Foreman turned of the computer, turned off the lights, and grabbed his coat. He wouldn't bother with his briefcase tonight; he wasn't planning on sucking up to Cuddy any more than he'd be compromising with House. If he'd gotten his own office and his own staff like he'd asked for, then she could think about making him stay late trudging through House's paperwork.

He arrived in the clinic five minutes later. The first person he saw was Brennan, who only gave him a mildly disgruntled stare when Foreman gave him permission to go. He snorted, but he seemed glad enough to go and tell the others that they were off the hook.

Foreman checked the board to see which exam room Amber was in with her last patient, and, leaving his coat at the nurses' station, he went and knocked on the door. He was already sure that everyone in the whole hospital was well aware of what was going on between him and Amber. That didn't mean that he had to confirm all their suspicions--but he could also take a few liberties that he might not have if they were still being 'discreet'. Feeling pleased with himself, he opened it just enough to stick his head in and said, with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Dr. Volakis, could I have a word with you?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And Eric had the indecency of laughing throughout, as if this were some blooper of an older couple falling over while dancing, or a dog running smack into a wall. Amber gritted her teeth; grit them harder when his second duck fell over. Fuck she wasn't just going to not win, she'd lose to him, too!

Thankfully none were vanquished with that final shot. A small mercy.

Amber's hands, clenched tight in her pockets, hurt from the combination of cold and muscle strain. Her face was also starting to freeze, her nose turning into an ice center. "There's only one thing we can do," Amber told him, already pulling out a crisp new dollar bill. "Rematch."

She then turned to the booth keeper, who, pale, looked even more inclined to bolt from the fair. Amber tried for a grim smile. "Great game, really addictive." If she didn't win this time-- he'd rue not having acted on his instinct to run. There was nobody behind them, so he had no reason to not nod her permission to continue.

The problem wasn't the bet. Letting Eric be in charge of what they did, Amber was okay with that. She wouldn't have proposed those terms if she weren't willing to follow them through; she could've just as easily determined wearing silly hats to work tomorrow. It wouldn't have even been that bad a penance; they'd have been taken in the Halloween spirit. And, sure, it was kind of scary, the thought that she'd have to relinquish control-- then again, it'd have been her choice to do so. She'd still be in control because they were, ultimately, doing what she'd decided they would. She trusted Eric to lead them to something that'd bring pleasure to them both.

No, she just really wanted to fucking win.

Amber grabbed another gun; firing off in anger had worked for her, so she did so, fast and thoughtlessly. Just shoot, shoot, keep on shooting. The scent gunpowder infiltrated her frozen nose and she barely registered what fell when. She just moved on when one more miserable yellow duck met its fate. When her shots ran out, Amber lowered her gun, realizing only then that she was panting. Whatever: she'd hit some, she knew. Counting, she saw she'd scored three hits. A smile burst over her face. Yes. She’d won a smaller prize. "Your turn," she said to Eric cheerfully.

Foreman raised his eyebrows and kept his mouth shut when Amber proposed a rematch. She could actually look pretty scary when she was that determined. It was still funny, just not worth getting his head bitten off if he happened to say so. He swallowed down his laughter as Amber not only terrified the carny into giving her another turn, but took after the ducks as if she was Rambo with a machine gun instead of a flimsy plastic toy.

It was a damn good thing she actually won something. Foreman's eyes had widened during the demonstration, and by this point he knew that if she hadn't won, Amber would have kept them here until she did, or die with her hands frozen to the rifle barrel. Foreman shrugged and handed over another dollar to the attendant, and picked up a gun. Another bunch of kids had started gathering behind them, so this would be their last turn for a while, at least long enough to get some hot chocolate or coffee to unfreeze his fingers. Foreman eyed the ducks. Following Amber's example seemed like the way to go. It had to be how all the kids won their prizes, by acting like they had no idea what they were doing. He shot quickly, not letting himself sight, knowing it would throw off his aim.

If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have won on purpose. If Amber could get so worked up about the odds in a game she knew was crooked, he could only imagine what he'd be in for if he bested her. But not trying wasn't an option, either, for the same reason. It had to be a level playing ground, as much as possible. But in the end, it didn't matter--he hadn't tried to lose, but when the smoke cleared, he'd only knocked over two ducks to Amber's three. He'd still won something. The attendant held out a bucket of plastic toys, giving Foreman a look that suggested he couldn't believe he was going to claim one of the little things. Resigned to playing the game out to its conclusion, Foreman picked out a plastic spider that turned out to be a ring, probably sized too small for him to ever wear. Not that he would. Amber would get the plush...snake, or one of the other small ones. They'd both missed out on the big prizes, but as far as walking around the festival went, that at least saved them the trouble of carrying them.

Foreman waited for Amber to claim her prize. She was probably going to gloat, too, that she'd won the chance to make him do whatever she liked. Foreman's smile widened at that thought, but he wasn't about to make it easy for her to lord it over him. He took her hand, which was as cold as his, and studiously put the spider ring on her pinkie, the only finger it was big enough to fit. Foreman met Amber's eyes, humour still rising up, making all of this easy to do, to say. "Told you I'd win my girl a prize," he said, his voice warm and quiet.

Hands to her mouth and breath bated, Amber watched Eric go through his second round of shots. One fell, two; it was hard to wait for the following shots, worried a third would follow, but in the end, the rest stood upright, perhaps mourning their fallen comrades.

Lowering her fists to below her chin, Amber allowed herself a little victory shake. She'd won a prize, she'd won over Eric, and, now it seemed, as he turned to her with the black thing he'd picked from out of the bucket, she'd won his plunder. "God, it's so tacky; your high school girl must've been easy." Assuming, of course, that there had been only one. Maybe he'd had a collection of fast girls; easy come, easy go. Amber wouldn't be surprised, if he had.

Amber squinted at the spider adorning her pinkie. It made her think of spinning webs, which-- was actually pretty appropriate for her. Manipulative little thing, entangling everyone its schemes. A smile stole over Amber's face without her even noticing as she poked at it, its near-rigid legs wobbling. The first thing Eric had ever given her was that rose, but as beautiful as it'd been, she preferred this scratchy bit of plastic. Inorganic and tasteless and something she could've tossed into the garbage without a second thought, it felt far more real. Something to keep. (The rose itself had been dumped immediately upon returning home. If she hadn't burned it, it was only because Eric's assholeness hadn't been worth the hassle of setting off the fire alarm. But it'd been a close call.)

And he'd called her 'his girl.' He must've picked up on her earlier slip, and was now echoing it because, because-- well, from his affection, it meant he'd liked it.

That and another realization made her smile grow wider: she'd won. Tonight would be up in her hands. They'd do exactly as she pleased. A rush of excitement ran through her, thawing out some the cold settling into her body. Amber looked up, beaming back at him. "Guess this means I'll be calling the shots."

Turning back to the booth, Amber sighed at the dismal choice selection. It was either that weird orange worm thing or a striped monkey whose limbs looked like they'd been stuck on by a stapler. All that flirting with the carnie had been for nothing; she'd thought to charm him into storing their big prizes while they frequented the rest of the fair, but even her larger prize was small enough to fit in her coat pocket. God damn him and his scam game. She took the worm and, as she put it away, told the carnie coldly: "I was going to donate our prizes to sick children, but they won't want these."

The kids stuck long-term in the hospital needed more serious things than toys, like medicine and therapy, but words like 'sick children' had an impact. The booth keeper visibly gulped, eyeing the stash of questionable prizes. "Are they very sick?"

"They are," she said, voice still steeled. "They have leukimia; you should see them, they're heartbreaking."

Okay, perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick. No one cared about generic dying kids that much, so probably it was probably more fear than sympathy that motivated him to wave where the largest toys dangled from their rack. "I guess if it's for a good cause--"

"It is," she assured him, tone instantaneously friendly, as if she hadn't just creeped the hell out of him. She plucked out a huge, mutant purple giraffe and pushed it at Eric, grinning wickedly. "As my official knight of the evening, you can carry that for me." She then took hold of his free arm, saying, "C'mon, let's go eat, I'm starving."

Foreman's smile turned wry at the mention of his high school girlfriend. God, he hadn't thought of Judy in years. She'd been anything but easy. She'd been a challenge. Not unlike Amber. Maybe there was something to that--something he liked. Amber's smile as she nearly petted the little spider made his chest feel tight. Whatever else he'd done wrong, he'd gotten this exactly right, and it felt more than good. Tenderness swept through him at the sight, and he wasn't even willing to put up much of a fight when she boasted about winning the bet. "Lucky," he said, mocking the idea that she'd used any skill to win. A tiny hint of uncertainty ran under his skin, not quite a shiver. Whatever it was, it'd probably be creative, something new. But Foreman felt easy enough with that idea. After all the arguments they'd had, he had no problem telling her, now, if it wasn't working for him. More than anything, he could feel anticipation building up, making him more aware of Amber, of the time ticking away before they actually reached that part of the evening. Whatever rides and games they did later, it would all be foreplay of a sort, just because he'd be thinking about what she might demand of him, and just how good it would be.

Amber stepped away from him, back to the booth for long enough to start terrorizing the attendant. Now that there was no hint of flirtation in her voice, or in the guy's response, Foreman felt easier watching. It wasn't like how Amber got in restaurants, making a fuss for no better reason than things weren't up to her standard. This time, they'd been cheated and they both knew it. If Amber wanted to terrorize the guy into giving them better prizes, Foreman wasn't going to interfere, even if he couldn't see the reason behind it. Like he'd said earlier, they could get better stuffed animals for the "sick kids" Amber was going on about with fifty bucks at a toy store. He didn't see the reason to intimidate any out of some carnival worker. Still, he accepted the mauve thing Amber thrust into his arm with little more than a disdainful snort for the idea that it might resemble any animal on Earth. "Ladies gave knights kerchiefs as a mark of their favour," he said. "Not..." He tried to find the words to describe the thing she'd handed him. "Mutant giraffes."

He was happy enough to get them some food, though. When Amber took his arm, he wrapped his fingers around hers, to help them both warm up. "Coffee," he said. "And corndogs." It had been years since he'd intentionally chosen deep-fried anything as his main meal. But with the scent of donuts and fried batter lingering in the air, the craving was stronger than he'd expected. He steered Amber toward the nearest food booth. Leaning in, to test his idea that her mind was probably working along the same lines as his, he whispered near her ear, "I'll save room for dessert in case you want me to eat it off you."

"It was more than luck," she chided with the breeziness of one who had a heap of trophies lying at her feet. "I had determination." She did, in more ways than one; she was absolutely determined tonight be pitch-perfect. Amber had caught something flash through his face: not quite queasiness or hesitation, but whatever it was, it wasn't as positive as the other emotions he’d displayed since she’d won. If he had any doubts about the setup, she'd prove them wrong, or her name wasn't Amber Volakis.

Eric greeted her prize with good-humored mockery. "Times have changed," she informed him authoritatively as if she were a scientist announcing the incredible advances her field had conquered.

Her spider ring was on her hand, so she squeezed his back without worrying that the plastic splinters would dig into his skin. His was just as cold and stiff as hers, but fingers twined like this, they'd heat up before long. "You are so brushing your teeth before your mouth comes anywhere near mine," she teased. Not that it was true; she wouldn't resist his kisses, ketchup flavored or not. At his other comment, Amber raised an eyebrow. "Is that a suggestion?" She hadn't yet thought of what they'd do, exactly; she figured she'd do whatever felt right when the time came. But it wasn't a bad idea.

The scent of fried batter and sugar grew stronger as they approached the food stalls, and, low-quality as they were, Amber's stomach rumbled. She'd worked up an appetite over the day and the shooting match. There was a bigger crowd here, the noise of young voices surrounding them, and Amber had to dodge into Eric to avoid being trampled over by a Batman and Superman. "Weren't they supposed to stop crime, not start it?" But this was the kids' turf, and Amber recognized that; she wouldn't chase them down to teach them a lesson. Instead, she paid for the coffee and corndog she owed Eric, and got a hotdog and a strawberry milkshake for herself. They might not get tipsy on finer wines tonight, but high off cheap caffeine and sugar, maybe. "Now tell me this isn’t the best food you’ve ever had," she said, biting into her steaming hot dog.

"It's Hallowe'en. Probably Superman's dressed up as Clark Kent for the night." Foreman took his corndog from the vendor and stepped over to the mustard dispenser. There were not enough napkins in the world to deal with this mess if he got it on his camelhair coat, but he was hungry enough that the inevitable dry-cleaning seemed worth it. He made a mental note to kiss the hell out of Amber the second he wasn't in danger of smearing condiments all over himself. Simple revenge for her winning, of course, but also because he could tell from her voice that she wasn't serious. Onions and garlic weren't going to deter him. "The bet was that we'd do what you wanted. Not that I couldn't make suggestions of what you might want," he said with perfect assurance. He gave her an evaluating look before nodding to himself. "I bet you have chocolate sauce at home." And ice cream in the freezer, he was sure. Anyone who ordered a milkshake when it was this cold out was never going to be without ice cream.

Biting into the corndog, Foreman couldn't help letting out an appreciative sound. As a doctor he knew that the human taste bud was conditioned to appreciate anything fatty as a survival mechanism, but it was something else to taste evolution in action. His mouth was watering before he went in for the next bite, even though he'd nearly burned his tongue on the hot dog inside the breading. "Delicious," he said, around his bite. Mustard was already creeping down the stick to land on his fingers, and he tilted the dog away from himself. "Terrible. Worth it." He grinned. "How'd you con me into this, again?"

Amber walked them towards a curved, wood bench, the kind old movies featured in park scenes. She sat down on it, setting her milkshake to the side so that her fingers wouldn't freeze off holding it; perhaps it had not been the wisest choice of drink for the evening. But she never ate frozen sweets anymore, and its bubblegum pink allure was too strong to resist. "I will file your suggestions for future reference." Very future, perhaps-- she might not have the stomach for any more sugar-based foods, whether they were covering Eric or not.

She took a break from her hotdog to watch him; she'd never seen him dig into food with such relish. Admittedly, she'd only ever seen him eat a bagel and kabob he'd ordered more or less by accident, but not even the high-quality wines or the beer had made him this excited. He sped through the bites as if he couldn't wait for the next one, barely chewing. "With my feminine wiles, of course."

Amber ate more of her hotdog, the reddish-pink sausage peeking through the chewy white bun no better than the cheapest available in the supermarket. And she didn't even want to think of what disgusting innards had gone into the sausage itself, assuming that all of it was remotely organic. So delicious, though, bringing with it a flavor of nostalgia. Hotdogs had been her mom’s foolproof method of shutting up her and brother’s complaints of hunger without dealing with individual finicky preferences. Amber got through the hotdog almost as quickly as Eric, in part to take in that heat. The thin, slippery napkins around it assured that none would spill out and down; as for her mouth, she wiped at it frequently to make sure any traces of sauce that made its way on to her face were eliminated at once.

A group of girls, perhaps sisters, passed in front of them, sharing a large box of popcorn. Just as much fell onto the ground as went into their mouths. They had an animal theme going on: a black cat, her tail bent at an unnatural angle, a leopard, and what might have been an owl. It made her think of what costumes she herself had worn. "One Halloween I went as Queen of the Universe," she told Eric, certain he'd get a kick out of that. "How about you?"

Foreman followed Amber to the bench, sitting down next to her. His fingers, wrapped around the small paper cup of coffee, were burning on one side, still frozen on the other. He finished his corndog in a few monster bites, just to avoid making any more of a mess. Wiping the mustard off on the napkins was only partially effective, so he looked around before sucking the rest of it off his fingers. The mustard was the perfect sharp contrast to the sweetness of the corn breading, and the whole thing left him more content than if he'd sat down to a three-course meal at a restaurant. Foreman was willing to attribute that to the company, though. "Some kind of wiles." He shifted over, closer to Amber, and draped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Warding off hypothermia," he said, comfortably rationalizing.

"I can see you taking that role to heart," he teased. "How did your brothers feel about being your minions?" Taking a sip of his coffee, and immediately burning his tongue--it was like the watery, boiling-hot chocolate he'd always gotten as a kid at the skating rink--Foreman considered the costumes he'd worn over the years. "I was a doctor once," he said, with a snort at his little-kid self. So damn serious. But, other years-- "Black Lightning," he said. "I loved that comic." He'd tackled Marcus a few times, using the impeccable excuse that it was just his electric forcefield doing it. For some reason, his mom hadn't taken that logic at face value. She'd said that any forcefield that could knock over a younger brother would also prevent any candy from getting anywhere near his mouth. Foreman shook his head, his breath slipping out in a sigh. The memory was a good one, but it only reminded him of what he didn't have anymore with his family. Marcus wouldn't think of it fondly, and Mom wouldn't remember at all--or if she did, she'd get stuck in that moment, and she wouldn't remember who he was now. Foreman tightened his hold around Amber's shoulders and fell silent, watching the stream of screaming kids flow past but not really seeing them.

"That sounds like a terrible disease, I wouldn't want to you to catch it," Amber returned, cozying up to him. Up against him, she pulled her sleeves to cover what they would of her hands and with that slight protection, picked up her milkshake. Sipping made her teeth chatter and body shiver, but it was sweet and faintly reminiscent of strawberries. Exactly what she'd wanted. She tipped the thin paper cup at Eric, offering him the chance to raise his (remote) risk of hypothermia.

"I did," she informed him. "I was a benevolent ruler, though my brothers didn't see the wisdom of my ways. Geoffrey tried to steal my tiara, but he stopped after I punched him." It'd been, come to think of it, like any other day; she tried bossing them around, they resisted, and eventually they moved on to other games. "I was a doctor, too!" Complete with a first-aid she'd stolen from the bathroom. Actually, it'd came in handy when they went trick-or-treating and Brian fell on his knee, skidding it. She'd patched him up okay. "And Super Girl."

Amber's stopped in her trail of memories, noticing that Eric had fallen quiet. His gaze was distant, perhaps back to his childhood, in a darker spot than she'd meant to take him. She doubted he'd retracted because something tragic had happened to the Black Lightning comic, so-- some incident? Another painful family memory? Maybe he'd remembered his brother, the one he'd fallen out of touch with.

Amber put her milkshake down-- it was too cold to drink anymore, anyway-- and rested her hand against his chest. "Hey," she said gently. "Where'd you go?" For all that they'd fallen into synch so smoothly, as if they'd been together their whole lives, they still knew so little about one another. Would she ever find out what had happened between him and his brother?

Foreman barely noticed Amber tilting her milkshake towards his mouth, offering it to him. He let it pass, until she'd put it down. Only when she pressed her hand against his chest and made an effort to meet his eyes did he wrench himself back to the present. "Hm? Nowhere." He blinked, refocusing. He hadn't really thought so much about his family in months, maybe years. Something about the questions that Amber asked brought them to mind more and more. It was easy to fall into reminiscing because he wanted to tell her about them. But he couldn't. He'd get to the part where his brother was a dealer and that would bring on...he wasn't sure what. Not pity--he didn't expect that from Amber, and he didn't want it, either. But she hadn't really understood about his own juvenile record, how serious it had been, how nearly it had stopped him from living the life he had now. She didn't know how much it mattered. She'd brushed it off with stories about pranks she'd pulled, as if they were equivalent.

And his mom. It would be no use introducing Amber to her; she'd only forget. It was embarrassing, awkward, painful. Why go through that? Foreman hadn't been home for longer than a quick visit in years. Never long enough to let Mom's condition truly affect him. It was easier that way, and it would be easier if Amber didn't know, too.

He wanted to trust her, though. He wanted her to know everything, all the important things. Telling her would mean getting into stuff he didn't like about himself, too. Lead to another fucking argument, because Foreman knew it wouldn't be an easy conversation. Better to get away from it, change the subject. He covered Amber's hand with his, hoping she would let it pass. "I still have the ride tickets. We could see how sick we can make ourselves now that we've risked botulism."

Nowhere Amber's ass. Something hard and heavy settled in her chest, of an entirely different cold from the one clouding her breath. Nothing he'd said was harsh and there was only gentleness in his tone. And yet she felt tremendously brushed off. Ignored. She might've told him anything at that moment, even her most embarassing feelings of doubt, when she'd been this close to failing or giving up. Almost having to repeat that class in med school, and-- and that stuff in high school. That humiliation so many people knew, lived that moment out with her-- her brothers, the other kids in her school. But she'd never told anyone. Kept it close to her heart, didn't much dwell on it. And yet, if it'd come up, she'd have told Eric. Trusted him with it.

Now he was patting her hand like he'd pat some patient kid's head, saying to take the medicine and not ask questions about what was wrong with them and how they'd get better. And what could she do? Fall onto her back, kick her legs, and throw a tantrum fit to end the world until he shared his crayons like a nice little boy? If he didn't want to tell her, then he didn't. End of story. Amber couldn't demand that he trust her with his past, with his family, with whatever history that had shut him up like an air-tight seal. She wanted to be included; wanted so badly it ached, at the base of her throat. Even just a throaway mention, like how he didn't like to think about it, would've been better than being waved away. As if it might as well not exist because it'd never concern her.

Whatever. He'd tell her or he wouldn't. He'd drawn his little line and that's where she stood. Amber looked away, as if she were scanning the grounds for what ride to hit, but mostly she didn't care to look into his eyes, at him pretending he hadn't just fled the subject. The ferris wheel, modestly sized and with a dozen lights out, had been her original aim; she'd wanted to sit next to him in that tiny booth, holding him and maybe necking and completely missing out on the view the ride offered. Maybe talk, low-voiced and intimate. But she didn't feel like being so close to him, right now. Amber got to her feet, brushing off her coat where she'd sat down and leaving her milkshake on the bench. "Let's go on the bumper cars." Any ride where she was actively encouraged to run into other people was her idea of a good time. Maybe ramming into strangers would help her work off this resentment.

Foreman took a breath as Amber rose to her feet. His attempt to get away from anything serious hadn't worked, he could tell. Amber stood up determinedly, like she was getting away from him. All the stupid memories kept creeping up on him, and he didn't know what the hell to do with them. He'd never shared. As if he couldn't handle himself, as if his past was too much to deal with. Foreman simply took the time to keep everything before he'd left for medical school in its own compartment. Having it overlap with how he lived now would take too much from him. He could deal, he just had to do it on his own, where there was no one to judge him or misunderstand, or get pissed off just because Foreman knew better than to think his family or his past was some sort of happy-ending story time.

The more he thought about it, the more he resented Amber's silent rebuff. The way she'd looked away, walked away, showed that she wasn't happy. And he knew, again, that it was his own damn fault. He'd changed the subject. She'd run with it, but not because she accepted what he'd hoped to show her. She hadn't heard or seen that he couldn't go any further in telling her things right then. She trusted him, but not enough to trust him that now wasn't the right time to talk about it.

Foreman didn't know how to get out of whatever dead-end he'd just gotten them into, so he nodded at Amber's suggestion, even though the bumper cars were exactly the sort of too-much-enthusiasm-required rides that he'd hoped to avoid. "Sure," he said, and headed for the ride. Now that it was getting a little later, the younger kids were mostly being rounded up and taken home, and the line ahead of them for the bumper cars was filled with teenagers, all of them promising to destroy each other as soon as they were in the cars. Perfect. Just what Foreman didn't want.

He handed over two tickets to the ride attendant, and walked over to one of the cars on the edge of the melee. He climbed in, grimacing at how his knees stuck up, and tightened the lap belt before he could be told to. He just hoped he could avoid getting jarred too badly, maybe by driving around the periphery instead of getting involved with the general chaos of the ride.

The cars were wide, low, and painted in bright primary colors. Just one more way this carnival failed at the Halloween spirit. Amber picked a red one in the center, beating an energetic teenager to it. Getting in was like entering an alternate universe, one where cars had giant steering wheels and deadened responses. Everything was technically the same—gas, breaks, belt—but of a different size, a different texture, and of definitely a sluggish quality. Amber stepped down on the gas even before the ride started, impatient trying to get her car to go.
Finally all doors were closed, all belts checked, and the ringing alarm went off. Her car started with a whine and thrum, along with the two dozen other ones in the ride. So many targets! But Amber had barely advanced a meter when her body jolted, shocked by an impact against her car. Whirling, Amber saw behind her the teenager from a minute ago, grinning at her. Any anger she felt dissipated at once; she grinned back at him. With a firm twirl of the wheel-- moving this thing was like driving through molasses-- she turned just enough to bump into his side, the collision making them both jerk forward. Amber's smile widened and she stepped hard on the gas, as did he; they bumped again. Oh, that felt good. They laughed and went on their way to terrorize new victims.

Amber ran around a bit, bumping here, crashing there. It was a pity this wasn't possible with real cars; there'd be a lot less stress if they could just ream someone whenever they felt like it.

Speaking of reaming, Amber finally spotted Eric. When she'd suggested this ride, she hadn't meant to run into him; it'd have felt too strong an aggression, when she was feeling resentful. But the blinking lights, the assorted playful insults being thrown around her, and the chance to thoroughly smash into others had changed her mood. Hunching over the wheel, Amber aimed straight for him.

He really shouldn't have agreed to get into this damn ride. It wasn't just the potential for whiplash, it was the noise--buzzes, obnoxious music, the shouts of the teenagers, and the crash of the cars themselves. Foreman got bumped from behind a few times, but when he didn't prove to be an inviting target, he mostly got left alone. Which was fine by him. He didn't need to learn a new appreciation for bumper cars as long as they were here.

Edging around the crowd, Foreman was mentally ticking off the seconds before the power was cut to the cars, when he was broadsided with a huge slam. "Hey!" He looked over and saw Amber, behind the wheel of a red car, looking at him like he'd become her number one target. It wasn't anger on her face, though. More like demoniacal enjoyment. Foreman thought about turning his wheel and taking his car away from hers at top speed--such as it was--but that just wasn't the answer he could give to Amber's gleeful look. He twisted the wheel, cursing at the car's huge turning radius, and managed a pathetic, barely-felt bump against Amber's car. He rolled his eyes, still struggling with the gas and steering to give her a better run for her money. "Come on," he called over the shrieks and crashes. "What's this going to prove?" He pointed at the kids who were having way too much fun at the center of things. "We should be teaching them how it's done."

"Sorry," Amber yelled back, all smiles, "Can't hear you!"

She then promptly rammed him again.

Eric seemed to be having difficulties managing the beast, frowning and clutching at the wheel as if holding it harder would improve its response system. His usual dignity had fled him, making him just a strange man in a suit and an supersized toy; if he'd let himself realize that this was just pure and silly hedonism, perhaps he wouldn't look so ridiculous. He'd been okay enough with laughing over the shooting game, why not this? Because he wasn't good at it? Not like he'd been any good with that gun, either. It was no fun playing with someone who wouldn't play back.

She'd show him how it was done.

With another bump-- not as strong as the previous one, she didn't have enough distance for that-- Amber veered away. She turned back to look at him over her shoulder, shouted "Bet you can't catch me!", and drove off.

Foreman slumped back in his seat for a second, releasing his death-clutch on the steering wheel. He couldn't get the damn car to do what he wanted, and he needed a second to remind himself that it didn't matter. That second gave Amber the chance she needed to make her getaway. Foreman sighed--partly frustrated, but mostly determined to at least make a good showing of himself. He cut off the curve Amber was travelling so that he could catch up. He could plot the exact moment he was going to crash into her, giving her the same jolt she'd given him. His attention narrowed down, and he was invested, now. He'd show her who could catch whom. Foot depressing the gas pedal as far as it would go, Foreman hunched up, bracing himself for the impact.

Which was when the lights came on, the music and shrieks stopped, and the cars went dead.

Foreman groaned, joining the general chorus of all the teenagers shouting in disappointment. They were all yelling for just five more minutes, but Foreman at least had the dignity not to expect that. His bumper was about a foot away from Amber's car--it had been that close. Foreman rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head at her, a reluctant smile curving his mouth. "I would have gotten you," he said, half-resigned to the fact that she'd mock him for not making it, and half-amused that he'd gotten involved in this game despite himself. Again.

Unlocking his belt, Foreman stood up and stepped across to Amber's car. There wasn't any door that he could open for her, so he just waited for her to get free of the thing. He felt better, though, than he had before they'd started, and he wanted to be close to her. He wanted to laugh with her over all the ridiculous things they'd done tonight; hold her hand and lean in close as they walked down the midway. He hoped she felt the same.

A few seconds into her getaway, Amber spared a glance back, just to make sure Eric hadn't stayed behind, slumping in his moping ineptitude. To her delight, he was leaning over his wheel just as intently as she, concentrating with narrowed eyes. Better yet, he was cutting into her path at a narrow angle. Oh, that crash would be spectalar. If she let it happen. Which she wouldn't. Amber spun away, to avoid Eric's trajectory, but that wasn't enough, he must've predicted that because he was coming closer, and closer, and--

Breakdown.

Amber let a tense moment pass, foot still on the pedal and wheel turned sharply in the direction opposite Eric; listened to the ride attendants, technically polite but with a heavy edge of snappishness, telling everyone that their turn was up and that they could get back in line if they wanted more. It really was over.

She sprung to her feet, then winced; she wasn't so young anymore to bounce from one stance to another, particularly after spending so long hunched over and with her legs scrunched up. She'd be feeling that backache for a while. It was nothing, however, compared to the joy of being able to grin at Eric and lament cheerfully, "Awwww, so close and yet so far."

His coat and suit were wrinkled from the waist down, and his breathing was accelerated-- as was hers, she realized. Game adrenaline. The rink was dark, but other multi-colored lights from the carnival shone over him, casting flashes of greens and blues and reds over him. Still, he seemed relaxed, like he'd released part of the invisible weight he'd been shouldering. And by now Amber recognized that look, coy and tender; he was calling her to come close.

Amber wobbled out of the car, her heels once more proving they weren't made for carnival grounds. It'd be easy to walk straight into Eric's arms and collect a kiss; to wrap an arm around his back and share body warmth once more. And yet it wouldn't be easy at all, because face to face again, Amber remembered that slight, of being brushed off. "I--"

"Everyone off!" hollered one of the attendants.

"Alright already," Amber muttered. She took Eric's hand and led him off the rink, looking ahead as they made their way through the roped-off exist. What she said next might spark off yet another fight; might even ruin the evening, based on how badly their previous arguments had escalated over a misstep. But this niggling sensation would dig into her all night, growing sharper every time she saw him; better remove it now while it was still just a thorn. "Look. Whatever it was you didn't want to tell me, I get it." She didn't, not really; she didn't get what he was holding back, or why he felt the need to do so. But she did get that it was off-limits. "I'm not gonna force your life story out of you." She paused there, not sure what to say next. There wasn't really anything to say.

Foreman relaxed further when it seemed that Amber had worked off her issues on the bumper cars instead of on him. Maybe this ride had been a good idea after all. His anticipation grew as she came towards him instead of ignoring him and walking away. They were back on the same wavelength, or nearly. It would be easier between them, now, the moment of tension forgotten.

He shot an annoyed glance at the attendant shooing them away from the ride, but Amber's hand sliding into his made up for it. Her fingers were warmer now, from the exertion and excitement of the ride, and Foreman squeezed her hand as they headed for the exit. Amber stomped past the attendant, impatient with being ordered around, and that made Foreman grin, too--seeing her get pissy over something as simple as being asked to clear the bumper car rink. It was funny, endearing, to see her get pouty over not being able to take as long as she liked. Queen of the Universe. He was about to give her a gentle, teasing jab about it, say something about how she didn't even need a costume to pull that off, smiling as he pulled her around to face him.

But she turned on him first, before he could. It felt like an ambush--he'd left that crap back on the bench before the ride, he'd thought it was over. The wall Amber had rammed down with her bumper car slammed back into place. Foreman drew himself up straighter, despite the ache in his lower back from all the crashes. Everything felt like it was building up to an explosion, like he was the one about to explode. Amber wasn't going to force his life story out, sure, but she'd damn well show how disappointed she was that he wasn't sharing. She'd get upset about it, pretend nothing was wrong and then get in his face about it later. Accuse him of being distant. That's how it would start--that's how it always started. Just because he wasn't interested in reliving the painful crap in his life. Foreman knew how it would end, too: she'd start saying they never really talked, she didn't really know him, no matter how much he did share. There would always be that area that was all the more inviting because Foreman had asked her to keep out. Why was that so hard to understand? No matter how quietly, how reasonably he explained it, eventually the women he dated decided that his privacy wasn't really worth it. They wanted to know, or else they left.

That's how it had always ended. Foreman could feel the cold words damming up his throat, bottlenecked before he could say them. He could just shut Amber down before she got started. Tell her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to talk about it. End this.

End it. That's what it would do. Foreman pressed his lips together and looked at the ground for a second, before meeting Amber's eyes again. Their hands were still clasped, but she'd pull away soon. He was sure of it. Christ, he didn't want that. He didn't want to end it. But he didn't know why it was so fucking hard to trust her; why he couldn't just say it. Lips pressed together, he let out a sigh. Maybe it was as simple as blurting it out. If Amber took it wrong, or badly--

If he thought that, then he'd never say anything.

"I was thinking about my brother." Foreman realized that he didn't even know if he'd ever told Amber his name. "Marcus. He's three years younger than me." He stopped there, hesitating, wanting to look away. This was so stupid and obvious, and it didn't explain anything. Why a stupid Hallowe'en fair had even made him think about Marcus in the first place. Why he'd gotten so fucking tied up in knots about it. Now that he'd started, he had to say something. "I told you I got arrested for breaking and entering when I was a kid. Well, he--he did that too. And it got worse. And now he's in prison." The more he talked, the tenser he got, until it felt like his shoulders had turned to stone, preventing him from even moving. He wanted to challenge Amber, dare her to say the wrong thing. He didn't even know what that would be, but he could already feel his anger building up, anticipating that, somehow, she'd shoot him down, prove that he'd been wrong to trust her. "And I don't like talking about him."

He lagged after her, his easygoing mirth gone in a split-second. Of course. She'd known he'd get pissy. Amber sighed. She'd done her part: told him that she had not, in fact, missed that gaping hole in their conversation, and told him she wouldn't demand answers. And he'd done his, becoming haughty and defensive at the invasion of his precious space. It wasn't a great situation, but now he knew what she was thinking, and now they could sidestep that roadblock. She was glad the carnival's noise level had risen, with loud adolescent conversations and the off-key singing of at least a couple drunks.

And that's when Eric took her by surprise. His lips had been pressed so tight she couldn't believe he'd opened them. To say that. So it had been about that brother-- Marcus. Amber nodded, listening, waiting for him to go on. The stealing thing, he'd mentioned it last evening.

What followed next-- she didn't even know what to think. It was a lot to take in one go. Amber had treated all kinds of patients, punks who'd end behind bars eventually and stunted adults who'd come out (some of whom would be back before long). Addicts, thieves, murderers-- she'd treated them all. Didn't like them, disdained them for fucking up so badly. Amber couldn't forgive someone for messing up to that extent. Didn't understand how anyone would ever let that happen to themselves; how could you just let yourself lose at life? It was her turn to slow down until they came to a complete stop, in the middle of a busy path.

When Eric told her about being caught, it'd been easy to wave it off as a minor incident. Over a decade later, so accomplished as to be essentially be her *boss*, it was a blip in his history, ultimately as insignificant as his first loose tooth. Sure it must've shaped him, must've contributed to how hard he now tried to prove himself. But Amber too, she always wanted to put her best foot forward, and she’d never been in court. He'd fucked up, but he'd gotten his act together enough to come out winning (even if he was in the middle of a career slump). The end result was all that mattered to Amber. She didn't care how Eric had gotten here, as long as he had.

But his brother. In prison. For breaking and entering. If he'd been Eric's age, more or less, then-- shit. He'd been there a while. Might be there for much longer yet. Eric's distress came through loud and clear as he spat out his words; it made her tighten her grasp over his hand, and she wasn't sure why. If she was holding on to him, or clenching up inside. The ruckus around them seemed louder, too; the lights, brighter. His eyes shone with fury.

"Fuck," Amber said quietly. Eric wasn't his brother. She couldn't fault him his mistakes, his fate. But family reflected you. Her brothers drove her crazy but she could talk about them with pride, show off how successful they were; it made her look better. She looked at Eric, the tinge of worry in the lines of his face. And she realized: she hurt. It hurt to hear this. She didn't know the reason for that, either, just that her heart ached, suddenly. "I can see why. I’m so sorry."

Foreman's chest tightened like a weight was crushing down on his lungs after he'd spoken. His throat hurt as if the words had been barbed, scraping their way out, closing his windpipe after they passed. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have fucking talked about it. What did it fucking matter? How much he hated Marcus for not getting better, not making something of himself, not taking the fucking chances that Dad had been able to offer him the way Foreman himself had? Not be able to get free? Marcus resented the hell out of all of them for even daring to try to help him, so why the fuck should Foreman care about him at all? Marcus didn't want it and he didn't deserve it. Every time he served his sentence he went right back to the same corners, the same patterns. Foreman didn't care--relentlessly, he'd worked on not caring--and now, Amber's quiet reaction, her hand gripping his a little more firmly, it made all that effort pointless. Because it hurt. It hurt so damn much and it wasn't fair.

He tried to swallow and realized he couldn't. They were standing out in the middle of a fucking circus, with kids still screeching and running all around them, with the flashing lights blaring in their eyes and the tinned loudspeaker music seeming to rise in decibels with every passing minute, and Foreman was talking about his loser brother, telling Amber about his family like he was a sap guest on Oprah.

But Amber was still there. She hadn't brushed it off like it was fucking nothing. Like she had a story that could top it, or like Foreman was an idiot for being bothered. It helped, as much as it could, easing off the steel bands around his chest. It was just that Foreman didn't know what to do next, what to say. He'd told her something and now it felt like it would be impossible to dam it all up again, get his footing back and steady.

Foreman closed his eyes for a long moment. "I want to get out of here." What he wanted--what he would have wanted, before breaking down like a moron--was to go home, alone, lock the world out and throw himself into something that would take every ounce of his concentration. Leaving with Amber, being with her, was already a compromise, but she hadn't pulled away, and Foreman couldn't make himself do it first.

Amber nodded; wrapped her hand around Eric's waist. "Let's go." She had no other words.

With her head bent, she led them back to the parking lot, walking slowly. The fun of the fair had worn off; now it was just loud and obnoxious and her stomach hurt, complaining of a poor meal. She'd asked for this. Dragged it out of him. Insisted until she'd gotten what she wanted, and now she had it, and it was so damn heavy. Like she'd swallowed lead and walked along the floor of a lake until the water was in over her head.

It was just so confusing. Up until now, Eric had been—impeccable. When he'd admitted that he worked for House, and that he'd been lying to her so that he could keep on fucking her, regardless of what she'd want, at that moment, yes, Amber had summed him up to be a class-a asshole, to rival House. But she'd come to understand that as a forgivable mistake; found it hard to keep on hating him for wanting to be with her when she wanted just as badly to be with him. Other than that-- Eric's problem had been was that he was too good and, at the same time, not as good as he thought. He was arrogant and proud and smug and Amber would bite back if he ever gloated too much about being her boss. But he was good-- competent, intelligent, accomplished, handsome, and-- and sweet. And tomorrow he’d be an even better, for he was cut from the same cloth as her: never satisfied, always striving for more.

But this bit of family history, it was a failure. Not as direct as if he'd gotten a series of Fs, or been fired, or himself landed in jail. But it was a failure. To not take have taken care of his brother right, to-- oh, god, what if Brian had committed a crime, something to get him in for life. Amber would've never forgiven herself. Wouldn't forgive herself, if tomorrow he were charged with a sentence. He’d get annoyed if knew that his sister was putting the responsibility on herself for his actions, but he was her charge; she’d sung to him when he was a baby because it was sometimes the only damn thing that’d shut him the fuck up. (And those stories Eric had told, about kicking his brother's ass at golf, and the bet with the motorcycle. She'd done the same kinds of things with hers.) Again Amber gripped Eric harder, not sure why, just needing to ground herself to him: take in the scent of his faded cologne, remember the width of his waist. To remind herself that he was dear and that she couldn't bear to lose him. They'd reached the gravel lot, anyway, and even if she could've crossed it by herself, Amber didn't mind the support. The clamor of the fair was dying down and the gravel crunched loudly in her ears.

Prison. You couldn't fix that. You could call a painter to cover a chipped wall, get a plumber to stop the faucet from leaking. You could home in on your every flaw and work at eliminating them; you could overcome your own weaknesses. But being in jail, that was beyond improvement. You couldn't get better. You served your time, and that was it. But what kind of a life could Eric's brother hope to have when he left, if he went in as a teen and was now an adult? She shouldn't ask, it'd push Eric too far, but she had to know. "How long is it?" Amber asked, voice subdued. "His sentence, I mean."

Foreman's instant reaction, when Amber wrapped her arm around him, was to withdraw. He dealt with his shit on his own, and accepting comfort felt too much like accepting pity, which he'd never do. But it was too easy to fall into step with her, his own arm falling around her waist, so that they could walk slowly, leaning on each other. He felt exhausted suddenly, for no good reason. The coffee hadn't touched him. He realized vaguely as they walked that he'd left the monster giraffe on the seat of his bumper car, but he hardly cared to go back and get it. Neither one of them had won it anyway, and it'd probably get stuck up with the other prizes again, for some other sucker to try for. Didn't matter.

He breathed in deeply, glad of Amber's silence, of her warmth as she pressed into him, close and quiet. The scent of her shampoo and the hug she'd wrapped him in reminded him of waking up with her this morning, of the slow lazy moments they allowed themselves before getting ready for work. That was what he had to remember. Not Marcus. Whenever he got upset about Marcus, it took time to put things back into place, back into perspective. They'd all tried. Mom the most, at first, back when she still could. She'd nearly begged Marcus to follow Foreman's example; Marcus had sneered at the idea. He thought Foreman had given in, given up. That by going to college he'd somehow abandoned the family, or at least the neighbourhood, his roots. All through Marcus's twenties, Dad had kept at it, dragging his ass out of jail when he could, letting Marcus stay at home when he was on probation. It never lasted. Foreman had argued with him--with both of them--over and over again. First with Marcus, telling him he could still have something if he stopped fucking up; later with Dad, that it was too late, that there was no point in trying. Now he didn't see any of them, kept out of it. That was where he wanted to be--where it didn't touch him, where it wasn't his business. Most of the time, that worked just fine.

Amber leaned on him more heavily as they crossed the parking lot. Foreman dug in his coat pocket for his keys, enough to remote-unlock the doors. Stopping beside the car, he snorted bitterly at Amber's question. "This time? Five years." Marcus wasn't even that far away--the prison was up near Mayfield. Foreman hadn't bothered visiting, this time.

The choking, heavy anger was coming back, and Foreman didn't want it. He shifted his grip around Amber's waist, pulling her into a hug, leaning his forehead closer to rest against hers. It was freezing out, colder and dark out here on the edge of the parking lot, with only a few streetlights anemically casting a neon glow over them. "Amber..." Foreman swallowed, and met her lips with his, a soft, gentle kiss. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to insist too hard. He wanted to think about something else. Anything else. She could help him. He thought of the bet, the one he'd been so wary of having her win. If he was thinking about that, he'd forget all this shit, he could push it away. He kissed her again, still tender, but with more intent, sucking lightly on her lip before drawing back. "Tell me what you want."

This time? Amber stiffened; that was worse than she'd imagined. It wasn't just a once-only mistake that had received too harsh a penalty; this Marcus was a repeat offender. It certainly didn't say anything good about Marcus, that he couldn't learn from his errors. And what about Eric, and the rest of his family, that-- was there anything they could've done, or was it a hopeless case?

God, she didn't want to think about it. It was too awful, and the more Amber thought, the more she'd want to know. She didn't want to ask Eric anymore, she was tired of this. It was too hairy, too messy, too out of her hands.

If she was confused, she could only imagine how Eric felt. He touched her like porcelain, but the tightness of his body, the way his face pinched, Amber wondered if he didn't want to hold her hard, harder than he'd ever had. But it wasn't her he'd be squeezing, she knew; it'd be all his anger and all his frustrations. Even knowing this, her physical response was spontaneous, rising up into him, heart fluttering at the softness of his kisses. Amber cupped his wind-cold cheeks, kissing back just as gently, heart finding its way up to her throat. "You," she murmured. And then she remembered: the bet. It'd slipped her mind. Which was saying something, because that was one prize she should’ve been eager to collect. "Beyond that, I-- I'll figure it out as we go along." There was nothing specific Amber wanted, just Eric against her, warm and strong and making her feel good. Wanted to hear him purr with pleasure, all because of her. Amber pulled him in for a deeper kiss, pressing herself into him. Oh, how she wanted him, hard and intense enough to drive everything else away.

It was hard to pull away, but she did, slowly, lips separating with a slight wet sound and her hands lingering over his coat as she walked a couple of steps backwards. She then turned to cover the rest of the way to the passenger seat, getting in without a word.

Amber's hands burned against his cheeks. She was so warm. Foreman tasted the heat of her mouth, so goddamn grateful that she allowed his kiss the same way he'd offered it. Quiet, but vivid, the sensations driving out all his other thoughts, even if only for the slow moments that it lasted. His breathing eased as he heard her murmur in his ear. "Yeah," he answered. He'd give her anything she wanted tonight, without a struggle. He wanted to give in and get lost and not think. If that meant pushing his comfort zone in other ways, then he would. Amber could order him around; that would give him an anchor, something to hold on to. Her words. Her.

He inhaled sharply as she backed away, setting himself for the drive back to her place. He got into the car and started the heaters, to get rid of the chill pervading him, through his clothes. It wasn't that late--they couldn't have been at the stupid carnival for more than a couple of hours--but it didn't matter; Foreman felt like he'd been pushing himself to keep awake for days. Like a blink could turn into sleep if he wasn't careful. It was an illusion, brought on by everything he'd said tonight, but Foreman made sure he was focused as he pulled out of the parking lot and driving back toward Amber's apartment.

There was nothing, really, to say. He'd be fine if the ride passed in silence. Changing the subject hadn't worked before, and this time it was worse, weighing down on him. But it was comforting that Amber hadn't demanded more, the way he'd half-expected. Hadn't asked why? or did you try...? as if his family were all incompetent, as if they hadn't tried everything they could. In the end, it wasn't up to them, and maybe Amber, who relied so much on herself, would understand that. Foreman hoped so, but most of all, he hoped she'd let him distract both of them tonight, and respect what he'd said earlier--that he didn't want to talk about this.

When she sat down, a large object got in her way; touching the outside of her coat pocket, she remembered. It was that stupid worm thing she'd won. Christ, she didn't even want it. The only way Amber could give that thing to any of the hospital's kids was as a gag, or to dump it off in one of the wards without saying a word to anyone. She glanced at empty-handed Eric; as her stand-in knight of the evening, she'd entrusted him with safekeeping the mutant giraffe. While she couldn't have made much of a deal of presenting the monstrous purple thing either, she supposed it was symbolically appropriate Eric had failed on the one knightly endeavor she'd set him on.

Not like she'd wanted a knight, anyway.

Her ring still adorned her pinky. It was too tight and it'd get in the way, soon, so Amber slipped it off and dropped it into her pocket together with the worm. It was becoming a real zoo in there.

Amber looked ahead. They'd be back at hers, soon. And there they could just fold into one another, speak with caresses and wordless sounds. She licked her lips, sucked on her lower lip. She could almost taste Eric still. Didn’t want to wait until she could again. For now, she settled for extending a hand towards him, hoping he’d hold hers like he had on previous drives.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject