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?"

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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.

The only sound was the hum of the wheels on the asphalt and the whirr of the heater fans. Fortunately, they'd already come most of the way to Amber's place before taking the detour to the festival. It wasn't far, and it wasn't actually Hallowe'en yet, so Foreman didn't have to worry about traffic from idiots coming home from costume parties, or that candy-hunting kids might dart out in front of his car. As the heaters warmed the seats and blew over Foreman's face, he felt himself unclenching somewhat. Part of it had only been cold, and that was easy enough to solve.

The rest wasn't as easy, but Amber's offer of her hand across the gulf separating their seats meant more than Foreman wanted to think about. He closed the last space between them and clasped Amber's hand in his, running his thumb across her knuckles, feeling the softness of her skin. Now that the heaters were working, his fingertips were tingling, as he got heat back to his extremities. Amber's hand felt good in his. His palm was broader than hers, his fingers blunter, and he could envelop her hand in his. She fit.

The ride wasn't long. Foreman pulled up in front of Amber's building, only letting go of her hand when he had to shift the car into park. He got out and collected his things from the backseat, to give Amber time to unlock the door and let them in.

Amber didn't want to leave Eric's side, not even for a second. It frightened her, this clinginess; what, did she think he'd disappear if she took her eyes off him? Ridiculous. But she wanted him near and immediate. As long as he was here, just himself, she wouldn't have to think of him in any other way. She wouldn't think of his brother or how his imprisonment reflected on Eric.

But reluctantly she let his hand and the rest of him go, getting up. Amber waited for Eric to gather up his things, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets to keep what warmth she could from bleeding out into the cold night air. She looked up at her apartment and the clouds of her frozen breath. The lights of her downstairs neighbor, the cranky veteran asshole, were off; with any luck, he'd be out and wouldn't complain about her late-hour noises. Or maybe he was asleep and would bang at his ceiling with a broom to shut them up. The younger couple that lived on the same floor as her was in; she could tell by the reflection of the television against their window.

Amber was glad to be back on her own turf. And it was only right, since tonight she got to lead, no questions asked. Her word would be law. A wave of heat passed over her at the thought, her shoulders squaring with anticipation. She could use a good fuck, but then again, when wasn't that the case? It just had to be done in a way that'd leave him wild, desperate for more. Yes. That. Like their first night together, when he'd lost patience and flipped her over, or in the restaurant bathroom yesterday, when he'd let his lust override his sense of shame. Amber didn't care about the how, as long as she got Eric over the edge.

He was so quiet as he pulled his stuff out, as if he were concentrating on far harder a task. Tonight would for him, too, letting him let go, letting him forget. Amber wanted to give that escape to him. Wanted him to escape into her. Once he was done, Amber nodded at him and went up the stairs, unlocking the doors to both the building and her own apartment. Alone, they could do anything.

Foreman stayed close on Amber's heels as she climbed up the building steps, only a breath behind her when she opened her apartment door. He closed it behind him, throwing the deadbolt shut. He relaxed more then, knowing that they wouldn't be interrupted. That no one could come in and get between them. That was obvious, but physically locking the door had always symbolized more to Foreman. He hadn't had a room of his own as a kid or when he'd first gone to Columbia--couldn't afford an apartment or even a single room in residence, not on his scholarship. Part of knowing he was responsible for himself, that he was a damn adult, had always included having some place where he could go that no one else could enter. The fact that this was Amber's apartment didn't lessen the feeling; Foreman wasn't going to think about why There was a coat tree only a step inside, and Foreman quickly hung up his dry-cleaning bag with his suit, letting his gym bag fall underneath it.

The last thing he wanted was to spend time talking about what came next. They'd covered that in the parking lot, and silently, by holding hands on the drive back. All it took was the two seconds to dispose of his things, and then Foreman turned to Amber, wrapping his arms around her. He wanted to pick up exactly where they'd left off. The kisses that had warmed him even more than the heater. He forgot about going slow, going carefully. She'd said she wanted him. That was enough.

He kissed her firmly, pressing her close against him as he tried to feel as much of her body as he could through her coat and clothes. She tasted like onions and garlic, like he'd imagined when he'd watched her eating her hot dog, but also like that faint strawberry sweetness. Foreman chased that taste down, closing his eyes and licking his way into Amber's mouth. He wasn't interested in slow and definitely not in stop. Not tonight. He needed her, and he let it show in every movement, in the sensation of the kiss. It already felt like the only thing in the world he could concentrate on, and he let that feeling grow without trying to check it.

They had barely entered before Eric was all over her, pulling her up against him, kissing her as if he could only breathe through her mouth. Amber stifled a gasp of surprise; so fast already, couldn't they ever take it slow? She wanted him, yes, but she wasn't a car engine to be turned on with a flick of the wrist. His tongue was too demanding, too invasive. Instinctively she tilted her head back and narrowed her lips, to make him take it easier. Didn't push him away, though, her hands rising and her elbows pressing into her sides.

This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? Eric was hot for her, needed her, and wouldn't hold back. That had been her precise goal just moments ago, before he'd steamrolled her. Up close like this, Amber could see his urgency in the creases flaring out from his tightly squeezed eyes, just as she saw his pain. He was desperate, but not with lust; he just wanted to forget what he'd remembered so sharply. Maybe it could've been anyone here, some other equally attractive woman he could kiss and squeeze and fuck and lose himself in. Amber's heart accelerated, in part from the physical reaction to Eric's passion, but mostly from an unexpected jolt of jealousy. She'd never thought to compare before, because how could it matter, but-- did Eric get this needy so fast with other women?

Amber was burning up in her winter coat. She needed to get a fucking grip on herself and to slow this the fuck down. Shutting her mouth entirely, Amber kissed him with only her lips. Firm, controlled. Let entire heartbeats pass, carefully feeling how swollen his lips had become, focusing on the scratch of his beard against her chin. Only then did Amber end the kiss; settled her hands on his hips. She was breathing quickly, her chest heaving; oddly, now that she'd brought the pace down, she was more in the mood. "I want to see you," Amber murmured, her hands gliding up his suit and converging over its buttons. The room was dark, since she hadn't the time to turn on the lights or open the shades, but she didn't need a visual guide for this part.

It couldn't last. Foreman could feel Amber resisting, and he closed his eyes even more tightly. He'd thought she'd fucking be there. He thought she understood. But already his intensity was dissipating. Holding back everything, he accepted her kiss, his breathing still ragged. He took a short, sharp breath to get himself under control. There was no reason why he had to let something so stupid upset him. Marcus was a memory. The fact that he was in prison was just that, a fact, nothing that Foreman should get worked up about. If he was going to get over it, that meant not acting like talking about it had been the end of the damn world. Ignore it. Forget it.

Amber had responded more in the parking lot. Foreman had been trying so damn hard to hold himself in then--to go slow, soft. Times before when he'd tried that, Amber had nearly ordered him not to hold back. And now when he didn't, she wished he would. Jesus, he didn't understand her. Or he did all to well--what mattered to her was that the pace was on her terms. Foreman paused, his mouth still close to Amber's, so that he could feel her moist breath against his lips. In the darkness of the apartment, he didn't need to worry about what she'd see in his face. He'd promised himself, at least, that he'd do what she wanted tonight, although he was beginning to wish he'd won the bet after all, so that he could know if she really would let him call the shots sometime. Tonight, though, he'd do what she wanted. No questions.

He nodded, a bit jerkily, when she asked to see him. Taking his arms away from her long enough to slip his coat off, Foreman let his suit jacket fall with it. Amber's fingers were light on his shirt buttons, and Foreman helped her, tugging his shirt tails out of his pants and working the buttons open one by one as his hands moved up. That counted for enough of seeing him. His hands went back to Amber again, not demanding, just stroking above her jacket, following the lines of her body. All he could feel was the cool material, and the occasional hint of hot skin when her hands brushed past his, or slipped against his chest and stomach. He sighed, tipping his head to kiss her again in the same way. Not to push his way in, but as if he wanted to outline her, memorize her silhouette. Surfaces only; the column of her neck, the softness of the skin behind her ear, the line of her jaw. He brushed against her, but didn't ask for any more than that. The moment seemed to grow to encompass him, and Foreman tried to live with it: one breath at a time, one soft kiss with each breath.

That was more like it. Amber's anxiety dissolved before it built up to a problem and she let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Now Eric's every kiss, every hot touch tingled against her skin, undoing knots of tenseness and strain. This was better. Caring. It didn't need to be hurried, angry, like it'd have been, if they'd followed his lead. "I want to make you feel good," Amber said, voice soft like velvet. She'd noticed he was disappointed-- it'd be impossible not to, from his sullen retraction-- and she hoped he wouldn't stay that way.

Amber couldn't stop herself from running her hands over his bare chest, curving over the planes of his pecs, his scapulae, his latissimus dorsi. Yes, this. Her breathing quickened a notch. So toned, so strong, so arousing. His hands and face she'd had many opportunities to learn, to memorize; his body, not as much. Amber titled her mouth to his throat, moving along his jugular. Eric was still relatively dry of sweat, so his skin tasted less of salt than she remembered-- but it was still intensely him. Tasting, smelling him, it made her shudder with desire; made her wet. She didn’t know how he could affect her so much; he was just one more person, out of so many. But fact was, he did, and she was glad to be sharing this moment with him. Glad that neither the mention of his brother nor her slowing the pace down had started another fight that made them fight once again. Hoped tonight would be special, too. "Eric," she whispered without meaning to before licking his Adam's apple, sucked on the end rise of one of his clavicles.

Foreman had resisted relaxing. He didn't know why, only that he wasn't ready to give up his anger, and that's what Amber was asking him to do. But the longer this went on, with Amber touching him carefully and deliberately, the less he was able to maintain any sort of stiff indifference. In the shower this morning, he'd still been half-asleep when they washed each other, and the heat of the water and the slip of the soap between them had eased Amber's touches and his own. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let go of so much, for anybody. His muscles went slack, his breathing and heart rate slowing down, but each sweep of Amber's palms over his body left his skin tingling, his blood surging as it carried the whispering sensations to the rest of his body. Foreman had thought it was only that one moment, or that it was a state she could only cause when he was already calm.

Now he knew better. She was doing the same things--so damn simple--and he was loosening up with every breath. There was an edge to it, a feeling that it could become urgent, that hadn't been there this morning. He'd known then that they didn't have time to take it anywhere. Tonight, these same touches could become whatever they wanted; they had all night. If Amber kept on like this, he didn't know if he'd fall asleep or explode from anticipation first. "You are," he whispered. He'd unwound so much that he couldn't even find the energy to speak any louder. She'd done that. She had to know how good it was. "You do."

He let out a low sound of quiet satisfaction when her tongue flicked against his neck, his collarbone. His shirt was still partly in the way--unbuttoned, brushing against his skin--and Foreman finished loosening his tie, opening his cuffs, and then dropping them to the floor behind him. The apartment was warm enough, but there was still a chill to the clothes Amber was wearing, and he could feel goosebumps rising over his skin, tightening his nipples. "Yeah," he answered her. "You do. So much, Amber." He wanted to get through her clothes and touch her the same way, give her the same tranquil, unhurried pleasure. He opened her coat, following the line of bared skin with his mouth until he could trace his tongue over the notch at the base of her throat. Underneath she was wearing a thin blouse, but Foreman didn't try to get rid of it immediately. With her coat open, the heat of her body reached out to him and drew him in, and he slipped his arms around her, under the coat, feeling the scrape of buttons against his chest, wrapping himself in her warmth. This time when he kissed her, it was gentle again, easy, not because he was holding himself back but because he'd found the rhythm he wanted to share with her.

It was almost impossible to breathe, her throat suddenly blocked. It was only words, just a handful at that, but Amber's heart hammered and she could feel her face flush deep. Eric spoke with such tenderness, careful like an archeologist brushing dust off an artifact, that Amber couldn't not believe him. And for a moment she didn't know what to do with herself. So she let him open her coat, kiss her like she was precious; a soft whimper escaped her. And then she was pressing right back into him, parting her lips, taking him in, her hips instinctively rolling towards him.

There was so much-- too much-- between them, and her heels forced her to bend her head to properly meet his mouth. Amber tried to ignore these impediments, the layers that kept their skin from enjoying direct contact from one another; didn't want to stop kissing or holding him. Tried to find enough pleasure just from roaming her palms over him, the back of his neck, the base of his spine. But as she pushed more and more into him, pounding blood demanding proximity, it wasn't nearly enough. With a sound of frustration, but still kissing him lightly, Amber brought her hands to her clothes. Shrugged off coat off so that it fell unceremoniously to the floor, kicked off her heels. Undid her blouse's topmost button, then the next; there Amber stopped, half-opening her eyes. She'd gotten her breathing under control but she was still growing light-headed. Eric was so beautiful. Amber moved just enough to speak, lips brushing against his: "Take my shirt off." Holding his sides, Amber paced backwards towards the desk facing her apartment's entrance. She'd see him better there, the outside light glowing softly through the curtains.

They'd been kissing so lightly that when Amber let out a small, sharp sound and pulled him closer, the rush of arousal caught Foreman unguarded. As he'd settled into the steady, soothing flow of exchanged kisses and touches, he'd felt like he could go on like this forever, never raise the pitch, never let it die away again. But the push of her hips against his reminded him, with a wave of sensation, how much he already wanted, how much more he could have.

Amber pulled him forward, until he settled his weight against her easily, between her hips. Without her shoes, Foreman didn't have to tilt his head to meet her eyes, to kiss her, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue against hers, exploring her mouth, his warmth and desire growing with every passing moment.

Under the light from the windows, Amber's skin glowed. After she spoke, her lips were parted, and Foreman obeyed instinct or invitation and kissed her, tasting her again. The hint of lipstick had nearly disappeared, rubbed away by each passing touch. Her order--and he suspected it was an order, no matter how breathlessly she'd phrased it--brought a surge of heat through his body, and he smiled, at once enjoying the feeling and not calling it to his attention, so that he could keep going like this without letting his body take control of his mind. Leaning on the desk, her body tilted back slightly, Amber couldn't have looked more desireable if she'd tried. God, she was so gorgeous. Even in the low light, her eyes were bright, and he could see what she wanted in the eager catch and release of her breath. Touching her with fingertips only, Foreman drew lines over her blouse; down her arms, over her stomach, between her breasts. Above the neckline of the shirt, where she'd already opened a few buttons, her skin was flushed and warm, and Foreman wanted to lean in and taste it.

He met her eyes when he finally brought his hands up to the next button. He undid it and grinned at her, teasing. Each button, he undid with resolute attention, letting his palms hover just over her skin. When he'd finally finished, he pushed the blouse off, his hands smoothing across her shoulders and down to her wrists until it had fallen on the desk behind her. "Anything else?" he asked, before sucking lightly on her earlobe, leaving hot, nipping kisses on her throat while he waited for her answer.

Slow beats of arousal, hard and deep like a drum, filled Amber, making her grow wetter with every second that passed. She didn't know if it was because Eric was unbuttoning her shirt with such obvious relish, drawing out his motions, or if it was because he was obeyind her command. Whatever it was, it worked.

Oh, god, did she want anything else. She wanted his hands on her breasts, wanted him to get through her remaining layers and squeeze her ass, wanted to get on her knees and suck him til he came, wanted him to slide into her now, hot and hard. Amber wanted everything. And he was offering. By the terms of their bet, she got to decide. Her chest heaved, eyes widening slightly as she tried to choose quickly amongst so many options.

How far could she push him? Most anything she cared to ask for he'd be happy to do-- what would make him balk? It'd be easy enough to embarrass him: make him dance naked and alone, sing for her. But, no. Amber's heart tightened at the thought of humiliating him; he'd hate that. Never again would make him repeat what he’d gone through in front of everyone on Friday, when he’d been laughed at for caring about her. This wasn't about that. So she closed her eyes, reveled in his kisses for a few moments. Tried to feel out what she wanted. Every kiss and touch of Eric's sent shocks of joy that spread throughout all of her, lighting her up with pleasure and anticipation. She found herself pulling him in closer, trapping herself between him and the desk. "I want everything off," Amber said, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it.

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