When she'd brought up the fact that everyone in their workplace probably knew they were getting it on, she'd meant it as a reflection that their relationship already had a tangible effect: strange, but the fact that someone could look at her and think, she's seeing that neurologist, changed her. Changed her more than if it'd been a secret affair, the only difference in her head, in her heart. Like those guys she'd been picking up at bars, as memorable and discartable as used tissue. Amber couldn't begin to remember them all, barely even remembered the last one, some guy-- had a great ass, a constantly red face, and who the hell knew what his name had been. Something Frenchish. They'd left no impression on her, and no impression on anyone else.
But with Eric-- people might treat her differently. Thirteen had, a little. Listened up more. And Taub, too, automatically assuming she was using Eric. Fuck him, Amber bristled. If she hadn’t let go of Eric’s hand to let him concentrate on parking, she’d be squeezing it right now, inadvertently. What did he know, the shrimp, about who she was, how she felt, what Eric meant to her. Most everyone would probably think that of her. A CTB, of course she'd seduce a superior and get him wrapped around her finger. And she would, too-- if she thought that sleeping with House wouldn't have made her laughable in his eyes, she'd have fucked him fifty times or more and cheerfully accepted a guaranteed job slot—- but this was different. Being with Eric went against her better judgment, not with it.
Eric, though, seemed to have interpreted her statement differently. Amber watched him and the thoughtful way he ruminated on whether or not there’d be a more concrete problem for them. She did like that about him, how deeply he could consider an issue. As if-— no, because-- he took it as seriously as she did. “If House hasn’t said anything yet,” and he had all of yesterday to do so, “I doubt he’ll make a fuss of it now.” Amber reconsidered. “Until he’s bored. But we’ll handle that when it happens.”
The car purred to a stop—- another thing she liked about him, he was a smooth driver, as if the vehicle were an extension of himself; nothing quite as sexy as competence—- and he turned to her. Spoke. Something inside Amber clenched tight, her stomach, her abdomen muscles. Felt at a loss. She never quite knew how to react to Eric’s more sweeping declarations, if she should let herself be happy. But she smiled, soft and warm, despite her uneasiness. It was a pleased kind of awkwardness, one she’d be glad to experience again and again. “You are going to be the end of me.” Quickly glancing out the window to make sure no one they knew was walking by, Amber reached out for his hands again; held them in hers as if they were a live, delicate creature. They had a few minutes. What she’d sacrificed in breakfast time, they could use now, to appreciate a last few semi-private moments together. Now that they were about to go in, there was so much she wanted to discuss: hear what he was thinking about her minor melt down last night, ask him more about his brother and family. But there wasn’t time enough for all that.
no subject
But with Eric-- people might treat her differently. Thirteen had, a little. Listened up more. And Taub, too, automatically assuming she was using Eric. Fuck him, Amber bristled. If she hadn’t let go of Eric’s hand to let him concentrate on parking, she’d be squeezing it right now, inadvertently. What did he know, the shrimp, about who she was, how she felt, what Eric meant to her. Most everyone would probably think that of her. A CTB, of course she'd seduce a superior and get him wrapped around her finger. And she would, too-- if she thought that sleeping with House wouldn't have made her laughable in his eyes, she'd have fucked him fifty times or more and cheerfully accepted a guaranteed job slot—- but this was different. Being with Eric went against her better judgment, not with it.
Eric, though, seemed to have interpreted her statement differently. Amber watched him and the thoughtful way he ruminated on whether or not there’d be a more concrete problem for them. She did like that about him, how deeply he could consider an issue. As if-— no, because-- he took it as seriously as she did. “If House hasn’t said anything yet,” and he had all of yesterday to do so, “I doubt he’ll make a fuss of it now.” Amber reconsidered. “Until he’s bored. But we’ll handle that when it happens.”
The car purred to a stop—- another thing she liked about him, he was a smooth driver, as if the vehicle were an extension of himself; nothing quite as sexy as competence—- and he turned to her. Spoke. Something inside Amber clenched tight, her stomach, her abdomen muscles. Felt at a loss. She never quite knew how to react to Eric’s more sweeping declarations, if she should let herself be happy. But she smiled, soft and warm, despite her uneasiness. It was a pleased kind of awkwardness, one she’d be glad to experience again and again. “You are going to be the end of me.” Quickly glancing out the window to make sure no one they knew was walking by, Amber reached out for his hands again; held them in hers as if they were a live, delicate creature. They had a few minutes. What she’d sacrificed in breakfast time, they could use now, to appreciate a last few semi-private moments together. Now that they were about to go in, there was so much she wanted to discuss: hear what he was thinking about her minor melt down last night, ask him more about his brother and family. But there wasn’t time enough for all that.