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alwaysright2009-11-19 07:48 pm
eric_foreman) wrote in alwaysright2009-11-19 07:48 pm
November 1, 2007 - Morning
Foreman hadn't seen Amber again on Wednesday. And instead of missing her, getting dopey and distracted by thinking about her, he got the questionable pleasure of stewing over every word House had said. How Foreman was only good when he was miserable. How demeaning they both knew the job was--where Foreman was nothing but a figurehead, where he only had a job at all because of Cuddy's sufferance.
Work was better than thinking about any of it, so work was what Foreman did. He plowed through House's mail, most of it consult requests, most of it solved with five-minute phone conversations. He checked the charting on House's patients, all of them scratched with a dozen or more doctor's signatures, all of them written too illegibly to make out. It was mostly guesswork, but at least the cases were interesting. Foreman found himself gauging himself against these so-called candidates of House's, and for the most part, his guesses were better, or at least as good as, theirs.
That, he didn't get done by five o'clock, but he wasn't about to make a late night of it. Why the hell should he push himself when everybody knew he was only there to stand accountable for the administrivia?
Foreman first went home, found a second sports bag, and filled it with his usual things. A change of clothes, workout gear, hygiene stuff--and then drove most of the way back to the hospital to go to the gym. It was out of his way after going home, but he needed the chance to move. Run until he was gasping and lightheaded, work his core until his muscles burned, add another ten pounds to the bench press, keep pushing until he was aching and exhausted and he'd exorcised House right out of his head. It left him sweaty and sore, but with his anger worked out, he felt like he could breathe again, and still be happy, no matter what fucking garbage House spewed at him.
Amber had been right--he needed this night alone just to deal with the fact that they'd probably be spending more time together in the future. Foreman grinned when he got home and saw Amber's shampoo and conditioner in his shower. She'd be back, and he'd leave some things at her place. After that...
Foreman went to bed with thoughts of 'after that' running through his mind. Already the bed felt emptier without Amber beside him, and it had only been a few nights they'd really spent together. Picturing her beside him left a warm thread of tugging at his breastbone, as if he could physically feel the fact that she was too far away tonight. Stupid, but. He'd promised he'd be thinking of her, and he was. Hand low on his belly, thumb rubbing idly against his stomach. Thinking of her was the easiest thing he'd done all day. Finally he had a chance when no thoughts of work or House could interrupt. Foreman was already nearly half-asleep, but he let the images flood his mind. Amber crying out when she came. The shiver she didn't even try to repress when he kissed his way down her body. Her hands, cradling him to her breast as he sucked and licked at her nipple.
It wasn't long before Foreman slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers. Rubbing himself lazily, he shifted, spread his legs, let more and more memories slide through his mind like physical things, like they had texture and weight and warmth. God. Yeah. Amber. So easy, thinking about her. Nothing to hold back, he could go the pace he wanted, but Foreman wanted it slow, so that he could focus on the conjured sight of Amber above him, her hair drifting over her shoulders, her hands palming his pecs as she rode him. Felt good, even if she wasn't here. None of that electric immediacy, but even in his mind she could make him so horny. Foreman panted lightly, pleasure building heavy and delicious in his balls, echoed in the long, squeezing strokes of his hand along his cock. Amber might ask him if he'd done this. If he'd really thought of her. Foreman could picture the exact shade of blue her eyes would darken to when he whispered that, yeah, he'd thought of her, jerked off for her, that he was--fuck--coming for her. His orgasm came on strong and shuddering, semen smearing between his knuckles and over his boxers. With a deep, humming sigh, Foreman groped for the tissues on the night stand and cleaned himself up. He could shower in the morning.
As easily as he'd drifted to sleep, Foreman woke up to his alarm. On time, for the first morning in too long. He even managed breakfast, though it wasn't more than toast and coffee--it was sitting down at his own dining table. It wasn't long before he was on his way to the hospital. As he was passing a convenience store, Foreman remembered what day it was and grinned. There wasn't much he could get for Amber--not much in the way he would get her, without making some big deal out of something that wasn't. But, yeah, he could do something.
Foreman headed for the lecture theatre when he got to the hospital. Cuddy had made it clear that he was to get involved in any case from the beginning. Foreman wouldn't be able to sit with Amber and talk with her, not with the other five watching, but it would still give him an opportunity to offer his gift. He headed in the doors at the bottom of the room. Everyone had more or less taken up their usual seats, and Foreman kept his face neutral to let them know that he wasn't going to be giving any orders this morning. As he passed Amber's seat, Foreman took the bag of sunflower seeds from his coat pocket and left them on her desk. With no more than a smile, he kept going, to the back of the theatre, where he settled himself with his newspaper, ready to wait for House.
Work was better than thinking about any of it, so work was what Foreman did. He plowed through House's mail, most of it consult requests, most of it solved with five-minute phone conversations. He checked the charting on House's patients, all of them scratched with a dozen or more doctor's signatures, all of them written too illegibly to make out. It was mostly guesswork, but at least the cases were interesting. Foreman found himself gauging himself against these so-called candidates of House's, and for the most part, his guesses were better, or at least as good as, theirs.
That, he didn't get done by five o'clock, but he wasn't about to make a late night of it. Why the hell should he push himself when everybody knew he was only there to stand accountable for the administrivia?
Foreman first went home, found a second sports bag, and filled it with his usual things. A change of clothes, workout gear, hygiene stuff--and then drove most of the way back to the hospital to go to the gym. It was out of his way after going home, but he needed the chance to move. Run until he was gasping and lightheaded, work his core until his muscles burned, add another ten pounds to the bench press, keep pushing until he was aching and exhausted and he'd exorcised House right out of his head. It left him sweaty and sore, but with his anger worked out, he felt like he could breathe again, and still be happy, no matter what fucking garbage House spewed at him.
Amber had been right--he needed this night alone just to deal with the fact that they'd probably be spending more time together in the future. Foreman grinned when he got home and saw Amber's shampoo and conditioner in his shower. She'd be back, and he'd leave some things at her place. After that...
Foreman went to bed with thoughts of 'after that' running through his mind. Already the bed felt emptier without Amber beside him, and it had only been a few nights they'd really spent together. Picturing her beside him left a warm thread of tugging at his breastbone, as if he could physically feel the fact that she was too far away tonight. Stupid, but. He'd promised he'd be thinking of her, and he was. Hand low on his belly, thumb rubbing idly against his stomach. Thinking of her was the easiest thing he'd done all day. Finally he had a chance when no thoughts of work or House could interrupt. Foreman was already nearly half-asleep, but he let the images flood his mind. Amber crying out when she came. The shiver she didn't even try to repress when he kissed his way down her body. Her hands, cradling him to her breast as he sucked and licked at her nipple.
It wasn't long before Foreman slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers. Rubbing himself lazily, he shifted, spread his legs, let more and more memories slide through his mind like physical things, like they had texture and weight and warmth. God. Yeah. Amber. So easy, thinking about her. Nothing to hold back, he could go the pace he wanted, but Foreman wanted it slow, so that he could focus on the conjured sight of Amber above him, her hair drifting over her shoulders, her hands palming his pecs as she rode him. Felt good, even if she wasn't here. None of that electric immediacy, but even in his mind she could make him so horny. Foreman panted lightly, pleasure building heavy and delicious in his balls, echoed in the long, squeezing strokes of his hand along his cock. Amber might ask him if he'd done this. If he'd really thought of her. Foreman could picture the exact shade of blue her eyes would darken to when he whispered that, yeah, he'd thought of her, jerked off for her, that he was--fuck--coming for her. His orgasm came on strong and shuddering, semen smearing between his knuckles and over his boxers. With a deep, humming sigh, Foreman groped for the tissues on the night stand and cleaned himself up. He could shower in the morning.
As easily as he'd drifted to sleep, Foreman woke up to his alarm. On time, for the first morning in too long. He even managed breakfast, though it wasn't more than toast and coffee--it was sitting down at his own dining table. It wasn't long before he was on his way to the hospital. As he was passing a convenience store, Foreman remembered what day it was and grinned. There wasn't much he could get for Amber--not much in the way he would get her, without making some big deal out of something that wasn't. But, yeah, he could do something.
Foreman headed for the lecture theatre when he got to the hospital. Cuddy had made it clear that he was to get involved in any case from the beginning. Foreman wouldn't be able to sit with Amber and talk with her, not with the other five watching, but it would still give him an opportunity to offer his gift. He headed in the doors at the bottom of the room. Everyone had more or less taken up their usual seats, and Foreman kept his face neutral to let them know that he wasn't going to be giving any orders this morning. As he passed Amber's seat, Foreman took the bag of sunflower seeds from his coat pocket and left them on her desk. With no more than a smile, he kept going, to the back of the theatre, where he settled himself with his newspaper, ready to wait for House.
no subject
Oh. That sparked off her interest. Still mostly asleep, Amber slid her right hand down her chest, grazing lightly over the center of her ribcage, her tummy, and into her panties. If Eric were here, they'd be kissing, of course. He'd be making one of his wry remarks about her morning hair, and she'd shut him up by kissing him breathless, deep and relentless. Amber rubbed her mons with the base of her palm, letting the sensation build up before delving between her labia with her fingertips, circling just so, taking in her slight wetness. It was better when Eric did touched her with his thicker fingers, watching his smug smirk grow, the strength and dexterity of his entire body focused on just there, to bringing her off. Amber stroked faster everywhere, eyes closed, thinking of the growl in Eric’s voice as he encouraged her, his rapid breath hot and wet against her ear, the unpredictability of his touch-- and came, soft like a sigh. Amber stretched again, arching her back. Nowhere near as satisfying, but it would have to do until they met up again.
She hadn't filmed it, but she could some other session.
Even with the distraction, Amber was able to take her time showering and eating her breakfast of cereal, appreciating how, for once, she was neither rushing nor filled with the dread of seeing an ex at work. She was even able to blow-dry her hair, making it fuller and glossier than it had been in days. Though, as she checked herself out in the mirror, it wasn’t her hair that was making her feel so good.
Only Brennan had arrived before her, and he eyed her with simple tiredness when she came in. Without a word she settled for one of the lower rows—being closer meant House would hear and see her better—and continued her last night’s reading on breakthroughs in Melanoma as the others trickled in, seating themselves behind her. Everyone must’ve been as jaded as Brennan, since no one offered any comments to her, and from the sound of it, to one another. Good. Cole was the last one, running in—delayed by his kid?—and Amber wondered where Eric was, and what he was doing.
When he did come in, she suppressed a smile, even if none of the others would’ve seen it. Had to be professional. Had to get used to being professional despite her feelings. Amber had turned back to her reading, which was why when something rustled in the space of her peripheral vision, she was surprised. She caught a glance of Eric’s fingers as they lifted up again, and then looked at what he’d left her. Now she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Sunflower seeds. Perfect. Her favorite flower, but better, the promise of them. In a useful, and not at all tritely saccharine form. Amber looked up at him as he nonchalantly opened up his newspaper, and grinned all the harder. She was holding herself back, but what she really wanted was to find a spare room and thank him properly. Her questions and doubts from yesterday hadn’t gone away, but she’d resolved them enough in her mind to not need to barge him down with them before the right time. (Though—were these a spontaneous gift? Or was it for their week anniversary? Did Eric always make a point of marking the occasion with a special, individualized gift, making each of his girlfriends feel special? Good thing he hadn’t given her actual sunflowers, or worse, another rose, that’d have been even more questionable. But no, she wasn’t going down that path again, not when she couldn’t just ask him.)
So when half an hour had passed and Cuddy shooed them out to the clinic, Amber did not make any attempt to linger or to stay with Eric. Whatever they had to discuss, they could do it tomorrow.
no subject
He lowered the newspaper when Cuddy came in to watch her give the day's orders. Her assignments to the candidates weren't unexpected, and neither, Foreman realized, was her arched eyebrow in his direction while everyone else packed up their things. Foreman waited until they were gone, not letting his eyes so much as linger on Amber. When the doors were closed, Foreman rattled his paper sharply, folding it along its creases, and settled it on the desktop in front of him. Like yesterday, with House, he had his good mood to sustain him against whatever Cuddy might say, even though he suspected he wouldn't like it.
Cuddy made no secret about watching Amber leave, and she let her gaze slide back to him meaningfully. "Do you think this is why I hired you?"
Foreman had been right. He didn't like it. "No offense, but I know exactly why you hired me."
"Then you probably noticed that I wasn't trying to make the department seem even more unprofessional."
Foreman tilted his head, exasperated. "You didn't seem to mind when Cameron and Chase got together--"
"They weren't each other's direct superior--"
"Or when Cameron demanded a date from House to come back," Foreman said, overriding Cuddy's words. "And I'm not Amber's direct superior. I'm your ass-covering strategy. I'm nothing to any of them." He shook his head, a disbelieving scowl creasing his forehead. Did Cuddy really believe he didn't understand why he was here? "They don't respect me. They know I'm your spy and House's whipping boy."
Cuddy's stare could probably melt glaciers, but she didn't--couldn't, Foreman knew--deny it. "And part of my ass-covering strategy is to keep up appearances."
"So you're going to fire me again a week after taking me back? Because I'm dating someone I have no hiring or firing power over?"
"I'm asking you to reconsider." Cuddy crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly--trying to persuade him. Foreman had no idea of what. "Have you really thought this through? I've been keeping my eye on them, and Dr. Volakis is--"
Foreman held back a scoff, pressing his lips together to stop himself from sneering. "You're not going to convince me you're looking out for my welfare." He stood up, taking his newspaper and draping his coat over his arm, and walked down the stairs until he could pass by Cuddy on his way out. He'd already heard more than he needed to about Amber from everyone who was trying to run her down. Even from Amber herself, telling him she was the "cut-throat bitch". What was he supposed to do with that information? Run screaming for the hills? When she made him feel good just by being with him, when she could calm him down and make it seem like his life right now was worthwhile after all? He wasn't afraid of who she was or what she'd done. And Cuddy had no business in his business. "I'm just New Coke to you. I'm here so that you can have House's paperwork up-to-date. I'm here so that you'll have someone to fire if something goes wrong in one of House's games. I'm not here to listen to how you think I should run my life."
Cuddy opened her mouth as if she was going to make a retort, and then she snapped it shut again. Foreman couldn't tell if she was angry at him or simply upset that her plan hadn't gone the way she wanted. She probably expected him to either prove himself--which he was doing--or quit; like House, she didn't expect him to be happy. And that was why Foreman didn't give a shit what she thought. She was using him, and he'd use her right back. She couldn't fire him, there was no reason for it. He'd stay right where he was, and no matter what anyone thought, he'd make it work.