alwaysright | November 3, 2007

November 3, 2007 - Morning

Foreman had been right about one thing: when he finally woke up, his whole body felt like he'd run a fucking triathlon the night before. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile already curving his lips. Saturday. No work, no obligations. Last weekend he'd thought that he'd fucked up completely with Amber. This morning, here he was, grinning half into his pillow at the sight of her hair, tangled and fanned out across the sheets. So he hurt; that was no different than the morning after a lot of workouts. Some stretching and he'd be fine. If that was the only price he'd pay for last night, he'd always choose to do it again.

They'd finally made it out of the bath when the water was cooling. Fingers and toes pruned, shivering because they'd both fallen asleep, towelling off vigourously to warm up again. Foreman hadn't bothered waking up beyond the most basic functions. He'd gotten his teeth brushed, pissed, hauled his boxers on, and fallen into Amber's bed all without engaging any higher mental faculties. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Looked like he was the first one to wake up this morning. Usually his body woke him up after eight hours whether he needed more or not. Affection poured through him at the sight of Amber, still sleeping. This way he could admire her before she realized that her hair wasn't in place, and it made the feeling sweeter, somehow, that she didn't know. To let her sleep herself out, Foreman tried to keep himself quiet as he climbed out of bed. He eased out of the bedroom after he'd hauled his trousers and hoodie on. Amber's keys were next to her purse, near the door, and Foreman ducked out for a quick, shivering trip to his car. He came back in with the bag he'd packed yesterday without running into Murphy or any of the other tenants, thank Christ. It didn't take him long to sort out things that he could leave here--deodorant, shaving stuff, cologne, toothbrush--along with a few clothes, more comfortable stuff so that he wouldn't be limited to suits on the weekend.

He showered about as quickly as he would on a weekday, not lingering once he'd gotten clean. He dressed in a pair of battered jeans and a clean sweater, before heading for the kitchen.

He wasn't a great cook, which Amber knew by now. When he was a kid, Mom had let him and Marcus into the kitchen for baking only--to lick icing off the spoons, or to dump too much flour in the bowl, making a mess with the ingredients and then burning his tongue crunching through the resulting--usually rock hard--cookies or cakes. But she'd also considered the kitchen more or less her domain, and she'd swatted their rumps with a dishtowel if they'd gotten in her way when she was cooking the big meals. Not that it was her fault he'd never learned. If he'd ever shown a real interest, rather than sprinting through and grabbing at whatever was sitting out to stuff into his face while Mom was in the middle of preparations, she probably would have taught him. He'd been an ungrateful teenager, he'd expected his meals to be ready for him, and he hadn't paid much attention except when they weren't. What he did know, he knew from disastrous experiments when he was in college, and certainly Claire had never stooped to cooking for him when they both had the same punishing hours at the hospital.

But there was one dish that he was terrific at. It was Claire who'd taught it to him, actually, after he'd complimented her effusively one too many times and given her his best wide-eyed, hopeful look when it seemed like she might be about to make breakfast. Denver omelette, egg whites only since he was trying to keep himself in weight training trim. He'd seen all the ingredients he needed in Amber's fridge last night. Peppers, onions, even some bacon. Cheese, maybe. He'd have to check. He could even set the table this morning since he'd reuse the clean dishes from dinner last night. It wasn't that he always expected to cook, but in this one case, he knew what he was doing, and damn, he already knew Amber could be astonishingly grateful for a simple meal. The omelette, maybe some toast, and fresh coffee--God, who knew how she'd want to thank him next? Grinning, Foreman set to work, far more confident than he'd been about the stir fry.

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"Fuck!" Amber spat out, but any viciousness the word would've brought was undone by the laughing undertone to her voice. She swore again as she tested the strength of Eric's bind: pretty damn strong. The bulk of his muscles wasn't nearly as attractive now. He had the physical upper hand; no use trying to overpower him. Kicking would be just as useless; with him behind, she couldn't gather the necessary force to hit him hard enough to smart. She couldn't even twist her wrists out of his hold, since he’d grabbed her arms so tight she could barely move them.

Slamming her head back would work, but it'd suck to spend the rest of their Saturday treating his broken nose.

"You know nothing about me," Amber declared, "if you think I'd ever say such a thing."

The thing about getting out of a physical imprisonment was to dislocate your opponent; in that flash of a second, you could turn the tables, making them beg for mercy. Amber threw her leg behind her, hooking her calf behind his, and rolled again; giggled, since all that accomplished was turning the both of them to look upward. Her arms were just as bound as before. She couldn't even sit up. A few digs into his ribs with her elbows, though, that much Amber could manage. And did.

Technically, she was losing. Terribly. He had her trapped and she saw no way of winning. But it was all in good fun and the novelty of wrestling with Eric pushed out any ideas of competition. Amber didn't need to chain him up, to keep him from touching her-- on the contrary, her abdomen was starting to ache from the laughter, and she felt as light as the lazy daylight streaming in from the window. It felt good, Eric challenging her body in new ways. “Any chance you’ll just get tired and let go of me?”

Foreman snickered, getting breathless all over again from laughing. No, he didn't think Amber would say any such thing. Maybe he hadn't known her long, but he wasn't an idiot. He tugged her a little closer. Covering his bases. Just because he was resting up didn't mean he was going to relax his grip. No Mata Hari trick was going to work on him. "Hmm, maybe," he said. He nudged his nose behind her ear to breathe in her scent. No shower yet; she smelled warm, sleepy, and a little bit like his own sweat, from the hoodie she'd appropriated. "I did get jumped before I finished my breakfast."

He let out a slower breath, ignoring his own residual hunger for the moment. His plan had been to let her go and to get back to his meal with all possible dignity, so that she couldn't accuse him of losing; only of ending their little wrestling match while he was on top. But now that he was here, lying with her, he felt almost as good as he did after sex. Relaxed, content right down to his bones, and happy to curl close around her for as many moment as she'd let him. His voice was a little slower, more lazy, when he asked, "Did you just let your brothers go, after you sat on them?" After all, tactical tricks from the master would probably help him out.

"Yeah, you don't want to keep your breakfast waiting," she said, encouraging Eric to release her. But Amber undercut her own words by nestling against him, exposing more of herself to his touch by tilting her neck. He pulled harder at her arms and she felt her muscles being elongated, a work-out by proxy. She'd have to stretch afterward to make sure she didn't wind up sore-- needed to be in prime form for their basketball game-- but for now she was content to lie on Eric, oddly snug and satisfied as if she'd just come. Shouldn't they be getting rowdy now? Why didn't she feel like getting the upper hand by rubbing against him to turn him on, why hadn’t he started to kiss her? They were attracted to each other, they hadn’t had sex yet today, and here they were, together in bed, with full physical contact, and just… holding each other, relaxing. As if this were enough. Crazy.

"Of course," Amber said earnestly. Actually, whenever she made her brothers eat dirt, face against the ground, only their screams and promises to behave convinced her to let them go. Good times. "Not that I ever sat on them. I was a very good sister, very kind." She rose and fell with his every breath. Amber shifted, growing uncomfortable. Eric's body was not the most ergonomic of surfaces. "I bet you were just as benevolent with your brother." Amber reflected Eric's question, remembering only belatedly that asking it of him was not playful. Great. She’d probably poisoned the moment. It was his fault, for having a stupid family.

Foreman didn't really want much more to eat. With Amber lying on top of him, compressing his stomach, he felt what he'd already eaten getting heavier. But he wasn't yet willing to give up having her as his own personal blanket. The apartment wasn't cold, but a little chilly, now that he wasn't moving around; having Amber on top of him helped. When she squirmed, though, he realized he must've been pulling a little too far. He rolled them back to their sides and loosened his grip, ostentatiously enough that she'd know he'd let go, not given up. He spooned up against her, chuckling softly at the idea of her kindness. Her brothers--what were their names? If he'd known, he'd forgotten--had probably cried for mercy more than once.

He was trying to picture Amber as a little girl with scabs on her knees, dirt on her face, and fury in her eyes, when she asked him about Marcus. "Nah, I always made him squeal." And then his mom had come to Marcus's rescue--where she always blamed Foreman, of course. Eric, you get off right now! Marc is littler than you. Don't you have any shame? What are people going to think, that I'm raising a bully or a nice young man? Strange how that had always managed to sting both their prides. His because he knew he should be above any provocation Marcus offered, and Marcus usually went whining after their mom, shrieking that he was so big enough, and she never let him win--of course, he'd always been about to. Foreman would keep his dignity and the peace for as long as he could, holding to his mom's words, while Marcus goaded him, until in the end--inevitably--he lost control again, and sat on him but good. "Not so nice, I guess."

It didn't really occur to him that they were edging close to things that ordinarily he'd knot up tightly and never let out. They were talking about when they were kids, not about Marcus as he was now, and that stopped his warning systems before they could get started. "Mom hated when we fought, but my dad would only stare at us like we were worms. Like he'd talk to us again when we'd smartened up." It had worked surprisingly well. Mostly. Foreman hooked his chin over Amber's shoulder. Finishing breakfast, going to the gym; they'd had plans, vaguely, but it didn't feel like they were on a timeline. No rush. "Did you get in trouble for, uh--" He grinned. "Being a good sister?"

Eric tipped over, landing her back onto the bed. He hadn't let go, and maybe if Amber made the effort to wrench away she'd free herself, taking him by surprise. Then again, he'd probably see that coming and pull on her arms even tighter—it’d be a true defeat. This, here, was a simple petering out; he’d tire out sooner or later and let her go. It’d be an unofficial win, and Amber preferred a half-victory over an absolute loss.

It was still cozy, sweet, lying together like this. The covers were bundled up at towards the end of the bed, from when Amber had kicked them off as she heated up in her half-asleep state. The sheets were rumpled and stained from last night-- she'd really have to wash them, now that she'd been forced to climb in with her slippers on-- but soft. With Eric's forearms gradually relaxing against her chest, and her legs brushing against his, Amber felt wonderfully lazy.

There was only one problem: Eric wasn't even a little bit aroused. She almost frowned. There'd been times—last night, to start with-- when just seeing her was enough to get him hard. Was he already getting bored? Couples often lost their sex drive, she knew that; didn't know it could be this fast. Her own drive hadn't gone anywhere; it was right here, ready to zoom off at the slightest indication. But she wouldn't initiate. No. Wouldn't provoke him with a kiss, or a hand to his crotch; turning on a guy with a blow job was cheating, anyone could do that. Amber wanted to see how long they could be close without it even occurring to Eric that they could fuck-- if it ever did.

And what did Amber have to offer but sex?

At least he hadn't been off-put by her question. Amber could hardly believe how casually he spoke, as if his brother weren't out there somewhere rotting in jail. The way he described it, they sounded like any other set of siblings. Amber would've never known better, if Eric hadn't told her. She listened to his memories with a heavy heart. Even his parents seemed so-- so normal. "Sounds like your dad knew how to handle you two."

Amber turned her face towards his. It was nice like this. Near, intimate, but not staring each other down. It was easy to think back, then to speak; no wonder he'd been able to recall his brother without becoming upset. "Nah, if I didn't stick up for myself, they'd have buried me alive. Geoffrey more than Brian, but only because Brian was the smallest." If Amber had been the youngest, Brian would've taken advantage of that; by the time he was old enough to be bigger and stronger, they were teenagers and past the age for physical fights. "Mom was always telling us to behave, and dad said the same things to make her happy, but they couldn't stop us when their backs were turned."

Yeah, no one could do 'withering' as well as his dad. Somehow his punishments were worse because of the humiliation involved, even if they seemed simple on the surface. Going on their own and apologizing in person the year they'd egged a neighbour's house still made Foreman squirm to recall. His mom's groundings, or confiscating a walkman for a week, had been comparatively easy to get through. "He did his best," he said, a little briefly, shrugging as best he could given his position. It hadn't always been enough, but that wasn't Dad's fault.

Foreman found Amber's hands and linked their fingers. The roughhousing was over, and this seemed more appropriate for the conversation than the wrestling hold he'd had on her at first. Hearing Amber talk about her family, Foreman continued to build an image of her as a kid. He felt a little ridiculous--next thing he'd be asking her to break out the photo albums--but, no. It was better to hear her talk about her brothers the same way she did about the other fellows out for her job. Laughing quietly, he pictured Amber getting Taub into an armlock and rubbing his face on the hospital floor. "Yeah, that sounds like you." He was beginning to think maybe he shouldn't have gotten this deep into a conversation about families, not if he wanted to keep Amber from questioning his too much. But she already knew the worst, and anyway, she didn't seem to mind talking about her brothers. Maybe he'd luck out and they'd stay on the safe topic. "How many years apart are you?"

Still nothing. It was as if he were mocking her: he didn't want, need, anything. She'd tested him, and he'd failed-- thus making her fail. Fuck, what now? Maybe he was still recovering from last night, the tying-up had been pretty intense, even for her. More so for him. Or maybe it really was her, no longer new and enticing. Amber tensed with the effort not to wriggle and give herself away; the last thing she needed was him asking her why she was upset, since there was no face-saving way of saying that he should be more turned on by her, damn it.

Eric playing with her fingers was paltry consolation. Amber returned the favor sulkily, letting her thumb explore his palm. She did love his hands, but it just made her sadder, that they were touching in the ways they usually saved for after an orgasm. So she just clutched his hands to her chest, comforting herself in the intimacy of their hug. Thank goodness he couldn't see her expression. "What does he do now?" To be Eric's dad-- he must be an imposing man. More rigid, perhaps, than Eric himself. Strict. A keen urge took hold of Amber; she wanted to meet his father, see who'd have made and raised the person who'd willingly spend his Saturday morning hugging her. She bed she’d like him.

The sunlight, inching, had reached them. Warmed Amber right up. "Geoffrey's three years older," she said, closing her eyes. "He's in Ohio right now, he works with property law.” Amber didn’t know much of what he did and she didn’t bother to find out; as long as it sounded prestigious, she didn’t care. “Brian’s two years younger than me, he’s in California. Everyone likes him, he’s the family clown.” ‘Goofy’ didn’t seem like Eric’s type, though. Amber let out a breath. It might be too soon, but if their sex life was already withering up, Eric owed her at least this much. And she might not get a better opportunity to ask. “Actually, you could meet them this Thanksgiving. They’ll be there, and my mom wanted to meet you.”

"Retired, mostly." Dad had always insisted that he was never going to retire, but in the same breath he wouldn't accept the charity of anyone else coming in to take care of mom. A home was out of the question, of course. Dad did what consulting he could from home, less and less now that he was away from the field, and lived on his pension. Foreman didn't visit much, but he sent what he could to make sure they were comfortable. He was glad enough that Dad considered that his duty, and not charity, otherwise they'd probably be in far worse shape. "He was an electrician." Being a trades apprentice had been a damn lucky place for him in the years right before Foreman was born. Kept him out of Vietnam. Mom had had various jobs when Eric was growing up, in sales mostly, but she'd also been a substitute teacher, and she'd taught Sunday school through most of his childhood. Didn't exactly help with the medical bills all these years later, though.

Thinking about that, he missed the change in Amber's breathing, as it got shorter, although he could feel her shoulder hunching under his chin. Maybe he'd really pulled too hard. She might not admit it if she still thought this was about 'winning'. Foreman adjusted his position, hoping it'd help her get more comfortable, but her thumb massaging his palm encouraged him to stay close. Later he could help her work the kinks out...he grinned. As it were. A massage, after their gym trip... His mind wandered a bit, although he was paying attention enough to catch Amber's brothers' names again, and at least where they were, even if he'd probably have to ask again exactly what they did.

"Uh--" He pulled up sharp a second later. This Thanksgiving. Meet you. He nearly froze on the spot, like a little bird hypnotized by a snake. Meet him? He'd barely met Amber. And she'd already told her mother about him? When had that conversation taken place? When all Amber knew about him was that he was her boss and she'd given him the cold shoulder for three days? In between the bouts of wild sex? And what the hell had she said? Thanksgiving wasn't just a meal, or even a meeting. It was a damn family event. Meet all of them? Get paraded around as 'the boyfriend'...fuck. He wasn't ready. Everything in him was screaming too soon! Too much. Panic slid through him so fast that he could barely breathe, let alone concentrate on an answer. He hadn't even thought about Amber meeting his family--Jesus, at all, if he could prevent it. It had been over a dozen years since they'd met a girlfriend of his. And now Amber oh-so-casually invited him over? God, it really was like high school; he'd have to be on best behaviour, play the guest, pretend he didn't notice if anybody's eyes slid over him carefully and pretended not to notice that he didn't exactly match their family. "That's, that's soon," he said, and cursed himself for the lamest response, his mouth working ahead of his brain. Not that his brain was working at all. "We might have a case," he said, grasping at straws. They might. They did most years. Not that Foreman had ever asked for the time off. Aside from a few football games, he hadn't marked Thanksgiving at all since he'd moved back from California.

A workaholic? Then it ran in the family. Well, at least in part of it, excluding his black sheep of a brother. But to go from electrician to doctor in one generation, that took effort, determination. Pride swelled in Amber: she'd had nothing to do with Eric's accomplishments, but she was here now. Might be with him for his next achievements. "What about your mom?" This she asked with more hesitation; the way Eric mentioned her cooking earlier, it sounded as if she'd passed away already. Amber didn't want to bring up difficult memories, but as long as they were going over their family histories...

Ah, fuck, it really had been too soon. If their sex life had been shelved, it was probably dead now. Eric turned into a woodblock, as rigid and sharp. Amber could practically hear his balls scrunching up and seeking refuge from his crazy woman who fucked him and now wanted to talk family. Snuggle time was officially over. Heavily, Amber sat up, expression wary. She gave it five minutes before this became a real fight, with yelling and more burst feelings. God forbid they had a serious conversation without a drama outbreak.

"You don't have to go if you don’t want to." she said. Could be as simple as that; wouldn't be, though. Eric had the jitteriness of a worm pierced by a hook. "I don't want to go." If she went with Eric, she'd be the center of attention, with questions like how long and where did you meet? (A month and by the hospital entrance-- he had an umbrella and I just had to get into his pants.) And, god, they'd know by now he was black-- mom would've told (warned, more like) everyone by then-- but they'd stare because only seeing made believers. And then they might not ask the other questions they would've otherwise, things like have you moved in together and-- fuck-- other ones that'd short-circuit Amber's mind if she let herself think of them. (She wouldn't let herself imagine Eric's petrified mortification if he overheard, you aren't thinking of having kids, are you?) If she went alone, there'd be the smirks that maybe she and her 'boyfriend' weren't so serious after all. They'd better not tell her, it's probably for the best; she wouldn't be able hold back an extreme reaction.

No, Thanksgiving would be terrible no matter what. It just might've been really fucking nice if Eric hadn't reacted to the invitation as if to a basket brimming over with toads. "I hope we have a case, it’s the only way I'll get out of it." Plus, the only way to avoid the embarrassment of going with or without him.

Foreman brushed right past Amber's question about his mom, far more focused on exactly what this family Thanksgiving insanity would entail. He had no idea where Amber's family lived. If they had to drive there, or fly, then they'd be stuck there at least a few days no matter how badly things went. There'd be no escape once he committed himself to the trip. And, God. Would they even let him stay with Amber? He assumed that she'd insist on the two of them sleeping in the same room, but maybe her family would frown on that and he'd end up bunking with the brothers. Jesus Christ. Could there be anything more awkward than that? Hi, I'm banging your sister? Or, fuck, maybe they had families, kids. Shrieking around, hyped up on the holiday, and probably asking all the questions that the adults would so-artfully keep behind their teeth. Putting Foreman on the spot even though they'd studiously avoided anything controversial.

He rolled onto his back, feeling stunned, when Amber sat up abruptly. 'I don't really want to'--yeah, Foreman had heard lines like that before. Lies like that. Oh I'm not disappointed, oh I understand. All it hid was Sorry, not good enough. Amber wanted this, she was serious, or she wouldn't have yanked away at the first sign that springing this on him might not have been the best idea. And contradicting her with it damn well looks like you want to go was only one more route to his own execution. "I didn't say that," he said, even though not wanting to go had leaped to the forefront of his mind the second Amber's invitation had hit the air. "It just seems like...a lot."

Could it be as simple as them getting a case? Would that get him off the hook? He'd scour the hospital to find something interesting if it would mean escaping the stiffest, most stilted meal he could imagine. But, no. Even if they had a case, Amber would crucify him for reacting wrong in this instant. That wasn't fucking fair, but Foreman didn't expect anything else. She might have been thinking about it for days, working up to dropping the idea casually into conversation, and the second he reacted like it was what it was--a fucking ambush--suddenly he was the bad guy. Foreman felt like he'd been punched in the pit of the stomach, had all his air crushed from his lungs. It wasn't that he was, well, against meeting Amber's family, eventually. Eventually was a big part of it, and so was gradually. He was serious, but he wasn't trying to cannonball into the deep end of this relationship. He cleared his throat. He needed time to think, time to get out of this. Not say no, but definitely, definitely not agree. "What would it be like?" he asked, not digging himself in deeper by agreeing fervently to Amber's disingenuous wish for a case. Whatever she described, he'd at least know how much he should be panicking, and he'd get an idea of how much Amber really wanted him there.

His family as a topic was now off-limits, if he wouldn't answer as simple a question as what about your mom. The scrutiny had turned to her collection of basket cases. And Eric tried to be oh so innocent about it, so free from the guilt of his gut-panic reaction. As if she were overreacting. Tightness set in Amber's jaw; she took in shallow breaths. All she'd done was offer the chance to meet her family, since he'd seem so damn eager to know about her brothers. She wanted to meet his. This wasn't even her idea; Amber had only invited him because her mom wanted him there.

But as condescending and frankly deceitful his backpedaling on having said 'no' was, the fact that he was still lying down calmed Amber. He wasn't going to take this to the next level, spiraling the fight into new levels of lowness. Embarrassed to have asked-- if she hadn't, he couldn’t have rejected her a second time in so brief a period-- she crossed her legs, bent her head. "There's Geoff and Brian, of course, and mom and dad. I'm guessing Brian'll bring his girlfriend, if they're still together, and Leila-- she's Geoff's wife-- will be there, too. And her kid." Amber had rarely seen the big-cheeked ‘princess’ outside of photos, so it was easy to forget her. "And some aunts and uncles and cousins, depending on who shows up. Mom likes to get as many people to come as possible." Those who dared invent other (non-work related) plans had better pray for their souls. "There's so many people it's easy to go ignored. It's what I usually do."

She looked away from her lap, stopped tapping her knees nervously. "None of that matters, though. I'm not forcing you to go, and since you don't want to, you won't. Case or no case." Amber would be okay with it; her mom wouldn't. If they did last as a couple, her mom would forever remember Eric as the boy who was too good for her carefully-prepared Thanksgiving feast; above her family's company. It'd add a layer of coolness, if the two of them ever talked, that'd only thaw out if Eric had enough charm to make her forget this slight-- Amber had seen it happen to Geoff's girlfriends enough times to know. But Eric was starting out at a disadvantage, even before refusing to come to dinner. But that was up to him, and she wouldn’t let them have more pointless fights over nothing. Amber was the one dating him, not her family. “Forget it.”

Each time Amber named another family member, Foreman felt more anxious. He was used to living up to every expectation set for him, but her entire extended family in one go? Yeah, getting ignored was not going to happen. It'd be a three-ring circus with both of them in the spotlight. Nothing Amber had said made it sound like her family was any less than WASPy whitebread, and he'd stick out no matter how hard he tried to be inconspicuous.

Foreman wanted to reach for Amber's nervous hands, catch her fingers in his the way they had been just moments ago. It'd be easy if he was calm to try and reassure Amber. But he wasn't. He was starting to get pissed off, jaw clenching, as Amber blithely glossed over the implications of everything she was saying. Did Amber believed he'd just blend in and make no ripples--was she so naïve that she believed that, or was she hiding the truth from him? Foreman would bet the latter, if it would make her family look better, and him like the outsider who wouldn't even show up. As if he didn't have every reason not to expect a fair trial once he did. "Do you really think I'd get ignored?" he said.

He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his neck, staring up at the ceiling. "I never said I wouldn't go," he insisted. "You're jumping this on me and then you say it doesn't matter, and I think you're not telling me what does." Why else would Amber be so stand-offish? She was nearly as tense as he was. Foreman wasn't going to simply forget that when so many times the conversations they dropped were the important ones. Things that made a damn difference. "My family doesn't do Thanksgiving much anymore," he said. Eight years, or ten, he was starting to lose count of how long it had been. The year his mom had nearly burned down the house making a simple dinner had put an end to any huge family gathering. Most of his dad's people were back in Chicago, and his grandparents on his mom's side were both dead. It didn't make for much festivity. Easier to work. Easier to ignore Marcus's empty place at the dinner table and his dad's utilitarian cooking. "My mom--"

To Foreman's complete horror, his voice broke. Christ, he didn't talk about her, and this was fucking why. He snapped his mouth shut, teeth grinding, furious with himself. He rolled to his feet, pacing away so that he could squeeze his eyes shut for a second without Amber seeing. It doesn't matter, he thought, insisting on Amber's words like a mantra. It doesn't fucking matter so shut up. If he could just get his damn control back, he could talk again, agree with her: forget it, forget it, it's not important.

Eric’s horror grew the more she talked. Yeah, an hour with her family would be like ripping skin off; a few days and he'd be torn bare. No fucking way she'd put him through that or make herself suffer watching him abhor every second of her relatives. A sulky Thanksgiving would be infinitely preferable. Past the first round of pointed where's that boy your mom talked so much about?, no one would bother her much, anyway. Geoff would pull some dazzling life-changing news from his sleeve and if he didn't, Brian would help joke Amber out of the center of attention (at the price of teasing her mercilessly in private, later).

Do you really think I'd get ignored? Amber blushed. Of course he wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't. And not just for being the first 'boyfriend' she ever brought back home. It half-surprised her he already knew; humiliated her that she couldn't deny the accusation. "You'd be more scandalous than the punk-rock musician Brian fell for," Amber admitted stiffly. She felt made of cardboard. "Look, I told you already, you're not going. I'm not going to make you miserable, I'm not. End of story. If you ever have to meet my family, we'll find a better way." One that wouldn’t leave him so disgusted with her that he’d break it off between them. Fuck. Her family really might drive him away; she should've never thought to invite him to Thanksgiving, no matter what her mom said.

Amber was so caught up in trying to undo her mistake that she didn't really hear what Eric said next; only snapped back to attention when the words 'my family' popped up. That she wanted to know about. What did they do? What was it like? Would they ever want her over? Probably not, if they didn't get together for it anymore. He put his hands behind him, radiating an aura of do-not-touch. He was still pissed.

Which was why she was stunned when his voice cracked. Amber's mouth opened; made herself replay the sound in her head. Had that really happened? But she couldn't question her hearing, not when Eric's jumped to his feet, jerky movements screaming cacophony. "...Eric?" she asked cautiously, getting up to her knees, unable to not at least move, wanting to make it better. Fuck, if he cried, she'd have no idea what to do; she never did well when patients let loose the waterworks, and if it happened to the healthy man she was fucking, she’d be really lost. Was this about his mom? She had to be dead, for a reaction like that. Shit, what should she do? Hug him and say she was sorry? But Amber hated it when people pulled that crap with her. She was useless; all she really could give was sex, and what good would that do now?

No. No. He wasn't going to let anything show, he wasn't going to break down, he wasn't going to lose control any more than he already had. Foreman squeezed away the burn behind his eyes and forced a deep breath. He refused, he fucking refused to start blubbing like a fucking child crying for his mother. It was bad enough that House never let up on him once it was clear that Foreman would react to digs about his mom. At work, Foreman spent his control taking every word House said and stuffing it so deep in a box at the back of his mind, locking it down so tightly, that he never had to worry about showing an eyelid's flicker of a reaction. Not just because the topic of conversation came up. So his family didn't get together, each of them alone--his dad without either of them, Marcus locked away, and his mom lost in her own mind. Foreman wasn't like that. Foreman chose to just pass the holiday by. He didn't need to hear about other families celebrating, being close, and all of them, all of them would turn on him and wonder exactly what was wrong with his family that they weren't doing the same. Foreman was not going to admit they were any better for being together. Not to mention that he'd be fucking 'scandalous', worse than a punk rocker. He was a professional, a doctor, a success. But they wouldn't see that. Even Amber knew it.

Swallowing hurt like he was trying to down a horse pill, but when he turned, at least there was nothing showing on his face. "My mom's been sick," he gritted out, glaring to forestall any further questions. He wasn't so weak that he couldn't even talk about it. He just didn't want to.

What he wanted was to get out of here. Throw himself into an activity, use his muscles until they burned, until he was so exhausted he didn't have to think. "There's three weeks to think about it," he said, trying to end the conversation and the idea without making himself into the villain. Unless there was a plane involved, in which case buying tickets or not was a pretty immediate problem--don't think about it. "Why don't we get out of here? I'll get you a pass to my gym."

If Amber even wanted to go with him. After witnessing him nearly breaking down over something so simple, maybe she'd want to kick him out instead of dealing with it. That would be fine by him. He'd leave, put in his workout, and go home. Didn't fucking matter what he showed when he was in his own apartment, alone. That was probably for the best.

When she'd cried, he'd hugged her. She'd hated it, wounded by his gentleness when all she wanted to do was fly off the handle, hit, scream. But it'd been Eric's first reaction to take her in his arms. Was that what he'd want, too? Had she fucked up, lost that window of opportunity? Would she be the girl who didn't know how to handle a simple case of comforting?

Amber slid, slowly, without a sound, off the bed on the side opposite Eric. He was still. Too still. Fuck, it hurt to see that inflexible back, immobile like stone. She heard the breath he took; it was the only sign he was living. "Hey," she said. Felt as useful as a rocket engineer faced with a broken finger, but she couldn't not react; it was ingrained deep inside to at least try. "Are you okay?"

His mom was sick. Had been for a long time, probably. An image flashed through her mind, of his mom stuck in a hospital bed, an IV permanently through her wrist, weakening vitals announced in neon red lights. And here she'd been going on about on about her own mom. He should've told her. "Forget it," she repeated. Eric coming over was out of the question; wouldn't happen as long as she was on this side of the grave. "If you're going to see anyone, it should be her."

And now he wanted to plan a quick getaway. Amber's sympathy turned to exasperation, her hands framing her hips. Yeah, the gym was going to solve so fucking much. "You think that's going to make everything better?" she threw at him. How could it, when he'd almost shown his heart was breaking? Just because he’d pulled away at the last minute didn’t mean he wasn’t, at this very moment, being eaten by worry. Dribbling a ball and sweating wouldn't change anything. That was just fucking denial. Her own indignation fueling her past awkwardness, Amber strode to Eric, taking him by the shoulders as she hadn't dared before. Stared him in the eyes, not caring if he avoided hers like House did human feelings. "What are you not telling me?"

Are you okay was probably the most banal, inane question Foreman had ever heard. There was no way in hell to give a right answer. If he said he was, she'd say he was lying. If he said he wasn't, how was that better? What was she going to do about it if he wasn't? He wasn't going to feel better just because someone told him to or implied that he should.

"No," he snapped. He wasn't going to see his mother. He'd said they didn't get together. He could meet Amber's family. So they'd tiptoe around him and some of them might be jackasses. He could fucking handle meeting her family. If Amber was fishing for an invitation to come to his parents' house and pity him for his sick, broken family then they could just stop that right here. "Seeing her doesn't help her. It doesn't make a damn bit of difference."

Jesus, and now she was going to get on his back about going to the gym. It had been his escape hatch and Amber wanted read something into it, like he was psychologically damaged to want to try and enjoy his fucking life while his mother was dying. Well, she'd been dying for more years than he cared to count and Foreman forgetting to live his life wasn't going to change that either, no more than seeing her was. "No, it won't make it better! Nothing makes it better!" He jerked his shoulders back from her touch. "I don't need to talk about it. I deal with it." On my own. He tightened up, drawing away from her, fighting to keep his voice cold instead of bursting into anger. She'd known him for a week. No matter how much he felt for her that was no where near long enough to give her permission to analyze him, as if she had the right. Leave. Get out of here. There's nothing to tell, so get out of here. "I'm going. Come if you want." He had absolutely no words to tell her that with anyone else, he wouldn't invite them, he wouldn't discuss it. He would have already left.

No. His vehemence was a shock, and Amber felt her face drain with the surprise. Did he always turn his back on his family? His brother, he’d given up on; Amber could understand that, sometimes you had to cut your losses, even (especially) if they were related to you. But his mom, too? Next thing she knew, his dad too would be a drug-addict or a pimp, just as estranged from Eric as the rest.

If seeing her wouldn't help, perhaps she was in a coma, or brain dead, or suffering some other mental condition that kept her from recognizing her son. Amber could understand staying away on those grounds, but, again, what about his dad? Or had everyone left her? It was so callous. So cruelly callous, not at all like the sweet, gentle Eric she'd been coming to know. What good did his relentless courtesy do when he just ran away from the first sight of unpleasantness?

When he pulled back, Amber stumbled a couple of steps, not insisting on the hold. She fiddled with the hem of the Colombia hoodie, the one she'd been so happy to appropriate, proud to wear as the symbol of being his. What if she got sick one day? Eric wouldn't stick around. He could put up with the knotted hair and her crying, but if she ever really needed help--

How sobering. Amber didn't mean to get sick. Ever. But she was a doctor. She'd seen enough people at the height of health deteriorate overnight to know better than to think herself immune; she was a winner, not immortal. It could happen. And when it did, Eric would "deal" with it. Without her.

The odor of stale sweat was suddenly overpowering.

Eric ranted on, oblivious to Amber's dejection. He still wanted to go to the stupid gym and play. Fine. Let him have his way, they could enjoy their games and fun, pretending that nothing was wrong now and that their future was crystal-clear. They’d live up the moment and screw the rest; one night of sex was all Amber had wanted from him, she shouldn't be bitter he couldn't give her more. "I'm going," she replied sharply. "If you can wait two seconds, I'll get ready." First step: change. Amber pulled his hoodie over her head.

She was coming with him. Foreman started in surprise. He had no illusions about what a shitty mood he was in, and Amber had to see it, but she still wanted to waste her time with him? Why wasn't she just throwing him out? Five minutes ago she hadn't even believed him that going to the gym was the best he could do right now and now she was getting ready? Foreman caught the look on her face, set and angry. Not happy, so why? Christ, he'd hurt her somehow, and he didn't know what he'd said. Or was it just that he'd pulled away? Not everything could be solved with a damn hug. She'd yanked out of his grip before, and physically pushed him away, too. Not that it mattered; he didn't want the hug. Didn't want to be touched. "Okay," he said, voice low. "I'll wait."

Head down, he walked out of the bedroom. It'd be simple to just keep walking, out the front door, start his car and drive. Keep going until the road blurred. Turn off his brain. An hour, just an hour without thinking about any of the screw-ups in his life, the places where nothing could be shined up and shown with pride, and he'd be fine again.

The remains of their breakfast--that he'd been so proud of and that she'd barely touched--still sat out on the table. Foreman bent down slowly and righted the chair he'd tipped over when he'd picked Amber up. Took the dishes into the kitchen. He felt like he was moving through water, everything taking more thought and effort than it should. He found saran wrap to cover the egg yolks and the leftovers, and pushed them into the fridge. However long Amber took to get ready, he could spend the time in the kitchen, cleaning. Hiding.

He'd meant to rinse the dishes at least, but it all seemed so fucking futile. Instead of making himself useful, or making up in any way for the foul mood he'd unleashed on Amber, Foreman leaned back against the fridge and stared, unseeing, into the distance, his mind about a million miles away.

Amber wasn't convinced he'd wait; nothing to keep him from bolting, with or without having intended to do so. It was his track record with his family, after all. But as she took off her shirt and got on a bra, all the sounds he made came from the kitchen.

What was she doing? The minute she was ready, she'd have to leave this room. See him. Rummaging for what she needed, pulling on her sneakers and tying the laces, Amber's thoughts lingered over the implications of what she knew about Eric and his strange relationship to his family. Moving became harder and harder, as if her oxygen supply were being slowly drained away, limiting her energy. How was she supposed to face him, wondering how long before he ran from her, too?

Dressed casually for the outside world, her hair down, and holding a bag with her workout clothes, Amber swung by the bathroom for the last few preparations. No makeup, not if they were going to spend an hour or two running and jumping. No, what she couldn't forget was the second dosage of levonorgestrel; Amber grabbed the package, popped out the pill, and quickly dry-swallowed it. There, done. No more room for regrets. There wouldn't be any Volakis-Foreman lovechildren. Now all she had to do was make sure they never forgot protection again.

Her sneakers scuffed against the ceramic tiles and wood panels, walking back to the kitchen. It'd been a few minutes since the last sound from here, but since she hadn't heard the front door slam or screams from the window, Amber assumed Eric hadn't made a hasty exit. Probably just sitting quietly for her.

She found Eric shell-shocked in the kitchen. The sight gave her pause. At least he felt like crap over being a selfish son of a bitch. …Huh. And she was the cutthroat bitch. What a pair they made. "Let's go," Amber said simply, shouldering her sports bag. If they were going to drown their woes in sweat, let them start soon, to get rid of this heaviness. (She wasn't avoiding the truth, like Eric; she just-- it should be fun, however long they lasted. She’d mope after things had gone disastrously wrong.) "I've still got to kick your ass."

Belatedly, Foreman realized that he'd spent the time Amber was getting ready without making any preparations himself. He looked up at her, surprised all over again that she wasn't abandoning him the second he showed how much was wrong in his life. Could be she was just smoothing it over for the sake of not fighting...except Amber had never once backed down from a fight. Foreman didn't get it, and he wanted to ask her why. He wet his lips, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't participate in the charade that they were going to for fun and games. Maybe he could do that after he'd put in a punishing workout. Run away on a treadmill, at least he wouldn't be lost when he was done.

He grabbed his runners out of his sports bag and pulled them on, leaving the laces loosely tucked in around his ankles. He pulled on his coat. It had been frosty when he'd gone out earlier. When everything had seemed so damn perfect and he'd gone to get the clothes that he could leave at her place. Like her offer had been meant in any permanent sense. He doubted it. Only until she'd seen enough of him. Or only until her family had rendered its judgement. Foreman could almost hear the word unsuitable hanging over them. One more thing to shake off. He picked up his gym bag and headed for the door. There had to be something he could say to at least start to fix whatever the hell had gone wrong. He'd told her before he didn't want to talk about his family, but he'd been the one to bring up the subject. Why shouldn't she be curious in return? They'd just been talking, and it had felt good...

Foreman used his remote-starter and then waited for Amber to lock the door behind them. It was sunny and clear, but the air was still chilly and damp. Foreman pulled in a breath. The reset started now. No fucking temper tantrums. "Thanks," he said, focusing his gaze on the street instead of Amber. "For coming." Was there anything else he could say? She'd talked about kicking his ass, and yeah, the idea of watching her try and beat him in the paint still tugged at him. He wanted to get there, but he wanted her to understand that he wouldn't be ready to play just because they got out of the apartment. "I'll book us a court, but I want--" Need, but that sounded too stupid for words. "To work out first." He didn't add if that's okay. It had damn well better be.

Amber pulled on her coat and grabbed her keys, opening the door. Eric went ahead, either not comfortable with her or still needing space. From the way he'd spaced out in the kitchen and now huddled into himself as if he'd gone off into his own little world, either reliving guilt and painful memories or trying to get her away from the subject as far as possible, it didn't really seem Eric wanted her around. He hadn't even replied to her quip about kicking his ass.

His 'thanks' passed her right by; all she heard was what next. Frustration tugged at Amber, knotting up her stomach. So he really was going to exclude her, take her to the gym and dump her in some corner where he didn't have to see or hear her. Shut her out like he had everything else. What the fuck was she here for? "If you want to go alone, go," she said. Amber was so tired of holding back her thoughts, tip-toeing lest too great a provocation sent him running. Well, he was practically at the dash line, ready to sprint, and it wasn't as if keeping silent had stopped the fighting. "You keep forgetting, I'm not forcing you into anything." The lesson had long since been learned: she couldn't make Eric do her bidding.

She skidded down the steps, not entirely sure why she was still going forward, as if she hadn't just called into question whether or not she should go with him.

Foreman tried to hide his flinch when, instead of silence or acceptance, his appreciation got shoved right back where it came from. He was shocked at his own thought--I don't want to go alone. Usually it was exactly what he wanted, so what had changed? He'd spent his weekends and his days off alone for years; even when he'd been dating Wendy they didn't spend entire days together. Dinners, breakfasts, sure, but then they both had their own errands to accomplish. Foreman had always been more than fine with that. Why the hell was he making these confessions to Amber, and then hoping she'd stay with him, as if he needed his hand held because he'd had painful things happen in his life? He was better than that. He didn't need that.

He kept his eyes diverted from Amber. She was putting words in his mouth. He'd said he was glad she was coming, and she'd twisted that around somehow. The same was true the other way around, he couldn't force her to come, and yet she was still walking towards the car as if she expected to. There was so much contradictory information that Foreman shut down further, only getting through the bare mechanical efforts of tossing his bag into the car's backseat and walking around to the driver's side.

Foreman climbed into the car, making no move to open the passenger door this time. He'd probably get his head bitten off for that too. The seats were starting to warm up and the frost was clearing from the windshield under the blast of the fans. He waited for the click of Amber's door handle, not reaching for the ignition or the steering wheel, and still staring pointlessly ahead of himself. "I'm not very good company right now," he said, and his voice sounded petulant even in his own ears--petulant and obvious, since it wasn't like he'd hidden it very well. "I want the game to be fun. So I'm telling you." Foreman pressed his lips together, still not glancing across the car. Had he ever really told anyone what he needed? "I want to work it out. As much as I can, before we play." His eyes flicked over, briefly. "You don't have to come. I don't know why you're putting up with me." The last part came with an incredulous head-shake; he really didn't know, and once again he expected Amber to get out of his car once she realized it too.

Amber didn't even know if she should get into the car, since Eric wouldn't even reply to her statements. Was she supposed to mind-read? Or maybe there was some weather-forecast channel that'd announce his likely feelings and actions: 'you're in for a day of moodiness, but there'll be bursts of cheerful spirits.'

But he hadn't said explicitly that he wanted to be alone. If he did, that was his problem. Almost as if to spite him, Amber opened the door to his unlocked car and got in. That's what he got for not make himself clearer; let him learn his damn lesson that silence did not cut it in letting her know what the hell he wanted.

The car felt alive, whirring and heating up. More alive than Eric who was still stony and mute. Amber buckled herself in and stared at Eric coolly. Last chance to get her out. Yeah, he was terrible company, awkward and pointed. At least when she was alone she didn't feel the strain of no conversation, the anger of facing a partner who'd coiled into himself. The game would be no fun at all if he kept this up, who was he kidding? Not her. But she'd probably win; it'd be easy to snatch the ball if he couldn’t look at her. She'd score all the points she liked, making up for her multiple-failure morning.

Eric's last sentence, said stubborn like a kid complaining, was almost a question-- the same one she'd been asking herself ever since she started to get ready for the gym. Amber let out a breath. The car heated up fast, so she pulled her arms out of her coat sleeves. She didn't know the 'why'; she just wanted to be here. Didn't really occur to her not to go. With Eric leading, Amber trailed after. Fucking great; now she was the kid.

But if Eric was going to be honest with her-- and so petulant and whiny a statement could only be honest-- it was fair she be the same to him. "I'll stick around for as long as you want me to." Because nothing from him so far-- not even the disappointment of how much he’d failed his family-- was enough to make Amber turn away, at this point. She liked him too damn much. Amber waved at the street stretching out in front of them-- if he'd even notice, his eyes focused ahead. "C'mon, let's go."

Suspicion flared in Foreman's chest. He wouldn't want to stick around someone who was throwing a shit-fit. His mouth twisted. Great, now he was going to get shamed into a better mood just by seeing how much Amber was willing to endure to be with him. The last thing he wanted was to put her off so much that she realized he wasn't worth it. The contradiction wasn't lost on him--in superficial relationships, one-night stands or a few weeks' good times, Foreman never let himself get like this. Nothing mattered, so it was easy to stay composed and urbane. But when it mattered, when he cared, things slipped out almost before he'd noticed. He wanted to pull back from Amber and get back that guy he knew he should be, the one who'd laugh off the talk of visiting families and erase his own with one casual shrug. Amber, though--if they were together long enough...she'd know. And he wasn't going to lie now and spring the truth on her later. She'd already more than made clear that that was a deal-breaker for her.

He nodded at Amber's encouragement and pulled out. The drive to the gym was a little longer, because first, it was convenient to the hospital, not Amber's apartment, and second because Foreman hadn't been interested in finding some second-rate place. He wanted all the perks thrown in, as long as he was paying a damn high membership fee. He was there most days, for a swim or a weight-lifting session or just a shower, and any place where he spent that much time should be first rate.

Saturday mornings were typically busy, but there was a lull just after noon most days, and they'd managed to hit that low point. Foreman pulled into his usual parking space. He hadn't said anything during the drive, because he figured at least that couldn't make it worse, and he kept quiet as he led the way inside. The place was huge, with the front room dedicated to crosstraining, treadmills, and weights. Further back were the gyms, squash courts, and the lap pool, with the rows of change rooms separating the two halves of the gym.

Carrying his gym bag, Foreman went straight to the front desk. One of the perks that he didn't call on that often, but was damn glad to have when he needed it, was access to a more private change room. The clerk recognized him and came over immediately, signing Amber in as his guest and passing over the swipe key. Foreman signed up for a court time in about half an hour. Once they'd passed through the gate into the gym, Foreman headed down the hall and waved the key in front of the lock, opening the door. The change room was quieter, and cleaner, than the typical one; it had its own shower and bigger lockers. It was more of a closet than anything else, but they could stay together, and it was pretty unlikely that anyone else would barge in. If they were going to have a stupid argument, at least it didn't have to be in public.

Terrible company indeed. Eric had warned her, in his way, but that didn’t make the long, dragged-out silence any better. Amber tapped her fingers along the window’s edge; crossed her legs and jiggled her foot. Right now she could be at home, reading. She’d gotten through a few articles on Wednesday and Thursday, but there was always more. Plenty more. Or she could be tackling the dirty dishes they'd piled up; for all she knew, the one she'd left in the dishwasher last night were still there. They'd have gotten out only if Eric had done her that favor, and why would he have? Cooking was more glamorous than cleaning-- or got more rewards out of her, anyway.

Of course the gym would be on the other side of town. It wouldn't have mattered, if they were talking. But, hah. So much for having enough in common to carry actual conversations. No sex, constant fighting, refusal to meet either one of their families... Amber didn't want to even touch him, not even to hold his hand. Too irritated.

At least his workout place was top-notch. Amber studied it as Eric went through the motions of getting her in. If they were going to be together longer, she might get used to this place; she liked hers, and she wouldn't give up the aerobic classes, but if they were going to play sports together, Eric could spend more of his guest passes on her. Then again, "longer" didn't feel like would last much, at this rate.

The small changing room didn't improve Amber's mood any. Didn't he want to work out on his own? Why did he cram her in this tight space, where they'd have to get naked together-- hardly a conjecture she'd mind in other circumstances, but there'd be none of the fun, if their sex drive was gone, if he couldn't bear to look at her. She couldn’t even get the fun of knowing other people were checking her out.

Amber threw her bag on to one of the benches and hastily drew the zipper, the sound louder than the outside thuds and low radio music. If Eric was going to ignore her, then she would, too. Fuck him. He was the one losing out, not getting an eyeful as she ripped her shirt over her head.

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