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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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.

Foreman felt restless and edgy in the silence, but as far as he could tell, Amber's irritation with him was low-level enough that she'd decided not to confront him and shout him down in front of everyone working out. She'd never hesitated to yell or walk away from him when she was angry before, and she'd agreed to stay with him through his bad mood. It was like trying to keep balanced in an earthquake--Foreman had no experience with someone who tried to ride out his moodiness. Claire always used to throw up her hands in disgust and leave him to it. But Amber kept following him, even though there were plenty of opportunities for her to leave him to stew.

After opening his bag, Foreman skinned out of his jeans and tugged his sweater over his head. Amber was dressing quickly and efficiently, but that didn't stop Foreman from watching in the mirror in front of her. Yeah, he could see she was pissed off, but he also loved the sight of her body. Whether they were having sex or not, she was amazing; she'd mentioned going to the gym once or twice before, too, and Foreman liked that she kept in shape. That she was willing to challenge him at sports. He felt a faint smile, his first since he'd brought up his mom for no good reason. Amber would be willing to challenge anyone at anything--but he still liked it.

Foreman pulled on his shorts and his tearaway warm-up pants, then a dark grey t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Helped keep his arms free for weight-lifting, but it didn't hurt that he also got to show off a bit while he was out on the gym floor. The place was co-ed; Foreman had scored a few dates here. Not something to be thinking about today. Foreman bounced a bit on his toes, his energy coming up as it always did here. He was starting to feel better. Some stretching, maybe a four or five mile run, and he'd probably be back to the point he'd been at before all his own stupidity came crashing down on his head. "You want to stretch?" he said. They could help loosen each other up. It was an overture, anyway. If Amber didn't, they still had their court time in half an hour; Foreman could wait until then to touch her.

Her shirt and jeans yanked off, Amber glanced to her side where Eric was changing. Nice. She still found him attractive; if Amber weren't knotted up with frustration, she might’ve been inclined to take advantage of their half-public, half-private location.

In sweeping her gaze upwards, Amber noticed Eric's eyes were directed at the mirror; a quick look confirmed that he was checking her reflection out, complete with a tiny grin.

Maybe the rest of the day wouldn't be so bad.

Amber slipped on her red tank top (matching her sports bra) and her snug, black yoga pants in calmer, smoother motions than she'd removed her outfit. Bent over to put her sneakers back on, giving more of a show should Eric want one (and he better). Up straight again, Amber found an elastic band wrapped around her hairbrush and tied her hair up in a tight ponytail. She didn't have to look in the mirror-- though she did anyway-- to know she looked great. Amber liked drawing attention, letting the world know just how hot she was. If she ended her work outs with sweat-stained clothes, so did everyone else; didn't stop her from picking up guys. Gym men weren’t necessarily the best fucks, since brawn didn’t translate into technique, but it took less work than going to a bar.

As for Eric, he was stunning. At least her company looked damn good-- and not just for the skin he was showing off, but because he seemed more cheerful. The fact that he could make eye contact with her was a vast improvement. "Not much choice," Amber said. No matter what she did, whether passing the half hour on the tread mill or slipping into an in-session aerobics class, she had to stretch. Since Eric wanted to work out alone, they didn't need to stretch in the same area. If he could get rid of the rest of his bad mood with physical action, that’d be perfect. Sulky Eric was no fun.

She zipped up her bag again and strolled to dump it into one of the lockers. Small as the space was, it was easy to brush against him as she did so; his mood had picked up enough for at least that much.

Foreman was sure he'd meant to add 'together' to the end of his question, but he was distracted the second Amber bent over in her yoga pants. Damn. His first instinct was to step across the tiny distance that separated them so that they'd be snug up against each other the second she stood up. His palms itched to cup her ass, so perfectly outlined in the skin-tight material. Yeah, he was definitely starting to feel better.

He'd just finished tying his own shoes--eyes peeled for another look at her, so that he had to retie the right lace twice--when Amber walked by him to put her bag away. It was nearly reflex, the way he turned to follow her, stay within range of the warm aura of her body. He stepped up behind her, with his bag, and tossed it into the locker on top of hers, being as casual as possible about cornering her against the row of lockers as he did so. She could escape around him, sure, but maybe she wouldn't want to?

That was such a better question to be thinking about than whose family they'd be stuck with for Thanksgiving. Foreman pocketed the key after clanging the locker shut, the swipe card for the change room going with it. He was ready, and his heart was already pumping fast enough to count for his cardio workout. "Ready?" he asked, voice low, not bothering to make it sound like he was talking about the workout at all.

Amber backed up against the metal lockers, its vents digging into her shoulders, as Eric threw his bag into the compartment above. Moving up against her like this was no coincidence, not when he'd been avoiding her five minutes ago. Tease. If he wanted to touch her, he should go ahead and do so.

His warm tone and that suggestive, lingering look said it all. The longing she'd been walling off since this morning, stopping herself to test Eric's reactions, came rushing back. "No, not ready," Amber fired off. Her heat wasn't just from delayed desire; anger too was mixed in, blending so thoroughly together she couldn't tell them apart. She stared intently at Eric as a challenge, as an invitation. "Did you know we haven't kissed once today?" That thing in the kitchen, fleeting and flinched aside in favor of a frying egg, didn't count. "I think it's time we corrected that." Instead of the fighting, the sulking fits, that's what they should've been doing. What she should've done. If she'd jumped him when they were in bed, they couldn't have fought about family, Eric couldn't have dismissed her.

No more holding back. Amber pounced him now, throwing her force against him and kissed him hard, hands on his shoulders. Yeah, like that, hard, a clash. Amber poured out her frustration and confusion through her lips, not thinking, just acting. It felt good, to let it all out, and to feel him; she'd missed this, the taste of his lips, the passion. Somewhere along the way she'd convinced herself it'd never happen again.

Foreman could have kicked himself. Of course she wasn't interested in fucking, not after he'd been a pain in the ass most of the morning. One look at her body and everything was peachy again? Yeah, he should have guessed that she wouldn't be ready just because he'd suddenly checked in with this sex drive. Foreman backed off as quickly as he could, angry embarrassment nearly undoing all the good the promise of exercise had done.

Amber's next accusation caught him off-guard. You expect to act pissed off with the whole damn world and still get some? Not likely--those were the words he was waiting to hear. The fact that they hadn't kissed hadn't so much as entered his mind. They'd been close from the moment they woke up. Playing footsie under the table, wrestling like kids--he'd carried her back to the bed and practically used his whole body to pin her down. They'd been wrapped in each other's arms until the conversation soured. Maybe they hadn't kissed but all of that seemed to show that it would've been only a matter of time.

He didn't have a chance to point any of that out. A short moan rose in his throat, surprise mostly, but also arousal at just how urgent Amber's kiss was. He was the one slammed back against the lockers, his arms full of Amber; his hug was tight and an instinctive answer. Just as deeply, he kissed her back, opening his mouth and twining his tongue against hers. Not thinking. It was what he'd wanted. A distraction. Breath rushing and heart slamming, all in five seconds flat. Responding to Amber's passion was simple, because he didn't have to think about why.

Even as his hands roamed down, over Amber's ass, and pulled her all the more satisfyingly against him, though, why was still tripping him up. Because they hadn't kissed all day? What did that have to do with now? Was there a countdown, number of hours they could spend without having sex, and once that time ran out it didn't matter what kind of mood they were in because they were on a schedule? Foreman ripped away from the kiss without moving away; his bent forehead rested against Amber's, and his hands were still massaging her ass. "I'm sorry," he said, testing his way. "I was being an ass. But--" He was still confused, and uncertain of his theory. The idea that he'd get it wrong and ruin this made him hesitate. "That doesn't change this..." Kissing you. Easier to show than to say, and he leaned in close to kiss her again, strongly, but with a gentler intent.

Amber closed her eyes, her frustration infinitely satisfied in receiving so strong a response. This. That moan, that clench. The metal clang of Eric crashing into the lockers, the greediness of his thrusting tongue. Her mouth was filled with his taste, her nose the scent of the gym's strong cleaning-product. She breathed in sharply as his hands found her ass, pulled her in possessively. Yes. Wouldn't have thought it possible, but she kissed Eric deeper still, angling her head to get closer, closer. Pissed as she was, Amber wanted him with her. Removing that distance that had grown between them today.

She didn't care for his apologies, mere words. Actions were was she needed. Amber kissed the side of his mouth, reminding him what they could be doing if he shut the fuck up. Scraped her teeth against his cheek, bit down on his earlobe. Gentleness could fuck itself. "What won’t change?" Amber defied. "You won't always want me." Maybe it wasn't today, like she'd thought. But all couples lost it, sooner or later. And then what? He'd keep on having bouts of being an ass, and there wouldn't be sex to make up for it? How could that be okay, and how could she still be kissing him desperately, accepting this temporary, paltry solution? Shit. Amber pressed up into Eric, pushing him harder into the lockers, her hands sliding down to the hem of his shirt only to slide right back up, palming his skin. None of what she was doing made any sense. But she wanted this. Him. Things always seemed so much better after they’d touched, kissed. Why could they only get this right? “Why do we keep fighting?” Amber loved a confrontation, the adrenaline that came from being fucking right and making everyone piercingly aware of just how much. But not with Eric. It only felt like losing, with him. “I hate it.”

Always. The word tangled Foreman up. Forever was too much to promise. But he couldn't imagine giving up having Amber arching against him, even more eager to press into him than his arms drawing her in. He grunted sharply at her bite, and twisted his head away from her teeth. The throb of pain in his ear urged him to turn the tables, and he rolled easily, pushing her back against the lockers with a rattling clang as all the combination locks around them rang against the doors. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, and threw his weight against her, like it was proof. His hands moved from her ass to her wrists, squeezing spasmodically, an echo of the wrestling clinch he'd had her in. Holding her captive under his kiss. His hips pinned her against the lockers as much as anything else, and he gave up gentle to give himself entirely over to the kiss. He invaded her mouth, trying to fight her on whatever terms she wanted to make it. The physical sensation was thrilling, and it kept his blood pumping angrily.

"It's not--" But maybe it was a fight. He'd thought of the kiss as a competition, or something he could win. How fucked up was that? Either he'd absorbed too much of Amber's world view or he was already taking the wrong perspective on a relationship he wanted to last. Foreman let go of Amber's hands, and stroked his palms along her body, ending at her hips. Had he been the only one with anything to apologize for? He'd stiffened up the second she'd mentioned meeting her family, but that was his own damn paranoia, nothing Amber had done wrong. "I fucked up." He forced his body to stay loose, and lightened the press of his body against her. "I hate--talking. When I can't...it doesn't help." Eyes closed, he tried to imagine anyone, even Amber, accepting his family as they were. But she'd stayed with him even when he nearly growled her away from him, and she hadn't demanded a million questions about Marcus, either when he'd told her, or since. It made him freeze up, imagining that he could trust her. But that was what they were fighting over, wasn't it? That was what she hated. Foreman breathed out, shuddering and slow. "But you should know."

Amber let out a grunt as Eric rolled her against the lockers; damn it, he could only do that because he was stronger. Stupid relative muscle capability according to gender. But it turned her on too, Eric's physical rebelliousness, and she was ready for more. More kissing, more shoving, more of him proving that he wouldn't go anywhere, at least not as long as he was hot for her.

But he went for her wrists. Amber flinched, stiffened. Breath went shallow. Trapped. She wanted him to fight back, but not like this. Fuck he really was strong. By gut instinct Amber strained, pulling her wrists up and away. He was only doing what she'd egged him on to do, get aggressive. But she turned from his mouth. Not like this.

The hold was temporary. Before she could say anything, he let her wrists go. Oxygen worked again. "Not my wrists," Amber gasped. Knew it hadn't been intentional, but, fuck, she didn't want that happening again. Damn it, it'd feel so delicious otherwise, clamped between his thighs. How could one hold be wonderful and the other terrible? "Didn't feel good," was all she could give in explanation, because Amber didn't understand herself.

The fact that he was apologizing streamed in through her distress. Again. It wasn't what she wanted. Didn't mean anything.

Despite her split-second panic, though, Amber was calming down. Easy to, given the tenderness of Eric’s light touch over her hips. And she needed to be pacified, that made her more receptive. The fact that he was trying to explain himself (not just apologize) and that the hold hadn't lasted, filled Amber with affection. Head throbbed with it. Again she acted without thinking, lifting her hands to cup his face. "I never know what you're thinking," she said, gazing at him. Amber loved his face. Loved learning what his expressions meant. This one hurt a little, vulnerable, but tender, too. "I keep imaging what you could be thinking, and-- you've gotta tell me, Eric. Though--" Amber laughed weakly. "Talking's never seemed to help us much."

Foreman blinked his eyes open, catching Amber's expression for the first time since he'd let the kiss envelop his senses, when she yanked away from his grip. He'd already let go before she froze against him, and his heart skipped a beat at her flinch. Jesus, what had he done now? She almost seemed frightened. When he'd done so much more this morning, playfully tumbling her into bed and grabbing her arms to hug her against him, she hadn't reacted like this. Or maybe she had, and he'd missed it? Foreman wanted to rock back on his heels, give her more space, but she didn't let him.

Her palms on his cheeks were familiar, slightly cooler than his skin, and Foreman met her eyes, given little choice to do anything else. Hers were grey-blue and stormy, direct, but still a little bit wary, even scared. Foreman let himself shiver and relax, eyelids closing slightly, though not enough to break eye contact with her. His body seemed to mould into hers naturally, the fit between them warm and true. Turning his head slightly, Foreman kissed the center of Amber's palm, his beard brushing lightly against her skin. Talking hadn't helped them, yeah, but then, he hadn't tried to talk this much in so many years that he'd nearly forgotten how. "I think... I haven't told anyone so much, this fast..." No one had been around while Marcus was dragging his second chances into the ground. Foreman had been alone, and he'd learned to damn well deal with it on his own, because there'd been no one else. "I don't know how." He wanted an answer for every question, even if it was wrong--at least he didn't look like he couldn't think, couldn't come to a decision. "I don't like that, I don't like that it's hard." He met her eyes again, breathing slower now. God, he'd never been more glad of the privacy of this change room before, but knowing how unlikely it was for anyone to walk in allowed him to simply take his time, and watch her, and stroke his thumbs over her hips. "Hey. I don't know what you're thinking, either."

Her hands covered so much of his face, as if he were hiding-- or she hiding him-- behind them. Eric's kiss to the heart of her palm sent a flutter of warm feeling through her. But to see more of him, of those gently sloping cheeks, Amber slipped her hands back to curve around the nape of his neck. His skin folded there, and her fingertips ran over the pinpricks of his hair as she distractedly caressed him. From passionate kissing and shoving to feather-light touches in less than five minutes; she didn't understand them. Not one bit.

What hadn't Eric told anyone so much, this fast? About his family? And what was the remarkable part, the fact that he'd revealed that much, or that it was in so brief a period of time? House probably knew a lot about him-- from bribing other people and other schemes. Amber wondered what Eric had told his past girls, the ones he'd loved and not. Shouldn't matter. Fact was, he was telling her. Awkwardly, and often accusingly, as if what he'd done was her fault. Maybe he resented telling her. Amber sighed. He'd also admitted that she should know and that he didn't like how hard it was to let these things out. She'd have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hugging like this, snug and cozy, made it easier to. She inched closer, away from the cold flatness of the lockers and into his welcoming, familiar torso.

"I tell you," Amber started to protest. She told him lots of things, like what she wanted from him in bed and how she hated not being in control. There were only a few things she'd kept from him, like her confrontation with House, her jealousy over his past girlfriends, how upset she'd gotten that he wasn't attracted to her-- "Most of the time," she acknowledged. "Okay. Go ahead, ask me something you wanted to know." The worst he already knew.

As Amber slipped away from the lockers, Foreman worked his arms around behind her again. The metal chilled the backs of his arms, but it didn't matter; he wanted Amber closer, tucked right up against him. Her fingertips drifting over the back of his head and the contrast, warmth and lightness, nearly undid him, with how tender she could be. It would be so easy to bend his head, rest against her shoulder while he tasted the side of her throat, continued down the familiar path along her neck to suck and lick at her collarbone. If they'd been somewhere else, with more privacy, he might have. Or if there wasn't a real conversation happening, almost despite himself.

Foreman's eyes flickered across Amber's face, trying to see how much she meant it. He'd given her an opening; she could have asked him a question, but she'd opened herself up to him instead. That she'd expect it to be reciprocal, he didn't doubt; an eye for an eye seemed to be her style, if nothing else. But it meant something that she was willing to go first and put herself out there. The way she'd reacted after Foreman had grabbed her wrists, and he'd thought maybe this would be like the other times when she'd shut down any conversation about herself and begged off telling him anything until "later". He doubted that she'd always meant later to be now, but it helped him to trust her. Still, the idea that he would have to tell her more, even afterwards, even after promising to try, erased some of his ease.

Worry about it when she asked him. Foreman figured he already knew what she'd ask, anyway. For himself, there were plenty of deep questions he could ask, but only one immediate thing. "You said we hadn't kissed today," he said. He wasn't quite sure how to frame his theory. Most of the truth he wanted he thought he'd see as he studied her face, measured the tension in her body under his hands, for her response. "Did you think we weren't going to?"

Eric really liked it when she did that back-of-head scratch thing. Amber smiled fondly, letting her fingers sweep more gently still. Like a big cat purring, lazing, tension unfurling away. Strange, but that momentary burst of panic made Amber feel safer. Wasn’t good, that it'd happened, but it hadn't lasted; if that sense of imprisonment overcame her again, perhaps it'd be resolved just as quickly. Eric's arms, warm and right around her, were a better backdrop than vents and combination locks. The radio played some mindless techno and, for a second, Amber rocked to it. How much time had passed? They’d either missed the beginning of their appointment or were about to. Didn’t matter. Amber could wrangle them a new timeslot if they wanted one later. This was more important.

For whatever reason, it hadn't occurred to her he'd ask that. Thought he'd go for something more meaningful, like why she'd frozen just now; how did that one remark grab his attention, much less matter? Caught between a blush and a face-scrunch, Amber couldn't even hem and haw. She'd promised (more or less) to answer and now she had to. "Yeah," she said fast. The rest took more friction to get out of her mouth, even if it was the explanation to make the 'yeah' less stupid. "A bit. I thought-- I didn't get why you didn't want to kiss or anything. We were in bed and nothing happened." It was an overreaction, she knew it was. This was so embarrassing. Why had she ever imagined telling each other their thoughts was a good idea? And this was only the tip of the iceberg, as far as her inane ideas went. It was okay, though. She’d admitted to dumber things already. "Nothing but more fighting," Amber added with some lament. Sex was so much better than hissy fits.

Foreman nodded slightly as Amber spoke. He'd had a feeling it had been something like that, although he hadn't really been able to put it into words even for himself. Seemed like a strange thing for her to bring up now, when they were fighting, and he'd thought it had worried her more than she wanted to say. He'd never once thought sex was their problem. If anything it was so simple that they could fall into each other's arms and pretend the world away. Like now: he was relaxed again, almost as comfortable as he had been lying next to her this morning. The fact that they could lie around talking, that meant something, and he wanted Amber to know it too.

It was easier to talk about them; he wouldn't have thought it was true even a few days ago. Telling Amber that he liked her, that being with her meant something--he'd gotten just as tied up in knots about that at first. Now that the issue was something even more intensely personal to him than his feelings for her, which bubbled warmly to the surface every time they were close like this. He'd been protective of his family and what people knew about them for most of his life, especially since Marcus started having problems while Foreman was in college. His instinct to keep his mouth shut had intensified while he worked for House. The best defense was to be boring, and to be boring there had to be nothing interesting about his life; nothing worth telling. If it wasn't worth telling, then it wouldn't matter when House inevitably found out anyway and taunted him with it.

Apologizing for the fight again wouldn't get them past it. He'd said his piece and he'd leave it at that. "I liked being with you," he said. Not the fighting, although even that hadn't been as intense as some of their earlier shouting matches. He'd wanted to walk out at one point, but only to protect his own damn self, never because he'd been upset with Amber. He grinned lightly. "Picturing you sitting on your brothers. I bet you had pigtails." His shoulders shook slightly, but he kept the laughter silent, at least, even if she'd see it dancing in his eyes. "You know--" Heat rose to his face, but maybe he was finally ready to say it. "You know what you can do to me. Like last night. But that's not all I want with you."

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