Blankly, Foreman watched Amber go through the motions of tidying the lab. She didn't really have to. The techs could do that sort of thing. During the more frantic cases, when they didn't have time to run all the cultures themselves, they'd left messes behind them. Hadn't really thought about who ended up putting everything away. How could Amber go to this effort on their behalf, easily and unconsciously, when she knew what a mess she'd made with Casey and she hadn't so much as acknowledged that she'd done it? Or had a hand in it, at least.
Foreman wasn't prepared for her offer. He stared at her, not taking it in for a second, before the tilt of her head and her arched eyebrow finally registered. God, sex was the last thing that was going to solve this. He'd done it again, walked in expecting a damn apology, given her another opening, and all she wanted was to ignore it or subsume it somehow. He didn't even have the energy to be angry. He'd thought she couldn't hurt him worse than by doubting his medical opinion and sneaking behind his back to sabotage his case, but this was the last straw.
"I can't," he said, drawing back in on himself. "Not tonight." He'd be staying here, sleeping in the on-call room if he could, showering in the change room. He couldn't remember if he had a spare shirt in his locker; he might end up wearing OR scrubs if he got vomited on. Par for the course. He didn't even know how to tell her what the hell she'd done to him. If anyone else had screwed up, he might be tired, he might still be chained here overnight, but he wouldn't be this exhausted. He felt like he'd been beaten up, bruised so deep that simply moving enough to keep awake and keep thinking hurt. Fine. Fine. She hadn't let him alone before, but he also hadn't told her off. When she'd chased him, he'd let her in. Too deep, he saw that now. Too fast. This time he'd keep her at a better distance, so that she couldn't do this to him. Put those walls back up that he'd trusted her enough to let down. He cleared his throat and picked up his untouched coffee again, heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
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Foreman wasn't prepared for her offer. He stared at her, not taking it in for a second, before the tilt of her head and her arched eyebrow finally registered. God, sex was the last thing that was going to solve this. He'd done it again, walked in expecting a damn apology, given her another opening, and all she wanted was to ignore it or subsume it somehow. He didn't even have the energy to be angry. He'd thought she couldn't hurt him worse than by doubting his medical opinion and sneaking behind his back to sabotage his case, but this was the last straw.
"I can't," he said, drawing back in on himself. "Not tonight." He'd be staying here, sleeping in the on-call room if he could, showering in the change room. He couldn't remember if he had a spare shirt in his locker; he might end up wearing OR scrubs if he got vomited on. Par for the course. He didn't even know how to tell her what the hell she'd done to him. If anyone else had screwed up, he might be tired, he might still be chained here overnight, but he wouldn't be this exhausted. He felt like he'd been beaten up, bruised so deep that simply moving enough to keep awake and keep thinking hurt. Fine. Fine. She hadn't let him alone before, but he also hadn't told her off. When she'd chased him, he'd let her in. Too deep, he saw that now. Too fast. This time he'd keep her at a better distance, so that she couldn't do this to him. Put those walls back up that he'd trusted her enough to let down. He cleared his throat and picked up his untouched coffee again, heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."