alwaysright | October 25, 2007

October 25, 2007

Foreman stepped out of Cuddy's office, closing the door softly behind him, and paused for a moment to look down at the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. Even if Cuddy didn't let it be generally known that she was rescuing from his own fuck-up, House would know just looking at him, and from there it was only a matter of time before the entire hospital knew his business. It wasn't much of an auspicious start for controlling House. Foreman didn't believe for a minute Cuddy's words when she'd still been trying to suck up to him that he was the only one on the team who House respected. Whether it was true or not, Foreman had missed his window of opportunity to actually squeeze something worthwhile out of Cuddy, and he was stuck with unenviable task of reining House in when House definitely didn't want it.

Foreman had had a shitty summer. No job, no relationship after he'd broken up with Wendy. He'd taken the opportunity of some time off to write articles and work on his contacts--he'd even gone to a conference in August, combining it with some long-overdue vacation--but mostly he'd been hitting the pavement, looking for the perfect job. Mercy had been it. He'd only been there a month, and he'd already felt so goddamn confident. This was his in. His chance to make his mark on the field. And he'd had an amazing catch with his lymphoma patient. One glance at her lactic acid level and he'd immediately felt like he'd been struck by lightning. He was so damn sure he was as good as House, able to synthesize the answer from one lab result. And he'd been right--but that wasn't good enough.

The weather outside tonight seemed to echo his feelings. Long, grumbling rolls of thunder accompanied the downpour. Foreman pulled on his overcoat and got his umbrella. On Monday morning he'd be back here, shoved into House's insane little game for hiring a team that Cuddy had explained to him, and he wouldn't want to be here, nor would he be wanted. Until then all he had to do was stew over the situation. Any distraction would be more than welcome, but Foreman couldn't think of much to fill his time with. He headed for the doors, but he didn't walk out right away. He waited just inside the doors, staring out at the weather as if he hoped for some break in the storm. Probably about as likely as a change in his own luck.

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Amber twirled the peony between her fingers, a smile dancing on her lips. This job, it was hers. She'd solved the case: ergot poisoning, take that! She'd beat even the Great House to the punch. Hah, they should just cut the chase and make her the head of diagnostics. Wasn't she more pleasant than him? (No matter what the others called her.) If she could solve the cases just as well and be nicer, why stick to House? She was a much better choice.

But she shook her head. She shouldn't get ahead of herself. She didn't even have this job yet. She was the right Cutthroat Bitch for the position, but House was unpredictable. He wanted the competent people, Amber knew. She could tell by the quality of the remaining "contestants." All smart, all fast, all desperate. And yet, House also worked on whim. He could fire her before nine tomorrow for shooting out an unwelcome idea, for pinning her hair up, for showing the "wrong" nervous habit. She could just imagine the sadistic glint in his eyes as he leaned forward on his cane. He'd say something about how tapping fingers prove an unbalanced character, and that he only wants the equivalent of spirit levels on his team. As if that girl, whatever her name was, Thirteen, were at all balanced. She was a screw about to go loose, if Amber ever saw one.

Whatever. Amber tilted the peony to her face and breathed in deep. Sweet. Promising. When she got home, she'd press it between the pages of her copy of Gray's Anatomy, the one she'd gotten as a sixteenth birthday present. She kept the tokens of her accomplishment there, or at least the ones that fit. House was crazy, but she was better at diagnosing than any of the others. And, more importantly, she played the game. If she hadn't switched to the boy's side last week, and if she hadn't messed with Thirteen this week, she wouldn't be here today. She just had to keep on doing that, which was fine by her, because that's how she worked.

She closed her locker door, the metal clacking as the lock shut. When she left the room, she spotted Cole, leaving the male locker room. She nodded at him. No reason not to be civil. But he just raised his eyebrows and turned around without making any other sign of acknowledgment. The others, too, hadn't said goodbye or anything when she left the class room. Whatever.

In the elevator, she fastened the buttons to her coat. It'd be cold outside.

When the doors opened to the reception hall, her heart sank. Wet umbrellas at people's sides, trails of water, coats covered in dark spots. It was raining? She'd been so caught up in manipulating Thirteen and in Irene's case that she'd just tuned out the sound of raindrops, the dark weather beyond the windows, and the rumbling thunder.

Amber looked down at her peony, perky and pretty and her day's trophy. She hadn't brought an umbrella with her, and the rain might tear it apart. She walked towards the entrance doors. Maybe the rain wasn't as heavy as it sounded, in which case she could guard her prize in her coat as she ran to her car. Her parked-in-the-back-of-the-lot car. Even as she approached, though, she could tell it was a lost cause.

There was a black man inside the doors, just standing there and looking out. Amber didn't know why. He had an umbrella. Couldn't he make up his mind if he wanted to be in or outside? At least Amber could approve of his taste in overcoat. It was the first thing she'd approved of in another person all day. So maybe that was why, together with her need, that she spoke to him. "Going to use that umbrella?"

Foreman hadn't realized he was staring off into space, not moving, letting the flow of patients and hospital staff move around him to get to the doors, until he heard a light, interested voice behind him. He turned around, still pissed off enough to wonder what business it was of anybody else's whether he was using his umbrella, but his mood improved considerably when he turned and saw the woman addressing him: tall, blonde, and looking at him forthrightly. She was definitely attractive, all the more because of her self-assurance. Foreman raised his eyebrows slightly, and he smiled, confident that he wouldn't lose out in any evaluation she cared to make in return. "I was hoping it might ease up," he said, dismissing the problem of Cuddy, House, and finding himself back in Princeton from his mind. Nothing about the woman's attitude suggested she was hitting on him, but she was still far better to think about than the current state of his life. "But I wouldn't mind some company."

He gestured towards the doors, inviting her to join him, but not certain that she'd actually follow him. She wasn't dressed as well for the weather as he was, and her comment made it clear that she was hoping for some protection from the storm, but that didn't mean that a woman would be willing to walk out into a dark parking lot with him on barely thirty seconds' acquaintance. She didn't seem like the type to back down, though. "Eric Foreman," he offered, in case that would make a difference. Her directness was intriguing, and he wondered if she'd keep it up.

The man could’ve been a simpering, trembling idiot and Amber would've still been sweetness itself, thanking him oh so much and commenting on how kind he was to help her out. Being excessively polite for a few feet was a small price for staying dry.

But he turned to her and Amber watched as his expression shifted from annoyance to interest. Was it because of her? She smiled without even meaning to, warmed by his reaction. It helped that he was handsome, with bright eyes and smooth skin.

He spoke with confidence, like a man who had cultivated dignity and was proud of his accomplishments. Nice. Amber was a firm believer in self-respect. If someone didn't bother to like themselves, why should she? She looked at his extended hand and wondered if he'd maintain that confidence in his shake. You could tell a lot about a person from their handshake, more than from their clothes or their expression.

She switched the peony to her left hand. "Amber Volakis," she said, wrapping her hand around his firmly.

Foreman won the bet with himself--her handshake was as steady as her gaze, and just as determined. He squeezed back, solid but not overpowering. He'd been using his handshake in interviews to show potential employers just how much faith he had in himself, even if everyone else insisted on focusing only on his mistakes. He nodded when she introduced herself.

"The gift shop must be going downhill, if one flower makes a bouquet," he said, nodding to the peony in her hands. "And people usually leave them with the person they're visiting." She didn't seem like a patient or a visitor to him. Friends and family members tended to be less at ease in a hospital, even when they were leaving. Foreman's guess was a nurse or a doctor, and a recent hire either way, since he didn't remember her, but that made him wonder why she was carrying the flower at all. Foreman wasn't going to ask directly, but her answer would tell him if his guess was right. The topic might last them at least until they got to her car. Maybe longer, depending on how the conversation went, although Foreman snorted at himself for thinking a chance encounter would actually lead anywhere.

Foreman started out, waiting in the shelter of the entrance while he opened the umbrella. The air was damp and cold, enough to make his breath steam, and the rain drummed on the sidewalk. Foreman glanced up at the sky and lifted the umbrella, waiting for Amber to join him.

Eric's grip was perfect: firm and decisive, but not excessively so.

Amber studied him again, more closely this time. Who said this chance encounter had to end with a walk across the lot? She`d had a challenging month-- a great month, she hadn't been this invigorated since she was an intern and there'd been no end of things to learn; working for House kept her on her toes.

Still, the stress of surviving each "round" had taken its toll on her. She could use with a release. Now that she thought of it, she realized just how much she needed to let go and enjoy herself. And this Eric was handsome, courteous, and graceful; she'd be an idiot to let this chance pass.

Amber straightened her shoulders and flipped her hair. She could have him, she knew. She could land just about man she desired, and she was pretty sure this'd be an easy case. He wasn't a ring and he thought her attractive, she could tell from the way he looked at her. This could fun. It'd been a while since she'd had sex, and even longer since she'd been on a date. She usually cut straight to the fucking, since most men weren't worth the bother of dining and w(h)ining, but Eric seemed like he'd be good company. And if his handshake was anything to go by-- well. Amber wouldn't mind going in to work the next morning on little sleep.

Eric opened the umbrella and, having tucked her peony into the inside of her coat, Amber ducked under the protection he offered. The cold and rain didn't seem as terrible as it had five minutes ago.

He asked about her peony, and she had to laugh. Not because she was trying to get into his pants-- though she was-- but because she'd realized how it must look. "Thank god the guy who gave it to me isn't here! I get him enough of him at work, I'd go crazy if he followed me home."

Amber stepped under the umbrella, shoulder to shoulder with him, and Foreman turned enough to see that he'd be looking her straight in the eye. She was even a little taller than he was. Foreman didn't have a problem with that--in fact, he liked it. Wendy had been his height, too. He lifted the umbrella, doing the gentlemanly thing--he could practically hear his mother's insistence in the back of his mind--and holding it at the best angle to keep Amber dry, even if it meant his right side would be get rained on.

Amber's light explanation of the flower gave him pause for thought. He had to wonder if her intentions had changed in the last few minutes. The way she'd tossed her hair back, and her easy laugh, made him think he'd been wrong at first, and she was actually interested. That was a nice stroke to his ego, if just meeting him was enough to bump him up in her mind from a convenience with an umbrella to someone she'd want to spend more time with. Foreman felt the same way; he'd been looking for a distraction, and Amber was certainly that, but he wouldn't mind finding out more about her and actually getting to know her, too. But if there was a guy giving her flowers, she might not be available, even if she was joking about getting away from whoever it was. "He's not your type?" he asked. "Or do you prefer roses?" He grinned a bit, acknowledging to himself and probably to her that it was a flirtatious question, but he wasn't taking himself too seriously yet, not until he knew more.

Still, whether she was interested or not, he might not get a chance again if she didn't work here. "E lot?" he asked as they crossed the ambulance bay outside the ER. He was following her for the most part, but they were headed in the right direction. E lot was reserved for junior hospital staff, and it was where Cuddy tended to stick the doctors who disregarded her authority. If he was right, Amber was new enough that she wouldn't have worked up the seniority ladder enough to park somewhere closer. Foreman would have to backtrack, himself, but it would be worth it to know she worked here, and he wouldn't miss out in case one conversation wasn't enough to seal the deal.

Amber met Eric's gaze just as intensely, enjoying that "contact." A good seduction was so much more than about the right words or touches. There was a rhythm to be detected, and once found, followed. She was starting to sense the groove of theirs.

"My type?" she echoed. Now there was a thought that hadn't crossed her mind: House as someone's type. He did seem to pull people to him like firemen to a burning building, but to want him? You'd have to be really off your rocker to want someone that crazy. Amber would sleep with House in a second, but only if she thought it'd get her the job, which she didn't. If she did, she'd have already made the moves.

Eric didn't have to know that, though. Given how carefully he did things, from the grooming of his beard to the way he held the umbrella to keep her from getting wet, Amber was willing to stake tonight's fun on him hating easy conquests: he'd want a challenge. And she could give that to him, using the scenario he'd created. "Let's just say he has something I want," she said, letting a lilt color her voice. "But I do prefer sunflowers."

Amber didn't elaborate on what she meant, letting him think the implications over. She could lay the bait, but she couldn't make him chew it.

He asked her where to go, and she sighed. "E lot. All the way in the back, about five minutes from the Canadian border." If he knew about the different sections of the parking lot, he had to be familiar with PPTH. She'd already thought as much, since patients generally don't enter or leave hospitals looking that good. And something, maybe all of that self-assurance, about him screamed 'doctor.' She wondered briefly if he wasn't full of himself... but she was willing to take that chance, he'd been thoughtful enough so far.

Foreman raised his eyebrows when Amber seemed surprised at his guess that she might be interested in the mystery guy. That was evidence enough for him, and Foreman dismissed the potential competition from consideration. Mostly, he was amused at himself that he'd decided some other man was 'competition', as if he'd already chosen to pursue Amber for himself. Well, for a drink or a dinner, at least. After that, depending on how the evening went--and he was certain now that there was an evening ahead of them, not just a walk to her car--he'd see what directions were likely. A one-night stand wasn't outside the realm of possibility, but it wasn't necessarily what he was looking for, either.

He kept the idea of sunflowers in mind. It was exactly the sort of information that he tried to remember, since it impressed women if he made plans on a special date or cooked them a favourite food that they'd mentioned in passing. Sometimes, it was a test, and Foreman wouldn't be surprised if that's how Amber was treating the information. It could backfire, though. If he remembered, then he was considerate and thoughtful; if he suddenly tried to run out and buy her a bunch of sunflowers, it nudged him over the line to creepy. Foreman had always played that game perfectly. He committed sunflowers to memory but he didn't answer her with more than a nod.

"If you want a better space, go to the farewell parties," Foreman said, enjoying her matter-of-fact complaint. Amber, he suspected, already knew how to get what she wanted, but a little advice wouldn't hurt, especially since he was sharing his own secret. "Listen to the speeches, tell them they were a shining beacon at the hospital, and then show up at their office on the day they move out and offer to help. You carry a few boxes, and they mention your name to Cuddy."

Cuddy knew Amber's name, all right. Or at least her face, and saw her as one more piece of House's chaos. Amber frowned lightly as she remembered Cuddy telling her to do whatever it was House wanted, since it wasn't going to get any better. Amber wasn't going to count on Cuddy's support, either. So far, the only ally she could count on was herself.

Whatever. She was out of the hospital, she was hitting it off with someone, and tonight was officially reserved for unwinding. Amber let herself revel in the moment, enjoying the brush of Eric's shoulders against her own and the sound of his voice. The smell of wet grass and leaves made her feel alive. She wanted to jump, dance, move. With Eric.

They still had a ways to go before reaching her car. She could indulge in the chit-chat a bit longer. It'd put him at ease, and plus, she could learn more about him. "You've been to a lot of farewell parties here?"

"A few," Foreman said. Most recently my own. He didn't feel like sharing that, though. If he told her he'd left the hospital, she'd wonder why he was back, and Foreman wasn't about to explain the situation with Dr. Schaffer, getting fired and then blackballed, and how he'd basically been busted down to a fellowship position after his brief stint as department head. As much as he'd like to brag about his accomplishments, he doubted she'd be impressed by that. "Avoid the lemon cake," he said instead. "There are lawsuits pending."

It was easier to keep the conversation casual. At this point, Foreman would much rather listen to Amber talk about herself than explain his situation. "How long have you been here?" he asked. He glanced over at her, grinning speculatively. He was sure she was a doctor; what a lot of people would call arrogance, he saw as confidence. Nurses usually showed it slightly differently; more like an unavoidable competence, like being run over by a steamroller. Amber's was a more haughty self-assurance, and Foreman found himself drawn to that. Too often he'd been called conceited and self-important simply because he didn't let anyone forget it when he was right more often than they were. Amber probably heard the same sorts of things, if not worse. "Should I be trying to guess your specialty?" She looked around his age, so she'd probably come to Princeton-Plainsboro for a fellowship. Foreman had been away from the hospital news (and Chase's gossip) for long enough that he didn't know which departments were hiring, but with a few hints, he thought he could figure Amber out.

Amber wanted to hear more about which farewell parties Eric had been to, since that would've told her the kind of connections he had. She could use with a "friend" on the inside, to help her talk to the right people (if not Cuddy). From the way he casually referred to the Dean of Medicine and that mention of "a few" farewell parties, it seemed that he had a good standing in the PPTH.

If that was the case, it meant she couldn't get on his bad side tonight. Which wouldn't be a problem. She could keep the both of them happy, getting what she wanted and angling to keep him satisfied. It was a pity her ambition was already working its way into her night of intended release, but she could balance the two. Who said work couldn't be fun?

She smirked at his joke. It was a good one. It also sounded like he knew it was funny, and was proud of himself. He was definitely a bit full of himself. But now there was more at stake than just her evening's enjoyment, she couldn't back down.

"I've been here a while," she said. "I studied at Princeton, and I never got around to leaving." She motioned to where her car was parked. "Tell you what, Eric. We could stay out here flirting all night, but it's cold and I'm starting to get wet. Come with me for a drink, I know this great place, Blue Velvet. You can guess my specialty there... and if you get it right, who knows, I might give you a reward."

Foreman chuckled at Amber's abrupt proposition, taken almost by surprise. For the most part, Foreman played the seducer. If a woman interested him, he knew all the tricks to use in order to make her feel comfortable with him. After that, it was just a matter of time before she gave a signal--a look, a touch on his forearm--that told him she wouldn't turn him down if he asked her out. Amber's directness startled him, especially her acknowledgement that they'd both been flirting, but it wasn't out of line with everything she'd said so far and her attitude when she'd first approached him. His plan had been to ask her out on the weekend, tomorrow or Saturday, and then let her have the honour of making it tonight instead. That way, he'd know how interested she really was. For her to take the lead was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and he nodded, still amused. "Sounds like a pretty intense guessing game, if it's going to take all evening," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "Or is it the reward that's time-consuming?"

Her car was only a few feet away, but Foreman was hesitant to jump in with her without checking first. If they ended up at her place, which obviously wasn't out of the question, Foreman still wanted to do what he could to make her comfortable tomorrow morning. He had the day off, but probably she'd have to work, and it might be awkward if he was in her space while she was trying to get ready. Awkward was something he definitely wanted to avoid with her--she probably wouldn't take it well. "I think I know where that is," he said. "I could join you there." He left it open-ended. He'd go with her if she wanted, but his car wasn't that far away, and even though it was going well so far, they might both like an escape route, just in case.

Amber raised an eyebrow suggestively at Eric's questions about his 'reward. '"That'll depend on how well you score elsewhere."

His offering to meet her at The Blue Velvet was good, it meant she wouldn't have to tell him to do so. If Eric didn't mess up royally-- and she doubted he would-- then she'd invite him over to hers. Amber made a point of never staying at someone else's place. In her own apartment, everything was exactly as she wanted it. The bed was the right firmness, her sheets were clean, and she kept condoms and lube in stock. If they wanted other sexual aids, she had them. And the following morning, she didn't have to drive back home to get her make-up, her shoes, her skirts, her Honey Bunches of Oats cereal. Who knew what (un)pleasant surprises might await her elsewhere? If she wanted things her way, which she did, it had to be in her home.

She did have to be at PPTH by eight a.m. (even if House himself would probably be over two hours late), and she had no idea what Foreman's schedule was. Rather than try to accommodate him The Morning After, it'd be simpler all around if he drove himself over and she kicked him out when she had to leave. Not terribly romantic, but Amber was a practical woman. She had things to do, and to get them done, she had to think things through without rose-tinted glasses.

Kissing the tip of two her fingers, she then pressed them to Eric's lips. "I'll see you there." With a sly smile, she unlocked the door to her red Honda Prelude and slipped into the driver's seat, never once looking away from Eric's eyes.

They were definitely on the same page. Foreman let his smile widen, looking forward to whatever reward Amber wanted to give him. He was certainly motivated to guess right. Amber had struck him as attractive from the first, but now with the implicit promise that she'd be just as candid and, well, goal-oriented in bed, Foreman was more than interested; he could feel a stir of excitement when Amber kissed her fingers and touched his mouth. Foreman moved his lips against her fingertips, echoing her kiss almost subconsciously, meeting her eyes as she backed off and got into her car. He barely had the presence of mind to keep the umbrella over her until she'd closed the door. Raindrops hit the back of his head and rolled down his collar, cold enough to make him shiver, but Foreman didn't care. He backed off and waited for Amber to start the engine.

He shook his head, smirking down at his feet before looking up at her car as she pulled out of her spot, as if to check it was still there, trying to convince himself this was really happening. He could hardly believe it. For such a shitty start to the evening, it had turned around so quickly, just with meeting her. Definitely no guarantees for a relationship, but for one night, Foreman was damn impressed with her. He scoffed at himself for throwing himself into something on a whim, but what the hell. He deserved a break. He hurried back through the parking lot towards his own car, getting in and quickly heading for the main road.

He knew of The Blue Velvet, though he'd never been inside. He found a parking space pretty easily once he reached it. He brought his umbrella--if it was still raining when they left, it made a nice excuse to walk close to her, although by then they might be getting closer for other reasons entirely. He walked in, shaking off the rain from his coat, and then glanced around to see if Amber had reached the place first, maybe already found them a table.

Eric's lips pressed against her fingertips, and that subtle touch set off a wave of flutters in her stomach. He may be cocky, but he was proving to have the skills to back up that confidence. Amber felt a light glow as she drove, imagining all the ways she could give him that promised reward. She just hoped he was just as self-assured in bed as out of.

Amber drove at her usual speed, no faster and no slower. Her mother would've advised to get there after him, to keep him waiting, as was proper for a man to do for a woman. She'd also heard the theory that you should get there waiting, to keep from getting impatient. Amber, though, wasn't into playing games. She'd get there when she did, and so would he.

Once she parked, she got her black umbrella from the back seat. Though she should've brought it with her into the hospital that morning, she was quite satisfied with how things were unfolding from having forgotten it. She'd turned a mistake into possibilities: a date, career connections, and who knew what more?

The bar was as she remembered it. Keeping in with the spirit of its name, a soft blue hue illuminated the entirety of the room, reflecting on soft, polished wooden surfaces. A wordless melody played, something with a latin touch. Amber didn't know much about music, and couldn't name it, but it did make her want to dance. The music here always did, and just as well, for there was a spaced cleared in the back. Only a few lone couples got their groove on, as could be expected this early on a Thursday.

Normally she came to Blue Velvet to pick people up, not to meet someone she already "knew." It was strange, being here with her
partner already picked out. Strange, in a good way.

It seemed she'd gotten here before Eric. She asked the waiter for a table for two, and she rejected the first one he tried to dump her at: it was next to the bathroom. It wouldn't do to be in the way of that traffic. She insisted on a place towards the front, where the murmur of conversations was the lowest. She ordered a bottle of red wine and waited, excited.

The bar was a nice one--not crowded, which made sense for a weekday, but not loud either. The music would fill in gaps in conversation, but it wasn't pounding so hard that they wouldn't be able to hear each other. The place looked like it was well-cared for, and the lighting, with its hint of blue shadows, would make any encounter seem more intimate. Foreman wondered if Amber came here often. The atmosphere went with the smile she'd given him as she'd driven away, promising and playful. He pressed his lips together, nodding to himself, impressed. She had good taste.

Before he'd moved far into the main room, Foreman caught a waiter's attention and described Amber to him. By the pained expression that the waiter tried to hide, he'd already encountered Amber and not favourably. Foreman held back a laugh, but actually, he'd bet that Amber had demanded better service than the waiter was willing to give. Another point in her favour. He followed the waiter's gesture to find Amber already seated.

Foreman walked up to the table from behind Amber, grinning to himself for the moment that she didn't know he was coming. She'd initiated the touching, and he'd take the opportunity to follow up. When he got close, he leaned down to speak close to her ear. "Very nice," he said, his voice warm. He stood and circled the table, nodded around them to show he'd meant the bar, but his smile included her in that assessment. "I might have to come here again."

He took off his coat, hanging it on the coat tree nearby. He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her and gave her a studious look, as though getting down to business. "Do I get any clues before I start guessing?" he asked, since her specialty would be as good a place to start as any. He'd already ruled out a few based on her personality, but he tossed them out anyway, as a starting point. "I'm guessing not pathology or pediatrics. Other than that, it could be pretty open." It wasn't as hard as he made it sound, though. He'd been trained for the last three years in picking up on details that might seem irrelevant until they turned into life or death symptoms. He wouldn't mind putting himself to the test and impressing her with a good guess.

Amber had been sitting for no more than a few minutes before the hair on the side of her head rustled; it was the only warning she received before Eric spoke into her ear. She shivered from the unexpectedness. With the music, she hadn't heard him walk up behind her, and in other cases she might've jumped and been angry at the stealth approach. But having been waiting for him, the surprise of his soft voice right next to hear was delicious.

She'd chosen well, deciding to see him again. She felt even better about her decision when he praised her choice in bar. He was probably ego-stroking, but Amber never tired of hearing approval.

Amber tilted her face this and then that way as Eric studied her, letting him get a full "appraisal." A touch of arousal spread through her as he looked, loving being the center of so much attention. And Eric certainly knew how to look, with such focus! She imagined him applying that same dedication to his medical texts... though she trusted they wouldn't get the same kind of attention she would be, later tonight.

"What, you don't think I could be good with children?" she teased. "Though you're right, I'm not a pediatrician or a pathologist." She cupped her hand beneath her chin, a couple of her fingertips resting near the side of her mouth. "I think telling you should be enough clues for now. Go on, I want to hear your wildest guess." Amber really did want to hear Eric's first assumption, based only on their interactions so far. It'd give her an idea of what he was thinking of her, besides the fact that she was hot and interesting.

Amber's challenge made Foreman frown in mock-thoughtfulness, as though he was considering her objection seriously. "You could be good with kids," he said. "But I don't think the field would be interesting enough for you." The biggest part of pediatrics was cleaning up vomit and listening to parents either dismiss a doctor's advice or insist that he wasn't doing everything he could. The medicine might be fascinating, but dealing with parents definitely wasn't.

"Treatment, not research," Foreman said, expanding on what he'd figured out about her so far. "Nothing palliative." She'd want to conquer diseases, have a high success rate. Oncology or geriatrics was out of the question, and even intensivism would have too much of the hand of fate interfering with her decisions and diagnoses. Foreman leaned forward and met her eyes. The intensity of her gaze warmed him; she wasn't backing down, or giving up eye-contact. She knew she was attractive, and she wasn't worried about letting him see that she knew it. Foreman reached across the table and took her hand, the one she wasn't leaning on. Her skin was soft, her nails well-cared for and long enough that they'd be a nuisance in an OR. "Not a surgeon," he said. He ran his fingertip along her lifeline, glancing up to see if he could make her react, make her eyes darken through the light touch.

He was about to go further, make his guess, when the same waiter from before bustled up to their table. He was carrying two wine glasses and a bottle, and Foreman had to give up Amber's hand and sit back when the waiter leaned between them to set the glasses down on the table. Foreman scowled at him, but waited for him to show the label on the wine bottle to Amber and go back to bothering his other tables.

As Eric rattled off the unlikely suspects, Amber was reminded of her experiences from the past few weeks, of people gathered in a room shooting out possible explanations and then being shot down. His process was so much like House's... but that couldn't be more than a coincidence. Amber knew everyone who worked with diagnostics at PPTH, and and Eric wasn't amongst them. Maybe he'd sat in on some of House's sessions and picked up a lesson or two. Yes, that must be it. Once he'd guessed, or once she told him, her work, she'd ask him if he had any gossip or tidbits on House that'd give her an advantage over the competition.

Amber's lips parted slightly as Eric touched the back of her hand, her wrist. Her fingers curled around his, stroking gently to explore his palm. His hand was about the size of hers, and even with the room's low luminosity, her pale skin contrasted strongly against his. They'd already had their hands around each other, during their handshake, and this was an entirely different affair. If he'd been firm there, here his gentleness prevailed, far more intimate. "I'm not giving you any more answers," Amber smiled, and squeezed his hand.

Amber frowned when the waiter interrupted them. Not only did he try to dump her in the worst spots, now he had no idea of timing? Was he trying to ruin her evening? Probably not, but it definitely smacked of incompetence. She read the label, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, and her frown deepened. "Are you kidding me? What do you take me for, a tasteless hack? Come back when you've got something halfway decent."

Once the waiter was gone, Amber turned back to Eric. "I actually don't know much about wine," she confided. "But I don't trust him, he's done everything wrong so far. And I've found that I do get a better wine-- and service-- after I've busted their balls."

Foreman raised his eyebrows at Amber's abrupt switch in tone, the sharpness in her voice when she told off the waiter. He understood the man's sullen expression earlier when Foreman had asked him to point Amber out. Foreman was almost embarrassed, on Amber's behalf, for how harshly she sent the guy away. He hadn't seen the label on the wine, but he couldn't imagine that it was as awful as she made out. Foreman wasn't about to say anything to Amber about it, not when everything else had been going so well, and the waiter had picked a singularly inconvenient moment to interrupt. Foreman's discomfort lessened when Amber leaned in, as if he was her co-conspirator, her eyes sparkling as she explained her tactics. Foreman couldn't help a smirk of his own, and a short breath of laughter. Not at what she'd done, which didn't exactly sit well with him, but at her glee at explaining it. "You do that a lot? Ball-busting?" he said.

He didn't doubt that she did; it even helped with his guessing game, which still held his attention. Perfectionist. She'd want proof of the effect she'd had on her patients--demonstrable, observable proof that she was the best. He'd been thinking something prestigious, like cardiology, but this put a new spin on it. Not research, but something with very precise tests. "Radiology," he said. Something with imaging, anyway. Something where Amber could point to a scan and show exactly what had changed and how. But still something where she'd have a direct impact on patients. "Interventional radiology," he added, and sat back, feeling very satisfied with himself. Even if he was wrong, it was a guess he could back up, show how much he'd learned about her in a short time.

Foreman left his hands on the table. Touching her, even as softly as he'd been tracing the lines on her palm, had proven to him that there was a spark there, something very physical, worth pursuing. That would happen in its own time, though. They still had the evening ahead of them. He turned his head when the music changed. The new song was slower, still wordless but more sensuous. There was a dancefloor behind him, with a few couples swaying together. Foreman turned back to Amber. "Would you like to dance?"

"Only when there are balls that need busting." Amber paused for a moment, considering. "Which is pretty often, actually." House's, for starters, and, oh, how she'd love to bust them. But his were off limits; the best she could hope for was to kiss his ass. She shook her head to free herself of the mental image. She had to stop thinking of work!

Amber's eyebrows shot up. "Well. Your reward will have to be very special, won't it." She'd have slept with him even if he'd had to guess at every specialty in the book... well, no, probably not, that'd get boring and she'd have ditched him. Still, Eric could've made several wrong guesses, and she'd still have slept with him. He got it right on his first try, and that certainly deserved its reward, even if she hadn't already promised one. Amber was a woman of her word (when she wasn't lying to suit her own purposes, that was).

She'd have to figure out what it was Eric most wanted, and from all their interactions so far, she suspected it'd be compatible with her own tastes. His invitation for a dance would be a perfect way to find out. She rose wordlessly, her body already singing in anticipation of moving in tandem with another person. She led Eric by the hand to the dance floor; there, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hips swaying to the melody.

Eric looked better still up close. Smelled good, too. The edges of her mouth curved upwards; she hadn't felt this alive and free since who knew when.

Foreman's satisfaction increased about ten-fold with Amber's surprised, pleased expression. He'd been right. He nearly wanted to crow about it, but a wide smile would do. Didn't want to make it seem like he was startled when he got the right answer. He felt a surge of pride in himself, and a warm sense of expectation when she repeated her promise. He had a feeling whatever the reward was, she wouldn't be missing out, either. The possibilities were beginning to make their way through his mind and the images were more than pleasant. Foreman had enough self-control that he wouldn't embarrass himself on the dancefloor, but the anticipation felt good, his heart beating a bit faster, and he was very aware of Amber's hand pulling him out to the center of the floor. Her hands slipped up his arms around his shoulders easily, and Foreman let his hands fall to her hips, letting his palms smooth over her blouse to the small of her back before he started moving with her.

He fell into her rhythm easily. Even though he was the one supposedly leading--at least keeping her from bumping into the other dancers--Foreman didn't mind going at Amber's pace, and getting as close as she showed she wanted. Other than as obstacles, he didn't feel like there was anyone else on the dancefloor. He was too busy watching her, the small changes in her expression, the exact shade of her eyes. She was graceful, not stabbing his feet with her heels, but at this point Foreman hadn't expected any differently. He rubbed his thumb against her back and eased his hold on her just a bit lower, to the curve of her hips, and pulled her forward. Her perfume, or her shampoo, was lightly spicy, and Foreman breathed in the scent, glad that it wasn't overwhelmingly floral. She felt good against him, her movements teasing enough to keep the light hint of arousal at the front of his mind, but mostly, it was easy to concentrate on the music and dance.

Foreman had left any thought of work behind when he'd agreed to come here, but now that they were dancing, he felt the weight of all his mistakes easing off his shoulders. They weren't gone, not by a long shot, but he found that at this moment, he didn't care about them at all.

If Amber were a cat, she'd be purring. As it was, she smiled lazily, warm and content and fluid. This was nice. This was more than nice. Eric's changes in expression were fascinating to watch: he seemed to relax, the tension in his face and shoulder muscles easing away, while he simultaneously became more alert. He was admiring her as if he didn't care about anything else in the world.

Amber let her hands stray, exploring the curves of his shoulders. She could feel the strength of his back and upper arms; he must work out, she thought. It did fit his profile of striving for perfection in every way. She could sympathize with that inclination.

Eric ceded to Amber's impulses in dancing, which suited her fine. She, in turn, followed the flow of the music, matching its rhythm as best she could. She might not be the best dancer, but she allowed herself to move naturally, and that counted for a lot. Eric, too, was natural, not forcing anything. They completed lopsided circles, caring not at all about direction.

Though they held each other, there were still a few centimeters between them. Amber imagined being closer to him, body against body. She long for that. She wanted to feel the pulse of his heart against her breast and have her ear tickled by his breath. She wanted to kiss him. God, how she wanted to kiss those pronounced lips and, through lidded eyes, watch his every reaction. She bet he'd be a good kisser, not shoving his tongue down her throat the moment she approached. He'd take it slow, letting the pleasure build up.

She could kiss him. She could pull him in til there was no space between them, and encourage him to touch her in all the ways that was decent-- and some indecent-- in a public forum. She could drag him to the closest semi-private space and see how far he'd be willing to "go." That last one was especially tempting. Just the thought of it-- Amber thrummed with want.

But more than immediate gratification, she wanted to make this last. They could spend all night together. Why rush it? There was a special pleasure in creating anticipation, let them build up their desire till they were fit to burst. Eric wanted her now, and that was nice. But she wanted him overcome with passion; how would he be then? As for herself, even impatient the way she was, she'd learned from experience how much more intense sex could be if she made herself wait.

Yes, let them take their time. Still. Amber couldn't resist trying to drive him a little crazy. She massaged the top of his spine with her fingertips and rotated her hips sensually. She knew he'd feel that with the hand he'd placed there. Amber turned her head so that she could whisper into his ear in the same way he had with her earlier. She teased: "Did you know, I'd do you right now? Right here."

Foreman relaxed even further as Amber smoothed her fingers over his suit coat, rubbing the muscles in his shoulders gently through the fabric. Her smile was playful, lazily satisfied, and Foreman saw her gaze dart down to his lips before she met his eyes again. Hers were a deeper blue, now, and she was studying him with an intensity he nearly recognized. Part of it was desire--Foreman was certain he wasn't mistaking that, and he was feeling it more himself as time went on--but part of it was...speculation, too, as though she was calculating exactly what her next move would be, what his might be. Foreman was just as eager to find out. A few teasing touches--her fingers against his lip, his brushing over her palm--were only the start. Amber was close enough that Foreman could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. In fact, he could feel the heat of her body all the way down, even though they weren't quite pressed together. After the cool damp outside, Foreman could feel himself growing warmer. As Amber squeezed his shoulders, her hands moving above the collar of his dress-shirt to touch the bare skin of his neck, Foreman couldn't help but dip his head closer to her, encouraging the massage.

His eyes widened slightly at Amber's words. They were cheek to cheek, and he didn't know if she'd caught his expression, but she couldn't help but notice the way he'd instinctively tightened his fingers on her hips. Her voice lilted teasingly, but after everything she'd said so far tonight, Foreman had no doubt that she was serious. "I wouldn't," he murmured back. Everything she did, everything she said, only reinforced his feeling of complete satisfaction with himself. He tipped his chin back just enough to meet her eyes from under half-lowered eyelashes. "Right here? That waiter might interrupt. I wouldn't have time to do everything to you that I want," he said, the words barely more than a whisper, and as sincere as he could make them. He leaned in, hesitating the barest second before kissing her, his lips only a breath away from hers. His heart was definitely pounding now, and he drew her flush against him. They'd stopped moving, but Foreman swayed against her body lightly. He could feel the heat in his groin building, probably not enough for her to feel yet, but if they kept rocking against each other, exactly how interested he was would be harder to hide. "I think we both want this to last."

At that "wouldn't," Amber's heart skipped a beat. Rejection. She'd assumed too much and blown her chance. In that split-second she believed she'd messed it up, her mind supplied: it's okay, there are other people here, all of them dreaming of someone like you. You can make up for it. Though that was what ran through her head, she was still overheated with hurt and embarrassment.

But Eric's hold on hers hip clenched, as if he wanted to take her up on that offer. She flushed again, this time with arousal. She laughed, partially from relief but mostly because it was funny, when Eric mentioned the waiter interrupting them. "I'd make him regret it, if he did," she promised, ablaze again with confidence. She shouldn't have let herself be so disappointed with a mere rejection.

He tried to kiss her, and as much as she wanted to give in, Amber didn't allow for more than a simple brush of their lips. She wanted to draw this out; make him desperate. It was harder to resist rocking against him, molding herself against him and finding their perfect fit. For a few intoxicating moments Amber couldn't keep herself from indulging both him and her, growing wetter with each slide against Eric. There was building up excitement, and then there was pointless frustration. She was reaching the latter.

Amber pecked him on the cheek before pulling her body away, her hands gliding down from his shoulders to hold his hands. "Then we'll make it last. C'mon, there's a good bottle of wine waiting for us, let's drink and tell stories we never would sober."

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