alwaysright | November 7, 2007

November 7, 2007

The paperwork took a while. Between the four of them-- Kutner didn't do much-- they got through it faster, but there was so much to do that it still took hours. The conflicting treatments of interferon and steroids was tricky enough to justify-- though justify it Amber did, since she hadn't been wrong-- but there was Brennan's interference which couldn't be explained. Casey could sue the hospital, easy. Probably would, too; they'd risked her life when she'd only been dehydrated.

When going over the more mind-numbing parts of the papers, Amber worked through the past few days in her mind. She was crazy about Eric. That much she couldn't doubt. Seeing him again and again, even when it went against her better judgment; liking waking up next to him; bothering to stick around after their fights...

He'd stuck by her. Goodness knew why, but he kept coming back. The first night of this case, he'd come by with coffee. He'd then turned her down for sex, but he did say he had to work. A workaholic, that's who she was dating. She'd choose work over him any day, too. And this morning, chasing her after she'd run out of the department-- what an idiot. Amber smiled at the list of blood tests she was writing up.

By the time the to-do pile was reduced to nothing, lunch hour had long since passed. Amber collected the papers. "I'll pass these on to Eric," she said. Why not? Pretending to call him Foreman would only make them tease her harder. She didn't have anything to hide, by now.

"Have fun," Kutner half-jeered, half-saluted. Thirteen snorted, Cole raised an eyebrow, and... that was it. At least, in reactions to her. As she organized the papers into folders, Cole mentioned having to pick up his son, and Kutner offered to go with him. Thirteen, sneaky as ever, didn't volunteer any information, just saying by and leaving.

Amber walked the few steps over to the office. She raised the folders. "Look at what I've got for you," she said teasingly. "Bet you've been dying for these."

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It worked out to being one of the longest days Foreman could remember. He hadn't slept well last night, cramped in an on-call bed, constantly woken up by other doctors opening the door and the muted sound of pages over the PA system. He'd been worried about the case, and about Amber, so that his mind had never fully quit circling around everything he'd said, and she'd said, and what the tests had shown. A day spent making it all look good for Legal had him tensing up, too. Cuddy's annoyance was probably usual for dealing with a malpractice suit in Diagnostics, but to Foreman it felt like she'd expected him to screw up, and he'd only confirmed her worst fears. He kept wanting to justify himself, and clamping his mouth shut instead. There was no point getting defensive. She'd hired him back and she knew what he brought to the team. There'd been no threats about firing him, but Foreman knew he wasn't making any headway at redeeming himself, either.

Didn't matter. He got free eventually, a little sooner than the candidates, so he hung around in House's office. He could've gone somewhere else--Amber would page him--but he didn't feel like running into House and hearing about his amazing two-day vacation, or what he thought of Foreman's decisions. As long as Diagnostics was where work was happening, House would be elsewhere. Foreman caught up on a few emails, keeping contacts open, doing the final revisions on his latest paper and submitting it, so the day didn't turn out to be a total waste.

He leaned back in House's desk chair when Amber came through the door, letting his head loll back and smiling at her. The others were trailing out the conference room door. Foreman didn't really give a shit what they thought. Running after Amber this morning would tell them all they needed to know. A smile wouldn't make a difference. "Yeah, only here waiting on paperwork," he said. "Otherwise I would've been home by now." He let his smile grow, warming as he took in her appearance, her good mood. "The personalized delivery is a nice touch."

Strutting in to a smug and pleased Eric sitting at House's desk, déjà-vu struck Amber; hadn't this exact same thing happened on Friday when she'd swung by to pick him up for their night together? They'd barely managed to contain themselves, and not an hour later they'd fucked without a condom.

The memory was enough to sober Amber up. She should know by now: they tended to get carried away by their excitement, only to regret their hastiness once reason set in. Jesus, and they still hadn’t checked for STDs.

From Eric's expression, lit up like July fireworks, it really could've been a time warp back to last Friday, before so many fights and mistakes. He was a good guy and Amber had decided to trust him more. Maybe she was the one who needed to be more careful. She could start now, setting herself some basic guidelines. First rule: no matter how well their lunch date went, she couldn't take Eric home tonight. Or go to his. Or fuck him in the rest room. They had to take it slow, for now. No real fun stuff until... who knew when? Until it seemed like they would stop blowing up at each other.

Amber went up to the desk and let the folders fall; they thumped heavily. "Oh, so you want to go home?" Amber asked, all sugar and honey like some secretary out of a nightmare movie about women before they demanded decent jobs. “Have a nice time—I’m afraid I can’t give you any personal touches there, though.”

Foreman tilted his head, his smile not quite fading, but a puzzled note entering his expression. It'd been a joke. Amber's Mae West act could've been light-hearted teasing in return, but it rang false, like she was waiting for him to screw up. There was something dangerous under the seductive tone in her voice, and the way she dumped her armload of folders in front of him with a splat didn't bode well either. Foreman sat forward, abandoning his moment of relaxation, and leaned his elbows on the desk. "Actually, I wanted to grab a coffee with you," he said. He studied her, a little wary of what she might reply, but it'd be better to get it out in the open. "Look, did I say something wrong?"

He'd hate for them to get off on the wrong foot--again--only two seconds after Amber had walked into the room, but it seemed like however her afternoon had gone, it had probably included a few second thoughts. They'd planned the coffee this morning. Had something changed her mind? She seemed to be acting on the assumption that he wanted sex. Foreman wished he could get through to her that the sex was amazing--he loved being close to her then--but it wasn't all he was around for. There was a time and a place for it, but he wasn't always going to be ready for it, and he didn't like Amber's implication that it was the only reason he'd tried to make up with her after their fight.

Eric's cautious yet honest question caught Amber by surprise. She hadn't thought anything wrong with Eric's banter; for all that she disliked the implication they'd go straight to his as if they were just as carefree and horny as a week ago, she'd known it was just a joke. "No," she replied quickly, and then, more gently, "No, you didn't. I'm just-- coffee would be perfect. I want to take it slower, today."

Strange how so simple a question could disarm her suspicions. Amber spoke normally, not even thinking of how to change her voice and movements to best convey the impression she wanted to give. She extended her hand over the desk and over the dropped documents. "Okay, let's start over." While it wasn't an apology, it was acknowledgment that they'd gotten off on the wrong foot. Eric's amusement had switched to doubt in a second and Amber found she didn't like the raised eyebrow and faltering smile more than that first bit of joy she'd walked into. "Now that we've gotten the drudge work out of the way, Eric, let's go out for a nice bit of coffee and gigantic stakes of pancakes." And hand-holding. Maybe a kiss or two, depending on how things went.

Foreman nodded carefully. He didn't like feeling uncertain, but it seemed one of the things that he couldn't get away from, being around Amber. Her reactions flicked around so quickly and Foreman was rarely sure that he was keeping up. Even if he could guess how she felt in a moment, the lightning-fast changes always left him wondering if he'd been wrong all along and he'd misread both how she'd felt at first and why she'd jumped to another state altogether. He let out an amused breath, his smile returning, when Amber offered him her hand. He stood up, and made a little show of taking her hand in his. They could leave the paperwork on House's desk; House wouldn't touch it. He must've taken his opportunity to fuck off once again, and Foreman would be the first one back to the office in the morning.

He stepped around the desk, and gave Amber's arm a firm, unyielding pull, until he could wrap his other arm around her. Everyone else had left. There was no one to see. It was a strong hug, and Foreman kept it short, no longer than the length of the sigh he let out, but he needed to reassure himself that they might be going slowly, but at least they were going. Even as brief as it was, the hug eased some of his worry, allowed him to remember the feel of Amber's body against his. "Okay," he said, letting go of her and stepping back to meet her eyes. "Let's remember that, too, okay?" There was a reason they were together, despite all this. Foreman knew what he wanted; he hoped Amber hadn't lost sight of it either.

Eric rose to the task, as expected. Amber smirked as Eric's hand encased hers, taking it like some knight making grandiose promises to a beloved queen. She'd known he'd get a kick out of that; he always did like the gentleman's role. Better her boyfriend aspire to knighthood than court jester or royal pain in the ass, anyway.

Just when it seemed like they'd get it right this time and Amber could let her guard down, he yanked her to him. It didn't last for longer than a chilled stiffening; the oh-so-familiar embrace felt wrong a disjointed now, like a favorite song played in the wrong key. Had he tried to clutch on for longer, Amber would've pulled away. As it was, she told him, not coldly, "Too soon." She was sorry to say it. He'd looked so warm, so certain, so pleased to have her back in his arms, even if briefly. And why shouldn't he be certain? The first night they'd been together, she'd have jumped him in public.

But it wasn't two weeks ago, or this morning, and Amber wasn't ready for a hug. She was willing to remember everything—including the fights. She needed more to go on, that was all. Amber ran her hand down his right arm, found his fingers; twined hers around his. He'd be hurt from her rejection, she knew. If it were her, she'd probably have frozen into a major sulk. It didn't have to be a major thing, though. "I remember-- just don't go too fast on me, Eric." Amber hadn’t forgotten the misery of going home alone, the humiliation of being turned down. "I meant it about going slow." Holding on to his hand, she guided him towards the door.

“Right,” Foreman said shortly, and then pressed his lips together. Amber would hear the bitterness in his voice, because he hadn’t tried very hard to hide it. She might still be holding his hand, but Foreman couldn’t feel that warmth over the sudden chill of her response. He kept his body away from hers, despite their linked fingers, his face turned slightly aside rather than trying to meet her eyes. He kept trying, and she kept shutting him down. What had happened to the woman who’d jumped him in public? Who’d so clearly wanted him? The one he hadn’t offended when he’d hugged her?

Who were they going slow for now, her sake or his? Why was Amber acting like she was the only one who’d gotten hurt by their fight? Foreman had tried opening up again and he’d gotten shot down. So, fine, they’d go slow. He went with Amber, but he felt stiff and standoffish. She’d hurt him by not giving him a damn inch, and Foreman didn’t really care how stupidly petty it was, some part of him wanted to hurt back by retreating into a shell of sullen politeness.

Foreman let go of Amber’s hand at the door so that he could grab his coat, pulling it on. He supposed that anything he might tell Amber about his day--the satisfaction of submitting that article, for instance--would be overshadowed by the fact that she’d had to do paperwork. Maybe he hadn’t seen it before, but it looked like any topic of conversation was going to go to ground on the rocks simply because he was her boss and could grab a few more snatches of free time. He waited for Amber to open the door, since she was so adamant about that, and didn’t reach for her hand again when they were walking down the hall.

Eric shut down like a maximum-security prison, jerking his face away from hers. His fingers went stiff as if she were holding on to clay and not flesh. Of course. As long as they went at his pace, everything was hunky-dory; the minute she established what she needed, he got pissed off. Exasperated, Amber nearly let her breath out in a huff. Hadn't he asked just now if he'd done something wrong? Did he only want her to tell him when he felt like it?

But Amber understood, too. She wasn't exactly cooperating. He'd tried to put the events behind them and she wanted that too. But even if she couldn't go as fast as him, she still wanted to go. So rather than yank her hand back in retribution to his frustration, Amber squeezed his, silently asking him for patience.

It didn't seem to help. Eric freed his hands the first chance he got. Amber let him; she needed to grab her own things. Because she'd rushed into the lab to see him this morning, she hadn't dropped her things off at her locker like she normally did. A quick stop by the conference room and she’d picked up her purse and coat.

That should be time enough to sulk. Amber walked quickly back to the office where Eric was waiting and opened the door. "So we're still going to Mickey's?" Amber was hungry enough for lunch, though she wasn't quite sure what they'd talk about. She just refused to apologize for not letting him touch her when she didn't want him to. "If you promise to stop sulking, you can ask me anything you like and I won't get angry." There. That was fair, a trade. Never let it be said that Amber wasn't goal-oriented.

Foreman didn't go so far as to walk away from Amber entirely. He waited for her in the hall, and then matched her pace to the elevators. "If you want," he said, still nettled and not interested in sticking himself out there for another rejection. As soon as he heard her next words, though, he jerked his head around to stare at her, thoroughly annoyed. He wasn't sulking. Having Amber treat him like a pouty kid was not the way for them to work through whatever issues they needed to talk out. And what did that mean, he could ask her something and she wouldn't get angry? What kind of concession was that? Because that's what Amber sounded like--like she was granting him a goddamn favour by not getting openly pissed off at him. Another pat on the head. Another moment of acting like he was a four-year-old who needed to be patronized. "What does that mean?" he asked. "If you're angry, I think I'd better know it."

What he'd really be finding out was whether this was worth it. He expected a few fights in a relationship. He and Claire had fought over all the important things--his career, hers, moving in together, breaking up--but if they were both still upset, then they weren't going to resolve anything. That had been the point of him walking out on Amber last night: he'd been upset. He'd thought today they could talk like adults, but apparently that was too much to hope for. He felt unsettled, irked, if not actively upset, and Amber wanted to pretend not to be angry as an indulgence to his mood. Foreman prodded the elevator button with one finger. He'd been so relaxed when he first saw her--how had she managed to tie him up in knots again? "I want to talk," he said. "That's all. If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to know what you really feel."

"Yeah," she answered. If they had to talk-- which they did-- Mickey's, a neutral place that'd create few expectations for where they'd go afterward, was their best option. They'd managed to have a few decent conversations since they first met, especially this last Saturday, and Amber thought like she had a good idea who Eric was-- but they were still mostly focused on the sex. And that'd be fine if they didn't keep fighting every time they exchanged more than five words.

Eric took to her offer like a cat to a rainstorm. His sulk morphed into anger, his nostrils flaring out and the whites of his eyes widening as he demanded what she meant. What had she done? When she'd let him ask her anything in the locker room on Saturday, he'd liked that. It'd helped. Why wasn't it any good now? Hurt, Amber sucked on her lips; drew a short breath in through her nose.

"I'm not angry," Amber said slowly, deliberately. Meanwhile, Eric jabbed at the elevator button like it'd flung sand in his face and called him stupid. She'd messed up, right when she'd been trying to smooth things out between them. It was okay. Amber could fix a mess. She eyed him, trying to look into his face even as he avoided her gaze. "I-- I want to talk, too. And I'm not angry now, I've just been-- I've been getting angry a lot, and I don't want to, now. I'm trying to not get upset."

Would that be enough? She’d told him she’d never had a relationship before. For all she knew, she’d broken some cardinal rule. How about you, she wanted to ask. She was almost afraid to, though. If she asked… she probably wouldn’t like the answer. Eric’d probably just repeat all his grievances about her work conduct. But he couldn’t not tell her, either. What did he even want from her?

The elevator gave her a brief respite, arriving and opening its doors. A couple of people were in there: a doctor with a shiny leather briefcase and a woman in casual, somber clothes. Amber went in, expecting a silent and awkward ride to the ground floor.

Foreman eyed Amber, disbelief tingeing his expression as he studied her. Her cheeks were pale, eyes a little peaked even under her makeup. She didn't seem angry--for the moment. But based on the last ten minutes, Foreman wouldn't know how long that would last. The next words out of his mouth could set her off again. "You get upset when I try to get close," he said evenly--not an accusation, not angry. Just the damn truth. He was frustrated enough to be honest. If Amber couldn't take it, then Foreman would know where he stood. "I don't like getting pushed away." He didn't mean the hug, although that was part of it. Amber had always put up walls to keep him out, or acted like sex was the only closeness she'd ever consider. Foreman knew he had his own barriers, but he'd told Amber more about himself than most people knew--more than anyone at the hospital, more than any girlfriend he'd had in Princeton. She knew about his mom, about his brother. He'd hurt, telling her that stuff, but he'd done it because he wanted her to know. Because he'd thought he could trust her. What if he'd been wrong?

Foreman shrugged slightly as the elevator doors opened. They wouldn't be talking with a couple of strangers to overhear them. Foreman slipped between them and leaned against the back wall, crossing his arms and letting his head tilt back to rest against the wall, staring up at nothing much. Maybe he was too damn tired to do this right now. He didn't want to make it worse, but he was stuck in a maze without a map, and he still had no clue what would upset Amber and what he could say to her safely. Picking his way over eggshells was not how he wanted to spend the rest of this relationship. The other two people on the elevator got off on the next floor down, leaving them alone, and Foreman glanced over at Amber, wondering whether that would mean a thing to her.

Self-defenses and excuses rose up in Amber like bile, burning her throat. She'd told him to go slow and he went and hugged her anyway; he didn't respect her limits. But before she could spit these thoughts out at Eric, she took a few deep breaths. She'd promised not to get angry. And if nothing else, Amber had to grant that Eric was being honest. Pissy, but honest nonetheless.

And it wasn't as if he always disregarded her limits. When she'd told him to stop eating her out, he'd all but jumped out of the bed. Hadn't pressured her into anything else that night. Back in the office, he hadn't known, that was all. If she told him-- but she had and it'd irritated him. He was balking at going as slow as she needed. Amber watched Eric in those minutes they couldn't speak. An air of hostility radiated from him, in body language and mood. Like he was ready to yell and stomp off. I don't like getting pushed away.

As the elevators shut once more, leaving just the two of them in the constrained, metallic space, Amber spoke, quiet and thoughtful. "Is it a problem that I need more distance?" She liked how close they'd been. Liked the sex-- when she was in the mood-- liked their physical intimacy. Liked kissing him til her head swam with desire, liked his confidence in stroking her labia. Other kinds of closeness, too-- hearing his happier childhood stories, his career plans.

But right now Amber felt surrounded by a giant wall and she didn't appreciate the implication that unless she brought it down, Eric would punish her either with anger or by leaving her. Her stomach tightened as the elevator slowed down, reaching its destination at the ground level. "I got upset when you hugged me because I'm not ready. And if I'm not ready, pressuring me won't help." Amber knew Eric was better than that. She believed him for at least that much. "I’m not against being close to you—just, I need time before I jump in your arms again."

Foreman sighed tiredly, his shoulders dropping. "No. That's not the problem," he said. It'd be damn hypocritical of him to get pissed off that Amber wouldn't let him near her, when last night he'd been the one who'd needed space. He'd walked away from her, taken the distance he'd needed. Realizing that, Foreman set his jaw muscles. He hated saying he was wrong, even when pride demanded it. He turned to face her. His head still rested against the wall of the elevator, and his arms were still crossed, but his stance had softened. "I'm sorry I pushed you," he said. "I wanted to get back to where we were. You're right, it was too fast."

The elevator doors opened, and Foreman headed out. If he'd been alone, and feeling this way, he'd stride for the doors, his gaze fixed on the floor, radiating just how much he didn't want to talk. For Amber's sake, he slowed his pace and kept his head up, although he kept some space between their bodies, probably more than they'd need to pass as 'just professional'--not that the hospital grapevine didn't already know every word they'd ever exchanged, probably. No, respecting what Amber needed wasn't the problem. Getting her to respect it when he asked the same of her might be more difficult, but if he explained it to her like that, she'd understand. She'd understood him this morning. But Amber hadn't even realized what he was upset about. She was still making everything about touching, about sex.

Foreman waited until they'd made it outside. The night was cold but clear. Once they'd walked far enough beyond the lights of the entrance, where they wouldn't be overheard, he stopped and faced Amber squarely. "I've told you things--" he started, and then grimaced, trying to find a better way to start. He shook his head. "You have to know that if you went to House and told him even half of what I've told you--about my mom, or Marcus--he'd give you the job so fast he'd trip over his damn cane," he said. "He'd have the time of his life. He'd probably give you a raise while he was at it." Foreman gazed at her earnestly, hoping she'd see what the problem was, or at least, that she was listening to him. "When I told you, I knew you'd keep it to yourself, because it was between us," he said. "After yesterday? I don't know that anymore. I trusted you. But I made a call--and Amber, it's not about the medicine. We were both wrong. You undermined me for the job, and I don't know that you won't do it again."

Amber nodded, accepting Eric's apology. She'd been right: he was better than forcing her into false intimacy. Maybe she'd also be right about giving him a second-third-- oh, she'd long since lost count of how many chances she'd given Eric. It usually proved a worthwhile decision, even if she did come to rue it by the next blow-up. Her shoulders lowered minimally.

She was glad to be out of the building and in a space where they could actually say things rather than keep their doubts and questions rattling about in their heads. Amber pulled her coat closed tighter and gazed steadily back at Eric.

It took him a couple of tries to find the words he needed, summoning what he'd told her of his family. Amber blinked against the cold, frowning lightly as she listened, trying to understand. He always came back to them. He refused to go see his mother, gave up on his brother years ago, had who knew what kind of a relationship with his dad, and still Eric talked over and over again about his family. He couldn't seem to let them go. Maybe he had no one else to confide in; he certainly pried loose facts about them as if pulling nails out of coffins. But he’d trusted her. Amber softened, shuffling a bit closer. Though it was dark, the front lights from the hospital cast a warm glow over Eric's face.

And then Eric ruined it all. I don't know that you won't do it again. Amber jerked back, sharp hurt cutting through like a knife stab. "Are you seriously suggesting I'd tell House about your brother? That I'd talk about your sick mother to get myself a job?" Amber's cheeks stung, the cold seeping in. Two weeks ago, sure, any and everything was fair game; but that first day of work together, as furious as she'd been at Eric for lying to her, she couldn’t betray him. She could've had House eating out of her hand, telling him how she'd fingered Eric's fucking ass and made him come. But Amber couldn’t him so badly, not even then. Now that she felt so much more for him--

"It's not the same thing!" Amber exclaimed, then bit her tongue. She’d promised to not get angry. She wanted to push him and yell, furious that he'd accuse her of using him to win the contest. But she could control herself. Gathered all her willpower to lower her voice and speak in stiff, paused syllables. "We've been over this. What more do you want me to say? I wasn't undermining you, I was trying to do my job. You already said you wouldn't shut down the discussion again if one of us had a good point, so what's the problem?"

Amber's heart was still decelerating from that surge of adrenaline. Why had Eric's backhanded accusation gotten to her so much? It wasn't as if she wouldn't tell House every last soap-opera detail of Thirteen's life, if she had the inside scoop. She'd made no secret of her ruthlessness to him; boasted, even. Why would Eric think he'd be safe? Jesus. That was how little he thought of her. The chill had infiltrated her throat now, her lungs. Amber reached out, lightly touching his forearm. "Eric, it's different." Her tone bordered on pleading. "I swear, I don’t care what else happens between us, I wouldn’t do that to you. I’d never tell anyone about your family, or anything else personal about you. I promise.”

Turned away from the lights, Amber’s face was in shadow, but even so, Foreman couldn’t have missed the way she stiffened when he made clear what he felt. Her retort came sharply, immediate and defensive, and, no matter what she’d promised, angry as hell on her own behalf, as if he’d impugned her honour by pointing out the very trait that she’d claimed to be so proud of. “Trust doesn’t change because the situation does,” he said. As far as he was concerned, it was exactly the same thing, and it got personal as soon as Amber decided to take her ruthless streak out on him. How was he supposed to know where she drew the line? His family was personal, but his career was fair game; there were a hell of a lot of things that fell into the gray area between them, and Foreman didn’t want to find out too late that Amber didn’t mind exposing something he wanted to keep to himself. What more do you want me to say? An apology, that had been all. Either in words or by Amber showing she had even the slightest hint of regret. Well, he wasn’t going to get it. “I said I was sorry,” Foreman said heavily. “I’ve promised to listen. I’ve promised to try and do better. You’ll do the same thing again if you get the chance, and you don’t care how it makes me feel." All he'd ever wanted was to see some sign that Amber was willing to meet him halfway. "So maybe you see why I’m having a hard time trusting you.”

He wanted to turn away, but her hand on his arm stopped him. His chest felt tight, and every instinct was telling him to get the hell away before she could hurt him again. End it, so that he wouldn’t be vulnerable, so that she could screw with House’s patients all she wanted and it wouldn’t feel like a fuck-you aimed straight at him. Lips thinned, eyebrows drawn together in a pained frown, he nodded at Amber’s words. He wished he could believe her, as easily and as simply as he had at first, when it seemed like such a fucking good idea to spill his guts to her, like a kid running crying to mommy about how unfair the world was. The world wasn’t fair, and by now he should’ve damn well noticed. He only had himself to blame. Put yourself out there, and the world would aim a sucker-punch for the pit of your stomach. That was all there was to it. “Okay,” he said, exhausted. He wasn’t going to argue with Amber about whether she meant it or not, or what kind of value her promises had. What else was he supposed to say? Thank her for a reassurance he shouldn’t have to have begged for?

Scrubbing a hand down his face, massaging at his closed eyes, Foreman felt like he’d been run over by a truck. Aching all through. If this was the end of their fight, why did he feel worse than when they’d been yelling at each other? “You shouldn’t have to pick between me and your job,” he said. “It's not fair. I don't want to do that to you." He tightened his jaw, hating how hard this was to say. "I thought we could make it work, have both. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe part of me wanted to shove it in House’s face that people don’t have to be miserable. I guess I wanted you too much to be smart about it.” He swallowed, forcing himself to meet Amber’s eyes steadily, part of him still hating that he wanted to hold her but she’d flinch away from his touch. “Look, it’s getting late. If you don’t want to go for coffee, I’d understand.”

So maybe you see why I’m having a hard time trusting you, Eric said, weary, face muscles tense and yet with his frame sagging, like he was keeping up appearances but this close to letting go. Amber bit her lips, barely able to form thoughts, much less speak. She didn't care, he claimed. The very idea. If she didn't, would she’ve humiliated herself in front of House, offered this coffee date, been unhappy for days because they’d been at odds--

She'd told him in the lab that she cared too much. He didn't seem to believe her then and he certainly didn't think it now, his eyes distant and angry. "I care," Amber said, soft but strong. "Eric, I haven't ever cared about anyone so much." Her mouth was starting to loose feeling, numbing. It killed her to tell him so plainly, but what did she have to lose now? Nothing else she'd said convinced him and he'd be gone, if she failed now.

Amber’s fingers curled around his coat's material, clutching on to what she could. "What do you want me to do?" He was angry that she'd gone behind her back. Amber got that. She'd have been pissed, too. At the same time, if Amber had to choose between her job and Eric again, her career came first. She couldn’t sacrifice her work for him. But he’d offered to listen better and she wondered: was there anything she could promise that she knew she’d be capable of? Eric already distrusted her and she didn’t want to prove him right by breaking a promise.

It was as if he'd read her mind, saying it wasn't fair to make her choose between her work and him. Amber started to nod, glad he understood, but-- her brow furrowed. He thought they could make it work? Was he breaking up with her? Before they'd gotten even twenty feet of the hospital of their supposed coffee date? But he didn't say it was over, and all the other times she'd assumed he'd thought that, she'd been wrong.

Amber slid her clenched hand down and wrapped his tightly. It was cold, too. "I don't know about you, but I wanna keep trying." They'd reached the same conclusion this morning, but apparently they needed to go over it again. She attempted a smile though she knew it wouldn't be strong, with her teeth nearly chattering. "I need that coffee; I’ll need to go back to the hospital to treat my frostbite, if we stay here any longer.”

Foreman hesitated. He wanted to believe her. He strained to keep from leaning towards her, from touching her. Amber didn't want it. She might care, but she couldn't stand touching him. Not fair. He knew he wasn't being fair--she'd only asked for space--but it still meant holding himself back, keeping up his stiff independence, and showing that he didn't need her either. Telling him she cared should mean closeness, a healing, but by now Foreman felt so worn out that it seemed like everything else she said: words, not actions. Nothing he could believe deep down. Even if her tone of voice, her quiet confidence, squeezed his heart, and made him want her so damn badly--just to wrap his arms around her, find warmth in her, and breathe in her skin.

It was ridiculous. Foreman took a breath, already feeling like an idiot for explaining, but Amber worked for House. She had to be used to stupid metaphors by now. "It's like...if I was allergic to bees," he said. "And one landed on me. If you slapped me and killed it, that would be the right thing for you to do, but you'd still have hurt me. Can't you be sorry for that?" His face burned with shame. The last thing he'd wanted was to ask for an apology. How could it mean a damn thing if Amber offered it only to placate him? And what did it even mean if she parroted the right words back at him? Part of an apology was working not to let the same thing happen again. Even if Amber decided to apologize for hurting him every time, but she kept on acting the same way, Foreman wouldn't be able to trust her any better. In fact, he'd know just how empty her words were. He snorted. "You could at least tell me 'there's a bee'," he said. "Give me some damn warning next time."

That was enough. He'd given her a chance, an out. If Amber walked away now, no one could say Foreman hadn't tried. He waited for Amber to get her back up and tell him coldly that she'd been right, and that meant she didn't need to be sorry for anything, no matter how much she cared about him--or didn't. He'd asked for too much instead of settling for what he could get, so he had no one to blame but himself when Amber left him.

Instead, he felt her fingers wrap around his own, cold and stiff. Startled, Foreman darted his gaze up to her eyes. His hand clutched spasmodically around hers, an instinctive press at first, and then a long second's hesitation. She'd reached out, so she wanted this. Cautiously, Foreman squeezed back. He closed his mouth over an incredulous You do? but his confused blink probably made him out to be an idiot despite himself. He nodded jerkily, and wet his lips. His hand was warming slowly in hers. Bracing himself so hard for Amber's rejection, he'd forgotten to make a plan for what to do if she stayed. He cleared his throat. "My car's there," he said, his voice scratchy. And he remembered: space. "I could drive you to yours."

Actions through which to achieve goals: Amber could do that. Fuck, Amber owned that. Give her an objective and tell her how to reach it, and she'd get there. She would've snorted at the randomness of Eric's bee metaphor, but after days of tension, laughter didn't come easy. And to laugh would mean going five steps back, with Eric pissed all over again. The important thing was, he'd told her what he needed. He was wincing too, as if he didn't expect to ever get it.

"I'm sorry," Amber said, looking straight into Eric's eyes. She wanted him to see how sincere she was. "I hate that I hurt you." She sighed. "I don't know what the next ‘bee’ will be like, but I'll try to warn you next time. Or get you to smack it with me." What that actually meant in practical terms, Amber had no idea, and wouldn't know until the next "bee" came along. In this last case, it'd have meant telling him she'd treat Casey for Lupus anyway. As for next time... she’d try to do what she had while hurting Eric as little as possible.

Amber's smile strengthened as the confused yet pleased shock washed over Eric's face. There. This is what she'd been wanting. Them willing to work things out, giving themselves time and space. "How would I get to work tomorrow without a car?" Amber asked, raising an eyebrow. She liked that he'd amended his offer, though. "I'll meet you there." She wrapped her other hand around his and squeezed, letting him know this wasn't a rejection, just common sense.

Taking a deep breath, Foreman concentrated as hard as he could on Amber's apology. She met his eyes, her fingers tightening slightly around his, and she sounded as direct and honest as she ever had. A brief thought crossed his mind--that Amber might have practised sincerity on the road to being the proud manipulator she was today. But if he started thinking like that, he might as well break things off with her right now. Harbouring suspicions wouldn't be fair to either of them. If he didn't trust her, then he didn't trust her; there'd be no use pretending. A couple of days ago, when Amber had protested that she'd never wanted to hurt him, over other arguments and misunderstandings, she'd been no less honest than now. Foreman dipped his chin, relaxing, glancing at her face from under his bowed head. The damn metaphor sounded even more stupid when she elaborated on it, but Foreman pushed past it. He wasn't going to bring it up again, and try to define their entire relationship in terms of the figurative bees they swatted together; he couldn't imagine anything more likely to make him wince in embarrassment every time. It had served its purpose and now they could drop it.

He watched Amber's hands as she clasped his between hers. Her fingers were ruddy with the cold, but she'd been willing to stand out in the dark until she'd figured out what he was asking for. Foreman shouldn't be demanding why she couldn't figure it out on her own. For the moment, he'd rather be grateful that she hadn't spurned even that tiny concession. It didn't make him feel much better about that moment when he'd realized what she'd done, but it helped ease him out of the tension the argument had left him with for the past forty-eight hours. He wanted to return Amber's smile, but he settled for straightening his shoulders and clearing his lungs with another deep breath of the crisp air. "I'll see you there," he said. It wasn't much of a promise, but it felt like the first one in a couple of days that he knew they'd both be following through on.

Like he'd said, they'd nearly reached his car, and Foreman only had to take a few steps, glancing once over his shoulder at Amber before getting in. The engine warmed the car quickly, though Mickey's was close enough that he still felt cold by the time he parked and got out. He jogged a few steps to get inside, and picked a booth over the waitress's shoulder before she could lead him to somewhere near the kitchen or the bathrooms. Maybe Amber was rubbing off on him, or maybe--alone, Foreman was able to chuckle--he just didn't want her to make a damn production about the two of them sitting down for coffee. He'd had enough of that. The booth was near a heater, and right near the waitress's usual route through the diner: they'd be warm, and the service would be good. Amber would appreciate it.

"Yeah," Amber said; felt Eric’s fingers slip away, taking his warmth with him. Instantly her hands felt empty; she'd been the one to suggest driving separately, but Amber still regretted having to let him go, even for just a few minutes. Or maybe longer-- neither one of them knew what'd happen during this coffee date.

In the meanwhile, Amber stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked briskly to the other end of the parking lot. The distance was really starting to wear on her; all the more motivation to get properly hired by House. At least today had represented a significant step towards that aim: one very crazy candidate down and her drama with Eric seemed to entertain House. That had to count for something.

For once Amber drove at a legal speed, going through the dark streets and following the artificially-lit path. What did she want with this 'date'? Eric had apologized more than once, and now she had too. There was nothing more to discuss about what they'd done with Casey; it was a closed book. They couldn't talk about it any more than they could rewrite the ending to a published novel. That meant this'd be about them enjoying each other's company and getting to know each other better. Amber smirked to herself, pressing her foot down to break at a red light. This was how most couples did it, wasn't it? Talk first, sex later.

She didn't get as close to the entrance as she liked-- the only near free space was for handicaps and the last time she'd parked there, she'd wound up with a hair-raising fee-- but it'd do. Car stopped, Amber pulled out a mirror and checked her appearance the best she could with the paltry light. Impossible to touch up her makeup, but at least she could brush her hair.

Mickey's, as usual, was cozy, a respite from the outside's cold. It wasn't the fanciest joint in the town but the coffee was hot and the waiters knew by now not to pull the lazy and slow work crap on her. Spotting Eric at one of her favorite tables, Amber smiled. The scent of caffeine and syrup hung in the air, accompanying her to the booth. "Hey there," she said, sliding into the seat opposite Eric. Amber sought out those fingers she'd missed so much in their minutes driving over here. "Fancy meeting you here.”

Foreman was able to flag down the waitress the next time she passed and ordered two large coffees. Amber shouldn't be far behind him. She'd be cold; he was, himself, and he had more body mass to resist the cold. A hot mug to wrap his hands around would be welcome, and Amber would want one too.

A couple of minutes later, she walked in the door. Foreman had been looking up whenever he heard it open or felt the slight rush of cooler air from the entrance. He sat back and watched in satisfaction as she headed towards him, clearly pleased at the table he'd managed to snag. It seemed somehow like in the time they'd been fighting, he'd forgotten just how gorgeous she was, and now it came rushing back to his attention. In the middle of a bitter argument, he'd only seen Amber, fierce and icy by turns, frustrating as hell and refusing to listen to him. As she sat down opposite him, it was like Foreman could remember exactly how attracted to her he'd been from the start. Her blonde hair crackled and sparked from the dry, cold air, and her cheeks were pink. There was a gleam in her eyes as she teased him that reminded him of lying in bed with her, both of them on the verge of slipping into sleep, after they'd both come and he'd finally, regretfully, slipped out of her and cleaned up, only to curl an arm around her as soon as he could. Those memories let him squeeze her hand back easily, glad that she'd resumed the contact. The vestiges of his headache were still bothering him, but he could breathe, and, at last, he could smile back at her. "Of all the pancake joints in all the world," he agreed.

The waitress came back at that moment and deposited their coffee in front of them, along with a tray of sugars and creams. "Get nything for you?" she asked, taking out her pen and order pad with a glance at Amber. Foreman's grin widened--seemed like she'd already trained the staff here.

It took her question to make Foreman realize how damn hungry he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a proper meal. Bagels grabbed in the cafeteria and meal bars from the hospital vending machines didn't count. No wonder his head hurt. "Yeah, eggs fried soft, sausage, hash browns, brown toast," he said. He didn't care what time of night it was, he needed the protein. They'd only agreed to come for coffee, but he doubted Amber would resent him eating a meal.

Eric's gaze, warm and appreciative, washed over Amber better than any shower she'd ever experienced. It was impossible not to smirk, basking at having her beauty properly appreciated. She'd forgotten how good that felt-- almost as good as his affectionate hand squeeze.

If Eric's reaction weren’t welcome enough, there was already a coffee waiting for her. Amber eyed it, then Eric, raising an eyebrow indicating that she knew very well how the mug had made its way to the table. It'd cooled off just enough to drink and Amber gratefully downed a few gulps. After hours of work, she needed something to take the edge of her hunger while they waited for their order.

Amber recognized the waitress, a brunette with the world's saddest magenta scrunchie and dangly earrings. Well. She'd keep the insults to herself today since the girl had remembered to zip right on over. Amber did, however, let herself chuckle at Eric's order. "Is that to feed the whole hospital?" To the waitress, Amber said, "Strawberry pancakes for me." Always best to eat what a restaurant specializes in; less likely to be disappointed that way.

Amber turned back to Eric, a smile slowly growing, feeling good and easy with his own aura of contentment. It was hard to remember why she'd been so angry. The reasons she could write an entire treatise about, but the emotions themselves she couldn’t summon up. The frustration was at bay for now and, whatever its source… Eric always was good about apologizing and making up with her. She gave him second and third chances, but he did the same for her. Her thumb brushed along his wrist. "Here we are."

"Hey," Foreman protested mildly. "I've hardly eaten today." He'd spent the morning in the lab, outing Brennan, and Cuddy had kept him hopping with legal questions all afternoon. The hour or so he'd managed to sneak in for himself at the end of the day had been better put towards his own work, since he knew he'd be meeting Amber for coffee. After the waitress had gone with their orders, Foreman realized he was still wearing his coat. He shrugged it off, and hung his suit jacket on the hook next to their table. With a quick tug, he loosened his tie, too, all the small rituals that helped him unwind once he'd escaped from the hospital for the day. The coffee, after he'd fixed it to his taste, was the usual diner crap, but it still tasted pretty damn good after a day of burnt leftovers from the Diagnostics pot, or even worse, the thin vending machine variety. Foreman grunted quietly, and cupped his hands behind his head, stretching out his shoulders and his back from the cramp of leaning over computer screens, before he slid his hand across the table to take Amber's again. "Here we are," he said, a smile coming more easily to his face once he'd relaxed against the back of the booth. There was enough room under the table for several people's legs, but Foreman found Amber's knee with his own. He didn't want to ruin tonight by invading her space again, but she could nudge him aside if he was pushing too hard; how would he know if he didn't try? It was only a light press, not like he was trying to get his knee up her skirt or anything. Just contact. Reaffirmation.

"Looks like Brennan's going to lose his license," he said, hoping it'd be a neutral topic of conversation. If he didn't get too close to their working relationship, they could both marvel over Brennan's stupidity. "Cuddy's having the hospital sue him preemptively, in case the Alfonsos try to get anything out of a malpractice suit." A yawn caught him by surprise, and Foreman tried to stifle it, only half-successfully. His own bed was going to be more than welcome tonight. Despite everything, he couldn't help the idea that it'd be even better if Amber was there too, curled up next to him. He her another lazy smile, imagining it. They'd get there again eventually.

Always so meticulous, needing everything to be just so. Eric took of his coat and carefully hung it near their table, tugging at his tie while he was at it; so predictable. Amber almost snorted. But she did like a man who did things right, and he was right-- much better to shed layers for a relaxing meal. By now she'd warmed up, so it was good to pull off her coat and place it next to his. Thankfully Eric didn't even try to do it for her, so that was one more irritation averted. More evidence that he could learn from past mistakes.

She'd barely slid back into her seat when something bumped her knee; Amber almost snorted again, but let her amusement out through a smirk instead. As tousled and at-home he seemed, tie loose and leaning over the table towards her, there was something tentative in his smile. Eric was testing the limits. Well, she'd show him. Gazing into those deep, dark eyes, Amber raised a calf and slowly slid it along his til her foot nestled besides his.

"Great," Amber said. "One less doctor to steal my work." What Brennan had done was wrong and wrong, hurting a patient, but he'd stood for what he believed in. She paused, thinking. "He was just trying to get more research on polio." It was what she did, setting no barriers between her and her goals-- except she already had, promising Eric to never use personal information about him for her own gain and to be more considerate of him at work. Amber lifted her mug of coffee and sipped. She'd compromised herself, but she wouldn't go back on her word, either. She was willing to make a few sacrifices in order to stay with him. "Good for Cuddy, suing him." Amber may have sympathized with Brennan's Machiavellian streak, but that meant she also supported Cuddy's, especially since by working in the same hospital, they were on the same side.

Foreman's shoulders shook lightly, his chuckle coming out more as a widening of his smile and the warm amusement in his eyes, as Amber all but challenged him by taking his careful gesture and pushing it farther. Through the material of his pants, he could feel the firm, inviting press of her calf against his, and then the nudge of her foot next to his shoe. As good as it felt to have Amber accept what he was offering, Foreman wasn't going to take things any farther. Amber seemed to have a pattern of asking for more, and pushing him in order to get it, only to turn around at some point that Foreman had no way of anticipating, and saying too far. Lacing their fingers together and the mild, warming touch of their legs under the table was all he was going to ask for tonight.

"He was already part of an organization he could go to for funding," Foreman said. Brennan had been part of Doctors Without Borders; with the right pitch, he could have gotten a pilot study, at least. But maybe he'd tried and gotten nowhere: Foreman would've rolled his eyes if Brennan had come begging to him for that kind of project. And Brennan had a smirky, twitchy look to him that wouldn't go over well in a boardroom. House probably had been his last hope. Foreman shrugged. "At this point, wide-spread vaccinations are a better use for the money than looking into a half-baked idea like vitamin C."

It was a mild disagreement, nothing he'd argue strenuously. He was tired of fighting, but this wasn't an issue he cared about. If Amber wanted to press it, he'd give in, or at least change the subject. What he'd learned in the last few days was that what he had with Amber, he wanted to keep, otherwise he wouldn't have tried so damn hard to make amends. Still, if Amber's need to win extended as far as general conversation, they wouldn't last very long. Last weekend they'd managed to talk without clawing each other's faces off. Foreman hoped they'd gotten back to that point, at least. He nodded at Amber's last remark. It was Cuddy's problem now.

Inhaling deeply, Foreman relaxed even farther against the padding of the booth. With the heater near them, he was comfortable now, and the coffee was barely making a dent in his tiredness. It would be simple if they could eat, go home, hope for the best next time. He wished it was as easy as accepting where they were now. But they'd come here to talk. It seemed like things were resolved as far as they were going to be, but there were still other problems to be dealt with. "How are you doing with the others?" he asked. If they raised a stink about Amber's relationship with him, there wasn't much he could do--Cuddy had already gotten on his case about being with Amber in the first place--but he'd rather know than not, and adjust his own behaviour accordingly.

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