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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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.

Amber breathed in deep and long, air expanding her lungs, chin rising; it seemed to reach her all the way through, from head to diaphragm. Tension left her together with the exhalation. Eric's leg, so solid and... present next to hers, sent soft tingles through her. The feeling wasn't as strong or as demanding as her arousal during sex, but it was nice. Soothing. And seeing Eric glow from the contact was definitely a part of it.

Amber shrugged at Eric's comments about Brennan. "Yeah, there were better ways to get what he wanted." Ruthless wasn't always better; if you got caught, then all your plans were destroyed. "He screwed himself over; now he'll barely be able to support himself, much less get wide-spread vaccinations or research." He'd probably lose his girlfriend too, if he hadn't already.

It was a good reminder: Amber had to do her schemes right or risk everything. Imperfection brought too high a price. Unlike Brennan, she had no intention of losing her license, her money, or Eric. More than that, her ruthlessness had to hurt Eric as little as possible; he’d made it clear that that was one of his make-it-or-break-it rules.

"I hate them," Amber answered, straight and honest. She'd bring them all down, if need be. "But they're getting less annoying, at least. They've stopped getting on my case about dating you, so I think they're getting bored by us. Or maybe they're getting used to having you around. Either way, I’ve still got to get rid of three of them, Thirteen especially.”

Foreman raised his eyebrows at Amber's vehemence, but otherwise let it pass without comment. It was good to know that from Amber's perspective, their relationship was becoming less of an issue. Foreman could hardly ask them about it himself. And to his face, they weren't openly mutinous. They'd hesitated uncomfortably when they'd seen Brennan's direct disrespect. "Why especially Thirteen?" he asked, honestly curious. Amber revelled in screwing with her even more than the others and Foreman couldn't see a reason for it. Even though she'd said "hate", it seemed pretty cordial, except when it came to Thirteen.

It wasn't long before the waitress came back, carrying their plates. Foreman sat up straight, reluctantly giving up his hold on Amber's hand to make room on the table and to pick up his cutlery. Mickey's was known around the hospital for their pancakes and waffles, but Foreman didn't like the heavy weight of that many carbs sitting in his stomach, especially when he was trying to stay awake for a long shift. The fry-up he'd ordered could keep him going for several hours. The sausages weren't swimming in grease and they fried their eggs without dousing them in oil. It smelled delicious, calling forth a rumble from his stomach. Foreman dashed a bit of tabasco sauce on his hashbrowns and dug in. "When you get the job, are you going to be able to work with whoever's left?" he asked after he'd taken a bite and sighed in appreciation. "I never felt like I had to top Chase and Cameron because they were there. I just had to be better for myself."

Amber rolled her eyes. "That's right, I forgot; you think Thirteen walks on rainbows because she's gorgeous." Men could get caught on the most superficial things. It didn't matter how pretty she was, Thirteen was a pain. "Unfortunately, House is the same-- if it was just me, fine, but he'd do her before he'd do me." Not that they'd be doing each other; they'd settled that much during their last face-off. Plus there was Eric. Sleeping with their boss would probably fit in his category of back-stabbing career moves.

"And the only way he'd hire two women is if he thought there was a chance we'd make out at work." Saying it, Amber couldn't help but imagine it for a moment, kissing Thirteen in the most gratuitous manner in front of the whiteboard while House watched approvingly. Amber snorted. "Now there's a thought."

The waitress discreetly slid their plates onto the table, quietly leaving once she was done. Well. The girl had certainly gotten a lot better since the last time Amber had been here. She liked that. She'd leave a good tip; improvement deserved encouragement.

Amber poured just enough syrup over the pancakes to scrape a light layer over their surface with a fork. As much as she'd love to indulge, she didn't have time to pay the price in work-outs. (Which reminded her, she had to find a group to play basketball with.) "Oh, please," she replied. "I'm better than them. Once House hires me, I'll top them just by doing my job better." Amber had no doubt of her skills relative to the losers who'd clung on so far. Taub didn't have the imagination for diagnostics, Kutner was too careless, Thirteen was just annoying, and Cole was too proper.

In getting the pancakes the way she liked them, Amber had sat upright, pulling her legs away from Eric's. Their hands were busy, too. She glanced at him making quick work of his dish. It looked good. She smirked. Maybe it was too soon for this, but somehow she doubted it-- and she might as well find out. With a quick jab of her fork, Amber impaled one of Eric's sausages and immediately stuffed it into her mouth, grinning at him as she chewed.

Startled into an incredulous laugh, Foreman set his fork down and stared at Amber. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. How did this get to be about my opinion of Thirteen? I'm not the one thinking about kissing her!" He wasn't even going to touch the idea of Amber sleeping with House. That had to be a joke, and not a funny one. And he'd never said that Thirteen was gorgeous, or even more than conventionally attractive. He'd certainly never been thick enough to say that he found her attractive. That was all Amber's imagination, and Foreman would be more insulted at the implications, except that he couldn't believe Amber was clearly picturing what kissing Thirteen would be like while she was on a date with him. With an uneasy stir of arousal, Foreman remembered that he'd thought he'd never in a million years suggest a threesome to Amber, out of a pure regard for his own health, but now he was wondering. "Do you--I mean, would you?" Not with Thirteen, necessarily, but the idea of Amber with a woman didn't exactly dampen his enthusiasm. She certainly seemed to be giving it a hell of a lot of serious thought for someone who claimed to feel nothing but hate for a rival. Foreman could hardly help the expression of frank interest on his face, glad yet again that a flush wouldn't show.

"Hey!" he protested a second later, when Amber stabbed one of his sausages and took a huge bite. He'd reacted too slowly to protect his plate, still caught up in the idea that Amber might actually be interested in being with a woman, and missed his chance to retaliate. He sat back with another quick laugh, at the sight of a bit of grease at the corner of Amber's mouth as she chewed ostentatiously, smirking at him the whole time. "You've got some--" He circled a fingertip near his mouth, to show where the spot was on her chin, and licked his own bottom lip in an unconscious mirroring. He had no problem watching Amber for a minute, even if it meant his dinner getting cold (and stolen). It hadn't occurred to him that House would have some objection to having two women on his team. Foreman and Chase had both laughed at Cameron's indignant reaction to House hiring her for being attractive. That's House--the perpetual excuse. The same excuse House used year in and year out to make racist jokes. Foreman hadn't seriously thought before about what it would mean for Amber, having her opportunities squeezed because she knew how House's mind worked, and that definitely didn't include anything like fair hiring practices. Snorting softly to himself, Foreman smiled at her, feeling closer to her than he had when she'd talked about stealing for kicks or crying her way out of speeding tickets. Turned out there was an area where she got shafted, maybe not the same way he did, but it still happened. Foreman picked up his fork again, and with a grin, made a quick move for Amber's plate, snagging one of her strawberries for himself, daring her in a glance to protest. For whatever reason, he was more at ease now, content without the resentful weight anger on his shoulders any longer, and it was as easy as returning Amber's teasing, and watching her warmly as he started forking up his food again in earnest.

Eric's eyes widened; there was a definite alertness in his gaze that hadn't been there five minutes ago. Discreet as he might try to be, fiddling with his words and hiding his drool, he'd grown cardboard stiff as if he'd been caught in the act. Amber didn't need to read his mind to know what the act was. Men! "Maybe I thought of kissing Thirteen first, but you're the one fantasizing about it now."

Amber didn't mind Eric's gaped-mouth fascination, though. In fact, she'd have been surprised if the thought of girl on girl didn't appeal to him. She just didn't want to mix Thirteen into their personal lives. Or any other women. "Would I kiss a girl who wasn't Thirteen?" she asked, completing Eric's question. She went on nonchalantly, cutting into her pancake pile with her fork. "I have."

She left it at that, unable to hold back a smirk as she lifted three layers of lightly-coated pancakes into her mouth. That ought to leave him nice and stunned. He'd be dying to know more but scared to death to ask. And she'd tell him, eventually. It was just fun to tease him.

Oh, it was almost cruel. Eric's lower lip glistened after he'd licked it, the lingering sign of his longing. She'd sworn to herself that they wouldn't go far tonight, no matter how much she might want to take him home. And she did feel that warm rush of arousal. She almost regretted her decision. But somehow, knowing that they wouldn't do more than touch... it made Amber more playful. Amber pressed her tongue against the spot Eric had indicated, slow and luxurious-- and laughed. Now way that'd clean up the stain.

She grabbed a napkin and dabbed it around her lips. The aftertaste of sausage and strawberry lingered in her mouth-- an odd but not displeasing combination. "How about you? What's it like to be back?"

There was nothing Foreman could say. He wasn't fantasizing about Amber and Thirteen--and if he was, it wasn't his fault; Amber had all but deliberately planted those images in his mind. I am not was too juvenile a response to even consider blurting out. He shook his head, intending to turn away the obvious bait, and then Amber hit the bullseye again with I have.

Foreman had to pause before he could swallow the mouthful of hashbrown he'd just chewed. Amber admitted it. The questions piled up in Foreman's brain like a ten-car crash on the Turnpike. No way was he going to ask a single one. The only way he'd get out of this with any dignity at all would be if he acted nonchalant. Maybe he'd never know if Amber meant she'd had relationships, girlfriends, or if it'd been a one-off situation. Foreman wasn't going to pry. He knew how that would end: with Amber conducting her own inquisition into his romantic past. Considering how she'd reacted to meeting Shanelle, someone he'd only dated for a couple of weeks, and casually at that, Amber's reaction to learning about Claire, who he'd nearly married, was not likely to be something he wanted to weather. Not while they were still this fragile, and, God willing, not at all. Foreman would be keeping those cards close to his chest.

He took another bite, to at least pretend he was too busy eating to dignify Amber's teasing with a reply. His eyes tracked her tongue as she licked her lips, though, her mouth glistening even more, emphasizing her full pout, before she resorted to a napkin. Her question, after all that, came out of nowhere, and Foreman reached for his own napkin, frowning slightly and taking a swallow of coffee before he replied. "It's not the same," he said, breaking eye contact and looking down at the tabletop. There were a few grains of sugar on the laminate top, and Foreman pushed a trail through them with a fingertip. "At Mercy, I had my own team," he said. Who did what I told them to do, the subtext there, didn't need to be dwelled on. "I was teaching as much as anything. Here..." No one really wanted to hear what he had to say. House might trust him while he was busy fucking off, but when Foreman disagreed with him, House openly dismissed him and his opinions. "No one wants to learn from me," he said. "Why should they? I screwed up."

She'd taken the teasing too far. Rather than amuse, it seemed to have hurt Eric. His expression clouded over, his over-excited interest gone. Amber refused to believe it was because he was judging her for sleeping with women; even if he'd come from a poorer family and/or 'the hood,' it just seemed impossible he'd be that conservative. A lot of doctors were, for who the hell knew what reason, but Eric didn't seem that way—or, to be more accurate, Amber sure hoped he wasn’t that way.

Her comments had to have bothered him on some other level. Feeling guilty for being caught thinking about her with other women, even though she hadn't minded that much? Whatever it was, she wouldn't know just by wishing to read his mind. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" Amber asked honestly. If his hands hadn't been occupied with utensils, she'd have reached to touch him. If she knew why he'd grown sullen she could fix the problem. And on the slim off chance that he was a homophobic prick, better to know now. Amber didn't quite feel like eating at the moment, so she laid down her fork and watched Eric, waiting for his response.

Jesus, was he really dragging that drenched, hissing cat back into the conversation? Amber resisted the urge to roll her eyes, settling for just crossing her legs and cutting away another serving of pancake. "Of course no one wants to learn from you, no one even knows who you are. All anyone knew last week was that you were a random guy Cuddy pushed on to House." Eric wouldn't like being reminded of that one bit, but it didn't make it any less true. Any enemy of House's, at the moment, became the group's target, in their vying for a golden spot.

"And yeah, you screwed up, but you were also right all along. Which was better than even House—maybe he’d have gotten there first if he weren’t thinking with his pants, but he didn’t." Amber popped the pancakes into her mouth: they were wonderfully chewy and sweet, the underlying strawberry taste genuine. After chewing and swallowing some, she continued, "Not even I really know what you're like as a doctor. But if you get it right sometimes, the others might start wanting to learn from you." Amber swallowed the rest. "But is that what you want to be to us, a teacher?" Seemed to her he more wanted to be a magnificent ruler to a grateful audience, but she had promised to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Foreman lifted his head, glancing at Amber's face without quite meeting her eyes, trying to figure out where her question came from. Amber wouldn't take back anything she'd said, whether it made him uncomfortable or not. It was more likely that she'd stick to a topic so that she could tease him even more. But he couldn't figure out what she was reacting to, unless he'd played 'unconcerned' a little too well. "No," he said, confused enough to be open about it. The only discomfort was over how much of his past he could carefully keep to himself, so obviously he wasn't going to bring it up. Nothing Amber had said had bothered him. He let a slight smile show. "Just curious."

Despite all the better instincts drilled into him by his mom, Foreman rested his elbows on the table, over his half-eaten dinner, and linked his fingers together. They'd come here to talk out their problems, but maybe he should've known better than to expect any sympathy. Nothing Amber said was wrong, but Foreman hardly needed another battering to his self-esteem. It was strange, being with her, when he couldn't expect even the most cursory reassurance. If he'd told Wendy the same thing--not that he'd ever told her much at all about his work in Diagnostics--she might've said, you're still a good doctor, or they don't know what they're missing. Foreman couldn't decide whether he missed hearing that kind of pointless pablum and resented Amber for not offering it, or if it was more refreshing not to have to wade through any bullshit. Having his weaknesses not only pointed out, but driven home with the mallet of Amber's airy dispassion, left him self-conscious and surly.

"No," he said, awkward and stiff. Teaching hadn't fit him right. He'd done his best to guide his fellows without acting patronizing or jumping down their throats when they'd made simple mistakes, and walking that line had left him strained and constantly over-correcting: too cheerful one moment, and too sharp the next. He sighed. The feeling of not fitting--of being on the edge of being revealed as a fraud and kicked out--had only intensified after he'd come back to Princeton-Plainsboro. Maybe it was too much to ask for Amber to remember that confession, and save him the trouble of actually saying the words again. The problem was, she agreed. He didn't belong, in her estimation. He hadn't earned it, and he'd stolen a spot from someone who might have. "I don't know," he said, in full retreat. If you get it right sometimes--not good enough. He had to be right every time. If the candidates didn't want to learn from him, then he wasn't holding his own.

Foreman picked up his fork, but his eggs were cold, now, and the few bites he'd eaten sat like a lump in his stomach. "I like the work," he said, mostly to his plate. "I've got the double speciality. I thought--" He grimaced, and met Amber's eyes for a moment. "I always thought if I got this far it'd be enough."

"For someone who's curious, you sure let the subject drop," Amber said. Despite his negation, Eric was still tense with deliberate coolness. Maybe he didn't want to be uncomfortable but was anyway. She'd seen that reaction before. Well, he'd just have to learn how to be less shocked by her kissing other women because that was just the beginning. The table's surface was cool and slightly greasy beneath the back of her hand. Amber wrapped more of her hand around Eric's, since he'd gone ahead and held hers. "You can ask questions, you know. Now or later." Later might be better for both him and her, when he'd gotten over the awkwardness.

This whole conversation had become too fraught anyway to discuss past sexual escapades. He was avoiding her gaze again and barely responded to her comments and questions. He hadn't appreciated her bluntness. But what was she supposed to do? This morning he'd told her he was scared of ending up like Marcus, and she got that fear, but the distance between them was far too great for that to happen. A few slip-ups like the ones he’d made during this last case wouldn't land Eric in jail, nor would Amber coddling his wounded pride make it any less true that he had to earn the team's respect. Amber let out a breath, annoyed that she had to walk on eggshells and sorry that she'd accidentally ground them up further beneath her feet.

Amber nudged his calf again with the edge of her foot, soft yet firm. "You have come far," Amber pointed out. "It's not personal, you know. Everyone there survived medical school and we're testing each other out. You could be a walking miracle and we'd still want proof." She felt slightly ridiculous comforting him on something he should know, but this was supposed to be a fun meal, right? Them catching up and making mends? And she might as well experiment with different methods of getting him out of his sulks. "But I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you. Give them time, they'll come around."

For a moment, Foreman watched their hands on the tabletop, Amber's squeezing lightly over his. Asking about her love life could potentially be incredibly hot, but that was all the more reason not to get involved in that conversation right now, when they were in public. He'd save his questions for when he'd feel comfortable enough reacting to the answers in whatever way seemed most...expedient.

It was Amber's sigh that worried him the most, made him think that he'd been wrong to tell her what was on his mind. Foreman wasn't so dense that he didn't realize he was talking, obliquely, about the same things they'd been fighting about. But he wanted to talk to his girlfriend, not a subordinate he'd had to reprimand for being unprofessional. If they couldn't manage to separate out those roles now, then it was unlikely they'd ever get to that point. It hadn't worked great yet, but Foreman was a big believer in leaving home at home and work at work. If he hadn't fallen for Amber so quickly, before he knew what she did...well, he would have lost out on a hell of a lot. It had been worth it...so far. As long as they could keep moving away from this argument.

Amber's foot nudged his, the touch reassuring in a way that nothing she'd said had been. Foreman lifted his face, catching sight of the slight hint of impatience on Amber's face, but also the matter-of-fact way she put her viewpoint in front of him. That, more than anything, made him believe it when she said she believed in him. Foreman squeezed her hand, tight, a soft laugh coming to his lips. His smile was slow to appear at first, but then it spread across his face, warmth that had nothing to do with the heater he was sitting beside filling his chest. God, when was the last time someone had told him they believed in him? Told him without qualifications, without a hidden jab waiting for the next breath to snatch away any sense of satisfaction he might have gotten out of hearing it? His mom. Last spring, when dad had brought her for her birthday... I can see from your face, you’d never hurt anybody on purpose. And she hadn't even known who he was...

Foreman licked his lips. His voice was husky, but he managed, "Thanks." He'd promised himself, over and over again, that he wasn't going to let Amber see him get emotional just because his mom was sick. He swallowed hard, squeezed her hand again, and smiled, wide and true. If he could get away from the topic, show her that he wasn't dwelling on it, then maybe he could divert her attention. "So did you date a woman," he asked, his grin growing teasing, "or was it more of a tequila-shot situation?"

That was all he'd wanted: confirmation. Watching his happiness grow was day break, warm and bright and promising. It was impossible not to smile back in return. It was so simple! An hour ago, too, he'd asked just for an apology. Amber was a trained manipulator and she'd long since learned the usefulness of flattery and adulation and sucking up. Eric had never been a tool to her so she'd avoided applying those same principles to him-- she'd assumed somehow that to compliment him would be a trick, just like flirting with that intern boy or goading House into imagining her in bed.

He should've known that she wouldn't be here if she didn't think him worthy. Amber didn't waste time on the hopeless, she had better things to do. Maybe he did know. Because it was true, she really did believe in him. And maybe hearing it out loud, from her own lips, made all the difference. Eric seemed like so independent and self-confident, but he still craved the high opinion of others-- the other wanna-bes. House. Amber.

Amber's pancakes had gone well past lukewarm, her coffee would be thick and disgusting, and all she wanted to do was grin back at Eric, playing with his hand. This feeling of satisfaction and pleasure and excitement was why she'd invited him here. She’d remembered how good Eric could make her feel and she'd wanted that again. Well, she'd gotten it.

Eric performed the least subtle topic switch in the history of ever, but Amber rolled with it. So it'd been his own insecurities he'd been queasy over and not her non-discriminating taste. "I didn't date," Amber said. She'd barely tolerated seeing anyone more than once, didn't matter the sex. Women weren't Amber's favorite, but she wasn't going to dismiss half the human population without at least experimenting first. "And no, I wasn't always drunk. I wasn't the first time." Amber innocently popped a soggy bit of pancake into her mouth, smirking as she teased by not explaining about that 'first' time.

Amber really shouldn't be able to make him feel this good about himself with only a few half-hearted compliments. She'd crushed his self-confidence only to build it back up again, and Foreman had no idea when her opinion of him had started to matter so much. He was supposed to be aloof, independent, anything but reliant on what his girlfriends thought of him; he was supposed to be the one offering compliments and reassurance, instead of searching them out. All his confidence, his suave attitude with women, was built on a foundation of unshakeable confidence in his own worth, as a partner, in bed, and as a person. Maybe it was Amber's own independence that had left him wondering about himself. Knowing she could take him or leave him. If it came down to work, then leaving might be her best option, and she knew it. Hearing that she believed in him made Foreman feel that he still was the guy he'd always thought, capable and proud. He hadn't forgotten his promises to listen, to try harder as a boss, but knowing that Amber hadn't entirely written him off would make that easy as well. If he wasn't the best, he'd work until he'd improved, simple as that. It helped him sit up straighter, a tingle in his chest rising from Amber's answering smile, and reach with renewed hunger for his toast. It was cold, but he was still hungry. The eggs would be inedible, but he could eat the rest.

Chewing, Foreman granted Amber a skeptical look when she confirmed that she hadn't been with a woman as a one-time thing. The emphasis on first time didn't pass him by, either, and Amber's goading smile was probably another trap. If he started asking too many questions, he'd lose just as quickly as if he'd shown no interest at all. The possibilities were making themselves known to his imagination, but he'd only get details if and when Amber wanted to share. Finishing his bite, he ran his thumb across the back of Amber's hand, lightly, trying to make her shiver. Their legs were already pressed together under the table; the solid, warm presence at once comforting and promising more. "I guess you're not the sort to kiss and tell," Foreman said, pretending half-disappointed, half-resigned acceptance. He nodded seriously, coming to a firm decision. "Wouldn't want to invade your privacy."

Amber lifted her mug for another sip of coffee but frowned as she peered its contents. Cold and gross, as predicted. But that could be easily solved. Amber twisted her head left and right looking for that brunette. The girl had her back to her, but as if a sense of premonition-- or a nervous tick borne of very good common sense-- alerted her, the girl turned around and caught Amber's meaningful stare. She rushed over. "Another two coffees,” Amber ordered;; if hers was undrinkable, so would be Eric's.

He was making a valiant effort to finish up his portion, but Amber was willing to give up this fight. She was filled; no need to stuff down lukewarm pancakes. This conversation was way more interesting than her food anyway. Eric had loosened after her compliment, moving with more ease as he dug into the toast. Crumbs covered his lower lip and though he'd pointed out her grease stain earlier, she just smiled and waited to see if he'd lick them away himself. He'd probably still taste of those sausages.

It wasn't just physically he'd relaxed, either. Eric was teasing her now about sleeping with women. All the more confirmation that he'd tried to switch subject only because he'd been so caught up in what their coworkers thought of him. And if he was teasing... well, Amber couldn't resist doing the same back to him. She hovered her fingertips over the center of his palm, certain that it'd do things to him.

"You're such a gentleman," Amber agreed, grinning lightly. "You'd never ask." The thing was, she wanted him to. Showing off her sexual past, what wouldn't be great about that? She'd probably never get too into about what she'd done with (how many) men, given how jealous he’d probably get, but he'd want to hear about the women. Be transfixed, growing with desire. And Amber could give as many details as she liked, or as few, tantalizing him. "Tell you what, though. I'll tell you my first time if you'll tell me about one of your tattoos." Now that Amber knew him, they struck her as odd; they definitely went against his goal of fitting in with the other doctors.

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