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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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.

Foreman picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth when he'd finished eating. He wasn't quite satisfied, but he wasn't ravenous anymore either. Didn't matter, he could cook for himself later. Right now, he was too busy loving the glint in Amber's eyes, the warmth as she leaned forward to tease him. Her eyes were clear and warm, her smile almost letting him forget how frigid with anger she could become. So damn beautiful. Foreman smiled back, happy with the way he'd skirted that disaster. He had Amber right where he wanted her: eager to tell him whatever stories she had, and not pissed off at him for daring to ogle. Yeah, he had a feeling there were a few details she wanted to share, and if it was only to make him squirm uncomfortably in public places...she'd done worse, or better, already. Foreman figured he could handle it. "Mmhmm, up to you," he said. Oh, God, he had to be the luckiest guy on the planet.

His hand was under Amber's, fingers cupped slightly as she teased him back with a light, almost ticklish touch in the center of his palm. Her fingernails traced the lines on his palms, enough to get him remembering what her hands felt like on other parts of him. He'd been completely unconscious of the fact that with his arm resting palm up, the tattoo on his wrist that showed all the more clearly against the slightly paler skin of his inner arm, was so obviously on display. Foreman looked down at his wrist, and his arm muscles tightened just enough to start to draw his hand back from Amber's. With a breath, he focused on relaxing, and left his hand in hers. He wasn't going to ruin this evening when it had been going so well. There would always be things like this, questions she'd ask, and he couldn't duck every one. "It's a Native American symbol," he said. He had other tattoos, one on his opposite shoulder, and another down one calf. Amber wasn't the first woman who'd asked about them. She might be the first in a hell of a long time who he wouldn't put off with that pat answer, and it wasn't because he was that desperately eager to hear about the time she'd been with a girl. "That's my second one," he said. "I got it done before I left for college. Marcus..." He'd been on track then, or nearly. Trying, anyway, a high school sophomore when Foreman had been ready to head to New York and Columbia. "Marcus thought I was going to forget him. All my friends." So-called friends, the ones he'd been moving away from during his senior year, when he'd been on the basketball team and pulling As instead of ditching school to smoke up. "So I got this done with him. Like I had to prove something."

Everything felt so good and right. After days of fighting, she and Eric were grinning at each like fools with only a table between them; she was happily sated with a pretty good meal, the hint of strawberries still filling her mouth; and she was reviewing her very good memories of that brunette, organizing how to tell Eric the story so as to get the biggest and most rewarding effect. This was going to be great.

Strange how she could go from gloating to somber so quickly.

The sea-green ink was so faded that from a distance, on a stranger, Amber wouldn't have really noticed. But on Eric... For all the distance he put between himself and his brother, it sure did always seem to come back to Marcus. Maybe he was in jail, but he was here in Eric's history, mind, and body. A shiver ran all over Amber, raising the hairs on her body. If Marcus was the symbol of what Eric feared becoming, then Eric carried that reminder very close to his heart. "He was right about one thing-- you never did forget him," Amber said more to herself than to him.

Amber lightly traced the circle the tattoo formed with her free hand, trying to imagine the boy-- for as a teenager boy embarking on college, Eric would have been no more than that-- who imprinted this on himself. The inked skin wasn't quite as smooth as the rest of his inner arm. His second tattoo. As far as Amber had seen and noticed, he had three-- so one before and one after. What were those about?

But one tattoo a time. Amber stopped drawing its outline and rubbed her hand along his arm; her arousal, summoned a few minutes ago, deepened at the reminder of previous the times she'd touched Eric like this. It was strange to feel that desire coiling inside even as she struggled to understand the extent of Eric's grief and regret. She looked up into his rich, brown eyes. Casual acceptance and resentment warred in his expression, raised eyebrows contradicting how tightly and thinly his lips were stretched. "Do you know what it means?"

It felt wrong to launch into how she'd had her eye on a girl at campus, and how they came together at a party, right after this more somber memory. Like bringing party hats to a funeral. So Amber was grateful when their waitress arrived just then, two new steaming mugs of coffee clenched in either hand. Amber nodded at the girl to leave them on the table; she did so, long dark tresses falling over as she leaned to put the mugs down. Amber studied her for a second; her face was too round and her cheeks too high to really look like that other girl from so long ago.

The pause made it seem less strange to start, so Amber tried, her hands still all over Eric. "I was in my second semester at college--" But it wasn't right now, either. Just a few feet away, Eric was too far away; she wanted to whisper to him, if need be, and watch up close his facial shifts. Amber got up and, walking round the table, slid next to him, her body against his. She grinned and squeezed his thigh once, the silk of his trousers wonderfully sensual. "Sorry, where was I?"

It would be all too easy to get caught up in reliving the arguments he'd had with Marcus during his last summer at home. He'd been working two jobs, trying to put together enough money to cover what his scholarships wouldn't, so he didn't have time for Marcus's parties, which were nothing but a couple of guys driving and drinking as much beer as they could and still keep the car on the road. They'd had more than one close call, Foreman knew that, but tell Marcus that he might get killed out there one night and he acted like Foreman was another nagging extension of their parents. He wanted Foreman to be on his side, and only rolled his eyes when Foreman told him he was on the side of still having a brother when he came home from Thanksgiving vacation. Foreman knew that Dad was on Marcus's case, too--a fifteen-year-old, sixteen nearly, should have a summer job, in his estimation. But with Marcus's juvenile record and the economy, all he could've done was sweep up after other people, or maybe, if he scrambled, stock shelves. Marcus only wanted to "hang out", right when Foreman had decided he was sick of the guys he'd called his friends--none of them was doing more than technical college, and likely to drop out of even that--and he didn't want to get called prissy, uppity, oreo, just because he wanted a damn life.

"Yeah," he said. He'd never forgotten Marcus. Never forgotten how bitter it'd made him to see Marcus throw everything away, when Foreman had proved that you could haul yourself up. You could get away. The fact that Marcus thought that was a damn betrayal--no, Foreman had never forgotten that. But he hadn't forgotten, either, just how lonely Marcus looked when Dad slammed the trunk and got in behind the wheel to drive Foreman off to college. Mom had her arm around Marcus's shoulder, and she waved, but Marcus only glared at his feet, like Foreman had abandoned him, purposefully. Like it was some kind of punishment Foreman had decided to mete out. Foreman took a deep breath. Amber's fingers moved over the lines of the tattoo. It felt like nothing but skin, to him, so he didn't know why he should've made it mean so much. "It's about courage," he said. He covered her hand with his, and brought her fingertip to each of the four quadrants. The circle was stylized, but each part had a meaning. "Mastery. Independence. Generosity. Belonging." He'd focused a hell of a lot on the first two, in his life. Broken the idea of the circle, even if he'd never tried to get the tattoo itself removed.

Foreman sat up again when their waitress dropped off the fresh coffees. She left with an armload of dishes, when Foreman waved the rest of his meal away, and Amber didn't object, either. He half-wondered if this meant the end of their night; talking about Marcus usually ended most conversations he had with people. But Amber didn't let go; she held him even tighter. She'd been solemn, intent, when he'd been speaking, and brusque when the waitress had been at their table, but now that he'd stopped speaking, a smile began to show at the corners of her mouth. Foreman knew that look all too well--Mickey's had better start looking out for its bathroom. Amber leaned in, her voice low and confidential, and Foreman's face warmed before she'd even said anything compromising. Her words were honey-soft, her mouth shaping each one as if she fully expected Foreman's gaze to be riveted. And it was.

He wasn't expecting the quick change, or Amber suddenly snuggling up next to him, but it was easy to move with her. He shifted until he was able to rest against the corner of the seat, with Amber leaning against him. Foreman brought his arm around her and urged her the last few inches closer, so that their hips touched. Her hand on his leg started another flash of heat. Things were becoming a lot less slow the longer this story went on; Foreman was all ears, waiting to store up details until he could get home, since, no matter what Amber had done before, he wasn't going to get his ass shut down again tonight. "Second semester," he said, his voice rough. He tightened his arm around Amber and smiled down at her, not even bothering to repress his smugness. Her choice. He just got the benefit. He let his arm slip a little lower, his palm cupping her thigh, high enough that it was nearly her ass, and rubbed his thumb over her skirt. She'd come into his arms; she couldn't really expect him to stay entirely innocent.

Mastery, independence, generosity. Belonging. Sounded like chapter titles out of a thousand pathetic self-help books. But with Eric's voice and hand guiding her, Amber found herself considering her life through the filters of those four nouns. The first two she had down pat; was she not an excellent doctor and fantastic woman? Hadn't she gotten here all on her own? And she saw no point to the third, a mere synonym for pity and hand-outs. The fourth... Eric's breath swept over the back of her arm, warm and ticklish. These past couple of weeks, what with trying to find a way to make her ways fit somehow with Eric's, so that they could be here eating lunch for dinner and flirting-- Amber thought that maybe she was learning a thing or two about belonging. It wasn't bad, not at all. It might even be worth the price it demanded.

Slipping into the booth and penetrating Eric's space, his eager, inviting gaze would've been enough to make her warm up all over. He just had this way of making her feel like no one else mattered-- and for a few seconds, Amber let herself believe that. "Right, second semester-- I was living in Bates dorm," Amber murmured, calling Eric closer with her low voice. Their torsos and legs were flush up together and his arm circled her back, but still she wanted him leaning in, hanging on her every word.

Bates dorm. That really took her back, to intro chem and her spiral notebooks crammed with equations and hallway carpets the color of sun-baked mud. She could almost smell the pot her infinitely annoying hall mates smoked every chance they got. "There was this girl, I'm pretty sure she lived in Bates too. I saw her often enough." It hadn't been every day, or even every week; but Amber did sometimes catch her going up the stairs at a Thursday 3am, dark flannel pajamas scraping beneath her heels, or hanging round the front entrance.

Amber didn't quite know why, but she couldn't help but watch that girl; her attention simply went to her like a compass points north. Her hair, straight and in want of a better conditioner, seemed to be everywhere except where it should be. Her lips were so full-- not unlike Eric's. Amber felt suddenly disconcerted; this was so strange, remembering the past in such detail while her hand rubbed Eric's thigh, thumb digging in a little more adventurously. She'd barely even thought of that girl in years and years! What had been her name? And had her eyes been green or brown? Forget eye color, Amber couldn’t recall the shape of her face. "She was so pretty, like an actress. Like Angelina Jolie! And she was always walking around without a bra." That much was true. She usually wore a grey t-shirt with her pajama pants. "I was watching her for weeks."

If it was being enveloped in Eric's scent or if it was the (half-faked) memories, Amber didn't know, but she was growing really, really hot. Her eyes flickered between Eric's and his mouth. No kissing. She wouldn't make the first move. She'd just tell the story. "But I didn't really think much about it. She was hardly the first pretty girl I'd ever seen. But the week before spring break, when all the professors were killing us with exams, I went to get a coke at the vending machine, and she was there." Amber raised her eyebrows to hint at what exciting events happened next, smirking.

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