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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They'd never talked about this basic kind of stuff, had they. They'd been sort-of together for two weeks now and she still didn't know that he preferred the news and documentaries. Though, honestly, the way Eric put it, all bland and perfectly respectable choices, made it sound like he was at a job interview and not with his girlfriend. Amber pierced the cork, digging in deep with a couple of decisive, firm twists. "What, no trash TV?" Amber asked, raising her voice slightly so that he could hear her from the kitchen. "No secret and guilty pleasures?"

She brought the corkscrew's arms down and, with the apparatus as far down as it'd go, Amber pulled the screw from the bottle: pop! The cork burst satisfyingly, her hand jolting up. She loved this part; it might even be what she loved most about wine, more than the tipsiness or the taste.

Amber strode into the living room, holding the bottle by its neck and supporting the bottom with her other hand. "I like action movies--" she started, then stopped when she saw Eric sprawled all over her couch like Burt Reynolds. She snorted. So confident and so Eric. "So much for taking it slow," she said, exasperated-- not that she'd been helping much in that regard, but she'd still stayed within better boundaries than that! He hadn't even turned on the TV!

Amber staked out her territory by sitting on the edge where his feet were; she had no idea what would happen later, but it was too early to propose being horizontal on the couch. She reached out first for the remote control and flicked on the TV; it was too early for the prime-time shows, but there was always CNN. She then poured them their drinks, passing Eric his glass. "Think you can drink that lying down?" she teased, a single eyebrow raised. She understood why he’d gotten so settled; even she didn’t really know how far was too far, and they were both feeling it out. At most she was amused by his blatant attempt to take things a bit further. It was honest of him, and she appreciated that. And who knew, they might end up in that same position once they’d downed more of the wine.

"Not on TV," Foreman answered, shifting his weight against the cushions to get comfortable. He liked getting his news in soundbites, and beyond that, he usually turned the television off or popped in a DVD if he wanted to spend a particularly mindless evening. He grinned when he heard the pop of the cork from the kitchen, and looked over his shoulder as Amber came into the living room.

Her amused exasperation was obvious as soon as she saw him, breaking off her sentence. Foreman gave her his most engaging, wheedling, eager smile, showing off that he had nothing to hide and that she had nothing to lose. Cuddling on the couch wasn't exactly the precursor to a sex marathon. She'd been at least that close in the booth at Mickey's, her whole body pressed against him and easing closer with every fresh detail that spilled out about that girl she'd met. The one whose room Amber had gone back to...

But he'd interrupted that story, and it looked like this was his punishment. Amber scrunched all the way at the far end of the couch, not even fighting for her own share of the real estate. Made Foreman feel like kind of a heel, to be taking up most of the space. After all the stories Amber had told about life with two brothers, bickering for supremacy, he'd thought that she'd shove him into place and then settle on the couch like a queen on her throne. It left him second-guessing himself, wondering if he'd made her uncomfortable, again. He accepted the glass of wine, sitting up as he did so, returning her sceptical eyebrow raise with his own. She was right, it would be awkward, and he'd rather not stain his sweater if he could help it.

His eyes flicked to the television, but there was nothing immediately attention-grabbing. Amber had picked CNN--to placate him?--but since Foreman couldn't devote his full attention to it, and didn't want to, he wasn't actually getting anything out of it. He took a sip of his wine. It was very nice, and he nodded to himself at the quality. "Action movies?" he asked, picking up on what Amber had been saying as she came into the room. "Like what?"

Once Eric was upright and settled, Amber scooted closer, tucking her folded legs onto the cushions close enough for her thighs to realign with his once more. That sweatshirt really did need to be washed, but she couldn't really complain; she'd pick his scent over the wine's any day. Not that she'd tell him that! Rather, Amber smirked into her goblet, sipping. She got both, lucky her.

CNN was showing some god-awful report about golfing."Boring!" Amber declared. She leaned forward again to grab the remote control and flipped through the channels. She leaned into Eric, her shoulder over his so that she could feel his chest rise and fall, slow and reassuring. Maybe this didn't really count as "slow" either, but it wasn't any worse than how they'd been at Micky's and it wasn't going as far as lying down together. Amber just wanted to feel close to Eric. And she did.

"Mmm, stuff with guns," Amber said, tilting her head towards his. The wine was doing its thing, expanding warm and cozy in her chest. His breath tickled her ear; made strands of her hair flutter slightly. "Like the Terminator! Sci-fi is stupid, but there's some great scenes there. And Kill Bill, that was awesome." Uma Thurman's work with a sword was a beauty to behold. "And, oh, I love a good chase scene too.”

There wasn't much on TV, but Amber eventually found a hockey game, so she left it there. It wasn't her favorite sport, but it far beat The Adams Family reruns on TMC. Dropping the remote on her side, Amber then let her hand fall into her lap.

The second he sat up, Amber was all over him. What the hell? Foreman took another sip of his wine and tried to concentrate on Amber's answer to his question, smiling a bit tightly, although with her head on his shoulder she probably wouldn't see. It just made no damn sense. The only possible reason he could come up with was that Amber was playing power games. Foreman couldn't deny liking that kind of thing, or playing around in bed with his girlfriends where he, or they, pretended to draw back. Occasionally. But he and Amber weren't in bed. As far as Foreman knew--and that didn't mean much; apparently he knew fuck-all about the rules, since they kept changing on him--they weren't planning on going to bed any time soon. So why did Amber need to keep jerking him around?

Ordinarily he'd be crowing that she liked action movies. He could sit back and let her pick them, give in to her choices--earning points that way--and suggest the highbrow stuff when it was his turn, getting the best of both worlds. Instead he found himself frowning at the Rangers spanking the Flyers, swallowing another mouthful of wine, and not keeping up his end of the conversation. He just bet he knew how the script was supposed to go after this. He'd offer to put his arm around Amber--more comfortable that way, and it gave him some leeway to return any caresses she offered--and as soon as he made the move, Amber would back away, accuse him of not respecting her boundaries, or else just jump up from the couch with some excuse like getting them more wine.

Lose-lose situation. Seemed like he'd been in a lot of them lately. Well, Foreman didn't feel like bringing it up. He'd had enough of arguments. Maybe he should lean forward, set his empty wineglass down, and then put back the space between them that had been there in the first place. See how Amber liked that, when she was the one getting the game changed on her halfway through. It was a stupid idea, sulky and unworthy. He'd just sit here, watch the hockey game, which was already in the third period, and when it was over he'd go home. He was too damn tired to navigate all the mixed signals. They could try again after he'd gotten some sleep.

Amber waited for Eric to cozy up to her-- maybe an arm around her shoulder or her waist, maybe slouching a bit further down the couch and into her. He'd been happy enough to hug and kiss at Micky's, and here was so much better. More intimate.

But if anything he grew more rigid the further she sunk into him, tensing like he was being lambasted by a peer review. His breaths became shorter and sharper and his arm was still and awkward between them. He didn't even reply to her comments about movies! Sure watching hockey players crash into each other was riveting, but Amber knew he wasn't ignoring her because of the game. The resentment practically radiated from him in waves.

Amber sighed. She had an idea of what this was about. She twisted around, legs staying in place and her arm resting over the top of the couch. Eric looked every bit as sullen as he'd felt. "Sorry," she said. This wasn't like their fight over Casey's treatment, where she was sure she was right and he was an arrogant prick. Amber knew just how confusing she was being this evening since she herself had no idea what to expect. "I don't mean to be giving mixed signs, I'm just--" she paused. What was she doing? "I wanted to go back to how were at Micky's," she concluded, since that much was true. Her wine, mostly undrunk, sloshed in her goblet as she waved her hand slightly. “I’m figuring this out as we go along, I swear.” It’d been too much of a surprise, walking into a scenario with Eric lying down; if they had eased into it, she’d probably have been more than happy.

But how could she tell him what she wanted and was feeling if she didn’t really know herself? “I’m not used to taking it slow,” she admitted unhappily. That had been one of the good things about Eric, how he was okay with waiting out her confusion. He’d let her stay that night she was thrown out of the mood, and he’d stuck out her crying fit after calling her baby. He’d better not have run out of patience, because where would that leave them?

Foreman turned to face Amber when she shifted her position. Her apology, immediate and sincere, though hesitant in the way she worded it, was at once welcome and confusing. Foreman had been worried that not only wouldn't she apologize for her actions, she wouldn't even consider them worthy of an apology in the first place. Amber Volakis was never wrong, not without a lot of wrangling and some pretty pathetic begging on his part. Which was why he hadn't wanted to get into it.

Apparently he'd been wrong. Foreman took a breath, relieved at that much. If she was willing to talk about it, then so was he. None of those barriers where they couldn't even agree on what the problem was, let alone how to resolve it. "At Mickey's, you nearly crawled into my lap while you were telling me about a girl you'd slept with," he said, unable to hold it back any longer. She hadn't been pleased when he'd stopped her, either, although she'd taken the hint after a moment. "That's not exactly taking it slow."

Letting his head fall back against her arm behind him, Foreman watched her doubtfully. "Honey, I don't mind waiting," he said. "I'm not gonna do anything you don't want. But you're coming on to me one minute and then pushing me away the next. I lie down and it's too fast, I sit up and it's too slow. I know we're not going to bed tonight. I don't need that to like being with you. But you're making me feel like I'm wrong no matter what I do."

The corner of Amber's mouth twitched. "True," she conceded. "I got caught up in the moment." And what a good moment it'd been, driving Eric crazy with just a simple tale. They'd have to finish up the rest of that scene at a more appropriate moment. When ‘slow’ was no longer in effect.

Thankfully Eric didn't insist on sulking, speaking his mind instead. Strange that what was essentially complaining about her felt better to hear than not; Amber preferred this over his silent recriminations at the hospital. This at least she could counter. And it wasn't anything she hadn't suspected him of thinking.

Amber was sipping more wine when the word 'honey' came out of his mouth; she nearly choked. For special occasions, he'd explained that night he'd first started calling her endearments. 'Special' seemed to mean 'fucking,' since that was pretty much the only time he pulled out those 'babies' and 'honeys.' She still didn't like them much-- their potential sweetness was canceled out by just how damn patronizing Eric sounded-- and the word jolted her out of the conversation. Amber barely picked up on what followed.

She wiped excess wine from her lips with her thumb. They could tackle his thing with endearments later. "It's not about you being wrong," Amber protested. That was reframing the question so that it was her blaming him, which wasn't the case at all. "I'm just letting you know what I feel comfortable with, what else am I supposed to do?" If he didn't like it he could go home, she wanted to say, but they'd fought enough for her to know better than to jump to that conclusion. It wasn't an option between perfect harmony or absolute break up, Amber knew. The point was to reach some kind of agreement so that they could go back to the fun part. "What do you want to happen?" she asked, sincere but also wary. She'd really much rather go back to just leaning against him and maybe watch some TV like they'd planned, and sneaking in some kisses between sips of wine, but if she got to tell him what she was comfortable with, then he did too.

Letting out a heavy breath, Foreman leaned forward to set his wineglass down. He hadn't expected to get into another draining conversation so soon, and more wine would probably blur together with his tiredness and make him screw this up. He was so goddamn tired of Amber telling him--with words, or with her body--that he was in the wrong. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of them just being with each other, feeling their way past all the crap of the past few days. Why did it seem like they were talking about the same damn problem, just with different words? He didn't miss Amber's flinch at what he said. She was defensive immediately, protesting, but that didn't stop Foreman from getting the message all over again. He couldn't help a chuckle, shaking his head. "You're doing it again," he said. "I told you I felt like I was wrong, and you're telling me how wrong that was." Nevertheless, Foreman sat back again, opening himself up to her. They were physically close, and talking quietly. It was already an improvement on a shouting match. "You can tell me," he said. It shouldn't be a game of trial and mostly error. "I'm not gonna pretend you meant only this and a little more."

It'd be a mistake to touch her now, he was sure. He wasn't about to disprove his own words. Chest rising and falling slowly, muscles loose, Foreman wasn't angry, just exhausted with how powerless Amber could make him feel. "I wanna hold you. I wanna relax with you. I don't think that's any different than what you want. But I keep getting the message if we both have the same idea, it's only okay if you thought it up first." He shrugged helplessly. Right from the first, she'd been in control, and he knew it. It wasn't something he wanted to accept as absolute. He didn't need to get stupidly macho on her--he was more enlightened than that--but he did need to know that he wasn't walking on eggshells with every move he made around her. "Amber, I want you to trust me."

Amber didn't appreciate being told that she was wrong to keep sending the message that he was wrong in all these ways she didn't really think she was, but telling him his impressions were wrong would only prove his point, so she bit back the defensiveness. Pushed it out and away. They were talking, that was all. It wasn't a fight and therefore no one had to win. She'd been letting him know what she wanted; now it was his turn. Putting it that way, it wasn't so hard to prevent herself from tensing up-- though another sip of wine helped with that too.

And so Amber listened, bending her arm to support her head against the palm of her hand. Her hair, loose, felt a bit brighter, caught in the reflection of the television's glow. For all that Eric was talking about how frustrated he was, he seemed so... good-natured about it. Like this was some amusing anecdote, funny and in the past tense. That made it easier to nod along. She didn't really agree with the part about who thought up what first, since it a question of feelings and not of originality, but they were just exchanging ideas. And he was right about her also wanting to relax with him.

Trust. It always came back to that. "Eric." Beneath that good humor of his was tiredness too. They'd meant to take a break, hadn't they? One hand holding her head, the other her wine glass, she couldn't touch him. She wanted to; having her thigh press against his wasn't enough. "When we left the hospital today, you said you were having a hard time trusting me. I want you to, and I want to trust you too." The wine glass was starting to get annoying and it was mostly empty anyway; Amber leaned over a moment to slide it onto the table. Looked back deep into his eyes. "I do trust you, I think." She took in a deep breath. "But I don't want to be pushed blind over a cliff either; let me feel this out, okay?" Amber did trust Eric to respect her wishes as far as sex went; he'd been reliable on that much. The problem was how close she was willing to let him get at any given moment, which changed depending on more factors than Amber could helpfully illustrate through flowcharts.

"I want to hold you too," she said and, lifting a suggestive eyebrow, "Speaking of which, we could be doing that now." If he wanted her to tell him explicitly what she wanted, there it was.

Amber's expression flickered. For a second, Foreman was certain he saw the tightness around her lips, the crease of her forehead, that meant she was going to snap at him again, but it passed. Raising his eyebrows, Foreman waited for her to think through what he'd said. He couldn't deny that he still felt comfortable with her in a way he hadn't with a lot of women. Something about the fact that, as she'd said last week, she was new to this. Lots of Foreman's girlfriends had accused him of being distant, and he could usually acknowledge to himself when he was, even if he protested to them. With Amber, he didn't get the feeling that she was protesting for form's sake, but because she genuinely hadn't considered his points before. It made him more patient than he would've been otherwise, and more willing to lay himself on the line. There was a limit to what he could offer, but they hadn't reached it yet.

He inhaled deeply when Amber mentioned how he'd already told her tonight he couldn't trust her. She was right; he was asking for more than he'd been willing to give, then. It felt different. He couldn't trust her not to hurt him, and here, he knew that he'd never do that to her. Foreman's lips tightened. That was his defensiveness speaking. Maybe she really didn't know that he wouldn't go too far. That thought cut through him and squeezed his heart; not for him, but for her. She did trust him--just not that far. She trusted him, but not enough to let him take the initiative, and maybe they'd never get that far.

Wasn't this good enough? Foreman snorted softly. If it wasn't, he'd sure as hell staked a lot on how happy he could be even if it wasn't. He didn't doubt Amber's sincerity, but it made him uncomfortable and tense to know that he was getting closer to her than she was allowing herself to get to him. He wanted to pull back, step back, and get them on even footing. Stop risking anything. Hell, Amber was worried about the cliff, when he was already freefalling into the chasm.

She was waiting for an answer. Foreman held out his hand to her, and leaned back slightly, telegraphing his plan to her. If she took him up on his offer, he'd go back to where he had been. The couch was wide enough for them both to lie on their sides, facing the television, with Foreman's arm hooked over Amber's waist and her hair tickling his nose. No closer than how they'd slept together. Less, even, since they were both fully dressed. It'd be warm, comfortable, close. If only Amber would let them be. "It's not a cliff," he said. "It's just a hug."

Of course Eric's expression trembled at her calling out the fact that they both had issues trusting each other. From the wince of his eyes to the way his buccinator muscle clenched, Amber couldn't tell if didn't believe that she did trust him or if his pride was hurt to have the accusation reflected back at him. Not that it was meant to be an accusation, just a statement of facts. Why pretend something if it’d bring them no greater good? "We just need time, to get to know each other better." They were doing better already, weren't they? Just this morning they'd have torn each other's throats out, and now they were quibbling over how much bodily contact was too much or not enough. "I'm not saying I won't ever trust you." They could learn.

Starting now, it seemed. Amber half-snorted, half laughed when Eric fell towards the couch once she offered to go back to hugging, looking not unlike a puppy with a ball, a wagging tail, and a hopeful expression. He was determined, she had to give him that much. This time she was more than fine with following his lead, unfolding her legs and settling down next to him. "See?" she said. "Slow doesn't mean 'never.'" It was pretty cozy, Amber had to admit. Her back to him, it was like they were about to fall asleep, feeling and hearing every breath he took. Though being the same height implied certain logistical difficulties. "Can you see the TV?" And there’d be no more wine like this.

Foreman nodded slightly. It would take time. They'd only really known each other for a few weeks. He didn't expect that to mean that they couldn't trust each other as far as lying together on the couch went, but apparently that's what it meant to Amber. So, he was learning about her, and what she wanted. And at least now he was able to bring it up with her when he found her being high-handed with him.

Better than explanations that she might trust him better, someday, was the fact that she let him guide him to lie in front of him. Foreman tucked his knees in behind hers, their bodies lined up nearly perfectly, and his arm, as he'd suspecting, fitting just over the curve of her waist. "It's fine," he said. He didn't really care if he could see the television. The hockey game was gradually coming to a finish, and Foreman was more interested in feeling Amber relax against him. Her hair tickled his nose a bit, but he could tip his head up and avoid the wisps easily. He could smell her conditioner, or her perfume--it was familiar, and elusive enough that he had to breathe in deeply to catch the fullness of it.

Letting his eyes close, Foreman curled up as close behind Amber as he could, with the back of the couch supporting him. Breathing slowly and steadily, he let the tension seep out of his muscles. Amber better not mind if he fell asleep, because that was all he could think about now, his mind fuzzing out. The wine had only reminded him of just how tired he was. Before long, Foreman was dozing.

Amber wriggled a moment, finding the perfect fit against Eric; slid her hand down so that her arm was over his. She liked the way he held her at her waist, sweet like he wanted to draw her nearer. On the screen you could tell that the Flyers had given up, woefully behind in points and with no time to make it up. Losers.

Speaking of no time, it took none at all for Eric to start snoring lightly behind her. Amber could barely believe it; all this fuss so that he could fall asleep within minutes! Apparently more than her he'd wanted a flat surface. He had to be kidding! Amber almost laughed, but held it back, since it might wake him up. It was nice like this. Intimate. Kind of what she'd been hoping for, this evening. When he woke up, she'd offer to switch over to the bed, since they were both too old to spend the night on the couch. For now, Amber watched the end of the game, her boyfriend tucked into her. She felt warm and sated in a way she’d never known before.

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November 7, 2007

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