Foreman didn't even try to hide his smile as Amber murmured in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the covers. He felt completely energized, relaxed and alert and bursting with endorphins. Last night, and again this morning...they'd barely made time for food, and even as they'd been preparing meals, side-by-side, they'd still been exchanging flirtatious looks. He'd caught Amber eyeing him speculatively more than once, and been found out himself a few times when just the sight of her, or the sound of her voice, started him remembering how she kissed him, how that bright, challenging look on her face meant exactly the sort of trouble he wanted to get into.
He wasn't going to disturb her if he'd worn her out. Foreman paced into the living room, keeping his footfalls as light as possible, looking around with interest. He ran his finger along the spines of the books on her shelves, and sorted through a few DVDs sitting near the TV, but he was too restless to either start a proper search, or settle down to read until Amber rejoined the land of the living.
The sight of his sneakers sitting by the front door decided him. He still had his gym bag here; he wouldn't leave for a few hours to get his usual workout in, but he could go for a jog around the neighbourhood, get to know it a little better. He'd work out the kinks in his muscles, and not bother Amber by digging through her belongings.
A few minutes later, he was dressed, and he'd pencilled a quick note to leave on the kitchen table, before borrowing Amber's keys and heading out the door. The day was clear and cold, so that his breath puffed out ahead of him, and burned a bit in his throat as he got going. Everything felt amazing. Perfect. The feeling of blood pumping through his muscles, the sharp air in his chest, and knowing that he'd be going back to Amber's place afterwards. God, he felt good. Every day this week he'd only had to look at House's scowl and feel himself start to grin. He hid it as best he could--he didn't need House tearing him down because he was happy again--but the difference between now and when he'd come back to Princeton felt as wide as the Grand Canyon. He had a job that was good enough, not as good as he wanted, but that would change. And he was happy. Try stuffing that down House's throat: turned out, you could have both. And Foreman intended to keep both.
In case Amber wasn't that deeply asleep, Foreman didn't stay out long, not more than forty minutes and maybe five miles. He found his way back to the apartment building, puffed out, all the more exhilarated after the effort of the run. He jogged up the steps and wandered inside, still quietly--good thing, since a glance into the bedroom showed Amber breathing softly on the bed, although she was beginning to stir; she might be waking up soon.
He was sweaty enough to need a shower, and that was his next destination, when the phone rang. Foreman hesitated, in case the person gave up after a ring or two, but it kept going. He didn't want Amber to have to wake up to deal with some idiot just because they couldn't take a hint. House would've called Amber's cell or paged her. Cuddy, too. If it wasn't work, Foreman could take a message. He followed the sound to the living room and found the cordless phone on the coffee table. He picked it up and turned it on. "Volakis residence," he said, hoping to be done with this quickly.
There was a distinct pause, and then, "Hello," in a very interested tone of voice. "Is my daughter there, or is this just another new method of screening her calls? I hope you're giving her something nice to look at while you answer the phone for her."
Daughter. That sounded like trouble. Foreman gripped the phone a little tighter and sat down heavily on the couch. This wasn't how he'd ever wanted to meet Amber's mother, but since it was inevitable, he'd do his best. "She's asleep right now," he said. "I'll be sure to tell her you called."
Amber's mother made a tsking sound, maybe at the idea of her daughter being in bed at such an hour. "And get me off the phone in the meantime? No thank you. You're--Emmett, isn't it? Amber's boyfriend?"
"Eric Foreman," Foreman said, tamping down the pissy urge to say Doctor. Amber surely wouldn't have forgotten that.
"Eric, that's it! Sorry, sorry. So many details, not that Amber remembers to call and update me on her life. Well, tell her we're seating eleven for Thanksgiving after all--did you ever hear of such a number? My husband's sister is coming, and of course she'll bring that horrid mince pie that she thinks is so wonderful; tell Amber she can bring a salad, not that we expect her to, but it would be nice."
Panic was definitely beginning to set in. He and Amber hadn't dealt with the question of Thanksgiving, not since they'd nearly fought about it. Foreman been planning to ask, but to hear that the assumption was still there--had Amber changed her mind again? Forgotten to tell him? Avoided telling him, on purpose? "Mrs. Volakis--"
"Oh, Eric, you can call me Kate. I always say that to Brian's girlfriends, so I suppose it must be the same with you! Now don't tell me you're allergic to anything. You aren't, are you? I've already planned the meal, but I can make substitutions..." She took a breath, not long enough to be called a real hesitation, and then carried on blithely with, "I'm not one of those people who isn't open-minded about preferences."
Foreman winced. Oh, God. There it was. Amber's mother was making an effort. He'd expected the meal to be painful, although he wanted to go for Amber's sake, but he'd hoped everyone wouldn't be so obviously trying to hide the fact that his was the only black face at the table and no one would see past it. "No, no allergies," he said, forcing himself not to bite the words out.
"Well, that's good. We expect you no later than four. Tell Amber to call me. I wouldn't want to start telling stories! She always hated when I did that with her boyfriends in high school. And I've never had a chance since then! It's so good of you to come, I know it's all going to go well."
The last sentence was spoken with a sort of military fervour, as though Thanksgiving was a military operation behind enemy lines. Foreman's mom had been adamant about making the holiday go off without a hitch in the past, but he couldn't help hearing this as another reassurance that no one in Amber's family was going to "make a big deal." He smiled tightly, the good feelings from the run dissipating in front of a wave of tension. "I'll tell her," he said, not quite able to force out a thank you for inviting me; it was too early for that much hypocrisy.
"All right. Goodbye, Eric, we'll meet you properly then."
"Bye," he said, and turned the phone off, dropping it back on the coffee table and staring at it fixedly.
no subject
He wasn't going to disturb her if he'd worn her out. Foreman paced into the living room, keeping his footfalls as light as possible, looking around with interest. He ran his finger along the spines of the books on her shelves, and sorted through a few DVDs sitting near the TV, but he was too restless to either start a proper search, or settle down to read until Amber rejoined the land of the living.
The sight of his sneakers sitting by the front door decided him. He still had his gym bag here; he wouldn't leave for a few hours to get his usual workout in, but he could go for a jog around the neighbourhood, get to know it a little better. He'd work out the kinks in his muscles, and not bother Amber by digging through her belongings.
A few minutes later, he was dressed, and he'd pencilled a quick note to leave on the kitchen table, before borrowing Amber's keys and heading out the door. The day was clear and cold, so that his breath puffed out ahead of him, and burned a bit in his throat as he got going. Everything felt amazing. Perfect. The feeling of blood pumping through his muscles, the sharp air in his chest, and knowing that he'd be going back to Amber's place afterwards. God, he felt good. Every day this week he'd only had to look at House's scowl and feel himself start to grin. He hid it as best he could--he didn't need House tearing him down because he was happy again--but the difference between now and when he'd come back to Princeton felt as wide as the Grand Canyon. He had a job that was good enough, not as good as he wanted, but that would change. And he was happy. Try stuffing that down House's throat: turned out, you could have both. And Foreman intended to keep both.
In case Amber wasn't that deeply asleep, Foreman didn't stay out long, not more than forty minutes and maybe five miles. He found his way back to the apartment building, puffed out, all the more exhilarated after the effort of the run. He jogged up the steps and wandered inside, still quietly--good thing, since a glance into the bedroom showed Amber breathing softly on the bed, although she was beginning to stir; she might be waking up soon.
He was sweaty enough to need a shower, and that was his next destination, when the phone rang. Foreman hesitated, in case the person gave up after a ring or two, but it kept going. He didn't want Amber to have to wake up to deal with some idiot just because they couldn't take a hint. House would've called Amber's cell or paged her. Cuddy, too. If it wasn't work, Foreman could take a message. He followed the sound to the living room and found the cordless phone on the coffee table. He picked it up and turned it on. "Volakis residence," he said, hoping to be done with this quickly.
There was a distinct pause, and then, "Hello," in a very interested tone of voice. "Is my daughter there, or is this just another new method of screening her calls? I hope you're giving her something nice to look at while you answer the phone for her."
Daughter. That sounded like trouble. Foreman gripped the phone a little tighter and sat down heavily on the couch. This wasn't how he'd ever wanted to meet Amber's mother, but since it was inevitable, he'd do his best. "She's asleep right now," he said. "I'll be sure to tell her you called."
Amber's mother made a tsking sound, maybe at the idea of her daughter being in bed at such an hour. "And get me off the phone in the meantime? No thank you. You're--Emmett, isn't it? Amber's boyfriend?"
"Eric Foreman," Foreman said, tamping down the pissy urge to say Doctor. Amber surely wouldn't have forgotten that.
"Eric, that's it! Sorry, sorry. So many details, not that Amber remembers to call and update me on her life. Well, tell her we're seating eleven for Thanksgiving after all--did you ever hear of such a number? My husband's sister is coming, and of course she'll bring that horrid mince pie that she thinks is so wonderful; tell Amber she can bring a salad, not that we expect her to, but it would be nice."
Panic was definitely beginning to set in. He and Amber hadn't dealt with the question of Thanksgiving, not since they'd nearly fought about it. Foreman been planning to ask, but to hear that the assumption was still there--had Amber changed her mind again? Forgotten to tell him? Avoided telling him, on purpose? "Mrs. Volakis--"
"Oh, Eric, you can call me Kate. I always say that to Brian's girlfriends, so I suppose it must be the same with you! Now don't tell me you're allergic to anything. You aren't, are you? I've already planned the meal, but I can make substitutions..." She took a breath, not long enough to be called a real hesitation, and then carried on blithely with, "I'm not one of those people who isn't open-minded about preferences."
Foreman winced. Oh, God. There it was. Amber's mother was making an effort. He'd expected the meal to be painful, although he wanted to go for Amber's sake, but he'd hoped everyone wouldn't be so obviously trying to hide the fact that his was the only black face at the table and no one would see past it. "No, no allergies," he said, forcing himself not to bite the words out.
"Well, that's good. We expect you no later than four. Tell Amber to call me. I wouldn't want to start telling stories! She always hated when I did that with her boyfriends in high school. And I've never had a chance since then! It's so good of you to come, I know it's all going to go well."
The last sentence was spoken with a sort of military fervour, as though Thanksgiving was a military operation behind enemy lines. Foreman's mom had been adamant about making the holiday go off without a hitch in the past, but he couldn't help hearing this as another reassurance that no one in Amber's family was going to "make a big deal." He smiled tightly, the good feelings from the run dissipating in front of a wave of tension. "I'll tell her," he said, not quite able to force out a thank you for inviting me; it was too early for that much hypocrisy.
"All right. Goodbye, Eric, we'll meet you properly then."
"Bye," he said, and turned the phone off, dropping it back on the coffee table and staring at it fixedly.