alwaysright | November 28th, 2007

November 28th, 2007 - Wednesday

Amber eyed the small mountain her bags added up to. Part of her wondered if she hadn’t overdone it; this wasn’t the apocalypse. The rest of her new better: Thanksgiving with her family? Was worse. In those suitcases were provisions for all possible disasters, including a sleeping bag and extra bed sheets. Her mom would not accuse her of forgetting anything.

The salad, though, they’d get that in Worcester itself. Amber preferred to face last-minute Wednesday lines than bring six-hour wilted lettuce from Princeton-Plainsboro.

That ought to be it, though. Time to go. They were going to have a lot of traffic as it was since House had insisted they stay Wednesday afternoon despite the fact that they had no case—and also despite the fact most of the hospital had been gone since yesterday. House couldn’t actually be that lonely and bitter, not when she knew for a fact that Wilson had invited him to a full Thanksgiving meal cooked in his very own apartment. If House wanted to stay at the hospital to impress and/or to get into the pants of Cuddy—who would be working through the holiday, according to Amber’s sources (Cameron)— he didn’t have make them all suffer with him.

Amber got her cell phone out and texted Eric: Leaving now, be ready to go. He probably knew by now she would not spare him his life if he and his own bags were not waiting for her on the curb. He was rather inconsistent about when and when not to get into a power struggle with her, but for his own good and for her punctuality, she hoped he wouldn’t make a case of it today. Throwing her cell phone back into her purse, Amber began the wonderful journey of torture, starting with getting all her damn things down a huge staircase. First thing she’d do when she got back was get in the apartment management’s face about getting a damn elevator.

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Having turned off the car, Amber turned to shake Eric but he was already slowly blinking, sitting up and rubbing at his face. Most times when they woke up together, Amber was jumping out of bed at the ring of the alarm clock or it was a day off and they started to kiss and touch while still half-asleep. It was strange to see Eric waking up from a nap, disoriented, looking around like he had no idea where they were. Strange and wrong. Eric was sharp, not a confused sheep bumbling about.

"Terrible," Amber supplied, jerking the door open. Her stiffness and impatience made her steps out of the car stilted, almost wobbly. "No one else should drive, ever." Amber threw her hands up over her head and stretched, reaching for the sky. The movement made her trapezius ache, but in a good way. A few more steps and she felt less canned sardine and a little more human. "I need one of those helicopters, then I could just fly over the traffic."

With her family mere miles away Amber couldn't quite smile, but it was impossible not to melt into Eric's touch. Just the brush of his arm against her back released some of the strain and she found herself leaning into him. She could almost forget he'd be the one under her family's scrutiny before long. "It's alright; it would've been long no matter what." It was amazing, how gentle he could be under the circumstances. Amber closed her eyes at the press of his lips, reveling in the reminder that good things existed, too. "Yeah-- you can build your own salad here. Go get a lot of everything. I'm going to go get changed." It didn't matter that they'd been traveling for hours, her mom simply wouldn't approve of wrinkled clothes.

Yeah, the drive sounded about as bad as he'd feared. "I'll mention that to the highway commission," Foreman said, teasing very lightly. He waited for Amber to grab whatever she needed from her luggage. She wasn't taking the state of the nation's holiday traffic out on him, and for that, Foreman was grateful. Once she was ready, he let his arm around her fall to her waist, since she'd leaned into his touch like she needed the reassurance. She might not ask for it, but he could give it, nonetheless. It was only for the length of the parking lot; they'd diverge once they were inside the doors. "Okay. Any allergies or preferences I should know about?" He could avoid the seven most common allergens easily enough, but he'd hate to find out once the salad was on the table that Mrs Volakis couldn't abide romaine and iceberg lettuce in the same bowl.

When Amber had mentioned changing, Foreman had glanced down at himself reflexively and brushed at his camelhair coat. He'd changed into this suit at home before she'd picked him up, and even though a few hours' scrunched-up sleeping couldn't have been good for the line of the fabric, the check pattern wouldn't show wrinkles easily, and he'd paid enough for the suit to know that the material should hold up to harder wear than a long car drive. He'd bought it knowing he'd probably end up sleeping in it sooner or later, and still need to look professional the following day. With simple unpuncturable confidence, he could make it work.

"See you in ten," Foreman said, when they'd entered the store. He headed for the fresh foods, got the biggest container they offered, and filled it almost to the brim, remembering his mom's phantom voice telling him not to let the top layer get crushed by the lid. He grimaced at that reminder; his dad had called him about coming to Trenton for Thanksgiving, and Foreman had put him off without being specific about his plans. If Dad assumed it was work that kept him away--or, more likely, from the way he'd harrumphed, he thought it was because Foreman couldn't stand to see Mom on the holiday that had always meant so much to her--then at least it gave Foreman more leeway. No matter what he'd said to Amber about getting the family meeting out of the way and over with, he was much more willing to put their relationship to the test under her family's scrutiny than his.

Foreman finished packing the salad and ordered two coffees as long as he was paying at the deli cash point. Carefully balancing everything well away from himself--spilling coffee on his dress shirt ten minutes before meeting the Volakises was not going to happen--Foreman headed back to the front doors to meet Amber.

"Mmm, yeah, my aunt can't stand cherry tomatoes and my dad refuses to eat spinach, so you should put those in separate containers. Brian eats only iceberg lettuce, but no one'll mind if he has to pick out the parts he wants-- if he bothers with the salad." That ought to cover everyone. Geoffrey and her mom would never dare admit to not liking every possible salad ingredient, and her sister-in-law was easier going than her brother. Her niece's tastes changed every time Amber saw her, so there was no predicting the right answer there. The brat probably would probably just have turkey and ice cream, anyway.

Her bags were under Eric's, so it took a bit of yanking around and rummaging to pull out another blouse and skirt combination. She draped them over her right arm and with her other hand held Eric's as they walked into the fluorescent lights. It was only for a few seconds before they each headed off to their separate tasks, but by then it was a habit, reaching out for him when they walked together. Being able to curl her fingers around his was one of the things she'd chosen for herself, by dating him. This visit wouldn't take that or him away from her.

There was a line at the bathroom, but holding a hand to her mouth and dropping a few hints about a delayed period got the other ladies to let her in before them. To fulfill the illusion, Amber made a few convincing hurling sounds and flushed the toilet before switching outfits. "Thank you so much," she gushed at the women; they nodded with self-satisfied generosity.

Her errand was, of course, faster, so Amber had to wait a few minutes at the door. What was taking Eric so long? It wasn't as if there were that many people in the store, even with it being the day before Thanksgiving. Amber almost grew irritable again, but at the sight of two cups, hunger won out over grumpiness. She whisked one of the coffees and nearly gulped it down, like the first drink of water after exercising. "Didn't realize how much I needed that," Amber said with a sigh. A quick look at the container Eric held confirmed that he'd fulfilled her request, but then again, it was salad. Amber trusted him with that much.

The automatic doors had been opening and closing next to her all this time she'd been standing there, with every passing person a reminder that she'd have to leave soon. Amber tried a wry smile at Eric but it came out a grimace. "Well, I guess we can't put it off any longer. Let's go." There was one good thing about going back into the cold and walking briskly towards her car-- they were close to getting this over with.

Foreman hated the uncertainty that made him look down into the salad he'd constructed to double-check that he hadn't included any of the verboten ingredients. He knew what he'd picked--walnuts, apple slices, and raisins, with some crumbled blue cheese to sharpen the flavour. It was best on spinach, but he'd taken mixed spring greens to be on the safe side. Might not be what the Volakises usually ate, but the salad wasn't the most controversial thing they'd be working to accept this weekend. If they couldn't take his choice of vinaigrettes, they were going to have a damn hard time choking him down.

Once Amber had taken her coffee, and gulped it down despite the hot contents, Foreman was able to carry his own coffee in one hand and the salad in the other, reducing the possibility of a disastrous spill. He relaxed enough to grin at her. On the verge of possibly getting every second of their relationship picked apart by vultures, he couldn't help looking at her like Hallmark's sappiest copywriters had invaded his brain. Her vehemence, and her annoyance at what her family might put him through, made up for a hell of a lot of his own nervousness. "We'll get through this," he said. "I know I'm not what they're expecting, but you can't tell me this is the first choice you've made that they might second-guess." He wished he could put his arm around her again as they headed back to the car, but there was too much to carry. "I know you're not going to let somebody else's opinion get in the way of what you feel."

It'd been a busy few weeks, and they hadn't exactly been spending every second together, but even so, they'd had their soft and tender moments. Times when the word love slipped out a little more often than Foreman could possibly consider safe. Even saying it made his chest tighten and a smile appear on his face, his stomach doing a ridiculous little flip; part of him hoped he never stopped feeling like he'd just parachuted out of plane when he said it. He climbed back into the passenger seat carefully, keeping the salad on his lap. "It's one meal, a few days. We'll be all right."

"I'm the perfect daughter," Amber defended herself with false haughty tone. She really was all but perfect: top colleges, med school, and now she was a doctor. Maybe she screwed up a few of the little things, but they couldn't stamp failure on her or anything. If anything, probably one of her mom's biggest regrets for so long was that Amber hadn't brought any men to second guess. "It's not my fault if they can't see that."

There was resentment in her joking, but none of it was directed at Eric himself. "Yeah," she said, smiling perhaps for the first time day. She heard the affection in his tone, and it cut through her stress. He was here with her and, in a strange way, doing this for her. That was what mattered, not the stupid salads and excess emergency supplies. "They can't change that." Amber knew her own feelings wouldn't change with this trip; what really worried her was Eric reconsidering their relationship, once he'd been subjected to-- whatever they'd subject him to. But like he said, it was just a meal and a few days. Amber knew all the ways to get away from her family, if it came to that. "It'll be over with, soon. And who knows, you might even like Brian."

Amber was half-tempted to drive more slowly than normal-- that is, at the legal speed-- but she'd complained enough. She didn't want to show anymore how bothered she was. She and Eric were in this together, end of story. She could face her family just as she stared down disapproving bosses.

Amber drove through suburban streets she knew as well as the lines in her face. "This is so weird," she said, mostly to herself. "Part of me still feels like this is home, but it's been years since I've lived here..." Some of the houses had sections added on, others were repainted. More than a few yards were missing the trees they used to have. But it was pretty much the same as during her last visit, and more changed than ever since her last extended stay here.

The drive didn't take more than a few minutes. Amber parked on the street, behind another couple of cars that were already there. Her aunts and maybe cars her brothers had rented? Amber turned off the ignition. She turned to Eric, barely visible in the darkness, and raised an eyebrow he couldn't possibly see. "Home sweet home." On impulse, she leaned over and pressed her lips against his, not deep but firm.

With a smile that wasn't belied by his skeptical raised eyebrow, Foreman accepted Amber's assessment of her family. It was gratifying to see Amber perk up, if only slightly, because of his reassurance. "I'm sure I will," he said. Taking a few gulps of his coffee, and burning the back of his throat, Foreman felt much more alert and prepared to play the perfect houseguest once they'd arrived.

He watched through the window as Amber drove through her parents' neighbourhood with practised assurance. The homes were tasteful, set back from the wide road, with lawns and gardens that looked neat and tended despite the autumn weather and the bare tree branches; he supposed anyone who didn't rake up their leaves or trim their summer perennials would set the neighbours gossiping. That actually felt familiar. "I know what you mean," he said. "The last Christmas I was home from college...all the rooms felt so small." His brain caught up with what he was saying, and he lapsed into silence. The last time he'd truly felt at home. New York had been his world by then, and later Maryland for med school. It felt contradictory to miss that, when he knew he'd never want to go back. Amber seemed confident, and no matter what she said, she seemed perfectly comfortable as she drew the car up behind a few others and turned off the car, so that silence settled around him.

Foreman felt her hand on his shoulder first, and turned on time to catch the firm press of her lips against his. In the cool air, she felt all the warmer, and her familiar perfume was soothing. He breathed in through his nose, leaning into the kiss although not deepening it, his hand moving up to cover hers. As he drew back, he squeezed her hand and kissed her fingers, too. The lights from the house gleamed in her eyes, giving him a slightly better view of her than she probably had of him, since he was sihouetted by the porch light. He cupped her cheek for a moment, smiling in the dark. "Ready to face the firing squad?" he asked, keeping his voice ironic. "I'll get the suitcases."

Amber half-heard Eric's comment about his last visit home. Another time she might've jumped on that, discreetly turning him to talk his mom without getting all upset and shut-up the way he usually did. His past was one of the most depressing things Amber could imagine, but her curiosity couldn't resist wanting to know more. As it was, though, Amber was traveling through her own time-machine, years melting away as she passed by the Richardson's-- she'd babysat the youngest boy a few times, he must be over twenty by now-- and the corner where she'd accidentally fallen off her bike.

Eric's beard scratched against her chin, as it always did when they kissed, a strange newer familiarity in a sea of years-old memories. His eyes shone in that moment before he closed his lids, intense and loving-- just like the feeling in his kiss. Amber held on to that. And then it was over, fading away even as he touched his lips to her fingers. "Oh no you don't," Amber said. That could be the topic for a whole day, how she'd walked in alone and let her 'boy' carry her things. "You're coming in with me. C'mon."

She'd barely gotten to her feet and shut the door close when more lights lit up on the front porch of her house and her mom came out. "I knew I heard something," she said, a note of smugness in her voice.

Amber crossed her arms, stuck for a moment. “Hi, mom.”

Her mom looked as proper as ever, dressed in season-appropriate brown and beige. "Geoffrey, Chris! She called over her shoulder. "Amber and-- Eric are here, come help them carry their things."

It took them a moment to appear; they’d probably been in the living room talking. “Whaddya know,” Geoffrey said in the amiable, everyone-loves-me way he had, easily tramping down the porch steps. “I thought it’d take you another hour, with the traffic. I heard on the news it’s awful.”

Geoffrey’s rapid approach got Amber moving again, springing to open up her trunk and grab as many of her bags before he could arrive. “Yeah, it was pretty bad,” she said.

Her father wasn’t quite as nimble, but his steady gait was steady and relaxed. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, smiling, reaching out for a hug. Amber hated to give up her plan of getting all her bags before Geoffrey could, but what else could she do? She wrapped her arms around her dad’s large and heavy frame, hugging him longer and harder than she’d meant to. “Welcome home.”

The switch in Amber's tone and focus were as sharp as if she'd cut the moment through with the knife. The softness of her hand and her mouth disappeared, and she rushed to leap out of the car as fast as if House had demanded ten diagnoses and promised to fire the last one to blurt out an idea. Foreman sighed and unclicked his seatbelt, climbing out the passenger side onto the sidewalk. The home was nice bungalow, and as he stood up, the front door opened and Mrs. Volakis stepped out. For the last second he'd have to himself, Foreman hung back from Amber's greeting, holding the salad and waiting to be introduced. Before Amber could start--although it looked like it hadn't occurred to her--Mrs. Volakis was calling for the rest of her family.

Foreman could feel his back stiffening, but he kept any sign of it to himself. When a tall, bluff man with a shark's smile that had to be shared among all the Volakis siblings started towards the car, Foreman went into action. He was the stranger and the interloper; fine, that was a given. He could work with that, he always had. He intercepted Amber's brother and, balancing the salad in one hand, he offered his right to shake. "Eric Foreman," he said, with every appearance of outgoing interest.

"Geoffrey Volakis," Geoffrey said. His handshake was firm but not crushing, and his air of self-confident friendliness wasn't as off-putting as Foreman had feared. "I'm guessing you let my sister drive--if she had her way she'd buy a car with jet propulsion."

Foreman smiled, a fraction tightly. "The drive was fine," he said. Despite one or two of his own private thoughts about Amber's need for speed, he couldn't help bristling slightly at her brother's complacent pomposity.

"Geoffrey, the bags," Mrs. Volakis said, coming up beside them.

Foreman looked over his shoulder at the car. "I can--"

Geoffrey clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about a thing, Eric," he said. "I know where I'm taking them." He headed for the trunk Amber had opened and started pulling out suitcases.

"So," Mrs. Volakis said, taking Foreman's elbow and giving him an appraising look up and down and nodding as if he'd already passed muster. "I'm so glad to meet you, Eric. Don't worry about the drive, we were just glad you could make it," she said. "Amber wasn't sure you two could get the time off."

"Of course," Foreman said. It was early yet, but so far he hadn't gotten any sign that he was 'controversial', let alone unwelcome. That might come later, after a few glasses of Thanksgiving wine or a heated talk about politics, or, he suspected, if anyone tried to puncture Geoffrey's attitude, but his first fears had been somewhat soothed. Amber's family were a bit overbearing, but nothing Foreman hadn't felt before from his own parents. It was almost traitorously welcome to be fussed over. "Wouldn't miss it. I, ah--" He proffered the salad, only the slightest bit hesitant, and Mrs. Volakis smiled.

"It looks delicious. Thank you, you're very thoughtful," she said, taking it out of his hands. "Come on, now, let's get you two out of the cold."

Her dad chuckled into her hair. "Miss me?"

That meant the hug was over. Amber drew away, mostly smiling. "Maybe," she teased, and then, exclaiming at Geoffrey, "I got it!" Her stupid brother had four of her bags and was all too merrily abducting them into the house.

"These all yours?" he just asked, not stopping. But weighed down as he was, he couldn't go fast; Amber caught up and wrestled back the two from his left hand. "How long are you planning on staying, anyway?"

"Oh, like you didn't bring just as many," Amber retorted. She let him get away with the other two. It was an acceptable defeat. As long as she was fast on the way back...

"Yes, but I have a daughter, remember?"

"Like you'd ever let me forget," Amber muttered under her breath, knowing full well Geoffrey would pretend not to have heard her. He liked to think himself above petty sibling squabbles.

Inside, Amber could hear a couple of female voices from the living room. "Hello, Amber," she heard her Aunt Jude call.

"Hi," Amber replied. She'd greet her later; if she stopped now, it’d take half an for Aunt Jude to recount all the interminable things she thought vital to tell right away, like the price of petrol and her latest gastrointestinal woes, and by the time they were done, all of Amber’s other bags would be upstairs.

Leila walked into the hallway, stretching out her arms. "Hi, need help--?"

Geoffrey stopped her before Amber could. "Don't be silly," he said, pausing to kiss her forehead. "You know you can't overexert yourself."

Interesting. Was she sick? If she was, their mom would've already fussily called Amber about it, demanding that the first thing she do upon arriving was check up on the health of her granddaughter’s mother. And Leila certainly hadn't broken any bones she had no casts on.

Amber mulled over these possibilities as she went up the stairs, turning to the left at the end into her old bedroom and dumping the bags onto the floor. It seemed smaller and more cramped than ever. And was that her parents' old computer on her desk? At least they hadn't tried to cram in the unwanted mountain bike too... what was Eric going to think?

Oh god, Eric. In trying to one-up Geoffrey, she'd all but abandoned him out on the street. For all she knew, the door had been slammed shut on his face. With a breathless "'Scuse me," Amber pushed past Geoffrey and ran down the stairs, off to recuperate her boyfriend.

Over Mrs. Volakis' shoulder, Foreman saw Amber pull out of her hug with her dad and chase Geoffrey down with the bags. There were still four in the trunk, including his two, and he started to move in that direction.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Mrs. Volakis said. "Geoffrey will get you two settled. Come and meet my husband." Carrying the salad, she took his elbow and turned him towards the house, where Mr. Volakis was holding the door for them.

Once they were all inside and the door swung shut lightly on the cold, he turned to Foreman with a smile. "Hi, Eric. I'm Chris, Amber's dad." His handshake was as firm as his son's, but more casual.

"I'll just get this to the kitchen," Mrs. Volakis said. "Chris, get Eric something to drink."

Before Foreman could catch up with where Amber had disappeared to, he found himself ushered into the living room, a large, warm room. He'd expected, somehow, the same sort of good quality but worn furniture that still sat in his parents' house--the stuff that had been there all through his childhood and had suffered a couple of teenage boys wrestling on it more than once--but the Volakis' decor was, while obviously meant for comfort, was equally obviously meant to impress with its style and modernity. Foreman found himself clasping hands with Geoffrey's wife--Lisa or Lola, he was beginning to lose track of names--and Amber's aunt. "You'll have rye, Eric?" Mr. Volakis asked, and Foreman nodded; he hated rye, but a drink would be welcome, at least to occupy his hands.

"Amber tells us you're a doctor," her aunt said, seeming unwilling to give up her hold on his arm and his attention.

"Neurologist," Foreman agreed, with a quick glance around the room. Where had Amber gotten to?

"Oh, that's wonderful," the aunt--Foreman tried to drag her name back to the front of his mind--said. "I've been having this tingling in my hands. For months now--it comes and goes. That's not right, is it?"

Foreman hesitated, and was saved from answering when Mr. Volakis put a glass in his hands. "Jude, it's your circulation, Dr. Mitenko told you that." Finally, in a rush, Amber appeared on the stairs. Foreman didn't want to seem like he'd been feeling like a cornered animal without her to at least take some of the brunt of socializing, so he sent her a pained smile from across the room instead of going over to her, hoping it didn't look like he was begging her to rescue him.

Amber's feet hit hard the narrow steps-- they'd felt wider before puberty-- as she thundered down the stairs, worried about where Eric had ended up. She found him in seconds, though, the proverbial worm on her aunt's hook of an arm. She slowed down, catching his gaze. There was something... quasi-tragic about his quiet panic, only somewhat hidden behind a stretched smile. Tragic and hilarious.

Amber choked back a laugh. Oh, now he understood her pain.

"Hey, come on," Geoffrey cajoled from behind.

"I'm going, I'm going," Amber said, striding towards the front door again. If Eric had managed to get into the house, he'd survive another few minutes alone with her relatives. Outside, she and Geoffrey fought over the last of the items; she let him carry the lighter of Eric's two bags. That didn't count, right?

Her mom was waiting by the door, an eyebrow raised. "Still too busy to properly greet your mother?"

"I said hi," Amber protested, but was already lowering her loads to the ground in order to hug her mom; this was a much quicker business than with her father, with them leaning in towards each other only just long enough for Amber to pick up the scent of her mom's perfume.

"Look at you," her mom said, pulling back and yet holding Amber's wrists, as if to hold her in place. "Are you using a new blush?"

Amber would've touched her face self-consciously, but she couldn't. "No, same as before."

Her mom smiled in a way Amber didn't quite understand until she said, "Well, then I suppose this glow is thanks to your new boyfriend, then." And then Amber really must have been glowing. "You look lovely, dear."

At this point her mom's hold loosened enough for Amber to let go, and she did so. "So's the house--" she hadn't noticed in her initial rush, but it might as well have been a new first floor. The furniture was certainly all newly acquired, and Amber felt a pang for the worn, tired sofas with their outdated prints. They hadn't been elegant, but they’d been a part of home. "You guys went all out with the reforms, didn't you."

There was no mistaking the pride in her mom's soft, assured voice. "Oh, this, I had enough time to plan it. I've been imagining these reforms for the past twenty years, after all."

That Amber could attest to; she'd been hearing her mom go on about that exact shade of robin blue for the living room walls for as long as she could remember. "It looks great."

"I know. Come, let's get you a drink, and you can introduce me to Eric." And there was no saying no, not when her mom took her hand and led, not even with the bags she'd left by the entrance. Oh well. She could get them later, they weren't going anywhere. Amber followed towards the center of attention Eric had become.

"A general practitioner," Jude said, with all the snobbery that Foreman had ever felt for doctors who wouldn't buckle down and choose a real specialty. "He's in, he's out, and you're back in the waiting room before you've even had a chance to explain." She launched into the explanation Dr. Mitenko hadn't allowed her, but Foreman barely heard. He locked eyes with Amber when she came down the stairs, and she smirked at him. Right before she walked out of the room.

Foreman stiffened slightly--not enough that Jude noticed. Oh, so that was how she was going to play it? Leave him to the mercy of her family? He didn't know if she hoped he'd hate them, or get the lightning-fast version of Stockholm and love them. Either way, that was playing dirty. She'd recognized that he wanted her support and she'd all but laughed at him.

He'd show her. "I understand," he told Jude, patting her hand on his arm and smiling at her with a mixture of gentleness and the firm professionalism he showed to clinic patients. "That sounds like idiopathic peripheral neuropathy."

Jude's mouth opened for a moment, and then she beamed at him. "Oh dear," she said, utterly delighted. "Is it serious?"

Foreman nodded solemnly. "It can be. Is it your hands, or your feet too?"

"Oh, yes!" Jude clutched at his forearm. "And I just feel so tired all the time--could that be related?"

Chris Volakis, still standing nearby, watched them warily, although he didn't seem to mind Foreman usurping the family doctor's diagnosis. He'd been getting drinks, although Geoffrey's wife (Leila, Foreman thought he'd remembered it right) had begged off. "Is it treatable?" he asked, with a thoughtful frown.

Foreman looked up, extending his aura of doctorly authority. "Well, obviously it would be important to run some tests," he said. "But it's possible--" Here he looked meaningfully at Jude, and lowered his voice as if he was consigning her to a terminal illness. "--that you might have a B12 deficiency."

Jude finally let go of his arm, to touch her own chest as if she was checking that her heart was still beating.

"A vitamin--?" Chris started to ask, and Foreman nodded sternly, interrupting, "You might need to take supplements regularly for the rest of your life."

Chris blinked, and then a grin started to form on his face. "Pills?" he asked.

"Yes." Foreman touched Jude's shoulder. "I know it can be difficult," he started, but she shook her head, her eyes shining. "I knew that quack had missed something," she said.

Foreman smiled. In less than five minutes, he'd earned the goodwill of at least two of Amber's family members. Jude wanted a doctor to take her seriously; it wouldn't matter to her that a vitamin supplement was likely all that she needed. She'd feel important whenever she took them. And Chris looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or be impressed by Foreman's acumen. Well, Foreman would take either, gladly. Leila, who'd been sitting on the couch, seemed to have caught the by-play, too; at least, she seemed amused. When Amber came back into the room, she'd find that Foreman had gotten his footing even without her to guide him. Foreman took a sip of his rye and almost forgot how much he hated the stuff.

Her hand on her mom's forearm, Amber arrived just in time to catch Aunt Jude's triumphant declaration that she'd known all along that her quack had been wrong. Amber glanced quickly at Eric; it didn't take a genius to know he'd just given her some new, miraculous diagnosis. Damn it, she should've remembered to tell him that with Aunt Jude, brushing her off was the only option. To be honest, it was so obvious it didn’t even merit mentioning.

Too late for that now.

"Did you hear that, Kate?" Jude beamed, squeezing Eric's arm. Amber was greatly relieved that her jealousy did not extend to relatives with more than three decades on her. "Eric here very kindly listened to me, and in no more than five minutes he figured out that I have peripheral neuropathy! Not at all like that doctor you sent me to!”

Peripheral neuropathy? Amber guessed that applied, but the last diagnosis she’d—-silently—-attributed to her was hypochondria. She hadn't found any reason so far to alter her opinion.

Her mom tilted an eyebrow upwards. "No, I didn't know. I haven't even really had the chance..." she held out her right hand.

Amber knew a cue when she saw one. "Mom, this is Eric." To her surprise, it was hard to say, not unlike the time she'd been accepted into college and had to tell her mom she really was leaving town. Eric had already introduced himself to the other adults and Jude had just said his name; besides, who else would the black man in the middle of their living room be? She might as well state her own name next.

Amber hesitantly looked into Eric's eyes, her face warming up again. The whole point of this trip was to show him off, right? "He's my boyfriend," Amber blurted out rather stupidly.

Foreman carefully rescued his drink when Jude squeezed his arm again and crowed to Kate Volakis about his assessment. Foreman smiled slightly, raising his eyes to meet Amber's. She looked skeptical at best, but Foreman tilted his head, trying to communicate to her what else could I do? Generally he hated it when people asked for medical advice at parties, as if learning that he was a doctor was a perfect excuse to treat a friend's living room like an exam room. He'd had to stop more than one person from showing him their various rashes, bumps, and cuts. But in this case, if it helped him feel at ease with Amber's family, like he was already on his way to being respected, then he wasn't going to ignore someone asking for his help.

When Kate stepped forward, hand outstretched, Foreman came forward to shake her hand with a confident smile. "Mrs. Volakis," he said, after Amber's introduction.

Kate tsked at him and shook her head. "Kate," she said, reminding him of something she'd already told him.

"Kate," he said, giving in with good grace. A little courtesy at first never hurt, but now that the formalities had been observed, he could call her, and Chris, by their first names without undue discomfort.

He met Amber's gaze with a warm, teasing smile, when she blurted out that she was his boyfriend. She sounded all but defiant, as if somebody in the room would deny it, or try to snatch him away from her. Her face was glowing red. Foreman could feel the heat in his own skin, but at least his flush wouldn't show. He reached out for Amber's hand, holding it firmly and moving to stand at her side, so that they formed one side of the conversational circle--the two of them against the world.

"We know that, Amber," Geoffrey said, from his comfortable seat on the couch with his arm around Leila's shoulders. "Nice of you to finally bring your catch home; I was beginning to doubt all those big fish stories."

"Oh, Geoffrey," Kate said, but without much censure. "So, how did you meet?" she asked. "Amber, let Eric tell us, he might be a little more forthcoming."

Foreman cut short the glare he wanted to level at Geoffrey and cleared his throat. "At work," he said, his natural reticence surfacing. With a glance at Kate's face, he could tell that wasn't going to cut it. "Ah, it was during a rain storm. We were both leaving the hospital. I offered to share my umbrella." There--he hoped that would count as 'forthcoming' without detailing how he and Amber had ended up fucking in her apartment less than two hours later.

Her mom accepted Eric's introduction without directing any vague insults or subtle sneers: she liked him, even after he'd apparently taken Aunt Jude's side! Amber found herself returning Eric's smile, pride resurfacing within her. She knew how much first impressions mattered in her family, and if Eric was already in everyone's good graces... that was about as perfect as things could get.

She enveloped her fingers around his, sitting down like everyone else was. The sofas, she had to grudgingly admit, were pretty damn comfortable, soft yet supportive.

Leila leaned into her husband as she heard Eric describe their first meeting. "That's so romantic," she gushed. "And you just went with him, Amber? I don't know if I'd have the courage to go with a stranger like that."

"Well, that's not quite how it happened," Amber said, nudging Eric with her elbow. They'd recounted to one another that first night together, but never for an audience. It was strange trying to transform what had been so private into public consumption, as if they were painting apples to be oranges. "I actually asked him if he'd let me walk with him, and we hit it off." Leila's eyes widened and Amber was fairly sure she heard her aunt tsking.

Geoffrey, though, was chuckling. "Only you, Amber."

"It does seem a bit desperate," her mom noted disapprovingly. "You should always have an umbrella on you."

"Weren't you worried? I mean, anything could've happened," Leila put in, eagerly leaning forward.

Jeez, and she hadn't even told them how she'd invited him for drinks and near-public fornication at the end of that five-minute walk together in the rain. Where was her drink? "I'm pretty pleased with how things turned out," Amber said haughtily.

But she'd lost Leila's attention, who was looking around the room. "Where's Madeleine?" Geoffrey sat up too, also craning his neck. Good question; now that Leila mentioned it, the brat had been strangely quiet. Normally she refused to let five minutes pass without her as the center of attention, so the fact that she hadn't even appeared to demand presents from ‘Auntie Amber’ was fairly weird.

"Last I saw her, she was coloring out back," Amber's dad offered.

Foreman accepted Amber's corrections without protesting. How she wanted to explain their meeting to her family was up to her; he'd tried to keep their meeting above suspicion, and she could add whatever details she wanted.

Even so, Foreman eyed Leila with a mild irritation, although he didn't let it show. A walk across a parking lot wasn't exactly a tightrope act over the Grand Canyon. She was acting like Amber had blithely taken her life--or her virtue--in her hands just because she'd accepted Foreman's company. He could remember thinking something similar then, that Amber might well choose getting soaked over risking a stranger's company, but now, hearing the same doubt from someone else after he'd gotten to know Amber, it felt like Leila would have treated him with all the caution she'd approach a Rottweiler off its leash instead of someone offering a favour. Leila couldn't possibly know Amber, anyway, if she thought a 'danger' as innocent as five minutes of conversation was something that would stop her from getting what she wanted. Anything could have happened, and anything had. Amber set that straight, and Foreman pressed her hand, appreciating it.

He didn't jump in, and Leila turned the conversation to her daughter. Geoffrey, still looking around to see where she was, said, "She's doing very well in kindergarten. We think it was the right choice to send her a year early, even if we had to fight the school on that. As if waiting eight months until she was five would have had an appreciable affect. She hasn't had any problems this fall."

"She should meet Eric," Leila said. In the back of his mind, Foreman couldn't help thinking if you're sure she'd be safe talking to me for five minutes, but he pushed it aside; bitter thoughts like that were used to being banished, and disappeared easily.

He couldn't quite relax. The furniture was comfortable, ostentatiously so; it had to be new. Foreman made a good salary and was used to paying for quality and comfort, and yeah, for showing off. He got his suits tailored when he bought off the rack, he'd arranged his apartment with furniture, electronics, and decorations that were meant to impress. The difference was, he knew what he wanted, and he got it. He was aware of the intended effect. It might not be humble, or modest, but why the hell should he hold back when he could demonstrate just how hard he'd struggled to get the good life? He'd pulled himself up and he let it show. The Volakises, though, seemed oblivious of any showing-off their well-decorated house implied. They treated the living room like it was an accustomed comfort. Foreman kept himself upright, resisting the invitation to lean back into the couch.

"Madeleine," Geoffrey called, and after a second, a little girl with long blonde hair and a solemn expression appeared in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper.

"Come here, honey," Leila said, and Madeleine ran to her side, clambering onto the couch and snuggling in. She peeked around her mom, staring warily at Foreman.

Amber resisted rolling her eyes at Geoffrey's insistence on pushing Madeleine ahead in school. Okay, okay, so the kid was smart, they got the point years ago, stop showing off already. Amber would be more impressed when Madeleine earned a Nobel Prize in Chemistry.

"I do think she'd have been better with another year at school," Amber's mom supplied. She said it politely enough, but she had a way of serving niceties with a punch.

"We read reports that said it’s important for kids to be with other kids their own emotional age," Leila said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yeah, like the New York Times," Geoffrey said.

"And she's always been so mature, so much more advanced than the other children in her age group," Leila said. It was probably time for Amber to excuse herself and get a drink, if they were going to get into Baby Talk. They wouldn't miss her for half an hour. The problem was Eric: she couldn't leave him here and taking him with her would be too conspicuous.

Amber couldn't even change the topic, not with The Princess Herself making an appearance. Having her on the other side of Leila was just about far enough.

"Madeleine, say hi to Aunt Amber and Dr. Foreman," Leila encouraged. Madeleine ducked her head, squeezing further into the space between her mom and dad. This caused several people to laugh, including Aunt Jude and Chris. Amber's mom did not so much as smile.

"Come on, of course you remember Aunt Amber," Geoffrey prodded, running his hand over his daughter's hair. Amber detected a hint of 'you better' in that 'of course.' Madeleine nodded vehemently, her gaze returning to Eric.

"I don't know what's gotten into her, she's normally so outgoing," Leila glanced apologetically at Amber and Eric.

"Were you drawing, Madeleine?" Amber's mom asked, and received another nod. "What did you draw?"

Madeleine seemed to consider a second, her little fists curling over the paper. "Dogs," she said, her hands relaxing.

"Can I see it?" That was all the prompting Madeleine needed; she slid off the sofa and went to her grandmother, holding up her drawing of various black circles.

"That's Nobu, Claire's dog," Madeleine pointed.

Foreman could feel Amber shifting impatiently as her family started discussing the kid. He couldn't be certain why, although he had to admit he was bored already with the subject. But then, he'd pretty much expected to be bored most of this weekend. Hearing about other people's families, anecdotes about strangers that he'd be expected to have somehow formed an opinion on, were boring. The girl looked like any four-year-old Foreman had seen in the clinic, shy around a stranger, and while he couldn't say it was any of his business whether she was ready for kindergarten or not, he also hadn't exactly seen any evidence that Madeleine was so ahead of the curve that she needed to be pushed.

He finally sat back against the couch and put his arm around Amber. Concentrating on her was much more interesting, as far as he was concerned. He put his lips next to her ear and murmured, "Do you like rye?" with a hint of amusement. He'd taken a few polite sips, but if offering his glass to Amber would make the stuff disappear, he was more than willing. And she seemed like she could use a drink. His low voice, the private question between the two of them, made him feel better, too. They hadn't disappeared just because they were in the living room being an audience for Kate's admiration of Madeleine's crayon-scrawled dogs. He couldn't exactly excuse them from the room or the conversation, and he wouldn't be so rude as to start a completely separate conversation, but again, that was something he'd counted on. He'd have to take his moments with Amber over the next few days where he could sneak them in.

Oh, god, was the brat going to get into another one of her fits over how much she waaaanted a dog? Amber only had to see her once or twice a year and already she'd had enough of that particular spiel; if she were Geoffrey or Leila, getting a damn dog would've been well worth the price of shutting her up. They spoiled her every other way, after all.

Awaiting the inevitable spat, the last thing Amber expected was Eric's soft, inviting voice instead. Amber moved into and towards him, giving a smile that was for him alone. "It's alright," she said in a low voice. They were in the middle of her parents' living room, with most of her family watching, so she couldn't give in to the urge to drive off the boredom by kissing and pushing him down into a lying position, but squeezing his hand was more than acceptable by the household standards. If he’d been wilting a couple of minutes ago under the inane conversation, this small bit of interaction perked him right up. "But it's not what I want."

Amber stood up suddenly, saying into the air, "Eric, come get a drink with me." It was the perfect moment: Aunt Jude and her mom were fussing over Madeline, and Geoffrey and Leila were preening over their pride and joy. That was one of her foolproof plans for escaping: slip out discreetly when others were vying for attention. Only her dad made as if to get up and join them, but Amber, walking by, patted his arm. "I know where everything is."

"Probably better than me," her dad agreed.

Amber sympathized. Her mom rearranged the kitchen fairly often in seek of the Holy Grail of Perfect Organization, but she tended to try the same patterns over and over. It wouldn't be hard to find the generous alcohol collection or the glasses.

Tilting her head at Eric in invitation, Amber went to the kitchen.

Foreman returned Amber's smile before he'd even considered what it would look like to any of her family members who might be watching. Pulling himself back to seriousness, he glanced around, but the only person who might have noticed was Chris, and he was gracious enough to act like he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary. Amber didn't take his glass from him--maybe sharing a drink would've been too intimate? Foreman still had no real idea of what counted as discreet, among her family, although he more or less assumed that public displays of affection beyond sitting next to each other, holding hands, or the occasional peck, would be considered over the top. He grinned when Amber stood up and imperiously summoned him out of the room. The invitation was for everyone else's benefit. Kate looked up, but was quickly drawn back into an argument with Jude over how much time kids should spend with their mothers and whether it was fair to tie a woman to the home for as long as she was fertile, just in case.

Yeah, Foreman was ready to escape. He followed Amber's footsteps, exchanged a nod with Chris, and determinedly ignored the embarrassment of 'going for a drink' when his current glass wasn't even half-empty. He found his way to the kitchen, where dinner looked to be nearly ready, and there were signs of the involved preparations for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. Setting his glass on the first counter he found, he grinned at Amber. He was feeling proud and a bit smug that no one had tried to cut his legs out from under him. Amber had painted a picture that sounded like setting foot in her parents' home would be equivalent to willingly crossing a piranha-infested river. Had she been trying to scare him off simply because she didn't want to come? She'd rescinded her invitation quickly enough, insisting it was because he hadn't jumped for joy at the opportunity. But then why mention it in the first place? Foreman had a feeling he'd only get himself in trouble if he brought that up, and he wasn't going to waste a few minutes with Amber arguing about whether she'd misrepresented her family to him. Geoffrey was an ass, anyway. The rest of them seemed nice, if entirely suburban. "I think it's going well," he said, moving across the room to join her, although not starting anything he didn't want to finish in front of Madeleine--or Kate, for that matter.

The kitchen was more a step back in time than the living room; Amber's mom had said they'd put off further renovations until Thanksgiving had come and past, since they hadn’t wanted it to be in bits and pieces on the big day. It had the same canary yellow cupboards, less bright from years of use.

"Yeah, it's going pretty good," Amber agreed, spotting a flat-bottomed basket filled with long, elegant bottles. Most of the collection was for show and guests; her dad was mostly into beer and her mom preferred wine. "Dump the rye and get what you want." If Eric had strolled into the kitchen all on his own that'd have been reason to kick him out-- her mom certainly had expulsed her friends for lesser crimes-- but with her there to accompany him, no one would even notice he'd switched drinks. "Why’d you even accept it in the first place, if you hate it that much?" Her family was annoying, but aside from her mom, you could fairly safely say "no" to any of them, even as a guest.

Amber wasn't interested in any of the liquors in the basket, though. She was more in the mood for wine, to swirl it around in her goblet and breathe it in deep. It'd be something to take her mind off the boredom of cooing over her niece. She pulled the fridge door open and extracted the wine bottle, not bothering to check the label. From past experiences at home, it wouldn't be anything she'd deign to drink in a restaurant, but her options were limited here. "That kid," Amber complained. "If it were up to me, there'd be a ban: no kids in adult spaces. There’s no reason why they should be inflicted on us.”

Foreman lifted his eyebrows. It didn't exactly sound like Amber meant it when she said things were going well. But then, maybe she was distracted, tense. Foreman hadn't seen any reason for that, but he was hardly attuned to whatever nuances might be going on under the surface. Other than Leila's rather ham-handed portrait of him as a frightening figure hulking in the shadows of the parking lot, offering his umbrella to young, pure maidens, he hadn't felt anything to object to. "I was being polite," he said. And he'd been a bit overwhelmed at that particular moment; it hadn't seemed like the time to get into a discussion of what exactly the Volakises had on tap and start treating them like bar staff instead of hosts. With a twist of his mouth, regretting the waste even as he was glad enough to get rid of the rye, Foreman dumped his glass down the sink and ran the water hot for a second so that the ice cubes disappeared, too. "I'll have a glass of wine, if you're opening the bottle," he said, and held up his empty glass. "Should I wash this?"

He found a second wine glass, having seen where Amber had gotten hers from, and set it next to hers on the counter while she got out a corkscrew. With a sigh, he looked around the kitchen. The meal smelled delicious, and he wondered when they'd be sitting down to eat, and whether the Volakises had held the meal for their sake, or if they were still waiting on Amber's younger brother. Brian. The one she liked, if the way she talked about him was any indication. Foreman hadn't had much of a chance to eat today, and his stomach rumbled.

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms. "This isn't an adult space," he said. Kids could be annoying as hell in restaurants and movies, but Foreman had steeled himself for far more of a fuss when he'd found out that he'd be meeting Amber's niece. It was her parents' house, and Thanksgiving. How could she expect to ban a four-year-old from that? Foreman couldn't figure out where Amber's hostility was coming from. It probably wasn't Madeleine herself, who'd been perfectly well-behaved. "And Madeleine wasn't bothering anybody. She was colouring in the other room." In fact, considering how late it was, and the fact that it seemed no one had eaten yet, he was surprised that Madeleine hadn't collapsed into a temper tantrum by now. Amber didn't have a problem with children in the clinic, or as patients. She wasn't a natural with them, but she handled herself well around them, so it wasn't that. "You're upset your brother can use her to get attention," he said, the diagnosis slipping out as soon as it occurred to him, and before he could shut his big mouth.

I was being polite. That one phrase brought back just how much Eric was doing for her, being here, shaping himself into whatever it was that her family wanted: the doctor to Aunt Jude's paranoias, the taker of random drinks. It wasn't an awful fate-- Amber had seen worse in the clinic this week-- but Eric did look fairly miserable, like he'd been left out in the rain too long and shrunk down a size or two. Amber took a pause in her hunt for win to kiss Eric quickly on his cheek, smiling with sincere appreciation. "You're a prince, but you can say 'no,' you know. And, no, leave the glass on the sink, my mom will have a heart attack if you do any work." She'd take it as an accusation that she was a poor, sloppy host.

The scent of roasted beef reminded Amber of just how long her last meal had been: hours ago she'd scarfed down a granola bar as she put the final touches on her bags. Her mom wasn't a professional chef, but Amber did miss her cooking, from time to time. Brian might not be here yet, but luckily her mom's sense of punctuality was stronger than her impulse to wait for all the guests.

Amber dug the screw into the cork, then twisted with hardly a thought. "It should be; it's only not because she's here." Between inane adult conversations and infuriating cooing over precious children, the former won by a landslide. Focusing on opening the bottle, Amber didn't really notice Eric's cooling dismay. "Yeah," she said distractedly to his comments-- until, that is, his last one. Jerking her face towards him, her hand shot up too, bringing a loud pop! from the bottle. "Are you crazy!?" she demanded. "I'm trying to avoid any attention, if you haven't noticed!"

He was so off the mark. Wanting the attention, really, Amber had never heard anything so stupid in her life. "I don't like kids, that's all," she gestured, then stopped when the wine threatened to spill. She could deal with kids in the hospital; there was no avoiding that part of the clientele. It was work, so she grinned and bore it. But in her time off, why should she have to deal with them? They were loud and messy and obnoxious.

Foreman hid his amusement as Amber attacked the wine bottle with the point of the corkscrew, looking more like she was wrestling a gator than opening a nice Sauvignon Blanc. He breathed in, for the light scent of her perfume from when she'd touched his cheek and kissed him. "You can't assume that about families," he said. "You're only going to have more kids around later." Didn't Brian have a long-term girlfriend? All three siblings were around their mid-thirties; Amber was lucky there was only one kid underfoot so far. Grimacing briefly, Foreman remembered their own scare. Was it going to be like that for the rest of their lives? Not that he felt able to think in terms of 'the rest of their lives'. He had no plans to shake things up; he was happy. But that didn't mean he hadn't thought about kids, some day. If Amber was this adamant, then either he'd have to change his mind or they'd have to decide what they were each looking for.

No way in hell he was going to bring that up right now, although the idea sat at the back of his mind and goaded him not to let the current subject drop. "You? Not want attention? You haven't stopped putting yourself forward for the last three months." And that had nothing to do with kids. That was just Amber. She probably thought that self-effacement was a sin, of stupidity if not of morality. Foreman settled his crossed arms more firmly. "Do you think if you keep quiet enough that nobody will notice me?" he asked. Just because he hadn't been offended yet didn't mean that Amber couldn't accomplish the same thing by constantly worrying that he would be. For one thing, he had better self-control than that. For another, Amber constantly worrying about whether her family would say something regrettable, when they'd been nothing but polite, appreciative, and welcoming to him, made him wonder exactly where the problem lay.

"I can assume they can find babysitters," Amber muttered. Geoffrey and Leila wanted more kids, she knew, and Brian.... was Brian. As for herself, there'd be no kids in the picture. Anyway, no matter how many her brothers popped out, nannies and babysitters were definitely options. They had the salary for it. Or they could stay at home, if they couldn't bear to be separated from their kids.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amber asked. Was he talking about putting herself forward at work? Of course she was, she needed House's attention to get the job. Her fist tightened and it was the cool beads of perspiration pressing between her fingers that reminded her that they weren't exactly in a situation propitious to fighting. Her own resolutions to be more generous in giving Eric the benefit of the doubt aside, her family was right over there in the next room. They'd hear. Judge. ‘Oh, that Amber, we knew she couldn't make it last. Especially not with a guy like him.’

She set the bottle and glass on to the counter, hissing quietly her next words. "When have I been quiet about you? If I wanted to hide you, I wouldn't have told them-- I wouldn't bring you to my living room and call you my boyfriend!" That had been a humiliation in its own right, overcompensating for all the times she hadn't brought a boy back home, and now he was acting as if she hadn't put her neck on the line for him. "What's with all these accusations? First I want attention, and now I don't? Make up your mind!"

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